“That Miss Shipley has married Primm’s brother.”
Priscilla froze but then turned to meet Chloe and Addy’s glances from across the room.
“Yes. Miss Shipley is a countess now,” Chloe answered cautiously.
“Is it a love match then, or did he only marry her to divert the scandal?” Beatrice threw herself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I never—not in a hundred years—would have imagined Miss Shipley compromising herself like that. And in Primm’s chamber! Did you faint when you discovered them?”
Under Beatrice’s scrutiny, all the blood drained out of Priscilla’s face. “Who told you?”
“Allison, of course. She says she won’t tell anyone else by I can’t imagine she’ll keep quiet once Charity Metcalf and her sisters are back.” Beatrice folded her arms behind her head. “Do you think you’ll pull it off? Pretending to be her?”
“That little—!” Priscilla could not summon a strong enough word, so she threw her hands in the air instead. “She wasn’t supposed to say a word to anyone!”
“I wouldn’t worry, Prissy.” Addy opened the wardrobe door and then tapped a finger to her lips. “Beatrice was going to have to find out anyway if she and I are going to take over your classes in your absence,”
“That’s not the point. Allison keeping quiet is a not insignificant requirement of our bargain.” Was it possible Priscilla could go through with this deception for nothing?
“We’ll keep her quiet.” Addy pulled the small stool out from beneath the heavy furniture and stepped up to reach the top of it. “You can pack the bulk of what you’ll need in a trunk, but you ought to take Allison’s s valise for good measure. She brought this by earlier.” She tilted the leather suitcase sideways to reveal the artistic monogram—small A, large M, small M.
“What is her middle name?” Chloe turned around from the desk where she’d kept unusually quiet. “You ought to know that, I suppose.”
“Minerva,” Priscilla answered automatically. “She is Allison Minerva Meadowbrook. Birthday, July 30, 1814. Only daughter of Mr. Morris Meadowbrook, owner and founder of Meadowbrook Enterprises located in Stockport, where he built a sprawling mansion christened Meadowbrook Palace. But as Mrs. Meadowbrook hates the North, she and Allison spend most of their time at a smaller country estate leased by her father south of London.” Priscilla listed the information she’d memorized for the hundredth time that afternoon.
“Good enough. Only it’s Meadowbrook Palace,” Chloe declared.
Addy set the case onto Priscilla’s bed, snapped it open, and revealed that it had already been packed. Inside, either Allison or Addy had folded a modest night rail and dressing gown, two pastel frocks, matching ribbons, and a pair of eggshell blue silk slippers.
Priscilla pulled out the top gown to examine it. Made up of lightweight muslin, with short, puffed sleeves and an abundance of lace, the shift wasn’t at all appropriate to wear in winter. “I suppose catching my death is one way to convince him to call off the betrothal.”
“You mustn’t joke about such things.” Chloe had abandoned whatever she’d been working on to turn around and face them. “Stay focused, Prissy.”
“Is that going to be difficult for her?” Beatrice asked Chloe.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Chloe sent Priscilla an admonishing glance.” Lord Hardwood is not an unattractive gentleman.”
“Oh, but this is interesting!” Beatrice lay on her side now, resting her head on her hand. “But Allison wants her footman, I suppose.”
“Dratted James,” Priscilla said.
“Allison’s quite delusional if she thinks Primm will allow him even to set foot in the school,” Beatrice said.
“For now, we’ll allow her that delusion,” Priscilla said. Because until this was all settled, it was best to keep the young girl happy.
Addy was already rummaging through Priscilla’s wardrobe, examining and then dismissing most of the dresses she pulled out. “Take this.” She threw a heavy chemise toward Allison’s suitcase. “And these.” She tossed in a pair of woolen stockings.
“I’ll wear my half-boots for travel.” Priscilla’s mind drifted to Lord Hardwood—who’d not complained even once that both his jacket and boots had been wrecked when he went after fiddlesticks. Allison was a fool.
“I’d send you with a few of my gowns, but you’d drown in them,” Beatrice said. “Not that they're any more fashionable.”
The three other teachers paused a moment to examine one another. Both Chloe and Addy’s curves were such that they’d hang on Priscilla, and although nearly as slim as Priscilla, Beatrice stood about seven inches taller.
“These in the back are pretty.” Addy had discovered the few gowns Priscilla had favored before coming to teach. “Yes, these ought to work.”
“Don’t spare anything. No one will expect Meadowbrook’s daughter to show restraint when it comes to her wardrobe.” Beatrice pushed herself up to help rearrange and brush at the odd assortment of Allison’s gowns and Priscilla’s garments into the trunk. It had been years since Priscilla had gone through them, having long since relegated that part of her life to the past.
Although she hadn’t forgotten they existed.
Priscilla sneezed and then scrunched up her nose. “They’ll require more than that, I’m afraid.”
