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Knowing the duke had a point, Timothy nodded. But he harbored no hope of such an evolution.
CHAPTER 10—INVITATIONS AND ATTACHMENTS
London, Mid-February, 1827
Any invitations?” Priscilla asked, nibbling at a slice of buttered toast. The hope she harbored each morning fluttered in her chest. Although not nearly as dull as Lincolnshire, she’d been practically a recluse since she’d returned to London over a month ago. She yearned to go somewhere—see anything other than the townhouse walls.
Destined to be an utter failure, the soirée her father had planned did not bode well for her overall return to London society. Most of thetonchose not to respond at all, but the majority who did, sent their regrets. The sole acceptance came from Lord Middlebury.
Calling it aWelcome Homeparty had been the death knell, but Priscilla bit back the criticism of her father’s decision. It appeared society’s memory hadn’t grown as cloudy as he’d believed. Mercifully, her father sent Lord Middlebury a note informing him the party had been cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances, sparing her the torture of spending the entire evening with the odious man.
Her father’s gaze lifted from the correspondence on the silver salver, his brow furrowed—whether from concern or concentration, Priscilla couldn’t tell. He refused to use the spectacles his physician had recommended.
Hope fizzled out like a dying ember when he shook his head. “Only business correspondence and a letter from your mother.” He held the parchment aloft, annoyance simmering in his eyes.
“Is she well?” Priscilla thought it best to keep the topic of her mother on a general basis.
“Um,” he muttered. Not exactly an answer, but the bob of his head indicated the affirmative. “Mr. Netherborne has asked about you, it seems.”
And here she hoped to have a pleasant day. “Is his holiness going to forgive me?”
Amusement shone in her father’s eyes, and his lips twitched. “Now, Priscilla, is that any way to speak about your intended?”
“He’s not my intended any longer. Not unless he gets off his high and mighty morals and forgives me for something I didn’t even do.” She took a less dainty bite of toast and chewed a bit more viciously, masticating it to mush.
Her father ignored her. “Your mother says he’s enquired if you’ve given any thought to your actions and plan to come home before the six months are up.”
She squared her shoulders. “Iamhome.”
“Very well, then. We shall say ‘goodbye’ to Mr. Netherborne.” He rose and tossed the letter into the blazing fire.
“And good riddance,” she mumbled.
Piece by piece, the pile of correspondence dwindled before her, and she rose, prepared to return to her room—once again disappointed.
“Aha!”
Her father’s words stopped her mid-stride. The tone in his voice alone caused her breath to hitch. “What is it?”
“The Duke of Ashton is hosting another masquerade ball in a month to raise funds for his clinic. It would appear it’s become an annual event.”
The giddy excitement she’d experienced a moment before deflated.The Duke of Ashton?Of course, she couldn’t go. “Oh.” Even to her own ears, the dejection in her voice was evident. “Will you go?”
Her father met her gaze, and her heart melted at the love she witnessed in their depths. “Weshall go. Together. It’s a masquerade, after all. The invitation requests a response with the number of guests planning to attend. I shall respond with two.”
She raced over, threw her arms around her father’s neck, and placed a kiss on his cheek. “And may I have a new gown?”
He patted her arm. “I think I can arrange that.”
Literally dancing from the room, she twirled a bit as she exited—which she thought was fitting.
She was going to a ball!
* * *
Airin the room grew uncomfortably warm. Timothy resisted the urge to tug at the cravat currently strangling him. Perhaps if he moved farther away from the roaring fire in the hearth? A buzzing like an annoying insect reached his ears, and he jerked his head toward the sound.
“More tea, Dr. Marbry?” Lady Honoria Bell motioned toward the tea service on the table before her.
