Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
D ear P,
Fear.
You may not recognize it. You may not understand it. You may not even realize it.
Yet this is what drives you.
Fear.
Through these letters, I have learned much about you, more than I know of some of my closest allies. Without the hindrances, judgments and misconceptions of physical personas, we “read” each other’s true personalities. It is so clear.
What drives you is fear.
Do not let it triumph. Strength is not the absence of fear but the willingness to overcome it. You have talked about giving up what you truly want.
Just imagine if you didn’t have to.
Yours,
Edmund
“So what do you think of Edmund?”
An image of Edmund flashed in Priscilla’s mind, the challenge, desire, emotion as he bent down to brush his lips against hers. With a shallow inhale, she shook her head. “I do not think of him.”
Only that wasn’t true. She thought of him when she was awake. And sleeping. And breathing.
“Truly?” Emma asked with a grin. “Because that’s not how you were acting.”
Priscilla looked past Emma and Hannah to the rest of the picnickers. They had gone for a small stroll, but kept their voices low for the short distance. “I was just trying to be cordial. What about you two? You act… differently around Crawford and Peyton.”
Hannah’s expression turned guarded, and Emma blushed.
Interesting. “Is there something I should know?”
“I’m afraid not.” Emma sighed, the tinge of regret tinting her eyes.
Priscilla put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Are you interested in Peyton?”
“Half the ladies in the ton are interested in Peyton.”
True. Both men were as eligible as Edmund. “You are extremely eligible yourself, Emma. If you are interested in a match, you should pursue it.”
Emma’s cheeks darkened. “You’re forgetting one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t manage a coherent word in front of him.”
Priscilla chuckled. “Emma, you are smart, sweet and altogether wonderful. Never forget that.”
Emma turned pink and looked down. “It’s too bad,” she said softly. “He really is an interesting man.” She turned to Hannah. “What about you? Crawford doesn’t make you speechless.”
Hannah snorted. “Hardly. I can think of many, many words to say to him.”
“Are they words a lady should know?”
Hannah grinned. “Not even close.”
They all laughed. “Why?” Priscilla asked. “He seems nice enough.”
“He’s an overbearing tyrant.”
It was what Priscilla called Edmund, only the moniker wasn’t truly accurate, neither for Edmund nor Crawford. They were both strong, powerful lords accustomed to leading, yet they also had a reputation for being upstanding gentlemen. “He certainly has a favorable view of you. Are you sure there isn’t something there?”
“Only a sour stomach.” Hannah folded her arms across her chest, even as her expression turned mischievous. “Can I borrow one of your vases?”
“Absolutely not!” Priscilla fought to keep her voice stern. “There will be no clobbering. Well, unless I’m the one doing it.”
“So, back to you, Priscilla.” Emma grinned. “Tell us again why you and Bradenton wouldn’t suit.”
“I’m looking for a man who talks to rocks.”
“Oh come on.” Emma laughed. “I know you don’t want someone who talks to rocks, or plants or… what does the other one talk to?”
“Horses.”
“Ah, yes.”
“I don’t think she should pursue him.” Hannah’s expression turned serious. “He threatens everything.”
“We don’t know that.” Emma pressed closer. “Who knows? He may even help us.”
Emma and Hannah exchanged a look. For not the first time, Priscilla wondered if they knew he was her mysterious colleague. She should just tell them, yet for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to voice the words. He was her secret.
“It’s not just that.” She stood taller. “There are other reasons why I can’t be with Edmund.”
Emma gave her a look. “Such as?”
“He takes control of every situation, charms everyone and is too lickable.”
Oh. My Goodness. Did she actually call him lickable?
Emma gasped. “What did you say?”
“Can we just forget I said that?”
“Never.”
Emma looked at her earnestly. “If you can’t be honest with us, at least be honest with yourself. We can tell you like him.”
“No, you can’t.”
They gave her identical pointed looks.
“I’ll admit I like him. But like a friend. Or a pet bunny.”
“A pet bunny?” Now even Hannah laughed. “What does that mean?”
“Fine, like a pet lion.”
“Now he’s a lion?” Emma shook her head. “You really are confused.”
“Well, how can I not be? The man is as gorgeous as a Greek god and as lickable as chocolate ice cream.” Priscilla put her head in her hands. “There, I admit it. Are you happy?”
Could things get worse?
“What is lickable?” A deep voice she knew so well boomed through the air.
Ye, they could get worse.
Much, much, worse.
She peeked up and squinted at Edmund, leading his friends from behind a too close bush. His expression was neutral, yet his eyes lit with challenge… and satisfaction.
Betraying nothing, Peyton offered his arm to Emma. “It’s almost time to leave. May I escort you?”
Emma blushed as she accepted his arm.
