Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret. Christine Merrill

no mention of the other fruits that might result in marrying his daughter off to a stranger—nor the acts she would have to perform to achieve them. ‘How nice for you,’ Priscilla said weakly. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall retire to my room for the morning. I am feeling quite tired.’

      ‘It is nearly noon, Priscilla. Too late to be asleep, and far too early to retire for the day.’ Veronica was eyeing her critically.

      Priss searched for an excuse that might meet with the woman’s approval, yet allow her to be alone with her thoughts. ‘I mean to spend an hour in prayer.’

      Veronica took another sip of her coffee. ‘Very well then. It is not as if your character does not need reforming. But remember, too much piety is unbecoming in a girl. I have no objections, as long as you have recovered from the effects by evening and are attired in your newest gown. We will be attending a ball at Anneslea’s and you will be meeting your husband-to-be.’

      Tonight, already. That left her only a few hours to find a way out of her father’s plans for her. It seemed she would be praying for deliverance.

      A few hours later, Lady Priscilla Roleston surveyed the ballroom and wondered if Veronica might have been right about the dangers of prayer and solitude. She felt for all the world like a girl on her first come out. Her gown was fashionable and she’d been assured that it flattered her. But the neckline, which had been acceptable when she’d ordered it, now felt exposing to the point of immodesty. People would stare.

      At one time, she would have welcomed the attention that a daring dress would bring her. Now, she just wanted to be left alone.

      But it seemed that was to be a hopeless wish. Her father’s mind had been set on the subject of the impending introduction. No amount of feigned megrims or foot dragging had had any effect on him or his new wife.

      And that was the best she could manage, really, when thinking of Ronnie. Although the woman had attempted to force Priss into calling her ‘Mother’ their ages were close enough to make the idea laughable. Even the word ‘stepmother’ was a struggle. She did not wish a female parent of any variety, though Papa had claimed that it was out of concern for her that he had married again so late in life. She needed a chaperon and wise guidance.

      Perhaps he was right. At barely one and twenty, Priss expected her character was fully formed, for better or worse. But if she had wished to use her youth and good looks to capture the attentions of a foolish, old peer, she could not think of a better teacher than the new Lady Benbridge.

      Since Priss heartily wished to remain unmarried, Ronnie was proving to be more hindrance than help. She must hope that the Duke of Reighland, whoever he might be, was not as willing to take a pig in a poke as her father expected.

      ‘Straighten your shoulders, Priscilla. We cannot have you slouching tonight. You must put your best foot forwards. And smile.’ Veronica prodded her in the back with her fan, trying to force her to straighten.

      Priss took care to let no emotion show on her face as they approached the knot of people in the corner of the room. Why should she bother being nice, just to please whomever Father had chosen as the latest candidate for her hand? Considering the men he had threatened her with over the years, she had very good reasons not to encourage an attraction.

      But she straightened her shoulders, just a little. The continual effort of hunching, trying to seem a little less than she was, was both taxing and painful.

      Veronica surveyed her appearance with a frown. ‘I suppose it will have to do. Now come along. We are to be presented to the guest of honour. It is rare for an eligible peer to come to London, almost out of nowhere, right at the height of the Season.’

      ‘Which means he will be surrounded by girls,’ she said to Ronnie, trying to dash her hopes. ‘There is no reason he should choose me from amongst them. Or be thinking of marriage at all. I am sure he has other things on his mind. Parliament, for example. No amount of good posture and manners on my part will make an impression.’

      ‘Nonsense. Benbridge assures me that he is practically in awe of his own title and enjoys the attention immensely. How can he not? He never in a million years expected to be more than a gentleman farmer. Suddenly, his father, cousin and uncle are all dead in the space of a year. And here he is. It really is the most tragic thing.’ But Veronica grinned as she said it, all but salivating at the thought of such an eligible, yet so naïve, a peer.

      ‘Yes,’ Priscilla said firmly. ‘It is tragic. Devastating, in fact. His cousin was barely three years old. I am sure there will be another year at least for me to meet the man. He cannot intend to marry so quickly when he is still grieving for his family.’ But though the new Reighland wore unrelieved black for the boy who had been his predecessor, his mourning did not extend to a complete withdrawal from society if he was attending parties all over London.

      ‘On the contrary. Rumours say that he is on the hunt and means to return to his lands properly wed by the end of the session. He has seen the results of waiting too long to get an heir, with his uncle dying of age while the heir was still so young and vulnerable. The Reighland holdings are too remote to see much society. It makes sense to him to choose a bride while he is at market.’

      ‘Inadequate breeding stock in the north, I suppose,’ Priscilla said. There were rumours that the duke had been much better with horses than he had with people, and that his Grace’s general gracelessness extended to his doings with the fair sex. But for all of that, he was still a duke and much could be forgiven—especially by one who was eager to marry.

      He seemed just the sort of man her father would choose for her. One with little else to recommend him other than rank. As she glanced at him from across the room, she had to admit that there was nothing about him that she imagined would make for an easy husband. He did not need the title to intimidate her. He was an exceptionally large man with broad shoulders, bulging muscles and large hands. His thick black hair hung low over his face, which had matching heavy brows. The slight shadow on his jaw meant his valet would have to keep a razor sharp and ready more than once a day. If he would at least smile, she might have thought him jolly, but his looks were as dark as his coat.

      The simpering virgins that surrounded him were dwarfed in comparison. But it was a mob and, thank the gods, she would be lost in it. Perhaps her father was wrong about the understanding they had. Priss could be just another face in the crowd. The introduction could pass out of his memory as quickly as it had entered and she could return home to her room.

      ‘Make some effort to distinguish yourself …’ Veronica prodded her again ‘… or I shall speak for you.’

      That would be even more embarrassing than being forced upon the man by her father. ‘Very well, then,’ Priss said, with a grim smile. If Benbridge and Ronnie were so eager for her to make this a memorable evening, she would give them what they wanted in spades. It would be so unforgettable that they would have no choice but to remove her from town to avoid further embarrassment.

      And so she was brought before the estimable Duke of Reighland, who was even larger up close than he had seemed from a distance. She was glad that this would be her only meeting with him, for prolonged contact would be quite terrifying. She kept her head bowed as she heard Ronnie speaking to the host and hostess, who then turned to their guest and offered to present Lady Benbridge and Lady Priscilla.

      Reighland’s voice boomed down at the top of her head. ‘How do you do?’

      She heard Veronica’s melodious, ‘Very well, thank you, your Grace.’

      Priscilla made her deepest, most perfect curtsy, offered her hand and then, looking up into the face of the man, smiled and whickered like a horse.

      There was a stunned silence. But she did not need words to know what Veronica was thinking. The horror emanating from her was so close to palpable that Priss was surprised she had not already turned and shouted for Father to summon the carriage. They would make a hasty retreat and she could expect the lecture to continue nonstop until such time as they had a mind to remove her from the house.

      No one moved. It was as though they