Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,23

and focus instead on the passing mention of a new gentleman’s name.

A gentleman, any gentleman – anyone who may marry her daughter.

The pressure in her head increased as she tried not to sneeze. Could her mother not see the perfect gentleman for her was standing quite literally before her?

“Why, my friend Jacob Beauvale, Lord Westray,” Charles was saying with a bow to his host. “He is a friend of mine, residing in town at present…”

Priscilla stopped paying attention, though her mother stood raptly, following every word. What care did she have about Lord Westray? He was a nice enough fellow, but he was not Charles, and that was the fault of every gentleman.

But she could not spend time moping. She needed to rescue Charles from her mother.

“Yes, I have a cold,” she said, interrupting her mother’s frantic questions about Lord Westray’s family and connection. “And it was nice of you to visit, Charles, but for your own health, I beg you, stay away.”

Stepping around her mother, he waved her concerns away. “Nonsense! I came to see you, and so all I need to do is sit on this settee here,” pointing to the one opposite her, “and you can hack and cough all you want. Mrs. Seton, where are you sitting?”

Mrs. Seton looked a little disgruntled that her questioning about Lord Westray had come to such an abrupt end, but her charming smile returned. “Sadly, I am just about to depart, Your Grace, as I would greatly appreciate your company. I am due at Mrs. Howarth’s for luncheon, but if you are content to sit here with Priscilla, I would be most grateful. She needs someone to keep her company.”

Charles bowed and dropped onto the settee. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Seton – and please do give my regards to Mrs. Howarth. Thinking about it, Priscilla, would your housekeeper, Mrs. Busby, be happy to feed me luncheon?”

Priscilla imagined Mrs. Busby’s face at the idea she would be feeding a duke with twenty minutes’ notice.

“Let me go and speak with her,” said her mother, and she caught Priscilla’s eye with a smile. She had clearly thought the same thing.

Charles stretched out his legs and sighed. “Goodness, I hope so. I missed breakfast, and I slept in so late. I almost decided to sleep at the club, but then nowhere is quite as comfortable as your own bed, is it? What time did you get home?”

Priscilla opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened, and her mother popped her head through.

“Mrs. Busby is delighted to have you for luncheon, Your Grace,” she said with a smile that Priscilla knew meant, Mrs. Busby has been instructed not to panic, and just give His Grace what she was going to give Miss Seton. “Good afternoon, Charles, and I hope we see you again soon. Bring Lord Westray.”

Priscilla sighed as her mother departed. Any other mother would be desperately attempting to hook a duke – a duke! – into the family by marriage.

Not her mother. Mrs. Seton saw Charles as part of the family, just another young scamp running around as they always had. It would not occur to her that Charles could be a match for her daughter.

The door closed behind her, and Charles turned back– and only then did Priscilla realize just what a sight she was.

Embarrassment curled around her heart as she raised the clean handkerchief to her face. This was not exactly the circumstances she wished to spend more time with Charles in!

Red streaming nose, red eyes, and a throat that did not permit her to speak without a scratchy hoarseness. No gentleman in the world would be able to see any beauty in her now!

Charles grinned. “You look just like you did when we attempted camping that one time, and you came down with a cold. Do you remember?”

Despite herself, Priscilla laughed. “The old major lent us a tent he had taken to France, didn’t he? The three of us squeezed in, I remember. Really, we should have asked for two.”

“I do not think he had two,” mused Charles. “It had seemed such a warm day, but by the middle of the night, the dew was up, and I think both you and Mary came down with rotten colds.”

“What a thing for you to remember,” she said ruefully, tucking the clean handkerchief up her sleeve. “Though you seem to have fonder memories of that adventure than I do.”

He grinned, his hair falling over his eyes, making Priscilla’s heart