“And I will take you.” With the definitive statement, Crawford took Hannah’s arm and placed it on his sleeve.
Hannah scowled, but allowed him to lead her away.
Which left Priscilla and Edmund alone.
Plastering a smile on her face, Priscilla took a springy step back towards the others. “Shall we return?”
“Wait.”
She froze, swallowed. “Yes?”
“I have some questions.”
She looked at him carefully. “Yes?”
“You said you wanted to lick something.”
Oh. My. Blazes.
He had heard. There was simply, positively no other explanation.
“You misheard me. I said I wanted to kick something.”
The sides of his lips curled up. “You want to kick something?”
“Very much.”
“I also heard you discussing mythology, particularly, Greek gods.”
“I don’t really care for Greek gods.” She edged back. “Really, I find they are all average. Below average even.”
His lips twitched. “Greek gods are below average?”
“Absolutely, Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“What about bunny rabbits?”
“What about them?”
“Do you like them?”
“They are a little too soft, I think. But at least they are easy to lead. You simply pick them up and direct them.”
He stepped closer. “Can you now?”
She nodded. Stepped back again.
“What about lions? They are far more powerful.”
“Yet equally as malleable. Just give them fresh meat, and they’ll eat out of your hands like little kitties.”
Bradenton smiled like the predator with which she had compared him. “Or he could decide you are the fresh meat he desires.”
Her heart stumbled. She forced herself to stand tall. “Is there anything else?”
“One last thing. How do you like ice cream?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even try. Instead she spun on the ball of her foot and stomped back to the others, even as his gaze burned into her back. Perfect. Now he knew how she regarded him, specifically that he looked like a Greek god and was as lickable as ice cream.
No doubt he would never forget.
“He is the greatest man I have ever met.”
If only she didn’t agree.
“He works tirelessly to help those in need.”
With her hidden at his side.
“He may not show it, but he cares greatly for people.”
That makes him the most dangerous of all.
“Of course don’t tell him I said all that. It’ll make his head as large as a hot air balloon.” Sophia laughed gaily, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil churning inside Priscilla.
She looked across to the other carriage, where Edmund sat with the men. As if he could sense her perusal, he turned to her, and their gazes held in unspoken communication. She sucked in a breath of suddenly heavy air. What would it be like to have such a powerful man actually care for her? To be his? Just about every eligible lady in the ton wished it.
She was the only one who couldn’t have him.
She had to remind herself why not: he would watch her every move, stop her investigations, control everything . “Isn’t it a challenge?”
Sophia cocked her head to the side. “A challenge?”
“Having Edmund for a brother.” She held up her hand when the girl opened her mouth in clear protest. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just he…” She lowered her voice. “He takes control.”
Sophia visibly relaxed. By the way she had come to his defense, she truly loved her brother. “Edmund is one of the most influential lords in the ton. He commands a great deal of power, and he expects others to follow. I won’t deny the obvious.”
Priscilla bit her lip.
“However–” Sophia held up a finger. “He is also smart, reasonable and above all, kind. He is not so rigid to demand our compliance without care to our happiness. He is willing to compromise. For instance, he is allowing me to choose my own match. The same cannot be said of many families of the ton .”
It was true. Parents and suitors often came together to make the choice, leaving the bride without a voice.
“He also allowed you an extra year before coming out,” Priscilla noted.
“Actually–” Sophia smiled. “That was his idea.”
Priscilla looked at her in surprise. Many fathers and guardians wanted their charges to be settled as soon as possible. “Really?”
Sophia nodded. “Said he wouldn’t mind having me around another year. He spoke casually, but I could sense emotions he wouldn’t show. He has always made me feel loved.”
The wall guarding Priscilla’s heart cracked just a little.
“Does he watch out for me?” Sophia asked rhetorically. “Undoubtedly. I do not have free rein, and he does not allow me to partake in dangerous activities. No matter how fun they may be.”
Priscilla smiled at the girl’s rueful expression.
“But is it worthwhile? Oh yes. He has never wavered in his devotion. And I love him.” Sophia gazed at her brother, her gaze filled with adoration. “He’s the best brother ever.”
The wall all but crumbled. Edmund may be one of the most powerful men in the ton , yet he gave his sister unconditional love.
“He is pursuing you.”
Priscilla straightened. By now everyone knew of his pursuit, since they danced twice – or more – at every event. Wagers had progressed from when they would get married to what they would name their first child. “He is considering many for his duchess,” she said carefully.
Sophia shook her head. “Perhaps once, but not anymore. Although that doesn’t stop them from trying. Just last night, three ladies tried to convince him to take private walks so they would be ‘discovered’ by their families.”
An unexpected surge of anger hit. If one of them had been successful…
“Don’t worry.” Sophia put a hand on her arm. “Edmund is far too wise to succumb to such plots. He would never let himself be trapped into marriage.”
