Chapter Four
Burke had spent a great many afternoons in conversation with Welsh men and women, but he couldn’t say he’d truly enjoyed any of those visits as much as he was enjoying this one.
Miss Pryce was a delight in every sense.
She was witty and energetic. She didn’t shy away from expressing her opinion.
She was pretty without allowing that, and that alone, to define her.
It was, of course, a great deal to decide about a person based on a single thirty-minute discussion, but she made no attempts at artifice. He would wager he knew her better than some people he’d spoken with dozens of times.
“What is this, Enid?” A decidedly Welsh, inarguably male voice floated across the otherwise deserted garden. “Have you finally found someone as daft as you are, who’ll sit here under threatening skies on the thin promise of an appearance by a man dead these four centuries?”
Far from offended, Miss Pryce grinned broadly and hopped up from the bench they were occupying. “Trev!” She rushed toward this newcomer, a gentleman likely very near to Burke’s age, and was greeted with an enthusiastic embrace.
Burke felt a surprising stab of jealousy at having lost her companionship so easily and so completely to “Trev.” I am becoming a nonsensical gudgeon.
“Is this another of your strays, Enid?”
Burke eagerly hoped to hear about Miss Pryce’s strays. He would wager it was a diverting tale.
“I do hope this family means to eventually allow me to live that down.” Miss Pryce was all offense and wounded pride, though it was clearly nothing more than an act.
Burke stood.
“Trevor Pryce.” The new arrival indicated himself. Miss Pryce’s brother, it seemed. He made the expected, small bow of greeting.
Burke returned it. “Burke Kennard.”
He had once contemplated giving a false surname whilst going about his studies. Seeing recognition dawn in the young Mr. Pryce’s eyes made him wonder once again if he’d been wrong to abandon the idea.
“Mouldsworth’s Kennards?”
That brought Enid’s surprised gaze to her brother once more. “The Marquess of Mouldsworth?”
And thus it would begin. All of the pretense and posturing. Why must he forever be Mouldsworth’s grandson and never simply Burke?
Mr. Pryce grinned at his sister. “Did you not realize you were sitting on a grimy bench with the grandson of a marquess?”
“I can’t say I did.”
“Would it have made a difference?” Burke asked quietly.
Miss Pryce seemed to genuinely contemplate the question.
“I would imagine the grandson of a marquess is in the habit of carrying an extra square of linen on his person. If I’d known your full identity, I would have asked you to wipe the bench off a bit.
My maid will be furious when she sees the state of my spencer. ”
Quick as that, the weight that had settled in his stomach disappeared. Miss Pryce was like a fresh breeze on a stifling summer day.
Mr. Pryce brushed something from his nose. Miss Pryce wiped at her forehead. Burke had only a moment to ponder the action before he himself was hit squarely on the cheek with a drop of rain.
“Do grandsons of marquesses melt in the rain?” Miss Pryce asked.
Her brother answered. “We’re about to find out. Unless Mr. Kennard can outrun a cloudburst.”
As it turned out, none of them could. They were all three soaked to the skin by the time they rushed through the terrace doors at the back of the Pryces’ home.
“Were you simply passing through, Mr. Kennard, or were you to stay for a time?” young Mr. Pryce asked.
“Your parents offered me their hospitality. I believe my belongings were taken to a spare bedchamber.”
“Come along, then.” Mr. Pryce slapped him on the shoulder. “You have dry clothing awaiting you somewhere in this old pile of rocks.”
“Let us hope there is an accommodating fire somewhere as well.” He walked up the stairs beside his new friend. “If I weren’t entirely enamored of Wales, your tendency toward drowning rainfall might put me off the place entirely.”
Mr. Pryce sent him a sidelong look. “I suppose it never rains in Cheshire.”
Burke puffed out his chest. “I, sir, reside in Cambridge.”
He received a look of feigned horror in return. “A Cambridge man? This is an Oxford family, I will have you know.”
Only as they reached the first-floor landing did he take note of the sound of soggy footfall behind them.
He’d forgotten Miss Pryce entirely. There she stood, only a few paces behind them, clutching the collar of her spencer, wet hair plastered to her face, shivering.
What sort of gentleman was he to have so quickly turned his thoughts away from a lady in distress?
Except she didn’t appear to be in distress. She didn’t seem overly bothered by her misery. Her eyes danced above a perfectly contented smile. “I am creating something of a pond here on the landing. Perhaps we could resume our journey toward dry clothing and accommodating fires.”
“Is your sister always this practical?” Burke asked.
Mr. Pryce laughed. “Practical? Enid is as daft as St. Abner’s Day.”
Miss Pryce shook her head. “There is no such day.”
“Which makes it particularly daft, does it not?”
She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “Brothers are, without argument, the very worst sort of siblings.”
“You said ‘brothers,’ though I believe the correct word is ‘sisters.’”
The Pryce siblings were proving enormously diverting.
“I have two sisters and two brothers,” Burke said, “and I have to agree with—”
His companions watched him with matching grins and eager anticipation. Heavens, if his own family were this enjoyable to spend an afternoon with, he might make the trip to Cheshire more often.
“—neither of you,” he finally finished. “It is, in fact, older siblings who are the worst sort.”
Miss Pryce turned a triumphant gaze on her brother. “I still win.”
Mr. Pryce made a bow of acceptance. “In deference to your victory, I will allow you to slip past us so you can rush to your bedchamber before you catch your death of cold.”
“You would mourn me, would you?” Miss Pryce stepped past them both.
“I suppose.” It was a very brotherly response.
She was soon a great many paces ahead, and Burke and Mr. Pryce were once again making their walk toward warmth. “Your sister is quite unlike most young ladies in Society, Mr. Pryce.”
