Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret. Christine Merrill
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way to express her misgivings ‘… any kind of compatibility between us? You are young, of course.’
‘Twenty-six,’ he supplied.
‘That might be an advantage in your favour. Barring accident, I would not have to be worried about widowhood. But I have met many men to whom I would much rather be a widow than a wife.’
His rather forbidding face split in a smile that was as surprising as it was brilliant. Straight white teeth, full lips, which had seemed narrow as he’d frowned at her. And there was a spark in his eye. For a moment, she almost found him attractive.
Then she remembered that he was her father’s choice, not hers.
‘I intend to live to a ripe old age,’ he affirmed. ‘Do you ride?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said, do you ride? Horses,’ he added, as though there could be any other sort of riding.
‘No,’ she said hurriedly, hoping that this was the correct answer to put him off. ‘I am deathly afraid of horses.’ In truth, she quite liked them—probably better than she liked his Grace. But one could not be expected to marry a man based on the contents of his stables.
His smile had turned to thoughtful disappointment. ‘That is a pity. You do a creditable imitation of one, I notice. Although it does not suit you. This Season, I have met several young ladies from whom a snort and a neigh would not have surprised me in the least.’
The joke was not subtle. She almost upbraided him for his cruelty before he added, ‘That did not bother me much, however. Looks are not everything in a woman. And I quite like horses. I breed them, you know. I have rather a lot of land devoted to the business of it. In the country, of course.’
‘Then it is as I said. We would not suit at all. I cannot abide the country.’ Another lie.
‘You would not be there all the time, you know. Much as I do not like to be away during the prime foaling time, now that I am Duke, I will be forced to attend parliament, and all the balls, galas and entertainments that accompany the Season. I suspect you could have your fill of town were you married to me.’
And then retire for the rest of the year to a country estate, far away from the prying eyes of the ton. She imagined acres of soft rolling green dotted with grazing mares and their little ones nudging at them. It was tempting, when he put it that way. ‘As you complained earlier, I rarely attend the events of the Season now that I am here. It is just as likely that I would be forced to socialise when I did not wish and then be forced into a solitude I did not enjoy.’
He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘It sounds rather like you have taken it into your head not to be happy with anything I might offer you.’
She returned the glance. ‘Is it so obvious?’
‘Quite. Since you are prone to such candour, will you tell me the reason for it? If I have given you offence, as I frequently do, it would be useful to know how. I would welcome a critique of my approach, so that I do not repeat the mistake with the next young lady.’
Her lips quirked as she tried to suppress a smile. ‘There. Just now. You should have said, “If I have given offence, I humbly apologise”.’
‘Without knowing why?’
‘Definitely. That is the way to a lady’s heart.’
‘And if I were to begin with this apology, you would feel differently towards me?’
‘No.’
He drew back a moment, as though running through the conversation in his head. ‘Then I shan’t bother.’ He stood in silence next to her, as though plotting his next move.
Why did he not just go away? She had been the one to give offence. And he was the one with all the power and new enough so that he hardly knew how to wield it. Did he not realise that his rank would allow him to take umbrage at the most trivial things, storm off or deny patronage? By now, he should have reported to her father that there was no way he could be leg shackled to such a thoroughly disagreeable chit and that would be that.
It would be a Pyrrhic victory, of course. There would be punishment and frigid silences awaiting her at home. But it would be one step closer to spinsterhood and the forced rustication that she craved.
Instead he seemed stubbornly attached to her. ‘Now, let me see. You do not like riding, or balls, or the city, or the country. What does that leave us? Books?’
‘I am not a great reader.’
‘Shopping?’
‘I have no wish to outfit myself in such a way that I am merely an ornament to my husband.’
‘But you are most charmingly arrayed and, as previously noted, quite pretty.’
‘I do not like flattery either.’ But if she were totally honest with him, she would admit that she quite admired persistence.
‘I suppose pleasant conversation cannot be a favourite of yours, or we would be having one now.’ He gave her another sidelong glance. ‘Clearly, you enjoy arguing. And there we will find our common ground. I can argue all night, if necessary.’
‘To no avail. I will never agree with you, on any point.’
‘If I sought your agreement, then that would be a problem.’
‘That is precisely the problem I have with you,’ she snapped back, growing tired of the banter. ‘No one seeks my agreement. I am to be presented with a fait accompli and expected to go meekly along with it, for the sake of family connections and political benefit.’
‘Aha.’ He was looking at her closely now. ‘You are trying to avoid a favourable match because it has been presented by your father. You have someone else in mind, then? Someone not quite so rich? Or without a title?’
‘Do not flatter yourself to think that I love another,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps I simply do not want you.’
‘But that is not true either. You hardly know me. But you have formed an opinion on the Duke of Reighland, have you not? Your answer to him is a resounding no.’
‘You are he.’
‘Not until recently,’ he informed her. ‘But I am quite aware of the pressure to marry according to one’s station, at the expense of one’s wishes. That is the purpose of this interview and several others I have organised recently.’
She smiled in relief, sure that if he had spoken to any other girl in London, it would cement his poor opinion of her.
He smiled back and once again she was surprised at the blinding whiteness of it. ‘I must inform you that you have passed with flying colours. I look forward to calling on you, at your home, and on speaking to your father about a further acquaintance.’ And with that the dance was over and he was escorting her, in stunned silence, back to her stepmother.
He liked her.
Even now, thinking of that rude whinny, he could feel his lips starting to twitch. He carefully suppressed the emotion. It was far easier to deal with people if they suspected that ‘Reighland’ was hovering on the edge of displeasure. They jumped to attention, in a vain attempt to keep the impossible man happy and not be the one upon whom the impending storm would break.
If he had been amiable, or, worse yet, laughed in their faces at their ridiculous behaviour towards him and offered friendship, it might be possible to dismiss him, title and all, as the unworthy upstart he sometimes felt he was. They would remember that he was the same lad they teased unmercifully at school. Robert Magson, the bear with no teeth. Once they had realised he would not fight back, it had been declared great fun to bait him. The torment had not stopped until he had gained his majority and retired to the country estate.
Now, those same men and their wives feared him, because they feared the title. If they realised that Reighland was just a thin veil over his old