Sophia nodded, even as her mind reeled. He had put himself in that position, multiple times.
With her.
Sophia gazed at her with the same sharp intelligence as her brother. “Perhaps I should say he would never be forced into that position.”
“Of course not,” Priscilla replied quickly.
“I have a question for you.”
She forced a breezy smile. “Yes?”
“How do you feel about my brother?”
Nameless emotions tumbled within her, powerful, conflicting, overwhelming. She fought against them, focusing on her life’s purpose. Yet Edmund’s life purpose mirrored her own: fighting for those without a voice, improving deplorable working conditions, championing the poor. His work gave power to her voice, communicated through ink and paper. He was so kind, so giving, matching her in so many ways. If only…
“I see,” Sophia said. She hadn’t answered the younger girl, yet her eyes shone with satisfaction.
“Oh no!” Priscilla shook her head rapidly. “It’s not what you think. I think of Edmu– Bradenton solely as a friend. As I’ve explained, we wouldn’t suit.”
“You do not truly believe that, do you?” The satisfaction in Sophia’s gaze turned to compassion. “Edmund will be a brilliant husband.”
No doubt. “I do not wish to surrender my freedom.”
“None of us do,” Sophia commiserated, her tone far wiser than her years. “Yet it will happen with any man you marry. Unless your family will allow you to not make a match?”
Lips pursed, Priscilla shook her head. She glanced again at Edmund.
“He never loses.”
“What?”
“Edmund. When he goes after something…” Sophia’s voice trailed off, the rest unspoken. Yet the ending was as clear as the world surrounding them. What he chased, he got.
Now he was chasing her.
“No one attains everything they want.”
“Edmund does.”
Priscilla sucked in a breath. His sister was not exaggerating. In all the instances she could recall, he had always emerged victorious.
Would he emerge victorious now?
And…
Did she want him to?
“You’re being summoned.”
Priscilla started as a young girl with long, flowing hair waved at them from the window of a nearby building. The carriages slowed to a stop in front of a neat two-story bookshop with white and green trim.
“My lady, my lady!” The girl smiled widely, revealing two missing front teeth. “Miss Henrietta was just saying your book came in and–”
“Susie, hush!” A middle-aged, harried-looking woman burst out of the building. “My apologies, my lady. We didn’t mean to interrupt your ride. Your book arrived, but you can get it any time.”
“I do not mind stopping.” Edmund called from his carriage, his voice easily booming across the distance. “We could spend a few minutes perusing the books.”
“That would be fine–” Priscilla stopped. It would be fine, except for the book she ordered:
The Vital Campaign for Social Causes.
“Actually, I can come back later. I’m sure everyone wants to get home and–”
“Nonsense,” her mother broke in, lifting herself off the seat. “I wouldn’t mind browsing the bookshop for a while. An excellent idea, Bradenton. Is everyone agreeable?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Perfect, let’s go.”
And just like that, the decision was made. Priscilla parted her lips as everyone started exiting the vehicles. After disembarking from his own carriage, Bradenton came to hers and extended his arm. She gritted her teeth, but took it, then let go as soon as she hit the street. She raced forward. She had to attain – and hide – the book before he saw it.
She hurried into the spacious shop. The airy space smelled of paper and fresh ink, emanating from thousands of tomes filling bookcases two stories tall. Normally she spent hours in the shop, perusing volumes on any and every subject, yet now she swiftly threaded her way to the back. And Bradenton?
He was right behind her.
How was she going to lose him? She looked around, noticed a certain lord disappear behind a bookshelf.
It would be wrong.
So very, very wrong.
Yet she was desperate. She spun around. “Your Grace, I just saw a friend of yours. He needs assistance.”
“Who?
“The name escapes me, but he is a good friend.”
He cocked his head to the side. “How did you know he needed help?”
“It was obvious. You should hurry.” She put a hand on his back, leading him away. “I think he’s unwell. You should make sure he is all right.”
The look in his eyes said he didn’t believe her, but he continued. “I shall return in a minute.”
Unlikely. By the time he extricated himself from the lord, hopefully she would have retrieved and hidden the book. Because when he discovered who that “friend” was, things would get rocky .
What was she up to?
It had to be important, and likely related to her secret. Why else would she send him to Lord Castleberry?
The rock-loving earl.
After enduring an eternity-long diatribe on rock formations, he finally managed to get away by explaining he had to research towers. Now he strode to Priscilla. She was standing at the desk, bobbing up and down, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Why was she so nervous?
“I’m sorry, my lady. I know I put it right here.” The shopkeeper frowned severely, as she sifted through overfilling piles of books. “I just don’t kno– Oh, here it is!” With a triumphant smile, the clerk held up a large volume.
