Page 39 of The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess
Perhaps if I ask Catherine to charge it to Brookside, Father can take care of the accompt when he returns from hunting.
The notion embarrassed her and she wished she had thought to bring along more money. She did not want to ask Catherine for such a favor but she also knew what a scene Frances was apt to cause if she was refused the piece.
While Elizabeth adored Frances more than her own life, the older Follett sister was oftentimes a burden. Of course, Elizabeth would never admit such a thing aloud but it was instances such as these when Elizabeth wished her sister were more commonplace and less “special” as their father called her.
Elizabeth was filled with shame as the thought materialized. Her sister was indeed a wonderful soul, filled with so much light and life. True, she was difficult to handle on occasion but to wish she was someone else…Elizabeth recanted her thought. She did not long for her sister to be anyone but who she was.
Mr. Barlough seems to appreciate her as she is meant to be appreciated. Why can I not do the same?
Elizabeth remained outside although she could see her sister and Catherine speaking with the proprietor of the shop. She did not wish to enter for she knew when she did, Frances would immediately begin to clamor for the headdress. The women disappeared from view for a moment and Elizabeth sighed, turning away from the glass. In a moment, Frances would return outside to seek her. She had no desire to invite the inevitable. She gasped when she finished her half-turn, the face of a woman nearly poppyseeds from hers.
“What are you doing in Pembroke?” Priscilla hissed, her eyes alive with fury. “Have you not done enough damage, hussy?”
Elizabeth reeled back, shocked by the insult. Her eyes darted about to seek assistance but there was no one to help her. Passersby slowed their gait, however, pretending not to watch but it was clear they were intrigued by the scene unfolding.
“Answer me!” Priscilla howled, her face contorting into an unbecoming look of derangement. Elizabeth saw near-madness in her eyes and she wondered if the lady would strike her. She prayed Priscilla had more good sense than she was displaying.
“Miss Priscilla,” Elizabeth said in the way of a firm greeting as she curtsied stiffly. “Please permit me to pass.”
It was not Elizabeth’s intention to engage in a fight with the woman, not when Priscilla’s emotions were so tender.
“I will permit you to pass when you answer my query, tart!”
A frisson of anger shot through Elizabeth’s body and she willed herself to be calm. She reminded herself that Priscilla was in pain and therefore not acting with a rational mind.
“I will have you run from the duchy!” Priscilla shrieked. “I have the power to do so! You must leave and never return!”
The crowd of pedestrians moved closer, a slew of whispers commencing through them. Surely they did not know Elizabeth by sight but they did recognize the Baron’s daughter. It did not take great deduction to understand that the stranger in their midst was the woman for whom the Duke had ended his engagement to Priscilla.
“You have no such power,” Catherine snapped, appearing behind Priscilla. Elizabeth had not noticed her exit the store.
“Liza?” Frances called worriedly.
“All is well, Franny,” Elizabeth told her, knowing that the scene was apt to cause Frances great upset.
“You!” Priscilla spat, whirling to confront Catherine. “This is your doing! You are the reason for everything!”
“You may tell yourself whatever aides you to rest well at night,” Catherine retorted. “That will not change the fact that my brother never cared for you. Now move along, Priscilla, before you accidentally learn something new.”
Catherine cast Elizabeth a quick look and the Viscount’s daughter took it as a signal to escape with Frances. She seized the opportunity, slipping around the incensed Baron’s daughter and moving Frances away. The older Follett was already beginning to tremble, sensing the unrest around them.
“It is all right, Franny,” Elizabeth told her soothingly. “Come this way.”
“Who is that horrible, shrieking woman?” Frances demanded loudly enough for Priscilla to hear. Elizabeth tried to pull her away, worried that Priscilla might unleash a barrage of cruel words upon Frances. The lady did reply but not to speak ill of the slow sister.
“I am Miss Priscilla Arquette, daughter to the Baron of Argonshire,” she announced, her blue eyes boring into Elizabeth.
“You are no one of any great consequence,” Catherine jeered. “You cannot even capture a husband.”
She spun away, bored of the argument and moved to join Elizabeth and Frances.
“Come along, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Priscilla is clearly battling melancholy and losing terribly.”
Yet, suddenly, Elizabeth could not tear her eyes away from Priscilla’s face suddenly, her heart beginning to thud as she read the rage spilling from the lady’s expression.
“You may go now,” Priscilla yelled out after them. “But there will come a day of reckoning for all of you. Mark my words as gospel. You will pay!”
Shivers of apprehension slithered through Elizabeth but she was ushered around the corner and out of Priscilla’s view by Catherine.
