Making his way out of the carriage once he arrived back at the Hampton townhome, West winced as the impact from the large step down to the cobblestone street sent a shock up his leg. He could feel the vibration rising through his body until it reached his still smarting cheekbone. Knowing better than to say anything, Morton still managed to comment quite eloquently through the look he gave as he quietly took his coat and let him inside.
West had almost made it to the staircase when his mother intercepted him before he could make his escape and hide his already purpling eye.
“West, whatever happened to you?” she exclaimed, rushing over and taking his chin between her fingers, angling his face towards the light to further examine him.
“I’m fine, mother. I was at Gentleman Jackson’s sparring with a friend, and he got an unlucky hit on me. It’s nothing serious and will fade away within a week.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t have an outing with Her Grace this evening—you could hardly accompany her looking like this,” she said with a perfect mixture of condemnation and concern in her tone. He didn’t know how she managed such a feat; it was perfectly motherly.
“Yes, well, I’ve already seen Lady Priscilla today, as it happens.” West shot her a pointed look, but she wasn’t taking the bait, only giving a guileless smile in return. “Were you going to tell me that you had invited her to join you for tea?”
Taking a moment to smooth the collar of his waistcoat, she answered while looking at his chest. “It was none of yourconcern. I simply wanted to get to know her better, and we had a marvelous time.”
“Mother . . .,” West said, letting out a sigh, “didn’t I warn you about raising her expectations?”
“Well, if you don’t intend to wed the woman, you should stop seeing her. I hardly think I’m the one giving her false hope at this point.” Unsurprisingly, she had no problem looking him in the eye once more as she delivered that remark.
West felt guilty, recognizing the truth in her words. He and Priscilla had been seen as a couple for weeks now, it was no wonder his mother had her hopes up.
“She really is a wonderful young woman,” the marchioness continued. “I found her to be poised and intelligent. She would be a perfect companion for you and would run the house well while being an excellent hostess.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose to try and stave off a headache the ill-timed hit from the viscount was causing, West realized he needed to apprise his mother of the real situation. Though he feared he was already too late, and she would be crushed to know he and Priscilla were not a serious match for one another.
“Mother, come sit in the drawing room with me. I think I need to explain the situation with Lady Priscilla.” She gave him an apprehensive look but followed him down the hall, Morton leaving to order tea for the discussion. He felt his mother might need something both comforting and bracing after his confession.
Taking in a deep breath, West began what was bound to be an unpleasant reveal. “My relationship with Lady Priscilla is not what you think it is, mother. We are not actually courting one another, and neither of us intends for this partnership to end in marriage. We are simply pretending so that both of us may havesome space to do what we need to without others hounding us throughout the season.”
His mother simply stared, blinking rapidly for a moment before speaking. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?” she finally said, voice small.
“Because she didn’t have a moment’s peace from fortune hunters now that she’s back in polite society after her period of mourning, and I need my focus to be on business—not engaging with every debutante in theton.The kiss between us at the Trenton ball was an unplanned diversion to get a suitor to leave Priscilla alone. Knowing there would be gossip, we decided to use it to our advantage. It’s not real, mother. I don’t want you to become attached to her, because we will be going our separate ways as soon as the season is over.”
As he spoke, West watched a variety of emotions pass over his mother’s delicate features. Disbelief to shock, and finally, to disappointment. The last was the expression that remained, and he felt terrible for leading his mother on and raising her hopes when he knew how much she wished for him to find a good wife.
And he would concede her point that Priscilla would make an excellent wife. She was efficient, could converse with anyone, and now that she was no longer condescending and cutting, lovely to be around.
His mother picked up her teacup and took a long draught. Looking up at West, she implored, “But now that you know her, could you not consider making it real? I see how well the two of you get along.”
Letting out a sigh, he warily replied, “Both Lady Priscilla and I have agreed that we are not what the other is looking for in a potential match. We are the exact replica of what we have been told to seek our entire lives—and I won’t do it. I am my own man, and I will not marry simply to please the wishes of a father who is now dead.”
The last had come out with more vehemence than he had meant, and he dropped his head to avoid the sadness he saw in his mother’s eyes.
“Oh, my darling boy,” she said, taking his hand. “I think I’ve failed you.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, lifting his head, brow furrowed in confusion.
“I know I should have stood up to your father more than I did—stood up foryou.But he was so worried about things being just so that I was afraid to question him or step out of line, should it cause more trouble. I knew he would never physically hurt you, but that doesn’t mean his controlling nature didn’t harm you just the same.”
Hearing his mother say what he had wished from her so greatly when he was younger, West felt his eyes beginning to well. She leaned forward and brushed his unruly hair off his forehead. He felt like a boy again, upset and coming to his mother for comfort.
“Don’t let his limitations make you bitter. Don’t close yourself off to possibilities just to spite him.” With that, his mother stood and leaned down to kiss the crown of his head before leaving the room.
CHAPTER 19
It had been nearly a week since Priscilla had last seen West when the invitation arrived.
She read it over a few times, not sure if she believed what was written. It had come from West’s mother, the Marchioness of Hampton, and asked her to attend the birthday celebration for John Beaumont at Hampton House in Northamptonshire in three days’ time.
Placing the letter on the desk, Priscilla dropped her head onto her arms, unsure of her next step. Her immediate thought was that of course she wanted to go, she missed being with West and wanted to get to know his family. It would also be lovely to visit Hampton House and get out of town for a bit. Though still spring, the temperature was rising, and with it, the stench London was known for.
