Page 34 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

W hen Priscilla awoke, she rolled over and reached for Nick’s body. She knew he wouldn’t be there but did it anyway. She hoped they would wake up in the same bed one day. Cradling his pillow, she inhaled the woodsy scent that still lingered on it and tears welled in her eyes.

When he’d asked to spend the night with her, Priscilla believed Nick had no ulterior motive for staying.

But things had happened, and she was just as much to blame as Nick for the turn of events.

Though she would never regret a single moment of last night.

Except for his nightmares and what caused them.

When he shared his experiences at Eton, she had hardly been able to imagine something like that happening. And then to know that she was the only one he trusted to tell...

He’d always appeared larger than life to her ever since she was a small girl. Seeing that side of him last night had broken something inside her. She understood him much better now and realized why he never had real friends.

It must have taken him a tremendous amount of faith and trust to become friends with Blackstone, Langford, and Caldwell. Thank goodness they saw something in him worthy of friendship. She couldn’t think of better, more honorable gentlemen to be friends with.

“My lady,” Eugenia knocked and entered her chambers with a breakfast tray, as lately, Priscilla had been having breakfast in her room. She placed the tray on the bed beside her. “Is there anything else, my lady?”

“I would like a bath.”

“I’ll see to it immediately.”

Since Priscilla had no plans for the day, she enjoyed her bath, the warm water soothing her sore muscles from being intimate with Nick.

When the water cooled, Eugenia helped her dry off, dress, and comb out her hair.

She left it loose so it could dry. She scooped up Snowball and went to the library, where she curled up on the sofa for several hours reading the latest gothic novel.

“You have a visitor, my lady,” Berkley announced as he entered the library, startling Snowball, who scurried away.

“Who is it?”

“Baron Latham.”

She frowned, wondering what he could possibly want with her. “Send him in Berkely, and leave the door wide open.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The footsteps sounding on the rug made her aware of his arrival. “Please have a seat, Latham.”

He took a chair beside the sofa. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I was hoping to persuade you to rethink my marriage proposal.” His eyes did not meet hers, but his cheeks flushed, making her believe he felt embarrassed.

“I . . .”

“May I plead my cause?”

“Yes. If you’d like.”

He moved to the seat beside her but refrained from touching her, which relieved her.

“I must apologize for my actions when we last met. I was so shocked and heartbroken by your rejection that I needed privacy. Anyway,” he said as he adjusted his neckcloth, “we get along well, enjoy each other’s company. We could have a good marriage.”

“I would prefer you speak the truth rather than lies.”

His head swung her way, his expression one of shock. “I... suppose I can do that.” He exhaled loudly. “The truth is that I haven’t met any other lady I could see myself married to except you.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Your honesty. I enjoy your company, but not enough to marry you. You see, I’m in love with someone else, and as long as there’s even the slightest chance of being with him, I cannot marry anyone else.”

“I had to try. Good luck with Hollingsworth, and thank you for seeing me.” He stood, bowed, and left, and Priscilla breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come back asking for a third time.

That evening, she was set to attend a small dinner gathering at Blackstone Manor—a cozy assembly of thirty guests.

She was perfectly capable of going alone, but at the last minute she sent a missive to Emmeline asking if she could bring her mother.

Of course, Emmeline agreed, and her mother was happy to oblige.

So at the appointed time the two of them were riding in their carriage on the way to Blackstone Manor.

A family of butterflies fluttered around inside Priscilla’s stomach in anticipation of seeing Nick that night.

Would he treat her differently after what they’d shared the night before?

Would he finally acknowledge that they belonged together, that he loved her?

Oh dear, the butterflies transformed into birds with enormous wings.

The Avery coach arrived at Blackstone Manor alongside numerous other carriages disembarking their passengers.

Sitting in the queue, Priscilla gripped and released her reticule with her fingers.

Her nerves were stretched tighter than she had ever experienced before.

To impress Nick, she had worn her favorite evening gown in medium blue with deep-blue embroidery.

