Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Priscilla lightly stroked the keys to the pianoforte as music flowed from the instrument with an ease she didn’t share internally. “When are we to meet Viscount Ware?” she whispered as her mother turned the pages of the book as Priscilla played.
Across the room, Eugene lounged on a settee, reading the paper.
“Four,” her mother whispered back.
Priscilla continued to play as she looked at the clock, noting that the meeting was in less than a half hour. Giddy excitement flitted through her chest.
Something had shifted last night. Feelings she hadn’t meant to allow to the surface bubbled inside her.
Priscilla pushed them aside, or at least she tried. He was the right man for her goals. For the promises she’d made herself when her father had passed. For the unspoken promises between her and her father.
The piece ended and she turned the pages of her music book, attempting to choose another.
With any luck, Eugene would fall asleep in that very chair. He often did in the afternoons. Perhaps she’d play something soothing. Selecting her piece, her fingers perched over the keys, ready to begin, when the butler entered the room.
“Lady Priscilla, the Countess of Westmoreland is here to see you.”
Priscilla rose at the exact same moment as Eugene. So much for that repose.
“Again?” he huffed, tugging at his stiff collar. “This is the third time this week.”
She didn’t answer as she looked at the butler. “Show her to the morning room, please.”
Eugene made another grumble of dissent as she sailed past him. Or she tried.
He reached out, hooking her arm and stopping her progress. “Why are your friends suddenly sniffing about? What is it they want?”
Eugene might be odious but he wasn’t a complete fool.
“We’ve been discussing how I might proceed,” she offered, hoping he’d mistakenly think she meant him once again.
He loosened the hand on her arm but his gaze continued to be dark with suspicion.
She hurried for the door, not wanting to tempt further questioning as she made her way out of the music room and down the stairs to join Charlotte.
As she closed the door of the morning room behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Eugene’s temper was a powder keg always at the ready.
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked as she rose, her face flushing with concern.
Priscilla waved her hand. “It’s nothing. Eugene as always. He’s growing more suspicious about my plans for the future and I’m trying to hold his anger at bay while I get the pieces in place.”
Charlotte’s gaze flitted to the door as though Eugene might burst through at any moment. “I’ll be quick then.” Charlotte gestured for Priscilla to sit.
A nervous flutter rose in her stomach. “I should have asked you first. What’s wrong that you’ve come? Why do you look so concerned?”
Charlotte winced as she sunk down in the chair opposite. “It’s about Viscount Ware.”
Priscilla’s hands gripped the arms of the chair tighter as her mind reeled with the possibilities. “What about him?”
Charlotte leaned forward, wincing. “I…after we had tea the other day…I…”
“Charlotte?” she asked, her fingers so tight on the arms of her chair that they’d turned white. “Tell me. What’s happened?”
Charlotte swallowed. “You know I’m an amateur sleuth.” Her hands pressed together. “I followed him, Priscilla. Last night and the night before.”
Trickles of dread raced down her spine. “You followed him?”
Charlotte gave a tentative nod. “He’s…” She closed her eyes.
“I don’t know how else to say this. He’s a criminal.
He’s a thief, to be exact. I saw him. Well, I didn’t actually see him stealing.
But I did see him meet up with a group of men, heard their plans to steal a merchant’s wife’s jewels.
I lost them before I could catch him in the actual act, but I heard enough to know he’s intimately involved.
” Charlotte cringed as she slumped back in her seat.
He was a thief?
A numb buzzing made it difficult to think as she attempted to understand. All his promises of her money remaining her own. Had those been true?
Of course, they hadn’t.
He stole women’s jewelry. Was she the next target?
She brought trembling fingers to her mouth. “Do you think that he intends to steal from me?”
“Does he know about your dowry?”
“Yes. I…” She swiped a hand over her eyes. She’d been foolishly honest. With her intentions, her problems, her concerns.
Her stomach lurched as she considered the way he’d kissed her last night. Had that been a fiction too?
An ache in her chest made it difficult to breathe and her hand lifted to cover her heart.
Charlotte rose, crossing to Priscilla’s chair and wrapping her friend in her arms. “Don’t fret.”
Priscilla blinked up at her friend. “Don’t fret? The noose tightens every day with Eugene, and Viscount Ware was my last hope.”
“No. We’ll find someone else.”
She shook her head, her chin tucking into her chest. “Eugene hardly allows me to leave the house and he’s grown increasingly suspicious with all the visits and the outings. I…”
She’d been so certain she’d successfully made a match. Priscilla had been pleased with her own cleverness, she could confess that. She’d thought…
She’d thought herself a worthy steward of all her father had built and placed in her hands. She’d wanted…
She’d wanted to honor him and his trust by making certain she chose the right man.
Tears stung her eyes as she looked down at her lap. “What do I do, Charlotte?”
Charlotte squeezed harder. “I’m going to go see Mona and we’ll make a plan. Surely we can find a man in need of a dowry who will be willing to make a—”
The door banged open with such force, both women jumped.
Eugene stood in the doorway, his breath coming out in short gasps, his face a blotchy red as he stood in the entrance of the room. “Get out,” he said, not even looking at Charlotte.
Priscilla stood, moving in front of Charlotte. “Eugene, you cannot speak to her—”
“Enough,” his voice cut as he moved forward, stopping just inches from Priscilla, his hand wrapping about her upper arm as he yanked her forward. “I’ve had enough, Priscilla.”
