Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Priscilla picked at her poached eggs, the morning sun streaming into the breakfast room.
Eugene glared at her from over the top of his paper. “And, pray tell, what is on the agenda for today? The theater? A ball I don’t know about?”
She pretended to take several seconds to chew the tiny amount of egg in her mouth before she answered. “None of the above.”
He grunted. “Does that mean we’ve seen the last of the viscount?”
“Why would it mean that?” her mother asked from the end of the table.
“I’ve been clear,” Eugene said, slapping down the paper. “Priscilla and I will marry.” He underscored each word by jabbing at the folded sheets, the loud crinkle and crack echoing through the room.
Her mother glared back, her spine straightening. “Has it occurred to you to ask nicely?”
“I’m an earl!” He rose from his seat beginning to pace. “Scores of ladies would be thrilled to have my hand in marriage.”
Priscilla lifted her brows, unable to hold back her words or her frustrated tone. “Then ask one of them.”
His teeth bared as he bent down, his face inches from hers, his hot breath fanning across her face, making her cringe. “Oh, but I’ve chosen you and I won’t be denied.”
How Priscilla wished she could scream back.
Cry. Slap him, perhaps. But she kept her icy facade, her only effective weapon.
The problem she’d found of late was that her facade was becoming harder to take off.
She was slowly losing all her warmth. “I’m afraid not even earls get to dictate other people’s choices to them. ”
“Oh contraire,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers, her skin crawling with both fear and anger. “In this case, you will bend to my will. You’ve no idea what I’ve been through to get here and I won’t be denied now. By you or anyone else.”
She closed her eyes, leaning away as he pushed closer, his words muddled as emotion overwhelmed her. She hated him.
“Eugene,” her mother cried, her voice rising. “That’s quite enough.”
He shot up, shaking his fist. “I don’t think it’s near enough. The two of you treating me like some sort of plague instead of the man who’s kept you housed and fed. Cared for you these past months.”
Priscilla shook her head. This had been her home her entire life. She was to be grateful to stay in it?
It was her mother who rose to meet his challenge. “You hardly allow us to leave. It’s not care, it’s imprisonment.”
“It’s not my fault your late husband has locked all his fortune away where neither of us can touch it,” he bit back and so another round between them started again.
Priscilla sat in the chair, attempting to calm her shaking body.
They lived on a small stipend until such time that she married or turned five and twenty, which was still four years away. Not even her father had been able to subvert those rules.
There was no way she could face Eugene’s tyranny for another four years, she’d not survive it. The escalation in just a few months was breathtakingly rapid.
The argument continued even as her head dipped, her thoughts automatically focusing on Lord Ware.
She’d like nothing more than take his offer and never look back at Eugene again.
But he was still a stranger and she needed to be smart.
He’d visit today during her calling hours. If Eugene ceased allowing her to hold them, serious questions would arise and so her guardian had been forced to continue allowing her to have them.
But when Lord Ware arrived, Eugene was bound to be furious.
Perhaps she should just accept Lord Ware’s offer. He’d promised her control of her assets and with that money she’d be able to properly care for her mother.
She had so many questions. Still.
She ought to eat her breakfast. She’d need to be at her best today but as she looked down at the delicately prepared eggs, her stomach turned. Pushing the plate away, she pressed her hands together, attempting to decide how to proceed.
It was only a matter of time before the tension in her home exploded and she had no doubt she’d be the loser when it did.
Her gaze lifted to her mother, Eugene now bent over her, attempting to yell her into submission.
Priscilla rose, her heart in her throat. “Eugene,” she called softly.
It must have been the plea in her voice that caught his attention because he abruptly stopped, turning half toward her. “What?” he barked, sharp and angry.
She raised her hands in a silent plea. “I think we’ve all had enough this morning. Let’s take a break and we’ll each consider our possible options moving forward.”
A light gleamed in his eye. “You’re considering your options?”
She gave a stiff nod. It wasn’t a lie, she was considering them. All of them.
Her meeting with Lord Ware today, she’d have to find some way to see him outside her home.
She’d not bring him here again. It had only ratcheted up the Eugene’s agitation in a way that felt dangerous.
Her eyes closed again, that deep wish that someone sweep in and rescue her, rising in her before she pushed it back down.
“Mother, I’d like visit the haberdasher today.
I think if best if I rework some of my hats and bonnets from last season rather than buying new ones. ”
Eugene gave her a glowing smile. He hated when she spent money he considered his on her own person. “Excellent idea.” Did he see this as her concession to his offer of marriage? Let him.
“We’ll go this afternoon,” her mother answered, understanding exactly what Priscilla’s plan entailed. “Allow me to send some correspondence to change my plans for the day.”
“You had plans?” Eugene asked, his gaze narrowing again.
“Just tea with the Duchess of Durham,” her mother softly murmured. “But she’ll permit me to reschedule.”
He harumphed, returning to his seat and shoveling a large bite of eggs into his mouth, heedless to the fact both women still stood.
Had he received no training in gentlemanly behavior at all?
Priscilla looked at her mother, hoping her thank you shined in her eyes. Leaning forward, she softly whispered the two words.
