AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Very well. Although I won’t agree to like it.” He patted her hands. “Now, what do you say we take advantage of this exceptionally beautiful day and go for a stroll in the park? My legs are cramped from my long journey and in need of exercise.”
He winked, his face assuming the mischievous expression she had loved since they were children. “Besides, I’d rather delay my reunion with Mother as long as possible.”
She laughed, the sound almost foreign to her ears. At least her upcoming nuptials had resulted in one bright spot of her life.
CHAPTER 24—THE LETTER
Timothy walked the short distance from the Marquess of Stratford’s home to Lord Cartwright’s, instructing the groom he would return for his mount. He needed the extra time it would take him on foot to prepare what he would say to Priscilla.
First and foremost, he would apologize as he’d intended immediately after their heated conversation at Bea’s garden party. Those words had been corralled and trapped on his tongue at Nash’s flagrant display of attention.
Initially, he’d decided if Priscilla’s intention had been to flaunt a relationship with such a rake to wound him, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing she succeeded. However, the news of her engagement gave rise to new questions and the second reason for his call.
Was this a further attempt to make him jealous?
To coerce him into a declaration he was unwilling to make?
Or had she truly resigned herself to give up on her dream of a love match filled with the passion she desired?
And why to Mr. Netherborne when she admitted to loathing life in the country?
Why now?
And what precisely did he hope to accomplish by seeing her?
Such questions did little to assist in the formation of an apology and only confused his already tortured mind more. Before he realized it, he had neared her father’s townhouse. Several houses away, he paused to gather both his courage and a few words with which to begin.
Movement at the Cartwrights’ front door caught his attention. Priscilla exited on the arm of a man—a young man, of perhaps Timothy’s age.
Mr. Netherborne? Timothy tried in vain to recall what the man looked like when he’d seen him from a distance at the cottage.
But the man’s appearance was not what caused jealousy to band Timothy’s chest.
Oh, no. It was the look of pure adoration on Priscilla’s face as she gazed up at the fellow.
The man leaned down and said something in Priscilla’s ear, eliciting laughter that drifted on the breeze toward Timothy. With one arm linked in the man’s, she used her free hand to touch his chest, the action intimate and familiar—and like a scalpel slicing Timothy’s heart.
What had changed? Had Mr. Netherborne proven himself to be an ardent and passionate suitor?
The thought rankled.
Timothy ducked behind a waiting carriage and observed the couple as they crossed the street toward the park. Intrusion on their moment now out of the question, he waited until they disappeared among the crowd, then turned to retrieve his horse and head home.
His apology was no longer only obligatory but paramount. But he could not offer it in person. Feelings he refused to acknowledge would betray him if he were to gaze into her inordinately blue eyes—the risk too great, the price too dear. Instead, once he arrived home, he settled himself at his writing desk and retrieved foolscap, pen, and ink to write, perhaps, the most important letter of his life.
* * *
“Really,Victor! You must curtail such outlandish stories while in Mother’s presence.” Priscilla had blushed more than a few times at Victor’s tales of exploits and romantic entanglements while studying art in Italy. His descriptions of the female models and aristocratic Italian women were enough to put curl in her hair.
He winked again, the devilish glint in his eye lighting up her world. “They’re not outlandish if they’re true.”
“They most certainly are. And I have serious doubts you’ve not exaggerated.”
He smoothed the front of his coat with his hand. “Can I help it if I’m irresistible?”
“Incorrigible is what you are. With a gargantuan opinion of yourself.”
He threw his head back, hand pressed against his heart. “You wound me, sister.”