Edmund squinted, but was too far to read the title on the big black book. He strode quicker.
“Thank you!” Priscilla grabbed the book at the same time she saw him, and a look of utter panic entered her eyes. She dashed to the nearest bookcase and started peeling books off the shelf.
What in blazes?
He finally made it to her as she juggled the books in her arms. “Priscilla?”
She looked up as if shocked to see him. “Oh, hello! I was just picking out some books. But I really don’t need so many.” She started putting the books back, one by one, without even looking at the titles. Finally, only one remained in her hands.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Care to explain?”
“I got the book I ordered.”
He looked down and froze.
She looked down and gasped.
They read it together, “A Complete, Comprehensive and Detailed Examination of Men’s Underclothes (with Illustrations)”
She looked back up.
Looked back down.
Parted her lips.
“Well, I, um, yes…”
“Can you explain?”
“Not really.”
“Is there a reason you ordered a book on men’s…” He cleared his throat. “Clothing.”
“Well, yes, of course there is.” She stretched her face into a smile as fake as a paste diamond. “Obviously.”
“Are you trying to think of one right now?”
“Quite.”
Amusement, confusion and suspicion tangled. Unless – He looked towards the volumes on the shelf. Could she have possibly switched books?
“It’s for you!”
He turned back to her. “I’m sorry?”
She blushed. “The book, it’s for you. I bought it for you, as a gift.”
He just stared.
“Well, I could get you something else instead, since you clearly don’t appreciate it.” She returned the book to the shelf. “Let’s see what would be good for you.”
Then, she put her hand on his back and led him away.
He let her have her way, mainly because the small palm heating his back simply felt too good. Yet it was obvious she was trying to distract him. He would discover the truth.
She perused the titles, stopped, and smiled. “Now here is a good book for you.” She handed him the thin volume.
Vases Through the Years.
“I think not.”
She picked up another. “How about this one?”
A Complete History of Rocks.
“Not if it was the only remaining written work in existence.” He firmly replaced the book on the shelf. “However, that does remind me. That good friend you sent me to–”
“Here’s another!” She grabbed a thick brown book and thrust it at him.
He immediately returned Horses are People, Too back to the shelf.
“Perhaps I can find one.” He perused the topics. “Ah, yes, how about this?”
The Winning Strategies of the Lion . She stiffened. “There are tricks to best such a predator.”
“You are mistaken.” He curved his lips into a smile. “Perhaps I should look for a book on why Priscilla Livingston should stop keeping secrets from the Duke of Bradenton.”
She sniffed. “No such book exists.”
“Perhaps not. Why don’t we go back to the books by the desk? I thought I saw something interesting–”
As he took a step, she looked positively panicked. She glanced around, fluttering her eyelids up and down. “Your Grace, I… I–”
“I say, Priscilla, do you have something in your eye?”
She put her hands on her hips, hissed, “I was about to swoon!”
He held in the laugh. What could be so pressing she was actually pretending to faint? “We should definitely head to the carriage, then. The quickest way is right past the desk.”
“I’m sure it’s not!”
Before he could move, the proprietress came from behind a bookcase. “Priscilla, I’m so glad you’re still here! I found your book on the shelf. You must have accidentally returned it with the others. Here you go.” She handed the book over.
Priscilla tried to cover the title, but she wasn’t quick enough. It had nothing to do with any sort of men’s underclothes.
It was a book on social action.
Her expression remained hooded, shuttered. “I will give it to my father instead.”
He simply nodded, not revealing he had seen it. That she would order a book on social action was unusual, yet not completely unexpected. The steps she’d taken to hide it were far more telling.
What on earth was Priscilla Livingston hiding?
He had to do something to make her less wary of him, to trust him even. He thought back to the modiste. Hopefully securing the dress she so clearly loved would aid in his endeavor. One way or another, he would find his way into Priscilla’s confidence.
The reports had not been exaggerated.
Lady Drummond truly was a dragon.
As Edmund walked into a formal drawing room decorated in shades of deep chocolate and black, the older lady made no attempt to approach, greet or even acknowledge him. Instead she stood in the middle of the room, her grey hair pulled ruthlessly back, her voluminous black frock covering her from neck to floor. She wore a scowl as severe as the dress, and a shrewd look that skewered.
The servant bowed and left.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Bradenton walked to the lady, halting at a respectable distance. “You look well, as always.”
“You know flattery doesn’t work with me, Bradenton,” Lady Drummond snapped. “What do you want?”
Edmund hid a smile, not unpleased. It was preferable to deal in a forthright manner instead of negotiating by the typical rules of society. “We recently visited Madame Fleur. She showed us the dress you purchased for your granddaughter, a unique ivory creation.”
Lady Drummond’s eyes narrowed, yet she didn’t respond.
