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Laurence accepted the drink and tipped his glass toward Timothy. “You just haven’t met the right one.”
Unbidden, a vision of Emma popped into Timothy’s mind. He pushed it aside. “There is noright one.Other than my sister, they’re all a pack of schemers, waiting to trap a man into marriage before he realizes it’s too late to run. No thank you.” He swallowed his brandy in one gulp, the burn trickling down his throat and settling in his chest.
About to take a drink, Laurence lowered the glass from his lips. “What has happened to you? I don’t remember you being this jaded about marriage.”
The haunting memory loomed, and Timothy glared at his friend. “I’ve grown up.”
“As have we all,” Laurence continued apparently oblivious to Timothy’s warning. “I realize we haven’t spoken much about women since you’ve returned home from the military, but I seem to remember you writing about someone named—”
“Stop!” Timothy slammed his empty glass so forcefully against the table the crystal decanter rang in response. “I don’t wish to speak of her. Ever.”
Laurence remained unfazed. “Very well. But should you wish to talk about it in the future, you’ll receive no judgment from me. You’re not the only one to pursue the wrong woman.”
Timothy knew he should drop the subject, yet he couldn’t help but ask. “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
Timothy couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “Good God, your mind really has rotted. What we’ve been talking about. Being in love. Being loved in return.”
“Ah. Now that I can answer in one word. Bliss. It’s as if everything in your world fits together, jagged edges, misshapen pieces and all. It doesn’t matter if things aren’t perfect because you’re so damn happy you don’t care.”
Laurence’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and Timothy had the urge to take his pulse to see if he’d had a stroke. “It’s an overall feeling of goodwill toward everyone. Much like the atmosphere of Christmastide year-round. And for those you care about who remain unattached? Well. Your greatest wish is for them to experience the same joy.”
Timothy shifted uncomfortably at Laurence’s pointed stare. “Am I to presume this means you intend to take on the role of matchmaking mama? Because if so, I might remind you I have one of those who can rival the best.”
Laurence rose and slapped Timothy on the back before proceeding to pour them both another drink. “No. Have no fear. I won’t push any debutantes into your path. You need to find the right woman yourself.”
When Laurence handed him the brandy, Timothy sipped it.
What if he’d already found the right woman but she belonged to someone else?
* * *
Six daysafter Priscilla had written to her father, he arrived personally to fetch her, promptly giving her mother a severe tongue lashing.
“How could you even think to send our daughter out unchaperoned?” he bellowed at her mother.
There was little love lost between her parents, especially after the fiasco that had brought about Priscilla’s disgrace.
For once, her mother remained speechless, twisting a lace handkerchief in her hands.
He narrowed his eyes, his own hands clenched into fists. “Or was this another attempt to snare a man into the parson’s trap? I would have thought you’d learned your lesson, woman.”
Priscilla almost felt sorry for her mother as tears shimmered in her eyes.
“You have judged me harshly,” she answered, finally finding her voice. “Priscilla has an offer from Mr. Netherborne. Or at least she did.”
“Which your total inability to function as a mother has now placed in jeopardy, I understand.”
“It was Mr. Netherborne himself who suggested she assist with Mrs. Wilson’s children when it came time for her to deliver. I merely acted to please Priscilla’s future husband.”
Her father gave a loud harrumph in answer, then instructed a servant to pack Priscilla’s belongings so they could leave at once.
It would be a lie to say she was sorry to leave Belton, but the expression on her mother’s face tugged at Priscilla’s heart. The woman wasn’t perfect, but she was Priscilla’s mother nonetheless.
Once inside the carriage and heading back to London, Priscilla stared across the compartment at her father’s unreadable face and gave a heavy sigh. “Won’t you ever forgive Mama?”
“Some things can be forgiven but not forgotten, child. Your mother has made her own bed. I was a fool for allowing you to leave London to live with her.”
