Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,43
needed was for Hodges or Bridges to find him in here. There would be far more questions than he could answer.
Hodges may have guessed, of course. He was hardly a fool; no man could be and run a household as complex as Orrinspire Park and their other homes.
Nonetheless, the last thing he needed to do was confirm the butler’s suspicion. His reputation was about to be ruined, his name notorious as someone who broke young ladies’ hearts and longstanding engagements.
The last thing he needed to do was drag Priscilla’s reputation into the mire.
It took but a few moments to pull on his breeches and collect up his other clothes, and as Charles opened the door to the corridor, he peeked his head out.
There was no one there. Heaving a sigh of relief, he crept out and tiptoed along the passageway to his own bedchamber. He closed the door behind him and sighed. Now all he had to do was make the bed look slept in, and –
“Ah, there you are, Your Grace.”
Charles almost dropped the pile of clothes. “Bridges!”
The valet must have been in his dressing room, and now he stood by the tall looking glass, holding three different cravats before him.
“I thought I had missed you,” Bridges said smoothly. “Especially with you having made your own bed, but I see you were just momentarily absent.”
Charles swallowed. He had underestimated his valet, it seemed. It was not the butler he needed to worry about.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I was momentarily absent, just wandering to…to come back.” Damn and blast! What foolishness – all he needed to do was keep his mouth shut and nod, but he had to speak! “And now I am ready to be dressed,” he said, a little more firmly. “What shirt do you have for me today?”
“A new one,” the valet said smartly. “I ordered it on your account from John Weston, tailor to the Regent, while we were in town, with the certain knowledge you would approve. See how the stitching…”
Charles allowed Bridges to prattle on about the clever way the stitches in the hem were hidden, placing his clothes from yesterday on the bed in a heap.
The last time he had put on a shirt, he had not made love to Priscilla. Was that why everything seemed so different now? Why there seemed to be a sparkle to the air?
The world was changed, and he was the only one who had noticed. Well, maybe Priscilla had. He would have to ask her when he next saw her.
Charles swallowed. The next time he saw her, he needed to have broken off his engagement with Miss Lloyd. It would be uncomfortable for both of them. The fault was his, for acquiescing to the damned thing in the first place.
But breaking off his engagement had to start somewhere, and that somewhere was going to be painful: a difficult conversation with his mother.
“ – and then it is done,” said Bridges, stepping back to view his work. “Yes, I think that cravat definitely with that waistcoat. Thank you, Your Grace. You are now ready.”
Charles had been so lost in his thoughts that he had barely noticed that he had been dressed. His valet was now holding out his jacket with an air of patience.
“Whenever you are ready, Your Grace.”
Charles smiled briefly and allowed the man to complete the outfit. “Thank you, Bridges. Another triumph, I must say. The shirt, I mean.”
Bridges beamed. “I knew you would be pleased, Your Grace. Shall I put in an order for another two?”
“No,” Charles replied firmly. The last thing he wanted was a reputation as a dandy. “Not for now. Thank you, Bridges.”
His valet bowed, and Charles turned to leave the room, taking a deep breath. Well, the conversation must occur. No time like today. His mother would be back after luncheon, giving him a few hours to consider his exact wording. This had to be right. He would not have a second chance to have this conversation.
Which was why, as he entered the breakfast room, he almost swore aloud.
“Chri – crivvens, Mama! I was not expecting you until later!”
The dowager duchess dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and smiled. “Evidently. Good morning, Charles.”
Charles almost bit his tongue. What in God’s name was she doing here?
“Good morning, Mama,” he said, suitably chastised. He sat opposite his mother at the breakfast table before continuing, “I thought you were not returning from town until after luncheon.”