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Her brother wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, swinging her in an arc.
She squealed like a schoolgirl until he set her back down.
“I see old Digby hasn’t changed,” he whispered in her ear. Then he grasped her arms, holding her from him in appraisal. “You, on the other hand. Well, is it possible you’ve grown even more beautiful? You were a mere child when I left.”
He, too, had changed. A healthy golden tan had darkened his typically fair complexion, accentuating his blue eyes. The unexpected removal of his hat had left his unfashionably long hair disheveled, and a golden lock fell over his forehead.
“Mother will insist you get a haircut, but I love it.” It curled over the tops of his ears and at the nape of his neck.
“So do the ladies.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She slapped his arm playfully. “You rake! As I recall, you’ve never had a problem attracting women.”
He gazed around. “Speaking of Mother, I’m surprised she hasn’t laid siege. Is she here?”
Priscilla shook her head. “She’s at the modiste, and father is at his club.” She threaded her arm through his and led him to the drawing room, grinning like a ninny. “I have you all to myself.”
He became uncharacteristically somber. “Good. I wanted to talk to you.”
Panic snaked up her spine. “Is something wrong? You’re not ill, are you? You look wonderful—so tan.”
“It’s that unrelenting Italian sun. But no, it’s not about me. I’m concerned about you. Your letter didn’t contain the joyous anticipation of a bride I would have expected, and I left immediately upon receiving it. This isn’t another of Mother’s schemes?”
“No.” How could she tell him she’d managed this particular mess herself?
“But you’re not happy about it.” It was not a question.
They settled on a sofa in the drawing room. “I’ve given up on happy.”
A blond eyebrow raised. “Cilla. You have your whole life ahead of you. If you don’t want to marry this man, then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple. You’ve been gone these past five years. You don’t understand how difficult it’s been trying to reestablish myself in society. To be forgiven for what I’d done.”
“That was mainly Mother.”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t allow her to take the blame any longer. The duke pleaded with me to release him. Pleaded, Victor. I knew it was wrong. I won’t excuse myself any longer.”
His blue eyes studied her. “Youhavegrown up.” Taking her hands in his, he said ever so gently, “But Cilla, you did release him. Father wrote and told me what happened both at the wedding and after. Perhaps the first step is to forgive yourself.”
A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek onto her lips, the taste salty, and she brushed another away with the back of her hand. “It’s not only that. I tried to find a husband here in London, but circumstances make it too painful to stay here. A quiet life in the country with Mr. Netherborne will be my penance.”
She should have known better than to make even a vague reference of Timothy to her brother. He’d always had a sharp mind.
“What circumstances?” He bristled before her. “Has someone taken advantage of you? Give me his name, and I shall have his head.”
“No. Yes. No, not like you think. There is someone here, but he’s not taken anything from me except my heart.”
“Still. A man who would toy with a woman’s affections so carelessly should be brought to task. Does Father know?”
Again, she shook her head, more vehemently this time. “And I don’t want you to do anything either. He’s been perfectly honest with me. He never made me any promises.”
“Humph. And this Mr. Netherborne? Where is he? I should like to meet him to determine if he’s good enough for my sister.”
“He returned to his parish in Lincolnshire until the wedding.”
“And he’s not aware of your feelings for this other man?”
“Goodness, no. Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone.”