Edmund continued, “I am very much interested in purchasing the gown for a friend, only it cannot be recreated. Madame Fleur mentioned a different color would suit your granddaughter better. I was wondering if you would consider allowing us to buy the dress. Of course, I would personally commission a new dress that is just as brilliant for your granddaughter.”
The eyes narrowed more, displeasure sparking off of them. “Madame Fleur should learn to keep her mouth shut. I will not waste your time, Bradenton. The answer is no.”
He had expected no different. He also knew she expected him to argue. “Tell me, Lady Drummond, what do you truly want?”
She pursed her lips into a tight slash. “I want the dress I ordered.”
“Yes, but what do you hope to accomplish with it?” He held his hands out. “It is for Lady Clara’s debut next week, correct?”
She gave a curt nod.
“So I assume you truly wish for a successful launch, correct?”
“Get to the point, young man.”
He had not been called young man since his own grandmother had done so a decade ago, but he continued, “This dress will not aid Clara in a successful coming out. If anything, it will provide an obstacle. Madame Fleur said a gown could be made in a very pale color, which would complement your granddaughter’s beauty.”
Lady Drummond’s gaze softened ever-so-softly.
“What you really want is for your granddaughter to be a success. If you allow me to help, I could do far more than an unflattering dress could.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Don’t talk in circles, Bradenton. What exactly are you offering?”
“How fares the guest list for the ball?”
“Sufficient.” Yet Lady’s Drummond’s frown told a different tale. With so many competing events this time of season, it was difficult to attract a crowd, or at least the right kind of crowd. Many people feared Lady Drummond and stayed away.
“I saw you were kind enough to invite me. I have not yet responded.” Of course he’d planned to reply with a negative. In his position, every night brought vast choices, and lately he chose based solely on Priscilla.
Lady Drummond cocked her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. “You would attend the ball?”
Clearly, she knew the benefit his presence would bring. He rarely attended smaller balls, and the ton would most definitely notice.
“Your granddaughter deserves the best start possible, don’t you think?”
For just a moment, something akin to a smile passed by the older woman’s lips, but it was gone in an instant. “You know, young man, you remind me of my–”
“Grandmother!”
They both turned as something large, bulky and furious thundered into the room. Bradenton straightened as a tall and muscular man planted himself next to the older woman. He wore a gentleman’s suit, his black hair cut in a gentleman’s style, but there was something wild about him. He turned his dark gaze on Edmund.
“Why are you bothering my grandmother?” he demanded, a slight Scottish burr tinting his voice.
Bradenton had met most of Drummond’s grandchildren, but he had never met this man, if that was who he is. “I’m not bothering anyone,” he replied calmly. “I simply came to discuss a business interaction.”
The man folded his arms across his chest. “She is not interested in any business with you, Bradenton.”
Edmund narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid I do not recall us meeting.”
“I’m Ken–“ The man stopped, shook his head. “I’m Foxworth.”
“My grandson recently inherited a dukedom.” Lady Drummond turned to him. “I appreciate your help, but it’s not necessary. I was just about to come to an agreement with Bradenton.”
Foxworth’s gaze softened on his grandmother, but it hardened when he turned back to Bradenton. “You will not make an agreement with this man.” He stepped forward.
A lesser man might have stepped back, but Edmund stayed where he was. Foxworth might be large and muscled, but so was he, and well-skilled in the fighting arts. He never imagined needing them in Lady Drummond’s drawing room, but he would defend himself if necessary.
Yet more than anything he was confused. The man obviously had some sort of hidden argument with him.
“You need to leave now,” Foxworth growled.
“Get away from my brother!”
They all turned.
Lady Drummond lifted her hands. “Bloody Hell.”
Edmund gaped as Sophia raced into the room and planted herself between him and Foxworth. She stood more than a foot shorter than both of them, but she pointed a finger at Foxworth and poked him in the chest.
Literally poked him in the chest.
“I will not allow you to hurt my brother!”
“What is the meaning of this?” Foxworth roared. He reached for Sophia.
Edmund saw red.
As Foxworth took a firm grip of Sophia’s arm, Edmund prepared to lunge. His muscles were flexed and ready, yet he couldn’t attack with Sophia in the way. Only the new duke simply moved her out from between the two of them and glared down at her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Foxworth growled. “Do you have any idea of the danger you put yourself in? You can’t put yourself between two men!”
The sharpest edge of Edmund’s anger fled. Foxworth hadn’t been trying to hurt Sophia. He’d been trying to rescue her.
It would save him a pummeling.
Sophia glared at Foxworth. “I had to protect my brother.”
Foxworth looked at her incredulously. “Lass, your brother doesn’t need you to save him. You will never do something like that again!”
Sophia put her finger out, stepped forward.
