It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal

Her pride urged her to leave, but the burning love in her soul for Gabriel assured her it was neces

sary for her to stay, though her presence was painfully unwelcome.

A shuffle sounded, and she glanced up to see the countess entering, lines of strain around her mouth.

Primrose surged to her feet. “Is he…is he well, your ladyship?”

“That is not your concern, Miss Markham.”

“My lady?” Primrose questioned sharply, her heart jerking in alarm. “I am most anxious to know if he is well.”

It was then she saw the countess's eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "My son is fighting for his life because of you," she whispered, raw and furiously.

Primrose flinched. “My lady, I got help as soon—”

The countess waved her hands. “In choosing you, he almost lost his life. Gabriel is the son of an earl. He deserves better, Miss Markham. I hate even to say it, but this terrible moment can be seen as a fortunate turn of events. My son is still free of you. I implore you to let him go. It will take weeks for him to recover from the infection which had been poisoning his blood, and when he is well, I assure you he will marry Lady Beatrice if you are not here.”

Ice slid through Primrose's veins, and she stared at the countess mutely.

“I have no doubt he only offered for you, Miss Markham, because you had compromised his honor by giving him your virtue like a harlot. Of course, he would have tried to do the honorable thing, even if in his heart he wanted to marry Lady Beatrice.”

Primrose felt sick inside.

The countess squared her shoulders, walked over and stiffly handed her an envelope. “Take it, and leave,” the countess said.

Primrose wasn't sure why she took it, shock perhaps. With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope and gasped upon seeing the bank draft for five hundred pounds. A bubble of confusing emotions rushed through her. “Lady Fairclough, I…is this for medical expenses—”

A harsh bark of laughter cut her off. The countess sobered immediately. “Do not be naïve. The money is a…sort of thank you for what you have done for my son. Nothing more. You will take it, leave, and never darken his life again.”

Shame and rage burned through Primrose. "I've worked in this household for four years and three months. I've always been kind, and careful to teach Annabelle subjects that will educate her mind and shape her wonderful character. I've never cheated you or tried to, yet you think me so low in character I need to be paid off? What egregious crime have I committed, but to sincerely love your son? I am not of the lowest birth to be scorned so. My father was a baronet, I was afforded a quality education, and I was raised as a lady—”

“Yet you’ve proven to only be a social climbing harlot,” the countess spat, her eyes firing with anger and an indefinable emotion.

Harlot. How terrible such a word from Gabriel’s lip filled her with the ache of arousal and tender yearning for wicked delights, but from the countess, a wash of shame stole Primrose’s breath.

The air was thick with anger as the countess stepped a pace closer.

“It was your lack of everything that has my son now fighting for his life. Take the money before I rescind my generosity and kindly depart from my home immediately."

Grief scalded the back of her throat, and her senses reeled. Fighting for his life? Dear Lord, please let it not be so. "You dare accuse me of causing Gabriel's illness. If you had not treated your son so poorly for having only loved me, perhaps we would not be here now," she lashed out, hating that fear and grief caused her to be as thoughtless with her tongue.

“How dare you try to admonish me,” the countess snapped, her eyes flashing with righteous fury. “Get out!”

Primrose skirted around the countess and made her way to the open door. Nearing the entrance, she paused and turned around. “I love Gabriel with my entire soul. I feel broken to know I could not care for him but did what was necessary to save him. I did not let my pride stand in the way of coming to you for help. Please get him the help he needs, but I will not form a bargain where I walk out of his life. He loves me. And I love him with every emotion in my soul. And your prejudice will not change that.”

Then she dropped the banknote on the carpet, turned, and hurried away from the sitting room. She would leave as the countess demanded. Primrose had her pride, but she would be back. Every day to check that he was well, every day to verify that he was alive. It would haunt her mind to be even a night away from him, not knowing if he lived or if he'd fought the fever ravaging through him now. It would kill her to wait hours alone in their bed, wondering if while she was warm, he was cold, empty, and slipping away from her.

But she would not be that weak, terrified person. Though her throat burned and her fingers trembled, Primrose snapped her spine straight, and trudged through the snow for miles, refusing to ask for a carriage since none had been offered. She used the shortened paths through the woods until she reached their home. There she removed her boots and coat and stripped until she was only in her chemise. Then she crawled under the covers and cried.

Chapter 8

Several hours later, Primrose tossed restlessly in her bed, unable to sleep. The night air was chilled, and despite a fire being lit, and she covered with many blankets, she could not get warm. At times she hugged her pillow and screamed her fears into its comforting depth. Other times she came up on her knees, sinking into the too soft mattress, and prayed for Gabriel’s safe recovery.

The next day, she trudged through the snow, along the path back to Sancrest Manor. Once there, Primrose was denied entrance, and the shock of it rendered her motionless for several seconds. “Please Mr. Mabry,” she implored of the butler. “Please tell me if the doctor gave any good report.”

His kind face softened. "The family is still keeping vigil, Miss Markham. It seemed he'd been wounded in the war, and a piece of shrapnel had not been removed, and it had been infecting his blood and weakening his organs."

Pain and terror clawed at the back of her throat. “Please Mr. Mabry, let me in,” she whispered hoarsely, each breath a painful undertaking. “I must see him for myself.”