Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

in that ridiculously bright blue gown with more diamonds and glass than she knew what to do with. Her lady’s maid had turned her nose down at it – garish, she had called her apparel – but it had worked.
“What you are saying is that I am a rival for Miss Frances Lloyd’s attention.”
It was wild, scandalous. It was the sort of thing that the daughter of a baker would do, dress in the wildest way to catch the eye of the son of the butcher.
But she had done it. Priscilla could hardly believe it. She had never been one to push herself forward, usually happy to allow others to get all the attention.
This was different. If this was a competition, then Charles was the prize, and she was determined to win.
A light breeze tugged her hair. Turning back to the door, Priscilla hesitated again, and instead of reaching to knock, she reached into her reticule. There was the newspaper cutting she had placed there only minutes before, but she could not wait to read it again.
Pulling it out with fumbling fingers, she smoothed it flat and read the type once more.
Our readers will be scandalized to hear of the outrageous scenes witnessed at the engagement party of Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire, and the Honorable Miss Frances Lloyd. The gentility of the guests was assumed based on the social circles of the happy couple, and the dowager duchess cut an elegant figure across the sloping lawns of Orrinspire Park.
Little was it to be supposed that the gathering would be so rudely interrupted by a young miss who sought nothing but her own good by arriving more properly dressed for the opera than for a picnic in celebration of another lady’s achievement.
Miss Priscilla Seton was seen in deep discussions with the duke, raising eyebrows and more than a little sympathy for the poor Miss Lloyd, who was forced to wait until her betrothed had finished his tête-à-tête before returning.
We at the Times are surprised, nay, disappointed that a lady so normally courteous and pleasant would be so wild and radical in such a public setting. Inquiring minds wonder whether there was a gentleman at the engagement picnic that Miss Seton wished to attract – it is too much to suppose she was setting herself up as a rival for the duke’s affections.
Priscilla almost laughed aloud. Well, she could not help but be a little impressed. The editor of the Times, wherever they had been seated or standing at the picnic two days ago, had evidently seen far more than Charles had!
Charles had never looked at her that way. She could not complain, really. It had been but a week since she had looked at him and suddenly saw him not for the friend he had been, but the man he was.
Now she could never go back. What had once been a wonderful friend had become a gentleman of such worth, her heart ached to see him betrothed to another.
She was not going to lose him to another woman, not after all they had experienced together.
It took only a few moments to fold up the newspaper cutting, put it back in her reticule, and ensure every hairpin was in place before she knocked on the door.
When they had been younger, she used a special knock, so Hodges had always known it was her. She had grown out of the habit once she had come out into society, but the temptation was always there, and this time she permitted herself the indulgence.
Rat-tatatat-rat-rat-rat!
When the door opened, it was to reveal Hodges, smiling despite his better nature.
“Good morning, Miss Seton,” he said stiffly. “And how are you this fine day?”
Priscilla almost took a step back. It was disconcerting, his smiling face not reaching his frigid tones. What was going on? Was she no longer welcome at the house of the Orrinshires?
“I am very well, Hodges,” she said. “Please let me in. I am in rather a hurry.”
She stepped forward but had to halt immediately. The butler had not moved.
“I am sorry, Miss Seton, but His Grace is not at home to visitors.”
Priscilla blinked. Not at home to visitors? “I do not count as a visitor, Hodges. I am a friend. Let me through, please.”
She attempted to take another step forward, but once again, the butler did not move.
“His Grace is not seeing visitors.”
“Nonsense,” said Priscilla briskly. “I want to see Charles. Step aside, Hodges, I have no wish to hurt you.”
The butler swallowed, and it was only then Priscilla noticed his discomfort.
“I shall inquire for you whether –”
“Hodges, how many years have you known me, and how many times have you seen me prevented from getting my way?” Priscilla shook her head. “Now, out of the way, there’s a good chap.”
It was perhaps only because of her long-standing friendship with the Audleys that Hodges did not physically prevent her as she pushed open the door to allow herself into the house.
“That was not too difficult, was it?” she said breezily, removing her bonnet and placing it into the unresisting hands of the butler. “What a rigmarole, Hodges, how ridiculous to –”
“Good morning, Miss Seton.”
Priscilla froze. The reason for Hodges’s discomfort was now obvious.
Taking a deep breath and ensuring that a smile was on her face, she turned around to curtsey deeply to the dowager duchess.
“Your Grace,” she demurred.
When she rose, the duchess was looking as though she had stepped in something nasty but was too polite to say anything.
“We were not expecting you,” the older woman said icily. “What an interesting surprise.”
Priscilla swallowed down the retort that it was no crime to visit a neighbor, particularly when one was supposed to be friends with that family, but knew it would do no good.
Lady Audley had never treated her the same since her daughter had died, and Priscilla did not blame her. Who could? She had lost her in the same accident, which had almost claimed Priscilla’s life. The two of them had left the big house that day, and