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“And perhaps,” she said, her voice becoming a bit more emphatic, “she is not the only one who needs to consider what is most important.”
Honoria’s enigmatic words bounced against his hardened heart and stubborn mind.
For the rest of the afternoon, he sulked like a schoolboy who’d lost at cricket and subsequently been ridiculed by his friends.
Even Laurence couldn’t cajole him out of his foul mood. “What say we go to White’s after this? Have a rousing game of cards? These parties are a drain on my nerves.”
“Then why on earth did you have one?” Timothy veritably barked the words at his best friend.
Laurence, being the even-tempered, good-natured man he was, didn’t bat an eye. “Because Bea wanted to. And if I’ve learned one thing about being married, it’s to do what my wife wishes.” He leaned in to whisper. “Often it’s something of great enjoyment.” He waggled his eyebrows. Waggled! Marriage had turned the man’s typically sharp mind to mush.
“Eww. I didnotneed to have that image in my mind. She’s my sister, man. Remember yourself!”
Laurence simply laughed and patted Timothy on the back. “White’s. As soon as this is over.” Then he wandered off, presumably to annoy someone else.
If it weren’t for the infernal feline predator lying in wait, Timothy would have gone inside and located the fine Scottish whisky Laurence hoarded in his study. Strike that. Timothy had done that once only to discover in horror a scandalous portrait of his sister hanging on the wall. Never again. He’d die of thirst first.
He sipped his much too sweet lemonade and watched Priscilla chatting with Lady Charlotte. Was she cozying up to Nash’s sister as well?
Damnation!
Unable to stand much more, he wound his way through the crowds and found his sister. “Bea, I’m leaving. I would thank you for inviting me, but considering that beast you call a pet attacked me, I’ll withhold my gratitude.”
“You should thank me regardless. I did this for you.”
“Me? What the deuce are you talking about?”
“Shush. Mother’s right there. She’ll hear you cursing.”
He brushed it aside. “She’ll survive. Now, what’s this about doing this for me?”
“Lady Honoria suggested it. She told me how you both are trying to help Miss Pratt find a husband. Although Lord knows why. Sometimes I think Lady Honoria is too good for this world. Certainly too good for my rapscallion of a brother.” Her grin softened her words.
But there was truth in them. “She is too good for me. I don’t deserve her.”
“Then you best make haste before someone else steals her from under your nose. Besides, now that I’m married, Mother is eager for another wedding.”
“What’s that I hear about a wedding?” Their mother scurried over in a rustle of silks, lace, and overabundance of rosewater. “Has Lady Honoria finally brought you up to scratch? Goodness, I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”
“That’s what I said.” Bea shot him a little smirk.
They were ganging up on him. “At that, I shall bid you both adieu. Bea, tell your annoyingly lovesick husband that I’ll be at White’s waiting for him.” He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mother. Don’t send out the wedding invitations just yet.”
He hurried away before anything else could go wrong, only to run into Priscilla again in the hallway.
Bees buzzed in his head, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet. “Nash? Really?”
Her icy glare chilled him to the bone. “What should it matter to you? At least with him, I might experience passion. Given freely and not withheld like a miser.”
As she brushed past him, he reached for her arm. “Priscilla, wait.”
“Unhand me.” Cold and controlled, the passion of which she spoke—which she admitted she craved—was eerily absent from her words.
In a wave of lemon verbena, she was gone, leaving his world empty and bleached of color.
* * *
What little sparkof life the party held left with Timothy, and Priscilla found it growing ever more difficult to withstand the snubs from the remaining attendees. Even though she rarely indulged in strong spirits, as she sipped the lemonade, which admittedly was a perfect balance of tart and sweet, she wished it were something stronger. Anything to numb the sharp pain in her chest that knifed through her at Timothy’s words.
