by JayneFresina
Suddenly cognizant of the others looking at her curiously, not entirely sure of what she'd just said out loud, and needing something to do, she got up and tossed the newspaper into the fire, stabbing it afterward with the poker and considerable relish.
Chapter Seven
"Well, I must wonder at your father, hiring that drigay."
All three girls looked up as their aunt, still in her evening gown, came into Serenity's bedroom a few nights later.
"I just received a great deal of information about that young lawyer and his family of reprobates from my good friend Lucille Winstanley."
Pip, sprawled across her sister's bed with a history book, looked down at the page again, feigning complete disinterest.But she could not close her ears.
"His father opened a Gentlemen's gaming hall in Mayfair, some thirty years ago, and has made a fortune from it. But he's divorced! Lord knows how many children there are— from both sides of the blanket. He treated his wife terribly, ruined her reputation and then abandoned her. Nobody knows where he came from, but as a young man he was a rake of the highest order, and his sons, by all accounts, follow in his footsteps. As for the daughter, she is just as bad— seduced the Marquess of Redver’s son, who also happened to be the fiancé of my friend Lucille's daughter Louisa. It was a terrible scandal, and poor Louisa never recovered from it. Then, after the Deverell girl had ruined that boy, she dropped him for another man! But not before involving him in the shooting of an aristocrat in the country."
"Sounds painful," Pip remarked drily. "There are few worse places to be shot at than in the country."
"Furthermore, the eldest lejitimm Deverell boy killed a woman. Murdered her some years ago. Strangled her, beat her and left her for the wild animals to pick at. He escaped justice because his father paid off the magistrate, but everybody knows it to be true. The youngest boy was sent down from Cambridge for bare-knuckle brawling. That's the Deverells for you."
"Murder and bare-knuckle brawling?" Serenity exclaimed, setting her hairbrush aside and exhaling a self-satisfied snuffle. "Surely Pip would fit right in. I thought I sensed a spark when that lawyer came to visit. He did say he didn't think anybody could do her beauty justice in a sketch. It would be just like Miss Contrary, naturally, to take a fancy to a man like that."
"That is not what he said," Pip exclaimed. "It was a comment about the event itself being a challenge to draw accurately, not my appearance."
"I thought Mr. Deverell was delicious in a menacing, heart-stopping way," little Merrythought chimed in from her perch at the end of the bed. "He looked almost exactly how I imagined Sir Francis Varney in Feast of Blood."
Really, Pip mused, they ought to curb Merrythought's reading of lurid novels and penny dreadfuls. They were making her altogether too overheated and susceptible to darkly handsome rogues.
"Now, girls!" their aunt cried, clearly frustrated that nobody was taking her seriously. "You didn't come all this way to lower your standards and become embroiled in further notoriety. Your father entrusted me to keep you away from dangerous men and find the right sort of husbands for you here. That means ancient lineage, tradition, nobility and class. What you girls need is a touch of fine European noble blood. You're here to undo damage," she shot a sideways glare at Pip, "not make it worse. My brother wants titled husbands for his daughters, something to show off back home, not some nothing you could get over there, some little upstart batar who works in a law office. And he is one— our friend Damon Deverell. A batar — a bantling boy, a packsaddle brat, a bastard. His mother," she added dramatically, as if all those words were not sufficient to make them understand, "was never married to his father."
Pip finally closed her book. "You may rest at ease, aunt. I believe we're safe from Damon Deverell's attentions. He didn't look any happier about being hired for us, than we are about having his services foisted upon us." She poked Merrythought with her toe. "And I would never let my dear little sister fall prey to the wicked transgressions of a filthy lawyer. I'd tie her up in the attic first."
"Nevertheless, they do say he's a merciless fellow and never loses a case, so it's just as well your father has procured his services to be on our side." Aunt Du Bois walked across the room with her quick step and proceeded to braid Serenity's hair, even though the girl had begun to do it for herself. Apparently she was not braiding it to the proper specifications. "But there is no need to mingle socially with that young man. He should be no more to any of us than a servant, as he said himself."
