Priscilla’s shoulders slumped. If life had taught her anything, it was that all men eventually leave. Even those who loved her.
That was why, from now on, she vowed to always do the leaving first.
Her gaze flicked back to Thaddeus Middleton.
“Minus five points,” she muttered under her breath, but didn’t look away. “Minus ten, you ninnyhammer.”
“What did you say?” came a curious voice from behind her.
Lady Felicity Sutton!
Priscilla could have thrown her arms about her closest friend for distracting her when she most needed it.
“I was talking to myself,” she informed her. “Eavesdropping is unladylike behavior.”
“All my behavior is unladylike,” Felicity assured her. “You’ll never believe what I did to my brother’s racing curricle.”
Priscilla frowned in surprise. “I assumed he was finished racing, now that he’s married.”
“Bah.” Felicity gestured dismissively. “Cole likes winning, not driving. He can always hire someone to race a carriage for him.”
Priscilla arched her brows. “I assume it’s unbeatable, no matter who holds the reins?”
“A bowl of porridge could drive the carriage,” Felicity agreed with satisfaction. “It'll be the fastest curricle on Rotten Row.”
“I’ll never enter a wager with a bowl of porridge,” Priscilla said solemnly, then grinned. “What would Colehaven do without you?”
“I guess we’ll find out this season,” Felicity said grimly.
Priscilla’s mouth fell open. “This is it?”
Felicity lifted her chin and gave a sharp nod of determination. “I’ve had a good run of being a directionless hoyden. It’s time to take the Marriage Mart seriously.”
Priscilla gazed at her friend in silence.
Felicity was the sister of a duke, and had always been clear about her aspirations. One day, she would marry a rich, titled lord. Someday, she would be a proper matron, commanding a household or three. Someday, she’d become a patroness as respected as any at Almack’s.
Priscilla just hadn’t expected “someday” to come while she was still around to watch her closest friend walk away.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll find the perfect man,” she mumbled. “You’re the most splendid woman I know.”
It was true. Felicity had already turned down half a dozen hopeful suitors. If she was finally ready to say yes, Priscilla was half-surprised the entire ballroom wasn’t throwing rings and roses at Felicity’s feet. Priscilla would miss her so much.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll find the perfect man,” Felicity replied with a grin. “There’s no one more splendid than Miss Priscilla Weatherby.”
Priscilla snorted. “You do realize you’re the only person who thinks so?”
“Then other people are stupid,” Felicity replied without hesitation. “You’ll find the one who isn’t.”
Priscilla wished she could tell her she wasn’t even playing the game. That she didn’t mind at all being three-and-twenty without ever having had a suitor, or even a kiss stolen by a rake with dishonorable intentions. That loneliness didn’t bother her because she’d been lonely her entire life. That she refused to let it bother her.
Just like she didn’t care at all that this set was a waltz, and Thaddeus Middleton was dancing it with someone else. It could have been Priscilla’s set.
And now it never would be.
“What do you know about Thaddeus Middleton?” she blurted out.
“Middleton?” Felicity lifted a shoulder. “No title, no fortune, no entailed properties. Or property at all. Otherwise, solvent. Good sport. Proper gentleman. Universally admired.”
