Page 6 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

Once again, the required etiquette was followed.

Nick took the seat beside Latham and grinned a questionable grin at her.

No doubt he was wondering what the baron was doing here.

Did it bother her that the baron was almost certainly after her money?

A little. Though she could do much worse as potential suitors or husbands went.

Latham had dark-brown hair and eyes, and he was handsome.

Instead of him, she could be facing a pockmarked, hunched-over man well past his prime.

Thank goodness she wasn’t. Since she was a widow, she didn’t believe her father could try to force her to marry as he might have done when she’d been a debutante—if she hadn’t eloped.

All in all, Latham seemed affable enough to warrant considering him as a suitor, provided he had truly mended his ways.

“What a nice surprise to have a visit from you, Nicholas,” her mother said with a sly smile aimed at her. “Is your mother well?”

“Mother is well. She sends her best.”

“Please give her mine.”

“Thank you both for the flowers you sent. My chambers smell divine,” Priscilla said as she glanced from one gentleman to the other. Neither appeared happy to be sharing her attention.

After a reasonable amount of time for a call, the baron left, and her mother disappeared, leaving her alone with Nick. “So tell me why you are here. ”

She was met with laughter but refused to feel anything from it or acknowledge how the sound heated her insides and made her heart sing.

“I have come to beg a favor,” he finally said most seriously.

“Go on.”

“I was hoping to form a fake courtship with you to spike interest amongst the single ladies seeking husbands this Season. Perhaps if you take an outward interest in me, others will also. That way they won’t see me as a pariah or a degenerate.”

She had been about to pick up the teapot and pour more tea into her china cup. It was a good thing she’d hesitated, otherwise the teapot would have slipped from her fingers and smashed onto the tray. Never had she expected those words to come from him.

“A fake courtship? I see how it will benefit you. For me, it will turn gentlemen away who may be interested in courting me. They may not want to bother themselves with competition.”

“Have you had many gentlemen interested in courting you?” he asked with a knowing but sad look.

“You know I haven’t,” she huffed.

“Why was Latham here? The man is not worthy of you.”

“I heard he has mended his ways and is actively seeking a bride.” Not that she was in any way hoping to be his bride.

Nick snorted quite theatrically. “Money. He is seeking a wealthy bride. And besides, he has spent his life on the fringes of Society and in bed with lightskirts who have pleasured him. He wouldn’t know to satisfy his wife in the bedchamber.”

Priscilla felt her entire body burn. Never had Nick ever spoken to her in such a way, crudely and without regard to shocking her.

She was no blushing virgin, but still. “Why are you being vulgar? I’m not one of your friends sitting around White’s drinking and discussing lightskirts.

How dare you?” Her voice trembled, and her entire body shook .

“Forgive me. My behavior was uncalled for. I just wanted you to understand what Baron Latham is like.” He waved an arm. “But as you say, perhaps he is a changed man.” He rose from his chair and sat beside her, taking her hands.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “But I can’t agree to a fake courtship. I have agreed to allow Latham to court me, and that wouldn’t be proper.”

He released her hand and stood. “I understand.”

He left without another word—no bow, no goodbye, nothing.

She flopped against the back of the settee and berated herself.

Latham never asked to court her; she’d lied.

Had she really stooped so low as to try and make Nick jealous?

When would she learn he was indifferent to her?

As far as him asking her to marry him, she knew he truly didn’t mean it.

And she couldn’t marry Nick unless he declared himself properly.

A footman entered the room. “A note for you, my lady.”

Priscilla studied the missive and recognized the Blackstone seal. She broke the wax, unfolded the parchment, and read the message.

Dear Lady Priscilla,

The Countess of Langford and I were speaking last night, and we wondered if you would like to join us at the Duchess of Greenville’s townhouse tomorrow for a meeting of the Ladies’ Society of Mayfair.

We are a charitable organization that provides food, clothing, and medicine, and sometimes a place to stay for the needy.

We would love to have you join us. The meeting is at ten in the morning.

Unless I hear from you, my carriage will arrive a quarter of an hour before ten.

Your friend,

Emmeline Blackstone

She placed the letter on the settee beside her.

She recognized the name of the charity as the one her mother had spoken of.

Perhaps it was time to give back to the less fortunate.

And she looked forward to spending time with the Duchess of Blackstone and the Countess of Langford.

They had both been young widows, perhaps they had some words of wisdom to share with her.

Priscilla was so thankful they were staying in that night, especially with her new plans for the next morning, and she retreated to her chambers directly after dinner and went to bed early.

She awoke in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep.

Her entire being was unsettled. Her mind kept picturing scenarios involving Latham and Nick.

The ones featuring Latham were quite ordinary.

Dancing, walking in beautiful gardens, and attending the opera.

In every incident, he was a true gentleman.

Perhaps Nick was wrong about him. However, she did notice during the two times she’d conversed with him that he didn’t appear too intelligent.

Could she marry a man who was not her intellectual equal? Why not? Everyone else did.

Nick, on the other hand, taunted and shocked her at every turn, even in her imagination.