Pip chuckled. "I'm quite certain he was being sarcastic, aunt."
"But it's true. He's nothing to us but a hired man."
"And not a very polite one," Serenity added. "Distinctly common."
"He was considerably brusque and not at all friendly," Merrythought joined in eagerly. "Like that porter who dropped my trunk on his toe at Southampton. I wondered, in fact, if somebody had dropped something on Mr. Deverell's foot."
Pip was thinking again about the old story their father liked to tell, of a mysterious fellow called True Deverell, narrowly missing a bullet by leaping into the Mississippi and out-swimming alligators in the dark. A wolf in man's clothing. Listening to her aunt and sisters, she realized no one else had recalled the tale, or if they did, they had not yet made a connection to the name. Perhaps it was just as well. Master Grumbles did not have much good on his side as it was.
She sat up, hugging her knees, watching their aunt's quick fingers twisting through her sister's hair. "But if the senior Mr. Deverell is a successful man of business now, despite his humble beginnings, we have no right to look down upon him. Surely we must remember that our own father overcame similar struggles."
"Your father has always been a gentleman," her aunt replied sharply. "He abides by the law—"
"When it suits." As her father liked to say himself, nobody ever got rich without breaking a few rules.
"— and he attends church on Sundays. Furthermore, he does not throw his seed about indiscriminately and unapologetically, defiling more young maidens than he has hot dinners."
All three sisters smothered their chuckles at that last sentence, particularly at their aunt's accompanying gestures. One could take Queenie Du Bois out of Hog's Flank, Louisiana, dress her up and give her airs and graces, but one could not quite take the Hog's Flank out of Queenie. Especially when there were no guests present to impress.
"But our father has never forgotten his impoverished beginnings," Pip insisted. "I doubt he would begrudge any other man their success in life."
"Perhaps not. My point is that he would not approve the sons of such a man as suitors for his own daughters. One can admire the beauty and skill of the fox without rewarding it by opening the henhouse door."
Yes, they all knew what their father wanted for them, of course. Prospero Piper had high hopes of finding titled sons-in-law of whom he could boast, adding legitimacy to his own social standing across the Atlantic. The idea of outdoing the likes of Mrs. H. Thaxton-Choate, stepping over her and flicking mud in her eye was, no doubt, where he came by his scheme.
"You'll see, Pip," he'd assured her, "What you need is a chance to shine where there's less competition. You'll be a novelty, a little fresh air in those stuffy English parlors."
He was right about his daughters being a "novelty" abroad, but that was not such a good thing as he'd anticipated.
In England, the ancient rule of primogeniture existed to keep fortunes in the hands of eldest sons only, preventing large estates being broken up piecemeal. The idea of daughters being their father's heirs and having equal shares in his fortune, therefore, was unheard of among the aristocracy here. As a result, wherever they went, the Piper girls were looked at with mistrust by the women, and lurid curiosity by the men. Aunt Du Bois used every artful wile to get them invitations into society, but they were not welcomed in a friendly way, and Pip could only imagine how everybody was impatient for them to leave so that they could become the topic of conversation.
; "If you must enjoy a dalliance of that nature," said her aunt suddenly, breaking into her reverie, "you can wait until your duty's done."
"A dalliance?" Had she missed part of the conversation?
"Once you have a proper, suitable husband and have provided him with a son and heir, then you might, discretely, arrange such a man on the side. A lagniappe. There is always some benefit in a little something extra. Since a husband often takes a mistress, a wife may have a lover." She paused, touching the back of her own hair, pursing her lips at her reflection in the mirror above Serenity's head, "I can see the appeal of that young man, Deverell. He is not, by any means, a trial to look upon. Not at all. Yes, I can see how he might take the chill off the long, damp English winter nights."
Pip hid her smile behind her book and thought she ought to warn Damon Deverell against coming to their door again. He might find himself lassoed by their aunt's silk stockings, despite his utter unsuitability for them. So much for the demure swooning Queenie employed when she felt the need.
