And it often happened unexpectedly, during a game of charades, across the table over dinner, and even from opposite sides of a room, while seemingly engrossed in entirely separate conversations.
Priscilla could imagine that they spoke a secret language—both remembering more intimate moments.
And then she’d break the contact and convince herself she’d imagined it. Because how was it possible to share something so intimate while surrounded by other people?
The kiss outside the barn had been their last. Or was she lying to herself now, in addition to everyone else?
After a lengthy dinner, Priscilla walked alone toward the drawing room in no mood for conversation. Chloe, and the countess’s other female guests, followed at a leisurely pace behind her.
The men, of course, would remain in the dining room to take their port. Priscilla took such moments as a reprieve whenever she could.
Because although she appreciated the attention and company of Emerson’s family and the house party guests, her lies grew heavier in her heart with each passing day.
The house party had passed the halfway mark, and only six days remained. Six more days of pretending. Six more days of lying.
When she and Chloe made their goodbyes, Emerson wouldn’t be the only person who would feel ill-used by her. Isadora and Mary Grace were fast becoming dear friends to her as well.
Sweet, friendly Isadora was expected to make her come out this spring. A little on the plump side of what was considered fashionable, she’d confided her fears of not fitting in. Priscilla had countered them vehemently. The girl was lovely just as she was—curvy, soft, and nurturing.
Mary Grace showed no reservations with Priscilla either, peppering her with questions about Miss Primm’s. Marriage wasn’t for her, and she’d declared her desire to teach more than once. Swearing she would only enter society because her brother insisted, her resolve at only seven and ten was admirable.
Priscilla couldn’t help but compare Mary Grace’s sober outlook on life with Allison’s fickle entitlement. Hugging her arms in front of her, Priscilla held herself distant while Lady Hardwood encouraged Evie to sit at the pianoforte.
Evie was the next youngest and watched everything that went on around her with forest-green eyes that were thoughtful and all too knowing. Her come out wouldn’t be for another year yet, but at barely six and ten, along with being musically gifted, she already promised to be a beauty.
The twins, a year younger than Evie, and only sometimes invited to participate with the adults, were absent this evening. On the occasions Priscilla did chat with Cora and Maddy, she’d learned to differentiate between the two of them by their demeanor. Cora stood tall and spoke in a commanding voice, where Maddie took up as little space as possible and barely spoke above a whisper.
Eloise, dutifully standing at her mother’s side, caught Pricilla’s gaze, narrowed her eyes, and dipped her chin without smiling. As the eldest, she was pleasant enough, but the girl seemed to see right through her in moments such as this one.
Did she see what the others missed, or would she have acted like this with any woman her brother brought home?
Priscilla shivered and moved along the wall toward the long line of windows. Darkness had fallen hours ago, and as she stared at the glass, she could mostly only make out her own reflection along with the guests moving behind her. Flames danced on the wicks of candles lit around the room.
She didn’t need to actually see the sea to feel it churning in the distance. It was there, in the darkness, much like the future.
Six more days before it would all be over.
Six more days until she could go home.
Six more days, and then she’d never see Emerson again.
Priscilla touched her hand to her throat. It suddenly felt thick, almost painfully so. She forced herself to swallow and focused on Evie, who was performing a particularly haunting and intricate tune.
Watching the girl, Priscilla couldn’t help thinking she was most like her brother. Their hair was the same dark brown, and although Evie’s eyes were a darker green than his, they were shaped the same. Most notable, however, she possessed the same quiet dignity Emerson did.
Thoughtful but also kind.
Brave and sure, but not boastful.
In light of what Emerson had told Priscilla about his father, Lady Hardwood deserved tremendous credit for raising children of such good character.
Emerson was like his mother in that way. Regret tightened in her belly. No doubt, he was going to be an excellent father someday.
She got so caught up in the music, along with her disturbing thoughts, that she hadn’t noticed that the gentlemen had finished their port and joined them.
Laughing and joking with one another, they reminded Priscilla of her brothers, whom she missed even more than usual. Likely, it was this place, which was similar in many ways to her own family home.
But then Emerson, limping slightly but leaning on his cane, stepped through the wide-open double doors and dragged his gaze around the clusters of guests as though searching for someone.
