Page 9 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

“A re you in love with Hector?”

Priscilla swung her gaze to her friend Mercy, who sat across from her in the morning room of Priscilla’s house.

“I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

Mercy tilted her head to the side, her dark curls teasing against her face. “Are you in love with my brother-in-law, Lord Hector?”

Priscilla looked to the table laden with delicacies made by the Parisian chef her father had secured. “How could you ask me such a ridiculous question?”

“Well, the two of you seemed to be engaged in the most interesting conversation during your dance last night.” Mercy’s voice all but bubbled with delight.

Priscilla let out a strangled note. “That is not at all what I wish society to think,” she groaned, horrified.

Mercy shrugged and stirred her tea. “Well, society will think what society wants, but I looked at you and saw someone who was, well, besotted.”

She let out another groan and plucked up her own cup of tea imported from India. The cup was a delicate pink and gold, the porcelain so thin it was transparent.

She appreciated the bitter notes. They matched her mood.

She sucked in a shuddering breath as she contemplated the still surface of her tea before she managed, “Oh, dear God. I don’t want people talking about me and a rake. This is terrible.”

All merriment vanished from Mercy, and she quickly stood and joined Priscilla on the ivory settee. “It will not be terrible. You danced with him once.”

“And I looked besotted,” Priscilla bit out.

“Drink your tea,” Mercy instructed before asking, “Are you?”

Priscilla did as she was told, hoping the tea would heal her fears. “No, of course not. He’s not met the criteria of the man I shall marry.”

Mercy blinked. “Please don’t say such a thing about Hector. He’s marvelous.”

“Mercy,” Priscilla began carefully, “you are different. You came to this country with financial independence, and you knew exactly how you could be independent. I’ve never been independent. I don’t wish to be independent. I wish to fulfill my father’s dreams, and being married to Lord Hector Briarwood would not fulfill those dreams. Hence, he does not meet my criteria. I don’t even think Lord Hector Briarwood wishes to marry me. He simply wishes to be entertained.”

“Truly, you don’t know him,” Mercy protested. “If he’s voiced interest in you, he would never ruin you.”

She stared at her friend, unease running through her. “But what if…?”

“Yes?” Mercy said.

Fear coiled through her. And her thoughts. Oh her thoughts! How they raced with the horrors that could befall her if she yielded to Lord Hector. “What if he simply plays with me a little while and then casts me aside?”

Mercy’s mouth dropped open. “He would never do such a thing. That’s not the sort of person Lord Hector is.”

Priscilla tried to take comfort from this. She seized a biscuit from the silver tray and took a hearty bite. The notes of honey and cinnamon that wafted over her tongue were exactly what she needed to cheer her up.

“Have you ever known him to be serious about a lady before?”

Mercy frowned before she took a fortifying sip of her own tea. “Well, I haven’t known him very long, but I don’t think so. If anything, I think if he is showing you a particular interest, he’s serious about it. And the Briarwoods, well, once they decide on someone, they don’t let go easily. Did you tell him that you don’t want him?”

She nodded.

Mercy’s face transformed with disappointment. “Oh, I would rather like you as my sister-in-law, if I’m honest. It’d be wonderful to have you in the family.”

“My father would want nothing to do with it. As a matter of fact…”

Mercy plunked her teacup down so fiercely that it rattled in its saucer before she took Priscilla’s hand and exclaimed, “What?”

“He’s not overly fond of the whole Briarwood family. He, of course, doesn’t mind my friendship with you. Who would mind their daughter being friends with a duchess and such an excellent person? But to be fair, the Briarwoods do get up to scandalous antics. And someone like my father does not wish to be associated with any of that. He can’t afford to be brushed by scandal. If he didn’t wish to fit in or have a place in the ton, it wouldn’t matter…”

“But he does,” Mercy sighed.

She nodded.

“For someone who’s wished to belong all their lives, standing out like a Briarwood, well, that’s not the thing at all, you see,” Priscilla explained.

Mercy shook her head. “And so your father would not approve of the marriage?”

“No.” She swallowed, her spirits sinking as she said what she must. “Nor would I.”

Mercy tsked. “More fool you then. Because when you marry a Briarwood, the world opens up to you.”

“I don’t want the world to open up to me,” Priscilla whispered, even as her heart sank.

Mercy squeezed her. “Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet, and that’s all right. But I would hate it beyond anything if you married a man who never lets you see how wonderful this world can be.”

Priscilla’s heart—her foolish, foolish heart—tightened and tears stung her eyes.

Mercy was without question her dearest friend and the person she could be most herself with. And yet, how did she explain that she could never give in like that? Not the way Mercy had. Not the way Lady Juliet or Lady Hermia had.

She did not have the luxury of it. No. Girls like herself, who had been on the outside and suddenly found themselves on the inside, could not take risks. They had to be perfect. They had to do everything right or at least make sure they didn’t do a single thing wrong.