Grandfather liked to jest that the portrait was the longest he’d ever sat in one place.
Priscilla didn’t think he was joking.
“I’m going to the park,” she said softly. “I’ll take two maids with me as chaperones.”
She didn’t ask if her grandmother wished to join her. They both knew the answer.
Although theoretically Priscilla’s sponsor, Grandmother hadn’t left the townhouse in years. Priscilla didn’t mind. She was used to servants being her only human company.
If their mistress’s exacting standards caused a high turnover among the staff, Priscilla would keep weathering that storm, too. New maids meant new people to meet. And besides, once she was an adventurer, she would never remain anyplace long enough to become attached. Hoping to befriend maids and footmen was just silly.
Grandmother’s ice-blue gaze slid from the portrait to Priscilla. “Find a husband this time.”
This was the only topic Grandmother ever spoke about and, frankly, Priscilla did not understand her position on the matter. Marriage had brought nothing but misery to Grandmother. Marriage had brought nothing but misery to Priscilla’s own mother. Why on earth would she want the same thing for herself?
“We’ll see what happens,” was all Priscilla said aloud.
There would be no husband. Soon, there wouldn’t even be Priscilla. She worried every day about how much worse this lifeless, fusty parlor would become when there was no one to interrupt her grandmother’s endless, unchanging days.
With nothing but emptiness waiting ahead, why was she so determined to send her granddaughter away, too?
“Find a husband,” Grandmother repeated. “Do it while you’re still young enough to bring one up to scratch.”
“There will be many eligible gentlemen at the park,” Priscilla assured her. “Perhaps today is the day I’ll fall in love.”
“Fools fall in love,” Grandmother snapped. “You don’t need roses. You need a husband. Adventuring is not for ladies.”
“Adventuring is for adventurers,” Priscilla said. “Not long ago, Jeanne Baré was the first woman to circumnavigate the world. And what about Lady Stanhope? A celebrated expert in archaeology. She’s visited Israel, Syria, Egypt—”
“Dressed as men,” Grandmother said in disgust. “You’ll never find a husband that way.”
Priscilla did not say I’m not looking for one. She and Grandmother were both tired of that old argument. It was easier to just play the game while biding her time for her inheritance.
Grandmother might not be pleased when Priscilla chose adventure over marriage, but she would not be surprised.
“Are you warm enough?” she asked as she crossed the parlor to stoke the fire.
It was a lovely spring day—not that any light dare creep in through the layers of heavy curtains—but no matter how warm it grew outside, the townhouse always carried a chill.
“Find a man with ties to Town,” Grandmother said suddenly.
Priscilla poked at the coals with the fire iron. There were any number of reasons for her grandmother’s advice. A gentleman with ties to Town was likely to be respectable. A man with ties to Town would not leave it behind.
Too bad it was terrible advice.
Grandfather had plenty of ties to Town, starting with the pretty young heiress who was frozen wide-eyed and happy in the marriage portrait above the mantel.
Papa had ties, too. His mother, his wife, his daughter. Ties were meaningless. Marriage was meaningless. Priscilla had stopped believing in fairy-tales long ago.
The only “happy ever after” was the one you made for yourself.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Priscilla returned the fire iron to its stand, then crossed to kneel at her grandmother’s knees. “Whether I marry or become a lady archaeologist, I won’t forget or abandon you. I’ll write every single week, so you know I’m always thinking of you, no matter where in the world I am.”
“Bah,” said Grandmother. “Don’t write. Find a husband. I know my place and so should you.”
“I love you,” Priscilla said as she pushed to her feet. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Bah,” Grandmother said again.
