Page 74 of Saving Miss Pratt


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Everyone except Priscilla.

As if to prove a point, Camilla Somersby appeared at her husband’s side. “Lord Nash. Miss Pratt.” Her voice was chipped ice.

At least Priscilla wasn’t the only one receiving the chilly reception.

“Oliver,” his wife said, “Margaret and Harry have arrived.” She nodded toward the entrance of the terrace.

Priscilla’s stomach churned. She should have expected another encounter with the duke. It was common knowledge that he and Lord and Lady Montgomery were close friends. She took courage remembering the duchess’s kindness at the card party and hoped she would have a softening effect on her husband’s approbation.

She glanced toward Lord Nash. His mouth was pressed in a firm, straight line, his jaw pulsing erratically. Once more, she found herself sharing a commonality with Lord Nash Talbot.

After the Somersbys excused themselves and made their way through the crowds toward the duke and duchess, Nash whispered low, “I hate to abandon you, but being seen in my presence by the duke and duchess will not advance the cause of repairing your reputation.”

What a curious man. She peered into his dark eyes, hoping to see . . . something.

She found compassion.

Odd. But perhaps not.

And truth be told, he was more than likely right. An alliance between the two of them would only sully her reputation further.

How did he stand it?

Sending her a pained smile, he bowed and left her alone.

Again.

CHAPTER 20—CONFRONTING FEELINGS

If Timothy heard about the weather one more time, he would pull out his hair. Thank heaven Harry and Margaret had arrived. At least they would share some more meaningful conversation.

Timothy’s mother executed a deep curtsy. “Your Graces. My daughter and her husband are honored by your presence.”

Timothy pulled in his lips, stifling a laugh as he caught Harry’s slight eye roll. Thank goodness his mother was too busy complimenting the duchess’s gown to notice.

“You must give me the name of your modiste, Your Grace.”

Timothy’s father groaned. No doubt concerned over the cost of new gowns.

Unlike Harry, if Margaret found his mother’s request obsequious, she gave no indication. “Madame Tredwell.” A model of grace and decorum, Margaret was not only the ideal duchess but also the ideal partner for Harry. They complemented each other perfectly.

Timothy’s gaze slipped to Honoria. She would certainly be the perfect viscountess. However, the question remained if she would complete his other half as well as Margaret did for Harry.

Unbidden, his fickle gaze sought Priscilla like a magnetized force, unable to resist no matter how hard he fought against the pull. The small group she’d been part of had dispersed. The Somersbys threaded through the crowd, advancing toward Timothy—or more likely Harry and Margaret. Even Nash—the cad—had abandoned her, and Timothy wasn’t certain if he was relieved or saddened on her behalf.

Their eyes held, and his heart squeezed uncomfortably as a flush of what he supposed was embarrassment darkened Priscilla’s cheeks. Abruptly, she broke eye contact with him and moved toward another cluster of attendees composed of Lady Miranda and Lord and Lady Easton.

Timothy’s discomfort grew as Lady Easton turned toward Priscilla then, taking her husband’s arm, walked away, giving Priscilla the cut direct.

After exchanging some words with Priscilla, Lady Miranda turned up her nose and left as well.

Someone squeezed his forearm, and he returned his attention to the small group before him.

Honoria nodded discreetly in Priscilla’s direction, her concerned expression indicating she too witnessed the affront. “I should speak with her,” she whispered.

Before either he or Honoria could make a move, Priscilla rushed through the crowd and darted inside the house.

Knowing well it was ill-advised, Timothy interjected, “No. Allow me.” He patted Honoria’s hand resting on his arm and made his excuses to the group.

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