She also wore a blue cloak that matched the embroidery and complemented her gown.

Her blue slippers also matched, as did her reticule.

Though none of that would matter if she cast up her accounts all over herself.

“I’m nervous,” she burst out.

“And why is that, my daughter?”

“I can’t say.”

“Could it have anything to do with Nicholas spending the night?”

Her mouth opened and formed words, but no sound came forth.

“Close your mouth. You resemble a fish.”

“How did you know?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the library. It was still dark outside, but morning approached. I saw him sneak out of your room. He never noticed me, which was fortunate. The last thing I wanted was a conversation with him about why he’d spent the night in my daughter’s room.”

“Are you shocked? Do you think less of me? Does Father know?” The questions flew from her lips before she could stop them.

Mother leaned forward and patted her hands.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t already been married, I would be, and then again, perhaps not.

You’ve loved that man for so long only a saint could stay away from him.

And goodness, no, your father doesn’t know and never will.

Not by my lips. Dare I ask if he has any plans to propose? ”

Tears pooled in her eyes as she quickly took out her handkerchief and dabbed them away before they left watermarks on her cloak. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh, my dear child, I might need to talk to that foolish man.”

“Please don’t.”

“I won’t unless he has gotten you with child. We will talk then, and he will marry you.”

Priscilla’s hand covered her belly. Of all the things to discuss right before she faced him and more than two dozen other people for an intimate dinner.

“He would marry me then without protest. He is too honorable not to.” The carriage stopped.

“Wonderful, it is our turn.” A footman opened the door, lowered the steps, helped the duchess exit the coach first, then Priscilla.

They now stood before a large stone manor aglow with hundreds of candles.

The guests’ voices traveled out the door as they ascended the stairs.

Just before they entered the mansion, her mother squeezed her hand. “Hold your head high and flirt with every eligible gentleman in attendance until Hollingsworth’s head spins and he proposes.”

A footman took their cloaks. Regarding her mother’s words, Priscilla didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or do both.

Her mother was revealing a side of herself Priscilla had never seen before.

Flirt with all the eligible gentlemen? Perhaps it was something her mother had done, but Priscilla could never do it.

Flirting was an art, one she never developed, like painting—she was terrible at that as well.

Because it was a small gathering, there was no receiving line, but they approached the duke and duchess immediately, which was proper etiquette. “Your Graces,” her mother curtsied. “I’m always in awe of your beautiful home.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Emmeline said with a curtsy and a welcoming smile.

“You are too kind, Duchess,” Blackstone bowed over her mother’s hand.

Emmeline kissed Priscilla’s cheek. “I’m so glad you are here. I feel it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

“It’s only been a few days.” She turned to Emmeline’s handsome husband and curtsied. “Blackstone, thank you for inviting me.”

He bowed over her hand and grinned. “That is what friends do.”

When she turned to speak to her mother, she had vanished.

Undoubtedly, to find Lady Hollingsworth, who Emmeline had added to the guest list so her mother would have someone her age to converse with.

Priscilla’s cheeks flushed. Would her mother tell the marchioness about her and Nick?

Oh dear, she hoped not. It would be mortifying .

“What has you blushing so becomingly, my dear?” said Nick in his smooth, deep voice as he walked up, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Who says I’m blushing?”

“I do. And you are. Blackstone, Emmeline, do you mind if I steal Priscilla away?”

Emmeline’s eyes widened, and she smiled. “Not at all. We have other guests to welcome.”

Nick wrapped her arm through his and led her out onto the veranda. The large drawing room felt warm, and the night air was refreshing against her skin.

“Please accept my apologies for leaving without saying goodbye.”

She smiled, and her heart eased. “You said goodbye before I fell asleep.”

“I did, but I didn’t know if it would count.”

“It did.” His chuckle eased her riotous belly. “I had an interesting day,” she said and went on to tell him of her visit from Latham.

“That’s odd. I spoke with him at White’s and instructed him to leave you be. I thought he would.”