The long rectangular dining table sat centred in a cavernous rectangular room with sombre greyish-green walls. A dozen dyspeptic ancestors sneered down at the four diners as if to emphasise that entertaining was duty not a pleasure. Her Aunt and Uncle sat either end of the table like sentry ensuring Priscilla remained seated in the center across from Lord Warenne. With only four feet between her smelly suitor Priscilla hunched over her plate and tried to breathe through her mouth and chew at the same time. Clutching her knife and fork she glanced at the noxious man seated opposite; the Earl of Warenne was clearly mad. His greasy brown fringe flapped his forehead like a tinker’s leather apron as he looked up to give her a wink. He was completely insane. She glanced down the table to her right; Aunt Ursula appeared absorbed in her food, but Priscilla knew she was listening to Warenne’s every word. The man had somehow mastered the art of eating and talking simultaneously. The sight of masticated food yet to be swallowed was threatening to bring up her luncheon. Marriage to the man would certainly be uncomfortable for his wife’s stomach. The poor woman would probably starve to death if she shared his table every meal.
Priscilla tried to keep her eyes on her plate, but every few minutes they’d wilfully slide across the oak table and up at the handsome face with warm brown eyes. She stifled a groan as she averted her gaze in disgust. The man was picking his teeth with a dirty fingernail. The next time she glanced up he was rubbing his nose on his filthy sleeve. It was only a matter of time before he lifted half his rump off the chair and loudly gassed the room with another ration of ill smelling wind. She’d paralysed his attempts to draw her into a conversation with silence, but Priscilla’s hope of escaping a public grilling was crushed by Aunt Ursula’s distant authoritarian curiosity. “Lord Warenne…” The man’s fringe flapped as he turned his head towards the older woman sitting a safe ten chairs away. “…how did you find the garden this morning?”
The man appeared to pause as if the question required deep thought. “I found it quite pleasing Madam. Your lovely niece and I had a most enchanting conversation by the wishing well that left me…well, wishing for more.” Priscilla’s impulsive look of disgust was rewarded with a wink as her nemesis shovelled another spoonful of Macaroni into his mouth. “I was telling Miss Priscilla about my coin collection. I have a particular fondness for lost pennies, but as she rightly pointed out one can’t be lost and found at the same time. I think your niece is a remarkable woman.” Priscilla blushed in horror as the conversation drifted into dangerous waters. Lord Warenne merely smiled and enthusiastically pointed at her with his empty spoon. “What man of sense could see this pretty penny and not pick her up and take her home?” Lord Warenne nodded as he used his spoon to point at himself. “This collector knows a rare valuable coin when he sees one. May I have your permission to pick her up and put her in my pocket?”
“I don’t think she’ll fit in your pocket my Lord, but if you can squeeze her into your carriage do take her away.” Priscilla’s mouth fell open as her tongue went limp.
Lord Warenne, oblivious to her horror, appeared pleased with her Aunt’s blessing as he refocused his warm brown eyes on Priscilla. “Well Penny? Will you let me pick you up and take you home? You needn’t fear I’d put you in a glass jar…” Priscilla fought off a mad impulse to crawl across the table and claw out the man’s left eye; anything to put an end to his winking. “…my house has an empty suite of rooms that connect to mine through a secret door. My mother preferred an old fashioned peach and cream, but you could refresh them however you please. I’ll even order you a new mattress; I refuse to make love to my wife in my mother’s bed. You’ll have to share mine for a few weeks, but I promise I won’t complain.” The man winked again as if to emphasise the zealous gleam in his eyes. “I’ll happily buy you whatever you need to make my house feel like a home. Even my last mistress would tell you I’m a very generous man. Her only complaint was that I was too thorough. I won’t be able to explain what she meant by that ‘till our honeymoon.” Priscilla could only gurgle in horror as her cheeks threatened to burst into flames. “Some people are impossible to please, but to tell you the truth I was glad she gave me the boot. It forced me to re-examine my priorities. Why pay to visit a pretty wench once a week when one can crawl into bed every night with a pretty wife? Besides, a wife can fill one’s nursery with screaming brats and it’s high time I had some brats. I’d like an heir by the time I’m thirty, but with luck we’ll have an heir and a spare.”
