A Regency Charade by Elizabeth Mansfield

Author:Elizabeth Mansfield [Mansfield, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780425048351
Google: jeATAQAACAAJ
Goodreads: 1374168
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1980-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

It had been a shattering scene. If it had occurred on a stage, a curtain would have fallen on her ringing declaration of disdain. But this was not a play. No curtains fall on the dramas of real life; the scenes just continue, on and on. In this case, the continuation turned the drama into a farce—for there was neither pen nor inkstand to be found in the drawing room!

It was an embarrassing and futile anti-climax, during which Priss stormed helplessly around the room to find an inkstand that wasn’t there (for all the writing tables were located either in the library or the upstairs or downstairs sitting rooms), acutely aware that Alec was observing her movements with an expression of distaste—much as one might watch a child having a temper tantrum. This only served to increase her fury, and she snatched the papers from his hand, ran out of the room and across the hall to the sitting room, Alec forced to follow behind.

She flung open the sitting room door, surprising her mother into a glad outcry. “Prissy, my love, is it over? Have you kissed and made—? Good heavens, what’s the matter?”

Her daughter had brushed past her, her face stiff and unreadable, and made straight for the writing table in the corner. And Alec, equally stiff, had not crossed the threshold of the room but stood waiting in the doorway. “Alec! What’s happening? Aren’t you and Priss—?”

“No, Mama, we’re not!” Priss muttered between clenched teeth as she hurriedly scratched her name on the three sheets. “You’re not to say a word to him! Not a word!”

Lady Vickers, paling in alarm, looked helplessly from one to the other. “But … isn’t he even to stay … to take tea? Everything’s all laid out … the silver … the flowers …!”

Priss threw down the pen, scattering droplets of ink heedlessly across the desk top. “Bother the tea and the silver!” she muttered, wheeling about and crossing back to the doorway again. As she passed the table, she flung out her arm. “And bother the flowers, too!” With a violent swing she sent the vase toppling over and rolling across the table, scattering blooms and foliage all over the floor and sending the water in the vase spilling on the white linen to run unchecked over the table’s edge. “Here!” She thrust the papers at him roughly. “You have what you came for! Now, please, leave this house! If you should ever have need to communicate with me again, you can do it through Mr. Newkirk.” She pushed him aside and ran past him to the stairs.

Lady Vickers clasped a trembling hand to her bosom. Alec stared after Priss, thunderstruck. In spite of all his supposed sophistication, he had never before seen a woman in a genuine frenzy. He knew he should leave—he wanted to leave. But it seemed quite heartless, somehow, to go without a word. “Priss?… er … ma’am …?” he called after her awkwardly.

She had already run up the first few steps, but at his voice she stopped, her hand on the bannister.

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