Edmund strode in front of her. “Foxworth is right. What were you thinking, stepping between us? You could have gotten hurt.”
“Exactly.” Foxworth opened and closed his fists. “You need to watch your sister better, Bradenton. She’s going to get hurt fighting your battles.”
“She does not fight my battles,” Edmund growled. He looked down at his sister. “Never again, Sophia.”
She was squirming and pink and extremely mad. “I can’t believe I followed you here to help. And just as I was telling Priscilla you were not a controlling brute!”
“Listen to your brother, lass.” Foxworth seemed calmer, even as he gazed at Sophia sternly. “I would never allow my sister to imperil herself.”
“Kenneth!”
Lady Drummond put a hand on her forehead. “Of all the–”
They all turned as a young waiflike woman ran into the room. She launched herself at Foxworth. “You’ve arrived. I’ve been waiting all week! Well, all month, really, since I left, and I… I am just glad you are here.”
Edmund watched in amazement as the man transformed, every feature softening as he gazed at the blond-haired, blue- eyed beauty. He held her gently in his arms. “It is wonderful to see you again, lass.”
Sophia softened as well. He looked down to see her staring, not at the newcomer, but at Foxworth, her lips parted and her gaze slightly unfocused.
He stiffened. “Sophia, if I move aside, will you promise not to attack the man who is three times your size?”
She nodded distractedly.
Edmund grimaced. If he could help it, this was the last time Sophia would be in close quarters with the untamed duke.
“If I had known there would be a party, I would have served tea and crumpets,” Lady Drummond quipped, expertly regaining control of the meeting. “But as I am fearful of another dozen guests should I hesitate, I will take care of this matter now.” She turned to her granddaughter. “Clara, am I correct you did not like the dress I commissioned from Madame Fleur?”
“It was a beautiful dress…” The girl hesitated.
“But you did not care for it.”
Clara grimaced. “Not for me. It was gorgeous on the form, but ivory doesn’t suit me. I have always preferred colors.” She held out her hand. “I have seen many other debutantes in colors.”
“That’s true,” Sophia said. “I’m planning to wear a color for my coming out next year.”
Foxworth’s gaze sharpened.
Edmund glared and pulled Sophia a little closer.
“And I assume you have someone whom the dress flatters more.” Bemusement flashed in the older lady’s eyes. “Lady Priscilla, I assume?”
Edmund inclined his head. “Her complexion is more suitable for the gown.”
Lady Drummond pursed her lips, turned back to her granddaughter. “You would prefer I commission a dress in a different color?”
“Oh yes!” Sophia brightened. She clapped her hands together. “That would be wonderful!”
Lady Drummond sighed. “Then I will accept your offer, Bradenton.” She held up her hand when Foxworth started to protest, giving him a stern look. He grimaced but said nothing.
Lady Drummond turned back to Edmund. “You will deal with Madame Fleur, and ask that she make the most flattering – and suitable – gown for my granddaughter in time for her ball. And I do believe your response to the event was an affirmative?”
Bradenton hid his smile. The older woman was as crafty as the most seasoned military leader. “Of course.”
Satisfaction reached the older woman’s eyes. “Perfect. Then I’m afraid I must adjourn this impromptu party. I would like to spend some time with my grandson, who has only just arrived from Scotland.”
Bradenton inclined his head, and took a firm grip of Sophia’s hand. “Of course, my lady. And thank you. I will instruct Madame Fleur to refund your accounts.”
Lady Drummond waved a black gloved hand. “Too much accounting. Just put the money towards one of your causes.”
Edmund stopped. Perhaps Lady Drummond was not what society believed. “Of course, my lady.” He bowed.
He led his sister out into the brightly shining sun, the perfect complement to his day’s success. Despite the complications with his sister, his spirits were buoyed. He had secured the dress for Priscilla and only had to attend Clara’s launch in return. In truth, he didn’t mind helping the young debutante, especially in light of her grandmother’s kindness. The situation with Foxworth perplexed him, especially since he could not remember meeting the man, and he would have to be careful. He would definitely keep his sister away from the unpredictable Scotsman.
For now, he would retrieve the dress and bring it to Priscilla. Or perhaps…
This could be an opportunity.
There was something strange about Priscilla’s sewing guild. If her excuse for not having his sister join was genuine, she would have changed her mind once she saw how mature Sophia was – her decision to come between him and wild men notwithstanding. With her refusal, his suspicions had grown regarding the group and its true purpose.
The dress provided the perfect excuse to arrive unannounced. He could arrive just as the guild ended, talk to some of the ladies, ask some questions.
And just perhaps solve the mystery that was Priscilla Livingston.
“Our efforts for the Berkshire Orphanage have been a complete success. Thanks to you, the children will have ample food for the next month.”
