Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

of luck.”
Patrick O’Leary, Viscount Donal, grinned as he slapped him on the back. “You never said a truer word! Now, come with me, I have a damsel in distress, and only you can save her.”
“Save her?” Charles said as he was pulled around the edge of the dancers. “What do you mean?”
“You must dance with her, old boy,” Donal said. “Here we go!”
Charles was thrust toward Priscilla.
“What, Charles?” Priscilla colored and laughed loudly. “I cannot dance with Charles! He is an engaged man.”
“Dance?” Charles barked an uncomfortable laugh, painfully aware that Mariah was glaring, and Priscilla’s embarrassment was growing. “I do not think my future wife would approve of such a thing!”
What possessed him to say such a thing? As if the lack of conversation was not already awful, he had to invoke his future bride as an excuse?
“It simply would not be right,” Priscilla said softly, her cheeks still pink.
Charles cleared his throat. There were words, he was sure, that he could say, and everyone would laugh, and the tension dissipate. They did not come to mind at present.
“Absolutely not,” he said instead, bowing to the bride and groom and turning on his heels. He only looked back twice to see what Priscilla was doing.
Damnit. This whole wedding was becoming a farce, first entrapped by his mother’s tiresome conversation, then a moment of pure discomfort with Priscilla, and now a public confrontation with her!
At the very least, if he had been smart enough to simply dance with her, he could have enjoyed a pleasant conversation. What had possessed him to say no?
An hour, his mother had said. Well, he was sure he could find a way to entertain himself for sixty minutes. There must be a card table set up somewhere in this place, wasn’t there?
“Ah, I knew I would find you!”
Charles groaned. His mother’s voice sounded triumphant, and that could only mean…
Turning around, he forced a smile on his face. He was right. The dowager had found Miss Lloyd and was pulling, almost dragging her over.
The look on Miss Lloyd’s face matched Charles’s own internal embarrassment. Did his mother have to be so overbearing, so certain she was right at all times?
“Here you go, Charles,” his mother said delightedly. “I have found her! To think, she was at the wedding all along but was standing through there with her parents. Miss Lloyd, it is so good to see you!”
Charles said nothing but bowed.
Miss Lloyd curtseyed. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
“Oh, I think we can dispense with those formalities, do you not think?” The dowager beamed at her future daughter-in-law. “What a delight that you were invited, too. I wish I had known, we could have sat together in the church!”
“And how are you, Miss Lloyd?” Charles asked politely. He knew his place and would not forget it.
“She is absolutely blooming,” the dowager said cheerfully.
Miss Lloyd glanced at her and said quietly, “And how are you, Your Grace?”
Charles opened his mouth to say something inane and harmless but was immediately interrupted by his mother.
“Oh, he is moping about for the lack of you, Miss Lloyd, but it will not be long before you two are never parted!”
He caught Miss Lloyd’s eye and exchanged a knowing smile. Throughout their six-month engagement, it had been impossible for them to converse properly without one of their parents present.
Not that it really mattered. Miss Lloyd was the Honorable Miss Frances Lloyd, daughter of Viscount Lloyd, who was himself the younger brother of an earl. She was nobility, as was he. They knew what was expected of them – had been bred for it.
Still, Charles thought ruefully. If only his mother did not continuously trip over herself to fawn on Miss Lloyd, it might have been possible to become acquainted with her a little. Perhaps even grow to like her.
As it was, that was impossible. Like his father and his father before him, and God knew how many others before that, he would have to wait until he was married before he discovered anything meaningful about his wife’s temperament.
None of these thoughts were ones he could voice. Charles watched as his mother barraged Miss Lloyd with a thousand and one questions about the upcoming nuptials, Miss Lloyd’s eyes glazing over.
This was the rest of his life. He would be a fool to think his mother would gracefully cease offering advice when they were married – as it was, he had not yet been brave enough to broach the topic of whether she would finally move to the dowager cottage.
Charles swallowed and tried to focus on the conversation before him. It did not matter that he was desperate to escape his fate. He never would.
Duty required this of him, and an Orrinshire never shirked duty.

Chapter Two
Priscilla fought the urge to lean back in the hard chair as she watched a young lady who could only be Miss Frances Lloyd simper at the Dowager Duchess of Orrinshire.
Hidden from their view by a large potted plant, Priscilla nevertheless could feel her heart thunder at the sensation. It was not like she was eavesdropping. They were at a wedding, everyone could see, and she was not close enough to hear what they were saying.
Still. She could see as she smoothed down the folds of her gown, that neither Charles, his mother, or Miss Lloyd for that matter, looked particularly happy.
A small frown creased her forehead as she beheld them. Charles, in his best and most loathed cravat, the dowager in all the diamonds from the family vaults, and Miss Lloyd, looking slightly stunned at the rate at which the dowager was speaking.
Priscilla brought her hands together in her lap, her frustration overpowering her will as she started to pick at the skin around her nails. How was it possible that this had occurred? Charles, engaged?
She had laughed when he had first told her, months ago now. It had seemed utterly ridiculous, the idea of an arranged marriage in this day and age. He had not even