Suddenly, he’d become someone she didn’t know at all.

Where had the perfect gentleman gone? Every time his face flashed in her head, she saw him stretched out on her bed, on his side, clothed in his breeches and nothing else.

He had a sly grin and a naughty twinkle in his molten brown eyes.

She kicked off the covers as her entire body became flushed.

She also had the urge to touch herself down there.

She groaned and rolled onto her stomach.

Why, oh, why did Nick still haunt her? She had to get control of herself where he was concerned.

*

Morning came too soon as Priscilla’s maid, Eugenia, entered the room with a breakfast tray and flung open the curtains covering the two windows that faced the street.

“Good morning, my lady. I’ve brought you a breakfast tray.

If you don’t need anything else, I will return shortly to prepare you for your outing. ”

“Nothing else, Eugenia. Thank you.”

She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lady.”

Nudging Snowball off her bed before the cat licked her food, Priscilla swiped a triangular piece of toast covered with jam off the tray and stuffed nearly the whole thing into her mouth.

She was so starved. Thank goodness no one was there to witness her ill manners.

When she had finished her breakfast and drunk the last drop of her hot chocolate, she stood at a window and watched several neighbors come and go.

Where did they go at such an early hour?

Eugenia returned and helped her dress in a dark-green linen day dress with matching pelisse, bonnet, and gloves. Then she descended two flights of stairs and greeted her butler in the entry hall. “Good morning, Berkley. I’ll wait outside for the Duchess of Blackstone to arrive.”

He opened the door and bowed. “Good day, my lady.”

Standing on the top step, she tipped her face to the partly cloudy sky and closed her eyes.

If her mother saw her, she would admonish her for turning her face into what sunshine there was.

But Priscilla was past the time that she worried about freckles.

She had yet to see any on her unblemished face, and if she had any, she wouldn’t care.

The sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels stopping in front of her made her open her eyes to see a sleek, black carriage with a matching set of four and the Blackstone crest on the door.

One of the footmen standing on the back of the coach climbed down, opened the door, and let down the steps. “My lady,” he said, holding his hand to assist her. Inside sat Lady Langford and the Duchess of Blackstone facing front so she sat facing backward.

“Priscilla, may I call you Priscilla?” the duchess asked with a friendly smile. At close to thirty, she still looked youthful. Her dark-as-night hair was striking against her pale-blue eyes.

“Yes, please do. ”

“Thank you. Please call me Emmeline in private or within our circle of friends.”

Priscilla wondered if she would ever find herself within their circle of friends outside of attending Ladies’ Society of Mayfair meetings. “Thank you, Emmeline.”

“And please call me Lilly,” the Countess of Langford said.

“Only if you call me Priscilla, too.” She knew Lilly had been widowed at the age of eighteen.

She had been married to the previous Earl of Langford, an older gentleman, then after he’d died, she fell in love with his heir, Edmund Weston, the present Earl of Langford.

Quite confusing. Except for Lilly, whose title hadn’t changed from one husband to the next.

As best as Priscilla could tell, she was twenty years of age, two years younger than her.

Her blonde hair was thick and wavy, and the green of her eyes resembled emeralds.

“We are so glad you decided to join us,” Lilly said as the carriage stopped several streets from Priscilla’s home.

When the butler opened the door to the house they’d come to, the Duchess of Greenville greeted Emmeline and Lilly by their first names. When she saw her, she smiled and took her hand. “Welcome, Priscilla. May I call you Priscilla?”

“Yes,” she replied as she went to curtsy.

“None of those formalities at these meetings. I only ask that you call me Duchess.”

Her body stopped mid-curtsy. “Duchess. I’m honored to be asked to join your charity. My mother speaks so highly about it.”

“Yes. Your dear mother is very generous with her monthly donation. I’ve yet to convince her to attend a meeting, though. Perhaps you will encourage her to accompany you next time.”

“I will ask her.” Inside the large drawing room were about twenty ladies doing different tasks.

Most were familiar to Priscilla. However, there were one or two she didn’t recognize.

Everyone appeared cheerful and happy to be giving of their time.

It wasn’t long before Priscilla relaxed and, following the lead of Emmeline and Lilly, began grabbing items and filling bags and baskets with various items. They were to be given to needy families later in the week.

When it was time to leave, her back may have been sore from all the lifting and bending, but her heart was full, knowing what she had done this morning would make a difference in someone’s life.

Feed a small child, a starving mother, or an infant.

Give a husband peace of mind that when he went to work, his family would have food and medicine while he was gone.

Or perhaps there was no husband—a mother with children to feed, house, and clothe with no coin to pay for it.

When the carriage pulled up to Avery Manor, Emmeline asked, “What did you think?”

“I think I would like to attend the next meeting. It felt good to do something to help others less fortunate. I believe most members of the ton live their daily lives without regard for the suffering of those around them. I was one of them. Not anymore.”

“It does feel good to help,” Lilly remarked. “Growing up as the vicar’s daughter, I helped the villagers in all capacities. And I’m glad to be giving back again. Will we see you tomorrow night at the Trowbridge musicale?”

“Yes.”