Priscilla smiled at the extended clapping from the crowd, the largest she had ever hosted. She had carefully selected and invited several new members, and they were as enthusiastic about the cause as the seasoned participants. She had also extended their mission to include more than indirect actions. In addition to influencing votes, they now volunteered, donated and made changes in smaller measures.
“For several reasons–” Or one infuriating man. “I have been unable to conduct my own investigations. Fortunately, I received another anonymous letter from my Greatest Admirer . It held a great deal of useful information, which I have passed along to my colleague.”
The clapping sounded again.
“It’s almost time to conclude today’s meeting. Does anyone have any questions?”
Several hands shot up. Priscilla pointed to a lady in the back. “Yes?”
“Are you betrothed to Bradenton yet?”
Priscilla shook her head. Most in the ton thought it only a matter of time before an announcement was made. Including, most disconcertingly, Edmund.
“We’ve already discussed this. I am not getting engaged to Bradenton.” She pointed to another lady. “Yes?”
“What does it feel like to be courted by Bradenton?”
Wonderful. Delightful. Enchanting.
“Quite boring, I assure you. Does anyone have a question that does not involve Bradenton?” She pointed at another hand. “Yes?”
“What are Bradenton’s favorite things?”
A headache threatened. She didn’t blame the ladies for being curious about the duke. He was a hero to them, a handsome, powerful man who championed the causes they cherished. In a world of elites, he was royalty.
“He likes rocks and vases. Now if there are no other questions–”
The door to the room opened. Everyone grabbed their sewing.
The duchess glanced around the room, her lips curving into a smile. “Priscilla, may I talk to you for a moment?”
“Of course.” She nodded at the ladies. “That’s all for today. Everyone remember to focus on your–” She cast a sideways glance at her mother. “Embroidery.”
The ladies filed out, Emma and Hannah taking one last look before they left. Priscilla smoothed down her dress. “How can I help you, Mother?”
“I shall like to discuss Bradenton.”
Priscilla forced her lips into a smile. “Yes?”
“Have you accepted his suit?”
Her breath hitched. “Has he–”
“No.”
Priscilla breathed out. If – when – Bradenton asked, she may not have the power to stop what he started. “There is no reason to believe he will do so.”
Her mother looked at her incredulously. “There is every reason to believe he will offer. His interest is obvious. He is only giving you time.”
Was it true? Did Edmund consider their match inevitable, only granting her time to become accustomed to her surrender?
“What if I do not wish to marry him?”
It was not the question she intended to ask, yet it was the answer she needed. Likely her mother would simply say it was not her decision.
Yet instead the duchess sighed softly. “Do you truly wish not to marry him?”
Priscilla opened her mouth, yet the words caught in her throat. She parted her lips.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t want to marry Edmund.
Did she?
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t marry him, not if she wanted to continue her all important work. “I can’t.”
“I see.” The duchess studied her. “Your well-being matters a great deal to me. I would not push for the match, duke or not, if I did not believe he would bring you happiness.” She sighed. “You suit incredibly well. Why do you resist what is clearly so right?”
Priscilla swallowed. “I have my reasons…”
“You are scared.”
“Of course not!”
“I understand.” Her mother gave a small smile. “Believe it or not, I was once in your position.”
Impossible. Her mother loved being a duchess.
“I can see you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Do not misunderstand, I am happy in my role, and, as I shared earlier, I love your father.”
Since the elucidation, Priscilla had noticed the love her mother claimed. It was obvious by the way her parents smiled at each other, the little touches when they thought no one was watching.
If she married one of the suitors on her list, she would never have that.
But she would be able to continue her mission. It was a sacrifice she had to make.
“Fear is a powerful emotion, Priscilla. I believe yours is unfounded, but you will never know if you surrender to it. You do not lose yourself when you marry a good man. And Bradenton is a very, very good man. I continued my own endeavors after marriage.”
“It’s not the same.” Her mother dreamed of balls and luncheons and fancy rides through Hyde Park. She did not have a grand mission marriage would eliminate.
“Your father is determined for this match.”
Priscilla darted her eyes up. While her father remained relatively permissible among parents of the ton, he was still a powerful duke. “How determined?”
Her mother put a hand on her shoulder. “You should prepare yourself.”
Priscilla took a step back, shook her head. “No. He said he’d let me choose.”
“He said if you didn’t choose quickly enough, he would make the choice for you.”
“The season is only midway through. There are several lords who are quite interesting.”
“You do realize one talks to rocks?”
Priscilla heated. “There are plenty of men who don’t talk to rocks.” They talk to horses and plants instead. “I’ve already gotten offers.”
It was true. She’d received offers from multiple men: titled, wealthy lords who met her parents’ requirements. Only she found a reason to reject each one. Some were far controlling. Others were biased against women. Still others talked to rocks.
