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saw that she was not going to play along with them and proceeded on their way as the barouche came up
to them. Priscilla glanced up as she walked on.
She did not catch the eye of Sir Gerald Stapleton only because he was looking straight ahead. There
was a young lady seated beside him, holding to his arm. A young lady who looked at Priscilla in some
disdain and said something to her companion.
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They were past her and on their way so quickly that she was left wondering if it had all been a dream.
But it really had happened and totally ruined her mood.
Who was the young lady? she wondered, alarmed at the stab of intense jealousy she felt. She really
knew nothing at all about Gerald's life. She still did not know for sure if he was married or not, though
she guessed not if he had so much time to spend with her, unless his wife lived out of town.
Was the young lady his wife? His betrothed? The lady he was courting? She supposed that he might be
thinking of taking a wife even if he was not married. He must be close to thirty years of age.
She wished she had not seen them together. She wished she had not walked in the park.
He was not ashamed of her, he had said. But of course she was not to be acknowledged in any way
when he was with a respectable young lady a lady who had never been forced to sell herself in order to
live.
Priscilla did not pursue the thought. It was against her nature to give in to self-pity. She had survived, and
really she had done quite well for herself. She had no great cause to complain.
But a little of the sunshine had gone out of the day.
Sir Gerald was still in a fury when evening came. The week had seemed interminable. He had awoken
that morning with a sinking feeling about the planned events of the day but with a lifting of the spirits when
he had remembered that he would be able to call on Priss again that evening and every evening if he
wished for another month without interruption.
He had paused in the act of shaving, wondering how girls like Priss kept themselves from becoming
pregnant. He had not given the matter a great deal of thought before. But somehow they did it. Doubtless
they knew tricks that he was unaware of.
He had not been looking forward to the day. He had attended a ball the evening before one of the
infernal events of the Season that he had felt obliged to show his face at. Before he had been able to
escape to the card room and a relatively pleasant evening, he had met an old acquaintance of his father's
and the man's hopeful daughter hanging on his arm.
He had danced with the daughter and had found himself somehow being drawn into inviting the girl to go
driving with him the following afternoon. That was the trouble with females, he had always found. They
could trap one into doing things one had had no intention of doing and could leave one wondering how it
had all happened.
He did not enjoy driving out with young ladies. There was too much danger that their wiles would trap
him into some other commitment.
Miss Majors had been clinging to his arm, confiding all sorts of secrets about bonnets and feathers and
fans in her breathless voice. He had been aware that he had brought her out too early and had been sorry
for the fact. If he had chosen the more fashionable hour, there would have been a press of other carriages
to stop for and a whole arsenal of other people to converse with.
He had been concentrating on the conversation, not allowing his thoughts to move ahead to the evening.
He had not wanted to be trapped into saying something impulsive. The girl had been dropping hints about
her eagerness to visitVauxhallGardensone evening. He had carefully avoided taking the bait.
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And then, glancing ahead to the trollop who was flirting with the two dandies on horseback, and
annoyed that he was escorting a young lady who ought not to be exposed to such sights, he had become
suddenly aware that the girl was Priss and that having spotted him she was walking on, trying to look as
demure as a maid.
He had been white with fury.
"I don't think that lady should be out alone, do you?" Miss Majors had whispered to him, drawing her
head closer to his. "Papa would not allow me out alone. But then, perhaps she is not a lady. Do you think
perhaps she is not, Sir Gerald? How shocking that would be."
He had murmured something soothing and raged inwardly.
He was still in a fury when the evening came. He sat alone at home instead of going to White's to eat, as
he had planned. And he ended up eating far too little and drinking far too much. He was late setting out
for his mistress's house.
"Gerald," she said, when he stalked into the parlor unannounced. She got to her feet and stretched out
her hands to him. "How lovely it is to see you again."
"Lovely indeed," he said, "How long has it been now? Let's see." He set one finger to his chin and raised
his eyes to the ceiling. "All of six hours, has it been?"
"Oh, that." She flushed. "They were just being foolish, Gerald. They were not really harassing me." She
lowered her hands when it became obvious that he was not going to take them.
"I'm sorry I came along when I did," he said. "I spoiled your fun, Priss."
"Spoiled my& ?" She clasped her hands in front of her. "I was not encouraging them."
"Were you not?" he said. "When you were wearing such a deuced pretty dress and fetching bonnet and
were walking all alone in the park? You might as well have had a placard about your neck, Priss, to
announce that you were for hire."
"Must a woman walking alone be assumed to be selling herself?" she said. "It was a lovely day, Gerald,
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