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

Miss Lloyd’s cheeks pink.

“You call him Charles, as though it were nothing.”

Priscilla sighed. Already, she was making mistakes. Was it a mistake to even speak to Miss Lloyd if she could not recall the requirements of deference?

“You have to understand, Miss Lloyd,” she said hastily, “we have known each other for…why, almost fifteen years now. When you know each other as children, the formalities of society are difficult to maintain.”

They passed the open door to the card room, from which rowdy laughter poured. The wedding was entering the evening as the wine flowed, and tempers started to fray.

Miss Lloyd had a wistful expression on her face. “I suppose if we do marry then, we will become very well acquainted.”

Something in her tone made Priscilla frown. “I beg your pardon…if you marry?”

Panic was clear now on her companion’s face. “Please, forget I said that – I misspoke.”

Was…was it possible? Priscilla found herself holding her breath at the very thought. Could there be a chance Miss Lloyd wanted to go through with the betrothal as little as Priscilla wanted them to?

It was not possible. Her luck would simply not have handed her this perfect opportunity on a plate…and yet, Miss Lloyd had said ‘if’…

“I know we have only just become acquainted,” she said slowly, carefully weighing each word before she spoke, “but as a friend of Charles – of His Grace, I would hope to be a friend to you. I would like it if you could confide in me – in the strictest of confidence, naturally.”

Had she laid it on too thick? Priscilla could not bear to look at Miss Lloyd as they circled the dancers.

“Remember, I have Charles’s interests at heart,” she said quietly, “but that does not mean I am not a woman and have no solidarity with those of my sex. It is clear you have doubts.”

Miss Lloyd sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. “You must keep it to yourself, for goodness knows, I have not shared with anyone else, I am trusting you to –”

“Please,” Priscilla interrupted. “You can be assured that anything you say to me stays with me.”

Her heart was racing. Was this the moment she discovered everything was not as she thought?

Miss Lloyd sighed again. “I am not…well, enamored with our parents’ plan. It does not take a university education to see that Charles has no interest in me, and…well…”

Her voice, a mere murmur, trailed away.

“You do not want to marry him either.”

She whispered the words, but Miss Lloyd looked imploringly as she said, “Is it obvious?”

Priscilla almost laughed as she blurted, “Not in the slightest! You do surprise me, Miss Lloyd, I had no inkling whatsoever. So…so you would not mind if he chose to marry another?”

Now it was her turn to blush as Miss Lloyd’s eyes widened. “You want him for yourself?”

Panic rose in her heart. “Did I say that? No, I did not mean – when I said –”

“But this is perfect!” Miss Lloyd stopped and turned to Priscilla, her face bright. “Do you not see, the solution is clear! Why does not Charles simply marry you?”

Priscilla laughed. “Charles does not see me that way! I think he barely registers that I am a lady. He… I did not even consider him that way, not until…”

Her voice gave out. The only reason she saw Charles as a man now was because of the woman before her.

But Miss Lloyd was no fool. “Until we became engaged to be married.”

Priscilla nodded. This was fast becoming like some terribly gossipy story one heard about a young lady from another town, one you never actually met.

She dropped into an empty chair, and Miss Lloyd followed suit. Priscilla’s gaze immediately fell on Charles, standing on the other side of the room, conversing with a gentleman she did not recognize.

She sighed. Oh, this was ridiculous. Falling in love with a gentleman you had known for years, and at a wedding? Was there a worse cliché than herself?

“He has never made me do that,” Miss Lloyd said gently. “Sigh across a crowded room. You must really care for him.”

Priscilla swallowed. “I have spent so little time with these emotions, I hardly know what they are,” she admitted. “Not that it matters now, of course. The dowager is set on marriage.”

“But not necessarily set on me,” said Miss Lloyd thoughtfully.

Priscilla glanced at her. There was no love there, barely any affection. There was politeness, a willingness to do what was necessary, but no fondness. The most incredible, wild, and most