Always the Rival (Never the Bride Book 7)

of how long this engagement party was supposed to continue. He had hoped, foolishly it felt now, that by the early evening, he would be settling down in his armchair with a good book and a cigar.
His gaze lifted, looking out across the lawn to the guests pouring from the gate – and his heart stopped.
Near the back, walking on her own, was Priscilla Seton. But this was not a Priscilla Seton that he had ever known before.
Instead of the typical demure, pale gown that she normally wore – when he noticed her apparel at all – she was wearing a gown of bright blue silk which shone in the sunshine. There were…diamonds, it looked like, in her hair and dripping down her front in rows. She had ignored society’s rules and worn no bonnet, the diamonds glittering in the brightness of the day. A bright blue parasol made of the same silk as her gown was leaning elegantly on one shoulder, and she was beaming at the world.
Something jolted in his stomach. Surprise, perhaps? She was…well, outlandishly dressed for a young lady at another’s engagement party. Charles saw heads turning all across the lawn. Gentlemen’s expressions were appreciative, looking Priscilla up and down with widening eyes. The ladies looked, in general, horrified.
Charles’s attention snapped back to Priscilla, who was continuing to promenade along with the guests, her head held high, and smiles for everyone who caught her eye.
He swallowed, unsure whether to laugh or gasp aloud. This was not the Priscilla he knew. At least, the one he had expected. She had always loved the finer things in life, even when they were children, and she had been far more thrilled to come out into society. The chance to dress up and the opportunity to experience the finer things in life.
Childhood was one thing. This was his engagement party, his engagement party to Miss Frances Lloyd. What did Priscilla think she was doing coming here dressed up to the nines?
“Well!” Lady Audley exclaimed, her mouth open. “Is that – that is Priscilla Seton! She will take all the attention away from Miss Lloyd!”
Her spluttering continued in a lower volume as Miss Lloyd’s cheeks pinked.
Charles stood between them, utterly embarrassed for Priscilla’s sake. Had she any idea what a stir she was causing? Did she realize how inappropriate such a display was?
“Do something!” his mother hissed.
Charles found he was smiling. There was only one Priscilla, and she would make such a fuss.
“I will deal with this,” he said gently, squeezing his mother’s arm. “Miss Lloyd.”
He bowed stiffly, striding away from the two ladies who were his future and walking toward the lady who, really, was his past.
“Charles!” Priscilla smiled as he approached, but all Charles could focus on were the turned heads following him as he walked straight past them without speaking.
Without saying a word, he placed a hand on her arm and pulled her away from the arriving group.
“Charles, what are you doing?” Priscilla protested, but thankfully not at the top of her lungs. Charles could remember how loudly she could scream from when she fell from that oak tree. “Let go of me – I came here to picnic, not to be manhandled!”
Only when they were several hundred feet from his guests and standing in the ornamental kitchen gardens, far from prying eyes, did Charles let go of her.
“Well!” She had a mischievous smile. “This is a pretty way to welcome me to your party, Charles.”
Charles could not help it. He laughed wryly. “And this is a pretty way to turn up to my party!”
In the afternoon sunlight pouring down through the apple trees, Priscilla glanced down at her gown and her blue parasol.
She looked innocent as she said, “I have no comprehension what you are referring to, Charles.”
She really was a minx when she wanted to be, thought Charles, attempting to keep his face serious. What did she think she was doing?
“You have never attired yourself in this way before,” he said instead.
Priscilla frowned. “Attired myself? What do you mean?”
“This,” Charles said, gesturing. “All of this…”
His voice trailed away. Now that he was only a few feet from her, he could take her in completely and found, to his surprise, he had never examined her this closely before. Now that he took a proper look, he was for the first time in his life conscious of Priscilla’s…
Well, body. It was not a gentlemanly thought, and he attempted to quash it immediately, but damn it, he was flesh and blood.
And so was she. Her high cheekbones seemed accentuated somehow by the diamonds in her hair, her slender form hugged tightly by the silkiness of her dress, and her breasts were suddenly far more prominent than he had ever noticed.
Charles swallowed. These were most ungentlemanly thoughts, but as they crowded his mind and refused to be silenced, something twitched in his stomach, which he did not understand.
It was not embarrassment, but it had all the fire of that emotion. It was not fear either, but the way his stomach lurched was similar.
Priscilla was smiling, and this was a knowing smile he had never seen on her before. Could she possibly tell – God forbid, did she know what he had been thinking?
Shaking his head as though his ears were full of water, Charles tried to speak. “I-I was…all of this, I mean…you know, th-the…”
Why couldn’t he speak? He had never been tongue-tied with Priscilla – it was Priscilla!
“I was not aware,” she said elegantly, cutting through his thoughts, “that there was a dress code. If I had been informed of such, I can assure you I would have carefully stuck to the requirements to the letter.”
Charles laughed – anything to let the tension out from his lungs. “Damn it, Priscilla, you know you could turn up in a sack for all I care! But my mother – the guests. You must have noticed how they… Today was meant to be about Miss Lloyd!”
Pink dots appeared in Priscilla’s cheeks, the first sign she had given that she understood her