"At least you, ma cher," the lady continued, her hands resting now on Serenity's shoulders, "had success at the Courtenay's ball. I believe that Mortmain fellow is quite smitten with you."
The elder sister colored up and turned her gaze away from the mirror. "Perhaps."
"Mortmain?" Pip exclaimed. "The fellow that smells of fusty closet and camphor oil? Good lord, he almost put me to sleep on my feet. What a mumbler! I don't think I understood more than three words out of him all evening. The rest was merely noise, like the rumble of a distant train that never reaches the station, because it keeps running out of coal and steam."
"There's nothing wrong with a quiet-spoken gentleman," Aunt Du Bois replied swiftly. "The British are, on the whole, much more reserved. Mortmain may be a clumsy dancer and lack a few social skills, but I'm told he rarely ventures down to London — only occasionally to visit his great aunt—and prefers his home in Yorkshire, where he enjoys many outdoor pursuits. If Serenity has caught his eye and keeps it, she could do far worse. He is, after all, the son of a viscount."
Serenity smiled, attempting to look bashful, but succeeding only in resembling the cat that stole the cream.
"I felt sorry for him," Merrythought ventured tentatively. "He seemed so very shy and awkward. I just wanted to tell him it didn't matter if he got the steps wrong."
"You marry him, Serenity," their aunt continued excitedly, focused on her eldest, most beautiful niece, "and as soon as his father drops dead, you'll be a Viscountess. It's just what Prospero wants for you girls." She patted the girl's shoulder. "Imagine! The Viscountess Mortmain. And, as I said before, if you don't like the fellow so much, after the first son is born, you can make your own life too. That's how they do it here."
"So divorce is scandalous," Pip remarked coolly from the bed behind them, "while adultery is acceptable, even expected?"
"Divorce cannot be kept out of the public eye."
"I see. It's all about appearances, of course. Doesn't matter what goes on behind closed doors, or how unhappy she might be, a woman has no choice but to put up with it."
Her aunt waved a dismissive hand. "Marriage is protection. A saj fem learns how to cut a place for herself within those constraints. It can be a very comfortable arrangement."
Serenity barely blinked an eye at this conversation. Having always thought herself bound for some sort of greatness, it had never been more apparent than now that she was prepared to make any personal sacrifice to achieve that goal.
"He has to ask her first," Pip pointed out, bringing the other ladies sharply back to earth. "Since it takes him so long to get one clear word out, you might be in for a long wait."
Serenity got up and turned down the oil lamp. "At least I make the effort. I am grateful for the opportunities that arise, and I make the most of them. I don't sit about pouting or causing trouble so that angry young lawyers have to be hired, no doubt at great expense."
"I do not pout. Pouting is something I would never do. It suggests weakness of spirit and lack of spine." She said nothing about the angry young lawyer.
Once their aunt had gone out again, the girls lingered in Serenity's room as they usually did to discuss the day's events and anything they wouldn't want their aunt to hear. Sometimes, if she was in a pleasant mood, the eldest sister would take this time to pass down petticoats, garters or chemises that had worn out their first flush of newness. But tonight Serenity was in no mood to be generous and, instead, looked for some way to jab back at her sister.
Tying a ribbon around the end of her long braid she said, "If that lawyer fellow— Deverell— didn't impress you, why defend his father's background? What does it matter to you what anybody says about that family? Unless, of course, you have taken a shine to him."
"I simply maintain that we should be honest, remember our own background and not look down our noses. Why disparage a man who has made his own success, much as our father did?"
"Because our father wants better for us. He wants to be sure folk never look down on us again. There will be no need for us to dwell upon hardships, or acknowledge certain branches in the family tree. Not once we write over our history with a new one."
"I suppose I will be one such unsightly branch swiftly pruned out of your history, as soon as you're a countess."
"Viscountess. And yes, of course, once I'm married, I shan't own to you being my sister, unless you learn to behave yourself in public and stop irritating everybody with your opinions. What do you expect?"