Priscilla’s felt her eyes nearly pop out of her head, “I thought you were thirty.”
“Heavens no, I’m twenty-six, but I take my responsibilities very seriously. I’ll take good care of my dependants. Well?” He licked his lips and took a deep breath before asking in a soft hopeful tone, “Will you marry me and be my lucky penny?”
Priscilla could feel her Aunt and Uncle staring at her, silently willing her to accept the boorish man’s proposal so they could be free of her. She was desperate to be free of them as well, but marriage to the man opposite was impossible. “No.” The tight little word barely travelled beyond her plate.
The man had an odd anxious look as if he was suddenly afraid of rejection. “Penny, I want to marry you and make your wishes come true. We can leave today for London for a special license or drive to Scotland and be married over an anvil. They say it’s romantic, if a bit noisy.”
“My Lord…” Priscilla cursed her ill-luck as she suddenly felt sorry for the man. If he always smelled this awful, he’d probably received a long list of refusals. Another rejection would understandably hurt him. “I’m…” He leaned towards her as if enthralled by expectation. “…I’m sorry my Lord, but I can’t marry you.”
“Penny…” Priscilla jumped as the man’s knife and spoon crashed onto his china plate. His quivering lips looked rouged against pallid flesh. “…are you rejecting my offer of marriage?”
“I’m terribly sorry my Lord.” He looked as if she was refusing to help rescue him from certain death. Priscilla could hear her dragon Aunt Ursula sucking in her breath for a fiery tirade.
“Priscilla Stanley.”
“Penny…if there’s anything I could do to make myself more agreeable…I didn’t think I repulsed you.”
Priscilla looked the man in the eyes and briefly wondered if he could be taught some manners. He was a little old to be changing his ways, but those brown eyes had an intensity that made her question herself. The thought of being naked with the warm brown eyes and electric hands made her heart race and her stomach heave. The man was attractive, but not for a lady with a nose. “You’re a good man my Lord. I’m sure you’ll make some poor…I mean some woman feel lucky. I’m sorry it can’t be me.” Her words seemed to shroud the man in unhappiness. “Don’t be upset my Lord; you’re five years younger than me. You’re bound to find a prettier debutante who’ll give you a dozen infants. I don’t think I could make you happy; I’m sorry.” The man’s knife and fork chinked loudly in the silent room as he politely set them down on his plate together and stood up removing the napkin tucked into his waistcoat. Dropping it on the table next to his plate, he silently made her a regal bow. Swivelling on his heel he left the room. The tapping of his leather soles brought to mind an exotic lonely bird, calling for its mate. Priscilla shivered with fear as she heard her Aunt Ursula stand up.
“If you’re unable to persuade Lord Warenne to forgive your inexcusable stupidity, you’ll be packing your bags. My daughter, Catherine, is in need of a new companion. The last silly chit she hired proved as shameless as the rest. Lady Catherine is tired of training up another servant only to learn five months later the slut has got with child by some wretched admirer. We expect better behaviour from our own flesh and blood.” It was Priscilla’s turn to feel the blood drain from her face. She knew the admirer responsible was Catherine’s husband whose roving lust was excused because of his title. A Viscount, the impoverished Lord Llewellyn had raised Catherine from being a Miss Stanley to being a Lady; a fact Catherine enjoyed reminding Priscilla at every opportunity. It was almost tempting to accept Lord Warenne’s proposal just to be a countess and outrank her pompous cousin, but the fear of being ravished was more pressing.
“You know I can’t live with Catherine; Lord Llewellyn was my suitor. I thought he was going to marry me. I can’t live in the man’s house.”
“Then I suggest you persuade Lord Warenne you’ve had a change of heart. Those are your options.”
“Why can’t I go live with Cousin Georgina? She always needs help in her nursery.”
“Georgina thinks you’re unlucky. She doesn’t want you cursing her precious offspring with your gloomy shadow of doom.”
“Doesn’t Cousin Donald need a housekeeper? He never looks at me and it could hardly be…”
“I certainly wouldn’t inflict my favourite nephew with his worst nightmare. Now go snare Lord Warenne or suffer the consequences.”
Go to chapter 5