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The easy lightness of their conversation dissipated when they arrived back at their father’s townhouse and Digby opened the door. “Your parents are in the drawing room. They’re most eager to see you, sir.”
Priscilla tried not to take the slight to heart. Victor had been away from home for five years and naturally her parents would focus their attention on him.
She turned to go upstairs. “I’ll go to my room and give you some time with Mother and Father.”
He grasped her arm. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not leaving me alone with the tigress.” Holding her hand, he pulled her with him into the arena.
In an instant, their mother sprang from her chair and enveloped Victor in her arms. Over her shoulder, he mouthed a silentHelp me!to Priscilla, making her giggle. Their father waited patiently, finally having a chance to shake his son’s hand and pat him on the back.
As expected, Priscilla was forgotten while her parents bombarded Victor with countless questions. Before long, their chatter became nothing more than the buzzing of insects as her mind drifted.
“Cilla?” Victor stared at her, his head tilted in question.
She blinked. “Beg pardon? What?”
He smiled, popping his deep dimples. “Everything all right? Mother asked if you would like to invite Lord and Lady Saxton to the wedding breakfast. She heard from Lady Saxton that you’ve become friendly with her son, Timothy Marbry.”
Priscilla squirmed under Victor’s astute gaze. She tried to deflect the conversation, sending an icy glare toward her mother. “You told Lady Saxton?! I thought we decided to keep the engagement and wedding quiet so as not to attract more gossip.”
Her mother straightened her already stiff back. “Certainly you don’t expect me to remain silent, especially with Mathilda going on and on about her new grandchild?”
“It’s not a competition, Mother.” Victor leveled that particular admonishment. “Besides, it’s Priscilla’s express wish to avoid attention. You don’t see Father gadding about town announcing it from the rooftops.”
A queasy feeling settled in Priscilla’s stomach at the sheepish look on her father’s face. “Well, to be honest . . .”
“Father, what did you do?” Priscilla veritably squeaked the words.
“I may have mentioned it to Stratford at White’s. He said Lady Honoria had been asking about you.”
“Is she also your friend?” Victor chimed in.
Why couldn’t they have continued discussing Italy?
However, it provided a perfectly acceptable solution to Victor’s previous enquiry. “Lady Honoria has been most kind, doing her utmost to help me salvage my reputation in society. And Dr. Marbry is courting her, so naturally I would have made his acquaintance.”
There. She commended herself on her relatively quick thinking. Surely that would satisfy Victor’s curiosity.
His narrowed eyes told her otherwise. “Hmm.”
Victor most likely inherited his tenacity from their mother, for she reiterated the question Priscilla had, up to that point, avoided. “Well, do you wish to invite Lord and Lady Saxton and I suppose the Marquess of Stratford as well to the wedding breakfast?”
The last thing she wanted was to gaze upon Timothy Marbry’s face while she sat next to her new husband. “I’d prefer not. We’re not that close.”
If only they were. She needed to remove herself from Victor’s probing eyes. “If you would all excuse me. I would like to pen a letter to Mr. Netherborne.” She sent—what she hoped was—a pointed glare toward Victor. “After all, he is my betrothed.”
As she rose, Digby entered, carrying a silver salver. “A letter for Miss Priscilla. The person delivering it said it was urgent.”
She plucked the missive from the tray and turned it over. The sealing wax bore no crest, and although the handwriting’s bold, even strokes indicated a masculine hand, she did not recognize it.
“Who is it from?” her mother called. “A well-wisher?”
“That would hardly be urgent, Mother,” Victor said.
Victor’s words fell on deaf ears, the sound itself muted as Priscilla opened and glanced down at the signature. Her hand rose to her throat. “Please excuse me, I . . . I shall read this in private.”
And without another word, she dashed off to the safety of her bedroom.
With shaking hands, Priscilla read the precious letter.
