His mind jumped back to when his saddle had been purposely cut and he fell from the horse. Then there was the fact that money from his coffers was disappearing. And now the fire. Who was doing this to him, and why? And more importantly, how could he get this misfortune happening in his life to stop?
This was why he couldn’t marry Priscilla. However, it must be done, and he would not cower from responsibility like his father was known for doing.
The clicking of heels on the stairs made him swing around toward the sound. When he saw Priscilla, his heartbeat quickened. She wore a lovely blue gown with white lace lining the square bodice and around her short sleeves. Still damp from her bath, her black hair appeared even darker, as it was pulled away from her face and secured with combs, leaving the bulk to wave down her back and over her shoulders. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was her frown that tugged on his heartstrings.
She glanced his way before quickly dropping her attention to the floor as she walked closer. It was clear that she still thought he was marrying another woman, and that knowledge had distressed her. He shouldn’t feel elated that she cared for him in such a way that she was disturbed thus. The sooner he could clear up the confusion, the quicker it would be to see the light back in her pretty eyes.
“My dear, sweet Priscilla.” He met her halfway. She was hesitant to look up at him, so he took her hands and caressed her knuckles with his thumbs. “Grandmother,” he said over his shoulder, not looking at the dowager, “you would have been soproud of Priscilla. Although she has a sprained foot, she still stood with the others and helped put out the fire.”
Priscilla’s cheeks reddened. “You are too kind, Your Grace. I was only doing what anyone would have done in that situation.”
“Actually, I did watch as she helped the others,” his grandmother replied. “I sat by the window in my chambers as everyone assisted with putting out the fire. And yes, Gavin, I was very proud of her—and everyone for what they did.”
Priscilla pulled away from him and moved to his grandmother, crouching by her rollerchair. “How are you faring, Your Grace?”
“I am upset about what happened to the stable, of course, but other than that, I am well. I pray we discover what really happened.”
“As do I.” Gavin stepped closer and touched his grandmother’s shoulder. “Do you need to go lie down?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He switched his focus to Priscilla. “If you don’t mind, Grams, I need to talk to your companion. We were having a conversation when the fire broke out, and I would really like to finish it, if you don’t mind.”
Priscilla’s gaze bounced up and met his. “Actually, I don’t believe we have anything more to say.”
He wasn’t about to let her go this time. “No, we aren’t finished. There is still more explaining I need to do, and I don’t want to put it off for tomorrow.”
Grams motioned toward the parlor. “Why don’t you two use this room? I shall wheel myself in to the kitchen and see how dinner is coming along.”
“Oh, Your Grace.” Priscilla jumped up and reached for the chair. “I can take you.”
“Nonsense. You and my grandson should talk. I’m sure you won’t be long.”
Priscilla stood stiffly as she clenched her hands against her middle. Her breathing was deep and slow. Straightening her shoulders and keeping her chin up, she walked into the parlor. Gavin followed and closed the door.
“I… I thought we had finished our discussion,” she said in a shaky voice.
“When we talked about this before, I believe I confused you, and I would like to clear things up.” He stood in front of her. Because her gaze remained on the floor, he lifted her chin with his fingers until she looked at him. “As I recall, you had just wished me well with my impending marriage before the fire interrupted us.”
She licked her lips, and once again, her eyes watered. His heart leapt. He hadn’t imagined it. She really did care about him.
“Gavin, please don’t do this. I would rather not talk about your upcoming nuptials.”
“Oh, Cilla, my sweet and lovely woman.” He caressed her cheek. “You misunderstood what I was saying. Either that or I’m not saying it the right way. I fear I’m not used to talking to a woman this way.”
Her forehead creased. “Are you saying you werenotin a scandalous situation and being forced to marry?”
He smiled. “No, that is not what I’m saying. Although I was in a scandalous situation, the only woman I plan on marrying isyou, Cilla. I know you just want to be friends, but…” He knelt on one knee and took hold of her hands. “Priscilla Hartwell, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
As he studied her, he noticed a faraway gleam in her eyes. In a quick moment, her face paled and she lost consciousness. He jumped up and caught her before she hit the ground. He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the settee.
“Mrs. Jones,” he called out loudly to the housekeeper. “I need you in the parlor, posthaste.”
It only took a minute before the servant came bustling in, her red curls bouncing with every step. When she looked at Priscilla’s colorless face, the woman gasped.
“Oh dear.” She hurried over to Priscilla.
“She swooned. Fetch some smelling salts.”
