Wonderful (12 page)

She had to devise a different future. That much was patently clear. She would write to Rose and Amelia. They were starting new lives, and Evangeline had convinced herself she shouldn’t bother them, that she shouldn’t seek their help. But why shouldn’t she? If
they
were in trouble, she’d jump to assist. The three of them were like sisters.

Perhaps with all the changes they were experiencing, they might have come across a situation for Evangeline. Perhaps they’d encountered someone who could offer lodging or employment, and she was happy to return to working. She liked to be busy, and she
would
find something that didn’t involve a hideous marriage to Vicar Bosworth.

She would continue to play the part of the devoted fiancée, but she would spend every second strategizing. As soon as she could, she would cry off, and she doubted Vicar Bosworth would mind. He liked her no better than he had the very first day, and certainly, his mother would celebrate.

“You seem upset,” she said.

“I’m not upset,” he replied, but he was so furious, he was shaking.

“I’m not well this afternoon,” she lied. “Maybe you should make your social calls without me.”

“Without you?” he scoffed. “You think being indisposed is reason to postpone our community obligations? No, Miss Etherton, in my family we keep our appointments.”

“I understand,” she murmured, hoping she looked sufficiently contrite.

“You were perfectly hale during your walk with Mr. Blair, so don’t act as if you’re under the weather now.”

“I merely assumed you might wish to proceed without me.”

“It would likely be preferable, but we shall go together.” He bent down so they were nose to nose. “Get your bonnet and be quick about it!”

She nearly told him then and there that she was through. She nearly, crudely, told him to sod off, but she was generally a courteous and affable person.

She stepped away, putting a bit of space between them. “I’ll just be a minute. Let’s meet in the front foyer.”

“Yes, let’s do,” he snapped.

As she spun away, she noted Mr. Blair was scowling at them, his consternation evident. He’d watched her being scolded as if she was a recalcitrant child, and it was galling to have him witness her humiliation.

She went inside, wondering if she’d ever come back out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Smile, Priscilla.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re about to be announced, and every person in the room will stare at us.”

Aaron had been home for three taxing days, tending to business and hiding from everyone. He’d tried to force himself over to Priscilla’s house, but hadn’t been able to make himself go.

When he’d fled London two weeks earlier, he’d quarreled with Priscilla and her mother. They’d interfered in his brother’s life, had schemed to stop Lucas’s engagement to Amelia Hubbard, having determined that Miss Hubbard was too lowborn to be allowed to marry into the Drake family.

As if it was any of their business!

Aaron was quite a snob and didn’t feel different classes should mingle, but he genuinely liked Miss Hubbard and she would be a wonderful wife for his brother—if Lucas could convince her to have him.

Claudia and Priscilla could choke on their indignation for all he cared.

He’d believed he was over his fit of pique, that he’d forgiven them for their meddling but, apparently, he hadn’t. He hadn’t visited Priscilla to announce his return. He hadn’t sent a note.

Finally, someone—probably his father—had tattled and informed her that he was back. She and her mother had popped over at once, and they were all on their best behavior, pretending no rift had occurred.

He and Priscilla were marching into a formal ball, and as he’d just mentioned to her, their names were called. The crowd looked up, and Aaron exuded a calm, composed façade. He hated public scenes and wouldn’t stand for a display of displeasure or anger.

“If you continue to scowl,” he told Priscilla, “people will think we’re fighting.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she spat, “to have rumors spreading?” But she was socially astute and she pasted on the smile he’d demanded.

They promenaded down the stairs, guests taking furtive glances, but the dancing had already begun, so attention was quickly diverted to the dancers. Aaron and Priscilla were forgotten, and he peered around, yearning to see his brother in the pulsating throng, but Lucas wasn’t present.

Most likely, he was still up north at his friend James Talbot’s wedding. Hopefully, Lucas would soon be participating in his own wedding to Miss Hubbard.