"Oh, sister!" Merrythought cried, "You won't really disown us, surely."
"Not you, dear. Just Pip, because she just can't behave herself. She is an embarrassment."
Pip leapt off the bed and tossed a pillow at her sister. "Well, I could never marry a man if it meant disowning my family, forgetting my history or rewriting it. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. I never could."
"Which is why you will end your days a stubborn old maid, invited nowhere and liked by nobody because you're so disagreeable."
"It's called having principles, sister. I know what I am, and I won't change to suit anybody else. They can take me or leave me. It's their issue, not mine."
Merrythought yawned sleepily as she leaned by the door. "I bet, if you ever met a man and fell in love, you would change, Pip. Then you wouldn't be so annoyed all the time. Aunt Du Bois says you have too much frustrated energy. It's something to do with the moon and tides."
"And wandering wombs, no doubt." She chuckled.
"But you might fall in love one day," her little sister persisted. "It could happen to anyone. Even you. Aunt Du Bois says the stubborn ones always fall hardest in love."
"Love?" Serenity gave a little snort. "Nobody said love has anything to do with marriage. That's another misconception you both labor under. If Pip understood that, she wouldn't make a such a fuss out of finding a suitable husband."
Poor Merrythought was alarmed. "But if it's not about love, what is it about?"
"Survival," Serenity replied firmly, throwing the pillow onto her bed and thumping it hard. "This is a world that would just as soon trample women like us into the mud and leave us for dead, as it would lend us a hand to climb out of the mire."
"You make it sound like a battleground, sister. Like war."
"It is. The sooner you both realize that the better. Marriage is really no different to being fitted for a new winter coat to keep you warm when the frost sets in. Or finding a good, strong horse to get you across that muddy battlefield, to where the ground is firm and dry. To where the sun shines and things grow. Nothing can grow in mud."
"That's not true," Pip pointed out. "Things do grow in mud. There is a saying: the lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest and thickest mud."
Serenity stuck out her tongue. "You always think you know better, don't you? Nobody can tell you anything. Now you're an expert gardener too."
"No. But I have some familiarity with mud."
"And it's time you st
opped fighting in it with little boys who pull your hair. You're much too old and it long since ceased to be amusing. If you stopped rolling around in the mud like a piglet, we wouldn't have been sent here in the first place. This is your fault, remember? I didn't want to come here, but thanks to you and your temper I had no choice. Now at least I'm making the best of it and don't spend my time whining. Go to bed and leave me in peace."
So the other two went to their own rooms, but Pip sat up for a long time, mulling over Serenity's words.
Her sister, sadly, was right; this exile was her fault. This was a situation she had caused, and she had no right to complain now if they were to be watched over and guided by the stern hand of Master Grumbles, or if Serenity married the most awful dry stick on earth.
She couldn't stop her sister from making such a mistake, could she? Certainly Pip never welcomed interference in her own life, so it would be hypocritical to push her nose into that of her sister. Besides, they might be family, joined by blood— whether Serenity wanted to admit it or not— but all three Piper girls were very different in nature. They all wanted something different from life. Who was she to judge her sister's choices?
As she had reminded herself at the Courtenay's ball, she need only get through this, show herself to be improved, and then, thankfully, go home— once the dust had settled over that Moffat business.
Perhaps, she thought despondently, there would arise another opportunity to impress Bertie Boxall. If she pretended to make an effort, would it stop everybody poking and prodding at her? Her father had told her that she must learn to keep her thoughts and plans to herself, so it might be a good idea to brush up on her Latin and non-existent harp skills. Let everybody believe her chastened and reformed. Didn't have to marry him, did she? But if she gave the appearance of trying, nobody could say it was her fault then when she went home without a husband.
Alas, Pip could rouse little enthusiasm for the idea of being an "amiable mute" in the company of Lord Boxall. The extraordinary Master Grumbles lurked in her mind, his long-suffering face following her about, his big, muddy paws lumbering through doorways after her. Even though they were mutually decided that they would never get along, he still trailed behind her, never far from her thoughts.