“Call me Trevor, please.”
He nodded his agreement and made an offer of his own. “Burke.”
“Yes, Enid is unique.” Though he’d teased his sister mercilessly, Trevor’s fondness in that moment could not be mistaken.
“She has only just returned from a Season in Bath, and I am beyond relieved to see that it did not fundamentally change her. Society has a way of convincing young ladies to conform to the same bland mold.”
“In my experience, a London Season is most likely to create conformity in a young lady. A Bath Season is most likely to create uncertainty.”
Trevor stopped once more. “Uncertainty?”
Not wishing to overly alarm Trevor, Burke kept his response quick and unconcerned.
“Too many of the gentlemen who spend the Season in Bath do so because there is little to recommend them. That leaves the young ladies who flock there, often for reasons of economy, with very few desirable choices and a higher likelihood of what their families, Society, and, too often, they themselves deem ‘failure.’ I have seen it plant seeds of doubt in even the most confident of ladies.”
Trevor’s brow drew as his gaze turned toward a closed bedchamber door just a step beyond where they stood.
“You don’t suppose Enid thinks ill of herself for having returned unattached.
Though she’s my sister and I enjoy ruffling her feathers a bit, I’d hate to think she was unhappy or, worse still, that she’d feel she needed to change herself. ”
“I have only known Miss Pryce for a few hours,” Burke reminded him, “so I am no authority. I have, however, seen Bath twist too many hearts to not feel I needed to warn you of the possibility.”
Trevor nodded. “Thank you. I will be vigilant.”
Did Miss Pryce realize how very fortunate she was to have a family who cared so very much? Burke had only ever dreamed of that.
***
“If Trev does not stop looking at me as though he fears my untimely demise is imminent, I will have no choice but to brain him with his own walking stick, if he has one, that is.”
Burke didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “If he has one what? A brain to have bashed or a walking stick to bash it with?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I have my doubts about both.”
The rains had still not let up, though the family had long since finished dinner.
Miss Pryce stood near the tall windows in the drawing room, looking out over the dark expanse as though she was contemplating dashing out into the night to escape her brother.
Burke felt a little guilty about that, but only a very little.
“Perhaps he fears you took a chill this afternoon,” he suggested.
She dismissed that immediately. “We are Welsh. We have spent our entire lives wet, and we’ve not died of it yet.”
Burke turned to look more directly at her. “How long has it been since you and your brother were in company with one another?”
“Three months. He refused to go to Bath. I was not permitted to refuse.”
She really hadn’t enjoyed her Season, it seemed. “Would you have preferred London?”
“I would have preferred Wales.” She flashed him a smile that would have melted even the most cynical of gentlemen. Perhaps it was fortunate she hadn’t made her bows in Town. Between her wit and vivacity and that smile, the ton would have been brought to its knees.
“What of you, Mr. Grandson of a Marquess? Do you prefer London to Bath?”
How was it she could fashion him such a ridiculous moniker— focused as it was on an aspect of his identity he usually preferred to be left unacknowledged— and, rather than ruffle his feathers, make him laugh?
“If you must call me something other than Mr. Kennard, I would far prefer Burke to Mr. Grandson of a Marquess.”
She folded her hands where they hung in front of her, the posture one of theatrical innocence. “But think of the scandal, sir. Using Christian names would be unthinkable. What would my mother say?”
“Besides ‘Fetch the vicar’?” At Enid’s sudden but subtle stiffening, he added, “Does not every mother of an eligible daughter have those three words fresh on the tip of her tongue?”
His companion relaxed by degrees. “Mine certainly does, for all the good it has done her.”
“Perhaps your brother will give her reason to make use of it.”
They both looked over at Trevor, seated across a chessboard from his father. Burke had never before seen anyone laugh whilst playing chess, but Trevor had done so regularly throughout the evening.
“He spends far too much time at Oxford to ever strike up a courtship.”
“He’s a scholar, then?”
Enid nodded. “He hides it well, does he not?”
Burke could not recall the last time he’d so thoroughly enjoyed another person’s company. She was a delight.
“I hope we will have a chance to return to the gardens tomorrow,” he said.
“Father believes it will rain all day, which is generally a good predictor of dry weather.” She stepped away from the window but glanced at him as she did.
He hoped she meant the gesture as one of invitation to take a walk about the room with her, as that was how he intended to interpret it.
“But even if the heavens cooperate, I cannot guarantee Dafydd Gam will. He is terribly temperamental.”
“And I do not wish to trespass upon your family’s hospitality longer than I must.”
She didn’t immediately answer, though he could see thought after thought flit across her lovely face. “We would none of us mind if you extended your stay.” She spoke more quietly than was usual for her, but her sincerity could not be doubted.
“What if you discover, after knowing me for more than six hours, that you do not particularly care for my company?”
She daintily waved her hand, dismissing his objection. “We will simply toss you out and lock the door.”
Heavens, he couldn’t imagine anything he would enjoy more than spending another day— or several— in her company. “I accept your challenge, Miss Pryce.”
Her dancing brown eyes turned toward him once more. “Did I issue a challenge?”
“Indeed, and I intend to make quite certain that you still particularly care for my company after knowing me better.”
They completed another circuit of the drawing room. The candles were flickering low. Mrs. Pryce had nodded off in an armchair near the low-burning fire. Trevor still grinned over his game of chess, though his father seemed quite serious. Enid smiled at Burke’s side.
This home was peaceful, and its occupants were happy and loving. For his part, Burke hoped the fabled ghost took his merry time making himself known, for then Burke would have a ready excuse to remain.