You’re welcome, her mother mouthed back and then they both sat.
Once the meal was over, Priscilla knew her mother would send the note to Lord Ware, changing the location of their meeting. He’d be taking them to the haberdasher today rather than strolling about their garden.
Her mother wouldn’t leave to do the task now. It was understood that neither of them ever left the other alone with Eugene.
And so the note would wait until after he’d finished his breakfast.
* * *
Wyatt stood just outside the haberdashers, watching for Priscilla’s carriage. He’d not had to think very hard to understand the change in plans.
They were subverting Eugene.
He ground his teeth together, hating that the man had such control over Priscilla and knowing that Ralph had been correct: he’d some emotional investment in Priscilla that he’d not had with anyone for a very long time.
Maybe not since Ralph.
The damned idiot had suffered greatly for his relationship with Wyatt and he hated what Ralph had endured on his behalf. Being the half-brother of a viscount shouldn’t mean that his life was constant suffering.
“Has she arrived yet?” Ralph asked from behind him, making Wyatt’s teeth clench even harder.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“And miss another meeting with the lovely Lady Priscilla? I think not.”
“You’re scaring her. You’d scare me too but…”
“We’re related.”
“Precisely.”
“And I’m not scaring her. I’m confusing her with my impertinence. There’s a difference.”
“Impertinence has always been one of your favorite tactics.”
“It worked exceptionally well with our father.”
It had. Their father had been a tyrant. No wonder Eugene bothered Wyatt so much.
The new Earl of Purlington and the last Viscount Ware had been remarkably similar.
Where Wyatt had battled that tyranny by becoming increasingly controlled, Ralph had fought fire with defiant fire. “Do you still hate him?”
“I’ve already punched out most of my anger in the ring.” Ralph answered.
“That’s good.”
“Now I mostly worry that you haven’t done the same. Not yet.”
Wyatt grimaced. That was part of the reason he’d begun to stalk the night. He knew what it was like to helplessly face an aggressor.
Only Ralph had defended him and he’d taken countless beatings on Wyatt’s behalf as children. A fact that Wyatt still hated.
“Should I just tell her you’re my bastard brother?”
“We don’t usually share such information.
Not even the staff knows.” Upon his father’s death, Wyatt had replaced the most of the staff, people who hadn’t witnessed their ugly childhood.
Most of the servants had been loyal to their father.
Ralph said it was another example of how he preferred to keep everyone at a distance.
But Wyatt had wanted to give Ralph a clean slate.
A chance to be whatever he wished. The fact that he’d chosen to be caregiver to Wyatt still surprised him.
“She’ll be my wife.”
Ralph smiled. “That she will and I think you should tell her if you see fit. You know I think you should share far more than you do. It’s not good for you to hold everything in.”
“I’m not holding it in. I’m punching it out, nightly. It’s why you agreed to teach me to fight, remember?”
Ralph made a face. “I thought you’d let go a bit more. You fight like you live. With icy detachment. Masked and hidden.”
It was an old argument. One that Wyatt had no appetite for today, but he was spared replying as the Purlington carriage came into view.
Rather than step forward, he moved back into the doorway, the small alcove meant to protect entering customers from inclement weather, the perfect spot to hide.
Best not to give any gossiping servants fodder to return to the earl.
Ralph remained on the sidewalk, lighting a cheroot. He need not hide as he looked like a servant waiting for his master outside the shop.
But as the footman handed out the ladies and then returned to his seat as the carriage pulled away, Ralph stepped forward with a quick bow. “Lady Priscilla, Lady Purlington.”
“Mr. Fitzroy,” Priscilla returned. “Good to see you again.”
“And you,” he returned. Just as Wyatt stepped out, Ralph reached into his pocket and handed Priscilla a card. “If you ever need to contact me.”
“Ralph,” he bit out, stepping up to Priscilla’s side, giving his brother a quizzical glance.
But Ralph only winked. “I promised you last night, remember?”
Wyatt’s brows drew together. Promised him what? Then he remembered. If Eugene stepped out of line, Ralph had promised to pummel the earl himself. And for Eugene, that would surely be a grave mistake.
Priscilla slid the card into her reticule, her mother’s brows so high they disappeared under the rim of her sun hat.
Priscilla looked between the two men, her confusion evident as she cocked her head to the side. “Shall we step inside?”
He held out his elbow, her hand settling into the crook of his arm, causing another riot of his senses with her light touch.
Ralph bowed as he made to take his leave, but Priscilla gave Wyatt’s brother a small smile. “You’re not coming, Mr. Fitzroy?”
Ralph paused, looking at Wyatt who shook his head, just as confused as Ralph. He looked down at Priscilla. “Your mother can chaperone. Surely we don’t need—”
“Your brother to accompany us?”
He pulled his chin back, surprise rocking through him. “How did you…”
“You look alike. I’m surprised I didn’t realize yesterday.” She shook her head. “But it answers a great many questions and, truth be told, with those out of the way, I’m even more eager for our outing today.”
Eager?
Every muscle tightened.
Should he confess he felt that same eagerness? He shouldn’t. Not even a little.