But when she mentioned that she took classes in domestic sciences, but also physics, math, and history, their eyes widened in surprise, which was a little insulting.
“Physics? Why on earth would you bother with that?” Young Mr. Peterson looked sincerely curious. “It’s more of a masculine study. I don’t see how that will make a lady into a better mother—or wife—for that matter.”
“It does rather seem a waste of time,” the other boy agreed.
Priscilla caught Chloe watching her from across the room, where she played a casual game of piquet with some of the older women. And, of course, Chloe was silently laughing at her.
Turning back, Priscilla answered their question with one of her own. “Why do men learn physics, math, and history, only to go on to waste most of their lives gambling on cards and racing horses?”
“Precisely as I see it,” Isadora spoke up. “My cousins are going to have to come into the nineteenth century if they hope to attract a woman with any intelligence.”
“Who needs intelligence when they can have a pretty face and form instead?” Mr. Peterson laughed. “Besides,” he winked, “There are mathematics involved when playing cards.”
“And physics when racing horses,” his friend offered.
“Indeed?” Priscilla rose. She was finished with this conversation.
Worried about Lord Hardwood’s injury, her patience was being sorely tested. She wasn’t going to be able to relax until she learned more about his condition.
But before taking leave of the group, she glanced around their young faces meaningfully. As daughters of an earl, Hardwood’s sisters were all ladies, but in addition to that, the ones who weren’t already beauties were on the brink of becoming just that.
But they were also smart, clever. Given the necessary tools in life, they could go on to do great things.
“Peters, old boy, we’ve spoken out of turn in front of Hardwood’s betrothed. We ought not to have.” The boy with the most spots frowned.
“Well, don’t apologize to me.” Priscilla directed her gaze in the young men’s direction. “I’m already spoken for. But there will come a time when you’ll wish you’d used these opportunities to impress the young ladies in your midst rather than insult them—a time when you’ll realize that in entertaining yourselves, you burned bridges you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
The group of young people stared up at her, mouths gaping, looking so perplexed one would have guessed she’d grown a second head. “But don’t worry. You aren’t the first to fall into this trap, and you most certainly won’t be the last. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fetch my shawl.”
As she turned to take her leave, she glimpsed Lord Bloodstone and Captain Edgeworth—both who were watching her curiously.
Ah, well. If Lord Hardwood’s colleagues disagreed with what she knew to be true, then that was their problem.
Chloe, who’d also been watching these interactions, had excused herself from her game and caught Priscilla before she could make her escape.
“What are you doing?” Chloe whispered.
“Have you heard anything about Lord Hardwood?” Priscilla asked.
“Why are you so worried about him?”
Priscilla shook her head. Since coming to teach at Miss Primm’s, living in an all-girls school, away from the ton, away from the idea of marriage and courting, she’d been fairly successful at forgetting what she’d done to Lord Lockely—at forgetting what she’d gone through knowing one man was dead and fearing for another…
She shook her head.
A twisted ankle was nothing compared to a gunshot wound, and yet…
Was she so distraught because of the charade? Despite her efforts to the contrary, she was experiencing all the normal feelings a girl felt to be courted. The ritualistic dance between a man and a woman aroused all the needs and wants she’d given up on.
Only it was so much different this time. This time, Priscilla was the liar—the pretender.
Guilt washed over her, along with a sense of impending doom. In her limited experience, courtship unfolded in a pattern… Flattery, attraction, desire, passion, and then betrayal.
This courtship promised the same.
She shook her head. “Lord Hardwood would not have fallen if not for me.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Chloe said. “He was able to walk on it—”
