Free A Precious Jewel by Mary Balogh Page A

said. “And temples?”
    “Anything you care to see,” he said. “It is a veritable pleasure gardens, Priss.”
    “But the botanical gardens,” she said, “are what I wish to see the most.”
    It was a magical afternoon. He took her on his arm and they strolled for what seemed to be hours, seeing all that was to be seen. She was enchanted, though she did criticize the buildings.
    “The pagoda looks so out of place in an English landscape,” she said. “Don’t you think so, Gerald? I suppose that in a Chinese setting it would look quite splendid. But such things cannot be easily transplanted.”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I always thought it rather pretty.”
    “Yes, it is,” she said, flashing him a smile. “It is pretty, Gerald. But a little out of place, nevertheless. And the temples are perhaps a little pretentious.” She looked at him, amused. “But very picturesque, I must admit.”
    “Yes,” he said. “I have always thought so.”
    Sir Gerald Stapleton, Priscilla thought in some amusement, was not a man of discriminating taste. But it did not matter. She loved him anyway. Oh, she loved him very dearly.
    There was only one brief incident to spoil the magic for a moment. Another group of strollers hailed Gerald and he walked over to speak with them after hesitating for a moment, leaving her to stand on the lawn they had been crossing. He rejoined her after no longer than a minute, and Priscilla looked away from the curious glances of the two ladies and the amused one of one of the gentlemen.
    It was a reminder to her that indulging in her fantasy was not at all appropriate to the occasion. She was not visiting Kew Gardens with her husband. She was his mistress and therefore to be kept quite apart from his more respectable acquaintances.
    It was not something to become upset over. She was not upset. She would not allow the incident to spoil her afternoon. She had long before reconciled her mind to what she had been forced to become.
    “They wanted to confirm that I would be at Lord Hervey’s for dinner and with his theater party tonight,” he said. “I had almost forgotten about it. I had better get you home, Priss. Have you seen enough?”
    “Yes, I have,” she said, though in reality she could have walked for hours more, her hand on his arm. “It was very kind of you to bring me, Gerald. I am grateful.”
    “You need not be,” he said. “You are my mistress, Priss. It is only right that I take you about when I am able.”
    “Thank you,” she said.
    She was able to return to her book that evening and concentrate on the story. It had been a lovely afternoon. He had returned her to the house and kissed her hand on the doorstep before vaulting back into the seat of his curricle and driving off while she raised a hand in farewell and Mr. Prendergast stood behind her, holding the door open as if determined to prevent her escape.
    “I shan’t see you for a few days, Priss,” Gerald had said before leaving her. “I have got my name included in a deuced house party Majors has organized out in the country for his daughter’s birthday. Friday to Monday. One of these long weekend affairs. I’ll see you when I get back.”
    “Have a lovely time, Gerald,” she had said, giving him her warm smile. “I am sure you will enjoy yourself.”
    He had pulled a face.
    She was glad he had not wanted to go. A long weekend. Friday to Monday, and this was Thursday. That meant that she could not expect him before Tuesday. Almost a week—again.
    But it would not matter, she thought. She could live upstairs for almost a week. She could be Priscilla Wentworth for almost a week.
    How she would love to go to the theater, she thought with a sigh as she opened her book. Just once. She would not be greedy about it. Just once when a Shakespeare play was being performed.
As You Like It
, perhaps, or
The Merchant of Venice
.
    Just once. With Gerald.
    She immersed herself in the adventures of Robinson Crusoe.

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