Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,74

After clearing his throat again, he spoke distinctly. “What are you doing here?”

Priscilla appeared to be just as surprised to see him. “You – here?”

Before Charles could answer or receive an answer himself, Frances spoke. “You know, Priscilla, our conversation at the Donal wedding gave me much to think about.”

Priscilla’s head turned. “It did?”

Frances nodded. “I realized that simply marrying Charles – Your Grace, I mean – because it had been agreed between our mothers was foolish. Nay, barbaric. This is England! We hardly live in the time of savages, and it is down to us to decide our fates. And so I wrote to Miss Ashbrooke.”

Charles looked at the matchmaker. “You did?”

What on earth was his mother going to say about all of this? He could not imagine that she was going to be pleased that the family fortunes were no longer to be rescued.

“She did,” Miss Ashbrooke nodded. “After speaking with Miss Lloyd, and speaking with Miss Seton, too, though she probably was not aware of my purpose –”

“Morgan and Fenning! Turning up for all that cake and nonsense!” Priscilla looked outraged. “Were you…you were spying on me!”

“Now, spying is such a harsh word,” said Miss Ashbrooke, seating herself beside Miss Lloyd. “’Tis a very unladylike term, and I have no wish to hear you say it again. I was speaking with you and working to ascertain your true feelings. They became clear to me at once.”

Charles watched as Priscilla’s cheeks pinked. “They did?”

Frances smiled. “Why, Miss Seton, after we agreed to a rivalry so you could win His Grace’s heart, it was very obvious to me that there was little point in considering my engagement continuing. It was clear to me, and I will admit that the two of you were meant to be together.”

“Never have I seen a more perfect match,” said Miss Ashbrooke quietly. “Never have I made a better one.”

“You?” Charles burst out, finally able to concentrate enough to speak. “You have – I did not think you…”

His voice trailed away, but thankfully Priscilla was able to continue with far more coherence.

“You have not made a match between us at all,” she said, looking between the two ladies. “Charles and I have acted independently, without input nor instruction from either of you.”

“Of course you have,” Miss Ashbrooke said soothingly. “And an excellent job you have done, I must say, for amateurs.”

Charles almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. His betrothed and the woman who had orchestrated their betrothal, working together to break them apart and push him in the direction of a lady he had not even realized he was in love with?

“’Tis not as sinister as it sounds, I assure you,” said Miss Lloyd. “We decided merely that where we could, we would push you together. It turns out that the two of you needed very little encouragement.”

He swallowed and caught the gaze of Priscilla. She looked as incredulous as he felt.

“Look, just answer me this,” he said finally. “I am aware now of three plots to have me wed. Firstly, Miss Ashbrooke agreed with Mrs. Lloyd that I would marry her daughter. Secondly,” he counted off on his fingers, “Miss Lloyd and Miss Seton agreed that Priscilla would set herself up as a rival to tempt me away from Miss Lloyd. Now you are telling me that Miss Lloyd then agreed with Miss Ashbrooke to encourage me further toward Priscilla. Are there any other secret plans in this room?”

Frances laughed, and Miss Ashbrooke rolled her eyes and said, “Now, really, Your Grace!”

But Charles was not looking at them. He was watching Priscilla. She was holding back. What was it she wanted to say, but could not before Miss Ashbrooke or Miss Lloyd?

Whatever it was, it was time to find out. He reached out a hand, and she took it.

“Come with me,” he said softly.

He would have said more if needed, but he knew Priscilla. She nodded without hearing another word.

Her hand felt warm in his, and his whole being was focused on it so much that he almost forgot to take proper leave.

“Miss Lloyd, Miss Ashbrooke, I remain your humble servant,” he said with a quick bow. Then he and Priscilla were in the corridor, through the door, and standing on the street in the morning air.

Cheeks still flushed, she looked at him through dark eyelashes. She was his, Charles knew that. He knew it was a terrible decision for the family and one that his mother would certainly not agree