When Priscilla arrived at the Morfords’ townhouse in Bedford S
quare, Ebsworth welcomed her into the hall with his usual air of indifference. Tristan’s mother had invited her to tea numerous times during the last few months, her determination for Priscilla and Tristan to wed being the motivating factor.
The thought of seeing the meddling matron again sent a shiver running from her throat to her navel. Thank the Lord the woman had been shipped off to Ripon. Matthew was right about one thing: falling prey to her lies and deceit made Priscilla feel like a fool. And yet, given the option, she wouldn’t change a thing.
“If you would care to wait in the drawing room, madam, Lady Morford will be with you momentarily. She insisted you make yourself comfortable.”
Priscilla inclined her head. “Thank you, Ebsworth.” She handed the butler her pelisse, gloves and bonnet and followed his measured steps to the drawing room. The servant walked with the grace of a duke, but she doubted he was as handy with his fists as Hopkins.
Priscilla glanced around the richly furnished room. A pianoforte stood proudly in the corner next to a golden harp. A fine collection of sporting paintings graced the walls. An impressive crystal glass chandelier acted as a focal point, the large gilt mirror on one wall capturing the reflection.
Had Matthew not offered his hand this could have been her home. She could have been Lady Morford. An image of her husband flashed into her mind. Matthew Chandler oozed a raw masculine energy that heated her blood. His wicked hands scorched her skin whereas the thought of kissing Tristan was akin to being wrapped in a frozen blanket.
“Mrs Chandler.” Isabella rushed forward and took hold of Priscilla’s hands. “What a pleasant surprise. You should have sent word, and I would have been better prepared to receive you.” Isabella released Priscilla’s hands, brushed the creases from her dress, and tucked a few stray tendrils of hair behind her ear. “I must look an awful fright.”
In all honesty, Isabella looked as though she’d been tumbled in a barn. Indeed, the lady’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips added weight to the theory that Priscilla had interrupted a private moment.
“Not at all, you always look splendid.” Embarrassment made it impossible for Priscilla to maintain eye contact. “If it is inconvenient, I can call another time.”
“No. No.” Isabella waved her hands. “Please sit, and I shall send for tea.”
“I do not want to impose.”
Isabella pursed her lips. “It must be important else you would not have come.” Pity flashed in her dark brown eyes. “And I would dearly like to become better acquainted.”
Days of suppressed emotion burst forth in a long weary sigh. “I … I need to talk to someone else I shall go out of my mind.”
Unperturbed by the hint of desperation in Priscilla’s voice, Isabella tapped her affectionately on the arm. “Then you have come to the right place. Tell me your troubles, and I shall do my utmost to help.” Perhaps it was the sight of Priscilla’s trembling lips that caused Isabella to add, “On second thoughts, let us forgo the tea and have a drop of Madeira. I know it’s early but … well … who’s to know?”
Priscilla flopped down onto the red damask sofa whilst Isabella hurried to the side table and returned with two glasses of Madeira.
“To the goddess, Venus.” With an amused grin, Isabella raised her glass in salute. “Let her wisdom guide us through the challenges we face when attempting to control our husbands.”
A snigger burst from Priscilla’s lips. “Is my dilemma so obvious?”
Isabella sat in the chair opposite. “You married Matthew Chandler. I did not expect things to run smoothly.”
Priscilla raised her glass. “To Venus. May she give me the courage to succeed in my endeavours.” She took a sip of Madeira but swallowed more than she intended. The amber liquid warmed her throat. “Heavens. Why does it taste more potent during the day?”
Isabella laughed. “I think it has something to do with having an empty stomach. But I agree, it seems stronger than usual.”
There was a moment of silence.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I came.” Priscilla held the crystal glass in her lap, cradled between her palms. “After all, I have only been married for a matter of days.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but you knew little of your husband before you married. I am not surprised you’re finding it hard to settle. It will take time to grow accustomed to one another. Until then, you must bear it as best as you can.”
The point was she didn’t want marriage to be bearable. She didn’t want to live with a stranger and pass pleasantries. As ridiculous as it seemed, she wanted Matthew to enjoy her company. Perhaps fall in love.
“I understand. I don’t know why but I hoped things would be different.” After their passionate encounter on their wedding day, Priscilla had been optimistic about the future. “It’s foolish of me, naive even, to expect more than he can give.”
“You judge yourself too harshly. We have all found ourselves in regrettable situations. But our choices do not define us. We must learn to make the best of a bad situation. The fact you’re sitting here, seeking advice, shows a certain amount of maturity and insight.” Isabella offered a reassuring smile. “I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Mr Chandler is obviously attracted to you else I doubt he would have offered marriage.”
The muscles in Priscilla’s throat grew tight. “What I tell you now, I tell you in confidence.” When Isabella acknowledged the comment with a nod, Priscilla blurted, “Matthew married me for my dowry and because he owes Lord Morford a debt of gratitude, though I have no notion why. I’m certain my physical appearance had no bearing on his decision.”
Isabella put her hand to her mouth, her wide eyes revealing her surprise. “You're mistaken.”
Priscilla shook her head. “The one thing we have in our favour is we’re open and honest with one another. Matthew told me he needs my money to settle a gambling debt.”