A Precious Jewel by Mary Balogh Page B

sometime earlier than the fashionable hour, breathing in the warmth and the smells of early summer, gazing about her at the smooth green lawns and up at leaf-laden trees.
    She had been to the library and taken out a subscription. And no one had pointed a finger at her and told her she had no business in such a respectable establishment. The librarian had been courteous and friendly. She had a book by Daniel Defoe tucked under one arm. She was swinging her reticule with her free arm.
    The walk through the park was an extra treat she had granted herself in honor of the beautiful weather. She thought with some nostalgia of the roses at home. But Hyde Park was quite lovely, too.
    She walked a little to the side of the path as even atthat hour there were carriages out and horses. It seemed that the summer weather was drawing people outdoors even before the hour for the usual daily promenade.
    She thought guiltily of how Miss Blythe would scold her for being out alone. But those days of having to live by rules, just like a schoolgirl, were over. She was free again and enjoying her freedom.
    She had Gerald’s visit to look forward to that evening, the first in almost a week. He had not called on her at all during her monthly period, but he would be there that evening. She had missed him.
    She had lived upstairs for the whole week, painting remembered scenes of home, singing to herself the remembered songs, which her father had so enjoyed hearing, working at her embroidery, writing poems—love poems, the first she had ever tried—and reading the last of the books Miss Blythe had loaned her.
    It had been a happy week even though she had missed Gerald. The week before that, her first in her new house, he had visited her three times apart from the call with the Earl of Severn and stayed for several hours each time, all night the first time. She had liked the arrangement. It was more like having a lover and less like having an employer.
    She liked to think of him as her lover. She still had fantasies of him as her husband, of course, but those thoughts were just that—silly fantasy, delightfulduring the times when he was with her, perhaps, but not to be dwelled upon.
    The idea that he was her lover was fantasy, too, of course, but less unrealistic than the other.
    Two riders were slowing their horses on the path as she approached. A barouche was coming from a distance away and a curricle coming up behind her.
    “Well, good day to you, darling,” a gentleman said from his horse’s back, raising his hat to her.
    Priscilla looked up, startled.
    “Are you going my way, sweet?” he asked while his companion chuckled. “My horse’s back is broad enough for two.”
    “No, thank you,” she said, continuing on her way, scorning to hurry.
    “She is one of Kit’s girls,” the other gentleman said. “Prissy, isn’t it?”
    “What?” the first gentleman said. “And escaped from Kit without a leash? You will be in for a spanking when you return, darling.”
    Priscilla glanced up again and saw that the second gentleman was a one-time client of hers. He winked at her.
    She walked on. The curricle came up behind her and passed. A gentleman was at the ribbons, a young boy in the high seat beside him.
    “I don’t think she wants a ride, Clem,” the second gentleman said. “A shame, ain’t it? She might as well enjoy herself, one would think, if she is in for aspanking anyway. I have heard that Kit has a very heavy hand.”
    “Shall I come home with you, darling, and speak up for you?” the first gentleman asked.
    But they were merely two gentlemen having their fun. They turned their horses with a laugh when they 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