Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

only Priscilla had returned. It was no surprise Lady Audley could barely look at her.
“What a lovely day,” Priscilla said aloud. The weather? Was she talking about the weather? “I was passing on my way to the village, and I wondered whether Charles would like a walk.”
Why did her innocent words sound so…well, sordid? She fought the temptation to just leave without him. She was a grown woman, not a child anymore. Lady Audley may have frightened her then, but she did not frighten her now.
Much.
The dowager sniffed. “No doubt my son will want to call on Miss Lloyd in town if it is such a pleasant day as you describe. Thank you for calling, Miss Seton, and do give my best regards to your mother when you return home.”
There was such genteel force in those words that her feet almost started carrying her back out of the door, but before she could move, a voice rang out as a figure descended the stairs.
“Priscilla! I did not know you were here – fancy a walk to the village? Sunshine looks glorious outside!”
Charles’s grin faded as he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the expression on his mother’s face. “I-I will just retrieve my coat,” he said. “One moment.”
It was the most uncomfortable silence between the two ladies as Charles disappeared into the cloakroom. Priscilla averted her eyes from the dowager, sure that if she met her gaze, she would lose all heart and probably just return home.
Thankfully, it was not more than a minute before Charles had returned, pulling on a dark green coat and matching top hat.
“You are welcome to join us, of course, Mama,” he said respectfully. “We would be glad of your company, would we not, Priscilla?”
She nodded, working hard not to smile. She could always rely on Charles to take her side. It was what made them such excellent friends – and what would make them such an excellent couple.
“Thank you for that warmly extended invitation, Charles, but as I appear to be an afterthought, I will regretfully decline,” said Lady Audley.
Priscilla wondered how Charles did not freeze to the marble floor as his mother swept past him, undoubtedly glaring for good measure.
Charles waited until the door was closed behind her, and then let out a long breath. “Not sure how I managed to get myself into that tangle.”
Priscilla chuckled but kept her voice low. “You always did have a wonderful way with words, Charles. Now come on, the sunshine is perfect for this time of year!”
As he stepped forward, she looped her arm into his, and they descended the doorsteps together. Priscilla could not help but feel that somehow, she had won a great victory.
Here she was, walking down the gravel path of Orrinspire Park toward the village, arm in arm with Charles. Where was Miss Lloyd? Forgotten, that was where. How could Charles not see the folly of this engagement?
“So, how was the picnic after I departed?”
Charles pulled a face as they stepped out of the gate onto the road. “Dull, dull, dull. I mean,” he corrected himself, hastily, “quiet.”
Priscilla laughed and tightened her grip on his arm. “Is that not the same thing? You do not have to concern yourself with pretending with me. We have known each other for too long. I am just sorry you had to go through it like that. I would never have permitted such a thing – all that formality!”
“I had to greet what felt like every person of note in London,” groaned Charles. “You cannot imagine, I think I spent three and a half hours standing there like a fool, bowing and scraping to people!”
“That is what you get for being a duke,” she teased, the road widening as it approached the village. “Do you really think there was a single person left in London? They all wanted to come and gawp at you.”
He laughed, and she laughed with him, every fiber of her being crying out with happiness. This was how it was supposed to be. Could he not see they were made for each other? Everything just fell into place when they were together.
“You just wait until it is your own engagement party,” Charles retorted as they stepped onto the pavement – a recent addition to the village paid for by Orrinshire gold. “I will be the one turning up in all my finery and laughing at you!”
All the joy in her bones disappeared immediately. The thought of her engagement party to another man – and what is more, Charles turning up to see her, undoubtedly with Miss Lloyd on his arm, silenced her.
But no. She would be the Duchess of Orrinshire then. Charles’s wife.
He had not noticed her sudden silence. “What a moment that will be, your engagement!”
Priscilla could have attempted a smile, but she knew it would look false, and said instead, “You assume you will be invited to any of my parties!”
Charles shook his head. “Friends for all these years, and you are going to cut me from your guest list?”
Their conversation was halted as a woman approached them with a wicker basket, evidently going to a butcher or baker. The pavement was not wide enough for all three of them, so Charles quickly dropped her arm and stepped into the road, bowing as she passed.
The woman nodded. “Your Grace.”
Her tone was respectful, but she stared at Priscilla as though she was a strange creature walking on her hind legs. Had she something on her nose? Was her bonnet askew?
“You know, I thought you were in London this week.”
Charles’s voice cut through Priscilla’s thoughts, and he returned to her side.
Absentmindedly, she took his arm once again before replying. “I was, but I wanted to be home – besides, Town is only ten miles away.”
Their conversation was stilted once more as they turned a corner into the village square. It was market day, every inch packed with stalls, the clucking of hens, the shouts of farmers selling their wares, and a blacksmith in one corner arguing