CHAPTERONE
Placingan ad for a husband was a delicate task to be certain…
A blank sheet of parchment stared up at Lady Priscilla Applegate as she sat at her writing desk.Choosing her words perfectly was of the utmost importance for the task at hand.She brushed the feather top of her quill across her cheek as she considered the precise phrasing she might use.
“Large dowry…” she whispered, so as not to be overheard by her mother or her cousin.Not that they were likely to hear her over the volume of their own voices.The two of them were incapable of speaking to one another without the conversation turning into an argument.Not that she blamed her mother a bit.“Clean.Reasonably attractive…”
She nibbled at her bottom lip as she continued to consider her list of possible attributes.“Crochets admirably?”
Her mouth turned down as she mentally crossed that last item off her list.Did men care about such things?Three of her friends had recently wed and none of their husbands had considered their prospective brides crocheting ability, of that Priscilla was certain.
She dipped her pen into the inkwell and then lightly tapped the tip on the rim to remove excess ink.Blotches might mar her meaning, and this task was too important to risk any misrepresentation.
“Priscilla,” her cousin called, sharp and hard, making her jump.A bit of ink splashed onto her fresh page, ruining her first attempt before she’d hardly begun.His voice always surprised her.To look at him, one would think he’d sound as soft as his frame implied.With overly high collars on his shirts, his cheeks and jowls appeared to droop down over them.
“Yes?”Priscilla calmly set down the quill, then turned to look at him, arranging her skirts so they didn’t twist or bunch.Maintaining a façade of propriety seemed the best method for keeping Eugene Fitzsimmons at a distance.
A distance he very much wished to close.
She’d attempted to argue with him as her mother did now, but that method had proven not only ineffective, but dangerous.His temper flared over the smallest disagreements.
“Tell your mother that I am not ridiculous in the least for pursuing your hand in marriage.In fact, it’s the natural order, as I see it.”
“You wish for me to tell my mother how you see it?”she asked, knowing full well she’d been intentionally obtuse.Tiny barbs were her only weapon these days.
Eugene, the new Earl of Purlington, her fourth or fifth cousin on her father’s side, had inherited her father’s earldom.A fact he took great delight in lording over her.He huffed now, his large cheeks puffing out even further.“I hold the title.I ought to have the finances with which to run the earldom.”
Priscilla pressed her lips together, not bothering to reply.She’d said it all before.Her father had passed eighteen months prior.It had taken the solicitors over a year to find Eugene, a month for him to make his way to London and two more for him to realize that while he held the title, and the entailed property, most of the loose assets had been carefully placed within her dowry.
Priscilla had been through all the paperwork herself, not that she’d ever inform Eugene of this fact.He’d only berate her for not knowing her place.
To be fair to Eugene, her father had taught her a great deal about finance and the earldom, more so than most girls would ever know, but he hadn’t an heir of his own so he’d imparted the knowledge on her.He enjoyed teaching and she’d been an apt student.For that reason, she knew for certain that Eugene had the money required to maintain the earldom.There just wasn’t much extra.
An industrious man would know how to take the farms and land he’d inherited and make his own fortune, but Eugene was not that man.
He wanted all the spoils, and he wanted them now.
Which is why he’d decided that he and Priscilla ought to wed.
She’d sooner toss herself from the London Bridge.She’d not let her father down by allowing all those funds to land into the hands of a greedy dandy.
Not that she ever said that out loud, either.
“You have the finances you need.”Her mother bit back, sparing Priscilla from answering.She gave her mother a silent “thank you” as Eugene pivoted back toward the other woman, his face turning a distressing shade of purple.Which left Priscilla to resume her work.
Priscilla was not considered a great beauty.Nor was she a successful debutante.She’d not had many suitors, not that she’d cared until her father’s passing.But she was the daughter of an earl with a large dowry and passing accomplishments.And her looks, while they erred on the side of sweet, were nice enough.Surely, she could do better than Eugene.Couldn’t she?
The few suitors she’d had when her mourning period had ended had been frightened off by Eugene, and he’d restricted her social schedule to a bare minimum of events.
All facets of her day-to-day life that were within his control, he restricted to his utmost ability.Fortunately for her, her mother, and thanks to her late father, who she married, however, was not up to Eugene.A fact she thanked the heavens above for every day.
But how to meet that man with Eugene’s eye upon her was the current question.Her friends could help.Charlotte was uncommonly clever, Mona a duchess, and Alexi the kindest person Priscilla had the pleasure of knowing.But they were all newly wed and very busy, and she’d not bother them unless the situation became dire.
Clara, her final and best friend, had been helping, and together they’d devised this plan.
They’d put an ad in the paper for a husband.
As far as plans went, it was a poor one.Both in that it was gauche at best and scandalous at its worst.But a better option had not presented itself, and so Priscilla forged ahead.
