As Priscilla assisted the dowager into the rollerchair, she recalled when she had first heard about the chair with wheels that her father’s distant cousin, John Dawson of Bath, had invented for invalids. The chair, which had two large wheels behind and one in front, had made him very rich. Her father constantly cursed his cousin for not sharing some of that wealth with the penniless relatives. Then again, if she were John, she wouldn’t give her father money either, since he rarely spent it on his children.
They reached the music room, and Priscilla helped the dowager out of the rollerchair and to the sofa. As she stepped to the pianoforte, her mind was already putting together a memorized piece that she enjoyed playing. Once she sat on the stool, her fingers moved over the keys as if they had a mind of their own, for indeed they did. Her enjoyment for music was evident in the way she played.
Playing had always soothed her, but at the moment, she couldn’t keep memories from resurfacing. She had captured the attention of two men over the past six years because of how well she played. The first had been Collin, Lord Hanover, who had inherited the new title of Lord Kentwood and was now happily married. But less than eighteen months ago, she had attended one of her aunt’s dinner parties, where she was given the opportunity to play. Viscount Lennox had been in attendance. His dashing good looks and charming manner had swept many women off their feet, but the dirty, rotten cad had picked her as his next target.
When the volume of the music increased, her thoughts turned to how the viscount had gazed at her with his smoldering green eyes and kissed her hand with his gentle lips. He had tried several times to meet her in private, but something had always complicated their plans. At the time, she had been quite put out by the interruptions. Now, she was grateful nothing had happened between them. Gavin’s attention was easily diverted to another innocent female, and he never spoke to Priscilla again.
The viscount had been just like Lord Hanover. The two lords—who were, incidentally, cousins—knew exactly how to twist up her feelings and shatter her hopes of ever finding a man to marry. Of course, it was her family’s misfortune that turned her into a spinster.
She finished Mozart’s piece and rested her hands in her lap. Her whole body shook from the disappointment and anger rushing through her. As the dowager clapped enthusiastically, Priscilla took in deep breaths, trying to calm her ire.
“Oh, Miss Priscilla, you played wonderfully and dramatically. Indeed, your grandmother did not exaggerate about your special talent. I don’t believe I have witnessed a better performance than the one you just gave.Brava, my dear.”
Finally feeling as if she had rid herself of heartbreaking memories, Priscilla faced the woman and smiled. “I thank you for your generous compliment, Your Grace. I fear I tend to let my feelings go when I’m playing.”
A cheery woman, perhaps in her late thirties, brought in a tray filled with teacups, a teakettle, and a plate of crumpets. The woman’s red curls bounced as she walked. She gave a nod to Priscilla before placing the tray on the nearby table.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” The duchess motioned to the servant. “Miss Priscilla, this is my housekeeper. She and my cook know what types of food I enjoy during certain times of the day, and it just so happens that this is when I eat my crumpets. I hope you don’t mind.”
Priscilla smiled at the dowager. “Not at all. I enjoy crumpets as well.” She shifted her attention to the housekeeper. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Jones.”
The servant curtsied. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Priscilla.” She turned back to the duchess. “Your favorite grandson just arrived. He is wondering if he can visit with you.”
The dowager beamed. “Of course he can. I can’t wait to introduce him to my companion.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Would you like me to pour your tea first?”
“No, Miss Priscilla can pour it. You hurry and fetch that handsome grandson of mine. I haven’t seen him since he took over his new title two months ago.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The servant curtsied before hurrying out the door.
Without a word, Priscilla moved to the tray and began pouring the tea. In her mind, she pictured the duchess’s grandson to be a scrawny young man, probably just getting ready to enter Eton. But the footsteps coming into the room seemed heavier on the hardwood floor than a young man’s would.
The duchess clapped her hands. “Oh, there you are, my boy. Come over here and give your lonely grandmother a big hug.”
Priscilla was glad to hear that the duchess greeted her grandchildren just the way her own grandmother greeted the family. Once the tea was poured, she straightened and turned toward the woman.
“Grams, I don’t dare give you a hug. During my ride, I stopped to assist a carriage that had driven off the road, and I don’t want to transfer the dust from my clothes to yours.”
The dowager gasped. “They were off the road? How terrible. I pray they were not harmed.”
From where she stood, Priscilla could only see the back of him, and although his clothes were scuffed up a bit with dirt and mud, one thing was certain—this man wasnotscrawny or very young at all. His shoulders were wide and the rest of him looked muscular.
Her face heated from her inappropriate thoughts. She really need not think in that manner. After all, what good would it do her?
“It is nothing to be worried about, I assure you, and nobody was harmed,” he said, kissing his grandmother on the cheek. “I must say, you look prettier every time I see you.”
“Oh, posh! You certainly need spectacles.” The duchess giggled and playfully swatted his arm. “My dear boy, you have to meet my new companion.”
The man straightened and turned toward Priscilla. Just as she met his gaze, and she took in the structure of his handsome face and wavy, dark hair, recognition struck. Rejection tugged at her heart just as painfully as it had eighteen months ago. Panic gripped her throat, squeezing tightly. She lost her breath, and she feared she might swoon. But no! She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose consciousness just because she was shocked speechless.
It couldn’t be Gavin Worthington. A small gasp broke through her tight throat before she had time to stop it. Why didn’t she know Viscount Lennox was the duchess’s grandson?
Apparently, he was just as surprised, because recognition showed in his wide eyes. Within seconds, his jovial smile disappeared.
The duchess tapped her grandson’s arm. “Gavin, I would like to introduce you to my new lady’s companion, Miss Priscilla Hartwell. Miss Priscilla, this is my grandson, the newly appointed Duke of Englewood.”
A knot tightened in Priscilla’s belly. He was a duke? How could such a rotten man be given a noble title? Gavin didn’t deserve it.