Aaron worried that he wouldn’t hear if a ceremony was imminent. Lucas had treated Miss Hubbard so shoddily that he’d have a difficult time persuading her to be his bride. The Talbot wedding was being held very close to the Scottish border, and Miss Hubbard was a guest too. Lucas might simply elope with her to Gretna Green before she came to her senses.

If that happened, Aaron wouldn’t have a chance to attend, and the notion was incredibly depressing. Lucas, for all his faults, was Aaron’s favorite person in the world. Lucas was carefree and dashing and reckless in a way Aaron had never attempted to be. Aaron had always wished he had a bit of Lucas’s panache and brave negligence, but Aaron had never possessed a single bad habit.

Their mother had been talented and flamboyant, and Lucas had inherited all her traits for music, charisma, and dramatic misadventure. Aaron, on the other hand, had been left with the traits from their father, so Aaron was stodgy and fussy and pompous. He was constantly vexed by his arrogant nature, but his routines were too ingrained and he couldn’t seem to change.

He and Priscilla reached the ballroom floor, and they were besieged by acquaintances, the flow of the crowd separating them. Aaron didn’t try to stay near her. She was whisked off by friends who, no doubt, would interrogate her over Aaron’s explanation of his absence.

Unfortunately for the gossips, Priscilla wouldn’t have any juicy answers. With Claudia and Priscilla tiptoeing around Aaron, there’d been no opportunity to bicker or accuse or justify. Priscilla had to be about to explode.

She had a temper and would eventually let loose on Aaron. It was interesting to him that she was so young—just eighteen—yet so sure of herself, so positive it was appropriate to speak her mind. If she had any idea how little her opinion mattered to him, she’d faint with shock.

He had his own temper, but it was tightly controlled and rarely exhibited. He’d spent too many years in his father’s house, watching Lord Sidwell’s rages and tantrums, and Aaron had grown up knowing he would never act so ludicrously.

So people assumed he was mild mannered, but he wasn’t—as Priscilla would ultimately learn to her great regret.

He strolled out onto the rear verandah and waited for her, figuring she’d arrive with scant delay. She was nothing if not predictable. In a few minutes, he glanced over and saw her approaching.

“Let’s walk in the garden,” she said.

“Yes, let’s do.”

She took his arm, and they went down the stairs and proceeded down a lighted path. Rapidly, they were away from the party. It was a quiet night, the stars out, no clouds drifting by.

He thought about Fox Run, about Bryce and Florella being there with Evangeline. How lucky they were to be there with her, while he was in London and more miserable than he’d ever been. Did Evangeline miss him?

He missed
her
. It was silly and ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. She made him smile, made him happy. His father had advised him to have an affair, and what better female could he have found?

But of course, he’d run away. He was back where he belonged, being the dutiful son, the dutiful fiancé. How had he become so tedious and absurd? Why couldn’t he be more like his rowdy, unruly brother? Would it kill him to misbehave? Would it kill him to enjoy himself?

His life had been a boring slog of burden and obligation. Why couldn’t he reach for a more rewarding, more fulfilling existence?

They rounded a bend in the path, and Priscilla pulled away.

“I have something I should like to say,” she announced.

With her white-blond hair and violet-colored eyes, she was very beautiful, but in an icy, poisonous way. She was very glum, as if she’d been sucking on sour pickles.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I apologize for what my mother did to Lucas.”

“Thank you, but I rather imagine she should apologize herself.”

“I’m expecting she will once she can catch you alone.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“So…we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”

“Certainly.”

She studied him and frowned. “You don’t appear to mean it.”

“I mean it.”

“My words don’t seem to have made any difference. Are you still angry? You can’t blame me for how Mother behaves.”

“I don’t,” he claimed, but he absolutely blamed her.

She presumed she had the right to boss him, to meddle in his affairs, but it was his own fault. He was so averse to quarreling that he simply wouldn’t. He’d let her run wild, but his trip to Fox Run had altered him.

He had to seize control of their relationship. She was a girl, not far removed from the schoolroom. Her days of nagging and complaining had to end. He couldn’t continue in their current condition.

