Emerson’s arms loosened, and Priscilla slid out of them. The cold wrapped around her before her feet hit the ground.
“Miss Fellowes?” Emerson echoed her name, looking stricken and shocked. He still looked to her for some answer, not quite believing what he’d heard.
Not wanting to believe what he’d heard.
Priscilla licked her lips and squeezed her eyes closed. “Yes.”
When she opened them again, she watched as his eyes turned from disbelief to something that might be pain.
And then anger.
Captain Edgeworth and Lord Bloodstone had approached with Mr. Meadowbrook, both looking equally stern as they comprehended the falsehood she’d perpetuated.
“Let’s all get out of this rain,” Lady Hardwood announced as she seemed to comprehend the situation. “Calmer heads will prevail once everyone is warm and dry.”
“Yes, let’s get you inside.” Priscilla didn’t realize she was shivering until Chloe dropped a coat around her shoulders—Chloe’s coat. Had the group only just returned? Or had they returned early because of the storm?
It didn’t matter.
Priscilla leaned into her dear friend gratefully. Chloe had wrapped her arms around Priscilla’s shoulders and was shuffling her toward the entrance of Cliffhouse.
Away from Emerson, who stood frozen, flanked by his glowering friends.
When Mr. Meadowbrook moved to prevent them from passing, Chloe held up one hand.
“Your daughter is perfectly safe at the school. Miss Fellowes, however, is wet. She is tired and possibly injured. We’re going to first address her well-being, and later, once she is rested and dry, we will address your concerns.” Chloe spoke as though Priscilla was not a scorned schoolteacher but a duchess or a queen. “If she is amenable to doing so.” Chloe added with a scowl, not allowing him to argue as she brushed past Allison’s father.
“Oh, Chloe,” Priscilla whispered. “I’ve ruined everything.”
“It isn’t your fault. I never should have left you. I’m the worst chaperone in the world.”
Stepping inside, they had no choice but to pass Lady Hardwood
Priscilla paused, forcing Chloe to halt beside her.
“I’m so sorry, my lady.” And she was. Dreadfully sorry.
The countess held Priscilla’s gaze—not as accusingly as she might have, but not as warmly as she had before. “Tea is being sent to your chamber. I’ll speak with both of you later this evening.”
“My thanks, my lady,” Chloe answered while Priscilla nodded.
Cloaked in shame, the two scurried up the stairs and down the corridor, familiar now with the layout of the magnificent manor.
Chloe threw open the door to their chamber, and after they’d both entered, closed and locked it behind them.
And when she turned to Priscilla, her hazel eyes were swimming, mirroring her own despair.
“They’re going to hate us. They’re all going to hate us,” Chloe said.
Priscilla sat on the chair behind her, and Chloe dropped to sit on the floor.
It was the first time she could ever remember her friend being speechless.
“I will make the explanations,” Priscilla announced. “And then you and I will leave at sunup.”
Because she was the one who’d been pretending. And although she’d felt coerced into the deception, she could have refused.
Priscilla had had a choice.
