“Mr. Driver can deliver it for you.” Primm was already unwrapping Fiddlesticks when her housekeeper appeared with a towel from behind her. “Will you tend to Miss Meadowbrook’s dog?” Miss Primm transferred him from Priscilla’s arms into the housekeeper’s.
Following the concerning events over the holidays, Miss Primm’s stern demeanor was understandable.
A scandal that threatened one’s school involving one’s brother and the assistant headmistress was apt to do that.
“Lady Rosewood is waiting in the parlor with Miss Fortune and Miss Adelaide. We need to decide on our course of action before he arrives.”
“You haven’t had any luck convincing Allison?” Priscilla asked hopefully.
“None whatsoever. The obstinate girl maintains that she’ll break her silence on the matter—tell Mrs. Pratt first and, thusly, the entire world—if we don’t handle the earl for her.” Primm smoothed her dark hair away from her face and then adjusted her spectacles.
Were the headmistress’s hands shaking?
“But there must be another way.” Priscilla sighed. Allison Meadowbrook was what most considered an impossible student—spoiled, stubborn, and quite accustomed to having her way. And unfortunately, her father’s propensity to make significant donations to the school had only perpetuated the problem.
After refusing to meet with the gentleman her father had betrothed her to over the holidays, Allison had come up with what she deemed to be the perfect plan. She’d decided that Priscilla must refuse the man for her.
While pretending to be her.
“Because he’s an earl and I’m barely a child. He won’t accept a refusal from me. Before you know it he’ll be carrying me off kicking and screaming. My dreary existence,” Allison had mourned. “Will then forever be on your conscience.”
“Write him a letter,” Priscilla had suggested.
“But he’s coming here,” Allison had pressed her point. “And it’s important my refusal come straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Am I the horse, or are you?” Priscilla had asked.
“Well, you are. Because you will pretend to be me—the actual horse.”
Priscilla had adamantly refused, believing it to be a horrible idea—not to mention that it was dishonest and cruel.
“But I am six and twenty, and you are barely seven and ten,” Priscilla had pointed out.
“You don’t look your age. It will work. Trust me,” Allison had said. “Besides, I promised James that I would wait for him. If some stodgy earl tries to kiss me, I’ll just die!”
Allison was, of course, currently pining for one of her father’s former footmen.
The ridiculous suggestion of posing as one of her students hadn’t been a problem until Priscilla and Allison had returned to the school early on Christmas morning.
The events of that morning were regrettable, indeed.
Believing the residence was vacant, she and Allison had entered the small apartment, not bothering to call out or announce themselves. And as they’d both been exhausted from their travels, Priscilla had led Allison directly back to Primm’s bedchamber. Of course, they had expected it to be unoccupied.
It had not been. No, Allison and Priscilla had stumbled inside and witnessed a scene that had been highly improper—many would say immoral.
And that unfortunate encounter had provided Allison with the bargaining power she now wielded over them.
Most specifically, Priscilla.
Stepping into the parlor, Priscilla winced at the memory.
Luckily, the other students were still away for the holidays, and Allison had yet to divulge the meaty scandal. But the commencement of spring term was only a few days away. If this situation wasn’t resolved soon, Allison’s vague hints, which had evolved into ominous threats, had the potential to manifest into something disastrous.
Which placed Priscilla in a complicated position.
“Come sit down and warm up, Priscilla.” Victoria Shipley, now the Countess of Rosewood and the woman at the center of the scandal, indicated the space beside her, nearest the hearth where a fire blazed. “No doubt you’re half frozen.”
Miss Chloe Fortune and Miss Adelaide Royal were seated on the smaller sofa, knees together, and backs straight, looking every ounce the proper schoolteachers they were supposed to be.