“If you’re not upset,” she fumed, “what’s wrong then?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Well…good.” She stared, fiddled with her skirt, stared again. “Where were you the past two weeks?”

“At Fox Run.”

“Why did you leave London?”

“You know why. I was sick of you and your mother.”

She tsked with offense. “You don’t have to snipe about it. We received your message loud and clear.”

“Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before involving yourself in nonsense.”

“It wasn’t
me
who schemed against Lucas. It was Mother. How many times must I tell you?”

“No more. I can’t bear to discuss it any further.”

She glowered, appearing less winsome by the second. His father had betrothed them for the size and scope of her dowry, but there had also been some benefit in her being fetching, with many people insisting she was the prettiest debutante to have come out in years.

But her snobbish qualities overrode her stellar looks, and with his father keeping most of the dowry—it belonged to the estate, not to Aaron—Aaron’s bounty was to be the blushing bride. Yet as he watched her, he was recalling vivacious, flamboyant Evangeline.

In that comparison, Priscilla didn’t stand a chance and, suddenly, Aaron’s reward in the engagement—the beautiful bride—didn’t seem like much of a reward at all.

“What were you doing for two whole weeks?” She hurled her question like an accusation.

Trifling with a houseguest in very inappropriate ways. My father thought I should
.

“I was with Bryce.” He left Florella out of the equation, for she was a doxy and not anyone with whom he could ever expect Priscilla to socialize.

“I might have known,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong with Bryce?”

“He’s so beneath you, Aaron.”

“It’s not really any of your business, is it, Priscilla?”

“Not my business?” she huffed. “We’re about to be married. How would it not be my
business
that you have unsavory companions?”

There was a bench directly behind her. He pointed to it.

“Sit down, Priscilla.”

“I’d rather stand,” she snottily retorted.

She glared at him, mulish, defiant, and he sighed with exasperation.

This conversation had been pending for ages, and in light of his usual tendency to avoid discord, he’d put it off for as long as he was able. But his patience had finally evaporated.

“Sit!” he said again.

He grabbed her arm and led her over to the bench. When she refused to oblige him, he increased the pressure on her arm and forced her down. The fact that he had to manhandle her, that she wouldn’t comply simply because he’d asked, was galling and infuriating.

“Honestly, Aaron,” she seethed, “there’s no reason to be a bully.”

No, there wasn’t, but when she constantly enraged him, what was he to do?

“You had a few things to say to me,” he snapped, “and now I have a few things to say to you.”

“What are they? Get on with it.”

“Priscilla, let me be very clear. Your days of
saying
things to me are over.”

“I’m about to be your wife. My opinion ought to be the most vital one in your world.”

“If that’s what you suppose, then you have grossly miscalculated the relationship you shall have with me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re acting so oddly, you could be a stranger.”

“I
am
a stranger to you. You know nothing about me.”

“I’ve known you since I was a little girl, and we’ve been engaged for a year. Of course we’re close.”

“No, we’re not.”

“You’re being absurd, and I won’t converse with you when you’re in such a foul mood.”

She started to rise, and he bellowed, “Sit down! And if you pry your bottom off that bench again before I’m through, I’ll take a switch to you.”

He’d never physically abused a woman in his life, had never threatened abuse either, but she’d pushed him beyond his limit. Apparently, his spurt of temper caught her attention. Aggrieved and offended, she plopped down.

“Speak your piece,” she said, “and make it fast. I’ve heard about all I’ll tolerate from you for one evening.”

He assessed her, like a scientist examining a peculiar specimen he’d never previously encountered. She was very young, and he was a male, twelve years older and her superior in every way: size, station, wealth, reputation.

How had she mustered the temerity to be so brazen? Her mother had fostered this perception of magnificence, and Priscilla believed every story her mother had told her. Lord Sidwell could have picked any candidate for Aaron to wed, and the fact that he’d settled on Priscilla had only increased her elevated sense of importance.

Visions of their pending marriage swarmed in his mind. He saw decades of quarrels, of pointless bickering, of his patience stretched to breaking.