Spit flew from his beefy lips, spraying her cheeks, before he pivoted back toward the door, his hand still about her arm, half dragging her toward the doorway.
“Stop,” she cried, attempting to pull her arm from his grasp, which only made him pull harder.
“My lord,” Charlotte cried, reaching for her other arm. “Please.”
Eugene’s response was to yank harder. “Get out of my house,” he commanded as he looked back at Charlotte.
He made it out of the morning room and started for the stairs.
To Priscilla he growled, “Don’t think I didn’t hear enough to know what you’ve planned.
You scheming little—” His breath was hot on her cheek as he yanked her face close to his.
“Eugene,” she started, her tone pleading. “There’s no need to be so angry. I—”
“You plan to marry another man right under my nose.”
She wouldn’t lie. But he was on the edge of really hurting her. She could feel the anger vibrating through him. “It’s time we really talked.”
His gave a curt nod before he looked back at Charlotte. “My ward and I need a private word, my lady. Get. Out.” The sharpness of his tone might have cut glass.
Charlotte had gone pale, but she gave a quick nod as she started for the door. She turned back to look at Priscilla. Giving her friend a smile she hoped was encouraging, Priscilla tried to appear calm. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”
But inside she didn’t feel fine. She felt…broken.
* * *
Wyatt stood in the corner of the small park, watching as the Countess of Westmoreland left the Earl of Purlington’s home.
Something wasn’t right.
The countess, a tall and statuesque woman, was hunched over, her arms crossed about her stomach.
She stopped, looking back at the house several times as she made her way to her carriage.
Wyatt squinted as he covered his eyes with his hand, trying to discern what might be wrong. He’d arrived a bit early, anxious to see Priscilla and hoping…
Well, he’d hoped to have a bit more time with her. He had so much to say, Ralph’s words from yesterday swirling in his thoughts.
But his own worries were pushed aside as he watched Lady Westmoreland turn, start back up the steps, stop, and then return to her carriage.
That same feeling that twisted his gut when he stalked criminals filled him now.
Without another moment’s delay, he started across the park, his long strides making quick work of the ground.
The carriage door snapped open as the footman reached out to hand the countess into the vehicle.
“Lady Westmoreland,” Wyatt called, waving a hand in the air.
She saw him, halfway into the carriage and stopped, balancing precariously on the step. “Lord Ware? What are you doing here?”
He picked up his pace, half running as he reached her carriage. “Priscilla and I had a meeting in the park at four. We’ve final details to discuss.”
Lady Westmoreland grew even more pale as she wobbled on the step.
Her footman reached up a hand to steady her as Wyatt grabbed the countess by the waist, setting her back on the ground. She trembled under his hands. “My lady. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even know where to start.” And then her eyes strayed to the doorway. “I…”
The hair on the back of his neck stood as he followed her gaze to the door. “Is Priscilla in danger?”
“I’m not certain,” she whispered. “He commanded I leave and then dragged her from the room. I—” The countess’s voice broke. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I—”
Wyatt let out a frustrated breath. “Do I need to go in there?”
One of Charlotte’s hands fluttered to her mouth. “I’m not sure. I don’t know. Eugene is often a selfish boar but he’s never hurt her. Not physically, anyway. But today…”
“Tell me what’s happened.”
In quick words, the countess confessed that she’d been there to warn Priscilla, not of Eugene but of himself. “I saw you with those men. The thieves and I thought Priscilla had a right to know.”
Wyatt’s heart nearly fell from his chest.
Because he knew what this meant. Priscilla would not marry him if she thought him a thief. In fact, she might even worry that he was there to take her funds.
Ralph’s parting comment echoed through his mind. Honesty? He’d given far too little too late.
“Lady Westmoreland,” he rasped, trying to calm his racing heart. “I’m not a thief. I put those men in prison. I’m—”
“Oh dear,” she murmured, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at him as thought seeing him for the first time. “You’re not…”
He looked at her, watching the truth dawn in her eyes.
“You’re the Bushy Hero.”
He sighed. “Yes. That’s correct.”
“I’m such a fool. I should have seen it sooner. The boxing, the bruising, the late nights. I was just so worried about Priscilla.”
“An admirable quality,” he said, but his own heart was still pounding. Would Priscilla accept his answer now or was there too much damage done?
“But…” She shook her head. “Why would a viscount put himself in danger like that?”
“It’s a long story and one I should likely tell Priscilla before I share it with you.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Westmoreland said again.
“What?” he asked.
But her head was shaking back and forth, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve done it again. I’ve meddled when I shouldn’t have…”
He shook his head. “You had every right to be suspicious of me.”
Her shoulders slumped as she nodded. “Thank you.”
“But now I need you to go back in there and make certain that Priscilla is all right. At least for now. If Eugene isn’t hurting her, we’ll find a way to get her out of that house as soon as we can.”
“And if he is hurting her?”
“I’ve got two fists, a sword, and a pistol and I’m quite good with all four.”
“Good to know.”
“Can you do it?”
She gave a tentative nod and then started back up the steps. He fought the urge to follow, charge in and pull Priscilla back out. Then again, it seemed like he knew already.
He was likely the last person she wished to see after what Charlotte had said. And if by some miracle, she’d still consent to marry him, he’d do better to secure the license and wed her the moment he took her from the house.
But waiting was proving to be a torture.