Yet the biggest problem: They were not Bradenton.
Bradenton was sabotaging her. No man could compare to the intelligent, handsome and powerful duke. Several suitors had also abandoned their bids because of Edmund’s pursuit. No one wanted to go against the powerful duke.
Her mother folded her arms across her chest. “You may have offers, but you have no betrothal. You turned them all down.”
“I will accept one eventually.”
“It might not matter if you do.” The duchess set her features. “As I said, your father is determined for this match.”
“He cannot force me to marry!”
“You and I both know he can and will,” her mother returned. “They had a long discussion when he arrived.”
Priscilla froze.
“What do you mean, when he arrived?”
“Bradenton is here.”
This was bad. Very bad. Right now the ladies from the meeting would be streaming past the drawing room where Bradenton was most likely stationed. He already suspected the sewing guild was not as it seemed. Had he planned to question the unsuspecting members of the guild? Was it a coincidence or a plot? And the most important question:
Was it already too late?
“I adored your vote on the factories last month!”
“I loved the orphans’ initiative!”
“The best was when you stood up to that hideous Lord Roxbury in Parliament!”
Edmund took in the sea of women with great bemusement and a dash of confusion. Dozens of animated ladies crowded around him, far more than seemed typical for a sewing guild, and definitely more excited. Most were well-bred, yet some were clearly of the lower classes. This neither surprised nor bothered him, since he did not harbor the same biases as many of his fellow lords. What did surprise him was Priscilla’s assertion Sophia would not fit in with the group. He recognized several ladies of exactly the same age.
They all knew him.
He was accustomed to compliments, yet usually people applauded his title or his wealth, sometimes his physical prowess or sportsmanship. A group of ladies concerned with his voting record?
Most unusual.
“I appreciate your support.” He turned to look at each one. “Ladies do not often take notice of society’s ills.”
“Oh, we care very much. In fact we love to discuss–”
“Shh!”
Several ladies hushed at once, sharing an almost comical expression of horror.
What in the world?
“Love to discuss…” he prompted.
The woman laughed nervously. “Love to discuss…” She looked around, as if searching for the answer. “Embroidery!” She held up her sewing triumphantly as the ladies around her giggled.
“Of course,” he inclined his head. “Tell me, what do you like most about sewing?”
For a moment the ladies stared at him. Then everyone spoke at once, giving inane answers such as “needle” and “thread.”
His suspicion deepened. “I would love to see your work.”
“Our work?” several echoed.
“Anyone’s work.” He gestured to the group. “Whoever would like to share. I’ve never seen the efforts of an entire sewing guild.”
“Of course.” One lady pulled a small piece of fabric, turned it to him to reveal…
A cock?
“Do you like it?” The woman asked eagerly. “I tried to be as realistic as possible. Have you ever felt one of these?”
For once, he was speechless.
“Bethany, you make a lovely aubergine .” Hannah’s lips twitched.
He nodded at her with a silent thank you. “It is a lovely aubergine.”
The woman flushed pink.
Another lady held up her work. “Do you like it?”
What the mishmash of threads was supposed to represent was anyone’s guess, although at least it did not resemble anything scandalous. The closest he could guess was a cow. A dead one.
He put on his best ducal voice. “It’s lovely. I’ve never seen such a lovely… cow?”
The lady frowned, turned the work to face her. “It’s a bed of flowers.”
“And a splendid one at that.” He leaned in. “I was just joking, my lady.”
The woman brightened.
Several other ladies displayed their work. A few had obvious talent, yet the vast majority of pieces were poorly done or just plain confusing. By the time they had finished, his suspicions were no longer smoldering.
They had ignited.
He was not particularly knowledgeable about embroidery, but he had seen his sisters’ efforts, and the work in other ladies’ homes. He would have expected a guild dedicated to the sewing arts to be extraordinary. Yet most of these were poor, lackluster even. Priscilla’s guild was not as it seemed.
If they didn’t focus on sewing, what did they focus on?
With Lady Priscilla not yet arrived, this was his chance to find out. “Ladies, I’d love to hear what you discuss in your sewing guild.”
“Sewing, of course,” Hannah broke in, loudly drowning out the other replies.
“Of course.” Edmund stepped closer to the lady he had made blush earlier. “Is there perhaps something else you like to talk about? I have the feeling this sewing guild is more than it appears. Am I right?”
The woman looked at him with wide eyes. Then ever-so-slowly nodded.
The taste of triumph rose within him. “My lady, do not keep me in suspense. Tell me, what do you really discuss at your sewing guild?”
The woman looked around nervously, bit her lip.
He lowered his voice. “Come on, you can tell me. I am on your side.”
The woman blushed. Then in a very soft voice, said, “Social justice.”