Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret. Christine Merrill
Patience off the unmade bed. ‘If you refuse to dress, then he will see you as you are now. Perhaps it will embarrass you sufficiently that we will not have this problem when he comes again tomorrow.’
They were planning for tomorrow already? Then she had just as well let him see her in a sad state today. Until she could manage to make him see that she was not appropriate, he would stay camped out in the salon and she would have no peace at all. ‘Very well, then, I am justly punished for my lack of preparation. Let us go downstairs so that I may humiliate myself.’
Veronica frowned at her, as though recognising that she had been caught in her own trap. But she released Priss’s arm and allowed her to proceed under her own power to the main floor. When the footman opened the door to the salon, her unwanted suitor half-turned to see her entrance, clearly interested but using his status to remind everyone that he expected to see those around him scurry to attention and not the other way round.
It annoyed her no end. She took her time with the short walk to his side, turning the last few steps into a dawdle as the doors closed behind her, leaving them alone. ‘Your Grace?’ She made a proper curtsy, feeling much as she had on the previous day, only perhaps a little more desperate. This meeting should not be happening. Her revelation should have put an offer well out of reach.
Which might mean he had other things than marriage on his mind. It might amuse him to keep the daughter of an earl as a mistress and would certainly tell the ton just how high above them he considered himself. If he made an inappropriate advance, she could do little to counter it. Her only chaperon was hiding on the other side of the house so that she would be unable to stop an indiscretion until it was far too late.
She watched him uneasily, waiting for him to speak.
‘I have a gift for you.’ The duke seemed almost childishly pleased with himself as he pulled a long thin box from under his arm and held it out to her.
She took it cautiously and lifted the lid just a crack before letting it fall closed again as her worst fears were realised. ‘I cannot accept these,’ she said flatly.
‘Why ever not?’
‘They are too intimate.’
‘They are gloves.’
‘Yes. I know.’ Long, spotless and white. She was sure, if she touched them, they would be of the finest and most perfect kidskin and a rival to anything she might have bought for herself. She placed her hand on top of the box lid so that she could not be tempted to open it again and pushed it back towards him. ‘A lady would never accept a gift of clothing and a gentleman would never offer.’
His brow furrowed, as though struggling with an unfamiliar concept. ‘They are hardly indecent.’
‘That is not the point. They indicate an interest in my person.’
‘Of course they do,’ he said, still surprised. ‘Because I am interested in your person. It would make no sense to marry a woman who did not interest me in that way.’
So he was still talking about a wedding. That was some consolation, since it proved he would not spring across the room and fall upon her like a ravening beast. If she had actually wanted to marry him, she’d have been in alt. But clearly he did not understand what he must do, when making a proper offer to a lady. ‘If you really wished to marry me, you’d have brought another sort of gift entirely. A book, perhaps. Or flowers.’
‘Flowers will die,’ he said firmly. ‘That cannot send the sort of message I would wish. And as for books? It is not that I never read, but I doubt that the things I favour would hold any interest to you. What would you have said if I’d brought you a stack of stock journals, tied up with a pretty ribbon?’
‘I’d have thought you mad.’
‘There. You agree with me.’ He pointed to the gloves. ‘Those are pretty, practical and will last you longer than the average bouquet. And do not argue modesty, for they cover an extremity I can see quite plainly now.’
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