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“I’m so excited!” She claps her hands together, spinning around as if she’s dancing.
“Why? Are you going?” I ask.
“Going?” she says, pausing to look at me before laughing aloud. “They’ll have their own servants there. I’m not excited for me. I’m excited for you.” She grins.
“Me?” I gasp aloud, looking at her like she fell and bumped her head on a rock before coming into my room.
“Yes,” she says before hurrying over to me and taking my hands in hers. “I think I saw a gown hanging…” she starts, and I stop her.
“I’m a prisoner. Remember?” I pull my hands from hers and stand.
“I know, but I think the boss has plans to inv…” she starts.
“I’m really sorry, Gloria,” I interrupt. “But the last thing I want to hear about right now is the boss’ plans. If I’m allowed, I’d like to retire to bed now,” I say.
Her face pales, and she presses her lips together, staring at me with wide eyes before nodding. “Yes. I’m so sorry,” she says before leaving.
Sighing and blinking away the sting of tears in my eyes, I turn to look back at the bed, cursing myself as I flop into it and go to sleep.
Chapter Ten
At the Primrose residence
SinceMissPrimrose’sdisappearance,the servants have been bustling around wondering what to do with themselves and whether to arrange for a search party, until Heath shows up at the door. He announces that soon, they’ll be working for him. He even demands that a party be thrown in honour of important news. Typical of Heath, he wouldn’t allow others to get a word in, so the servants couldn’t ask him about the whereabouts of Miss and Mr Primrose.
This is the reason, therefore, why their garden is packed full of people, dressed in fancy garb, wondering what they’re doing here, instead of Lord Everton’s mansion. The garden is filled with flowers of various pastels, some native and others imported. Wine is served in golden chalices. A magnificent band plays their harps and violins as people speak amongst each other. All the male guests are surprised that the party has gone on so long without Lord Everton’s interruption. But he lives up to his reputation after all when the music pauses, and the tinkling of metal against glass takes hold of their attention.
“Friends, Foes. Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to an evening of celebration!” He projects his voice from a stage set up for him at the forefront of the party. “You must be wondering why I’ve invited you all to this quaint home with a subpar garden, which as you can tell, I’ve worked wonders on to transform.” He waves his hand across the decorations. “As many of you know, Colderidge has had a new visitor. A visitor so divine that all men, though they might not admit it openly, have thought about claiming as their own. But I’ve been the victor.” He laughs. Raising his fist in the air.
High on wine and dancing, the spectators raise their glasses in a cheer. As foxed as they are, they’d cheer anything. Some of the women bristle at his words. They’re not simpletons. They can put together quite easily the object of his speech, being that they’re standing in her garden. Other women, well, it takes them a little long to do the math, and they open their mouths in wonder, no doubt hoping he might be speaking of them. Their wishes are easily shattered soon enough.
“I’ve been courting Miss Primrose, with her father’s permission. And it’s with his blessing that I announce that I will soon call her my wife. I know, ladies, I’m off the market. That must be devastating for you. But it needn’t be devastating quite yet. I’m still a bachelor until there’s a formal ceremony. And if Miss Primrose fails to live up to the ideal she must, as my betrothed, then I reserve the right to withdraw my proposal.” He smiles proudly. “However, until then, it must be noted that Miss Primrose is also currently off the market. And any man who dares to attempt winning her affections will have to deal with me.”
Some of the men chuckle before one raises his voice. “If she’s yours, why do you feel the need to warn everyone to stay away? Is it possible that she might not have fully accepted your proposal, yet?”
Heath’s face tenses in a hard scowl. “Nonsense. Look amongst yourself. Watch how the women drool for me. You, my… friends, are what women settle for. There’s just not enough me to go around. Be honest with yourselves. Do you think it’s possible for any woman to resist me? To refuse me? When I’m everything they want and more?” His voice grumbles as though there’s a roar in there waiting to escape, but he won’t let it.
It might have been reasonable for the men to react to his challenge in an aggressive manner. But everyone has grown familiar with Heath Everton. The man has been the same ever since his mother birthed him. She wouldn’t even let a fly near him. She coddled him until the day she passed. And the fatwit with his brawn and riches believes everyone sees him the way she did. Unfortunately, being lusted over by women isn’t one of his delusions. It’s as if his face and his money are the only things worth seeing, with them. For his competition, however, he’s accepted as a fool. They simply counter his words with their own.
The man who asked the previous question laughs. Another speaks up, “Where is Miss Primrose, then? Can’t she bear a night of celebration with you?”
Heath downs a glass of wine and marches forward. He’s stopped by his friend who grabs his hard, muscled arms. As he pauses, listening to his friend calm him down and remind him that some of these men at these parties have larger fortunes and more connections than he does, a woman, dressed head to toe in riches, approaches him with her hand on his other arm.
“And what might you want with the lady of rags, when you can have all of this and more?” she asks, cooling herself with a pink, feathered hand fan before dropping it at his feet. A heavy flirtatious act. He smiles, crouching to pick it up when his friend presses a hand to his chest.
“Best not to entertain someone else. You might lose the affections of Ms. Primrose,” the friend says, picking up the feathered fan and handing back to the lady who scoffs and walks away.
“Oh, stop ruining the fun. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I’m not married yet, am I? Besides, she’s not here. Is she? Who’s going to tell her?” he asks.
“And why isn’t she here?” The friend scrunches his brows. Heath’s lips tremble. And as he most certainly was about to make up some excuse, none other than Mr. Primrose rides in, looking a right mess.
His leg is bandaged, and his eyes are black and blue. He’s dressed in expensive clothes, still a bit too baggy for him. He winces as he jumps off his horse, staggering forward with eyes strained open, looking at the crowd.
“Wha-wha-what?” He stumbles as he tries to form words.
“Ah! Mr. Primrose! I was just telling the guests that your daughter and I…” Heath walks over to him with a big old grin and arms open wide.
“My daughter! Oh, my daughter!” Mr. Primrose screams before sinking to the grass, sobbing into his hands.
