Crossed Quills

by Carola Dunn

  Very likely it would make no difference, but she had to try. “I shall go,” she said resolutely.

  * * * *

  Wynn was rather pleased with himself. As he tooled the curricle down Hampstead Hill, he wondered whether he would have time to tell Pippa all about little Henry before dinner.

  No, alas. The sun was setting over the smoky city, and as he reached the foot of the hill, church clocks struck eight. In Charles Street they would be sitting down to dine. He was too late to join them, even had he not been grimed with a long day’s road dirt.

  Fortunately today was Wednesday, so he knew where to find them this evening. He would drive straight to Albany, have a wash and a bite to eat, don knee-breeches, and repair to Almack’s. There he could at least tell Pippa he had thoroughly fulfilled her request for all possible details of the child’s abduction and subsequent fate.

  A note awaited from the Chancellor. His speech had been entered into the House of Lords’ calendar. Wynn nearly rushed straight round to Charles Street, but contrived to restrain himself.

  Some two hours later, clean, fed, and a trifle puzzled to have learned that Gil Chubb had left town in haste and without explanation, Wynn presented himself at the King Street rooms. His reception puzzled him still more.

  Mrs Drummond-Burrell and Countess Lieven, on duty in the anteroom, greeted him graciously enough, but with odd looks. As he moved on, he was conscious of their putting their heads together and whispering behind his back. One or two gentlemen spoke to him over-heartily, asking if he had been out of town. Entering the ballroom, he felt himself the cynosure of every eye, the subject of a hundred low-voiced murmurs.

  Had he forgotten his stockings, to display hairy shins to the world? No, all present and correct. His neckcloth? He raised a nervous hand, felt the starched folds where they ought to be. To comb his hair? His hair went its own way, always, but was scarcely noticeable enough among the Windswept and Brutus coiffures of Dandy and Corinthian.

  Whatever was wrong, it did not stop the determined advance upon him of a horde of hopeful matrons with marriageable daughters in tow.

  Lady Jersey nipped in front and appropriated his arm. “They see you for once unprotected by your sisters,” she said tartly, leading him to a pair of chairs in a semi-sequestered nook.

  “Albinia is not here, ma’am?” he asked, disappointed. “They usually arrive early.”

  “I understand Mrs Debenham and Miss Warren will not be coming tonight.” Lady Jersey gave him a curious look. “Out of sympathy for the Lisles.”

  Wynn rose in alarm. “They are ill?”

  “No, no.” The countess tugged him back down by the sleeve. “You have just returned to town, I collect?”

  “An hour since. What has happened? What is amiss?”

  “The gabble-grinders have been tearing Miss Lisle to shreds. I have an open mind on the subject, but there is no denying nine tenths of the world believes she wrote The Masked Marauder.”

  “What?” Wynn laughed wildly. “I must be dreaming. Philippa Lisle as Valentine Dred?”

  “That is the on-dit.” Lady Jersey’s inquisitive eyes gleamed. “Naturally, certain of the qualities which have made the book such a success are enough to damn a young lady author, to destroy her reputation forever.”

  On the instant, Wynn’s slightly hysterical amusement turned to cold fury. “Miss Lisle damned on a rumour? ‘Fore gad, ma’am,” he snarled, “someone shall suffer for this.”

  “Hush, everyone is staring.”

  “Let them stare,” said Wynn in a ringing voice, standing again and facing the room, “for they are staring at the real Valentine Dred!”

  Everyone within earshot fell silent, and those who were not already agape turned to stare. Then they put their heads together, shook them sceptically, muttered, and snickered.

  Lady Jersey stood up and put her hand on Wynn’s arm. “Come now, Lord Selworth, you are only giving food for further scandal. Everyone knows you are close to the Lisles, that they are your sister’s guests. Of course you are honour bound to do what you can to defend Miss Lisle’s reputation.”

  She had given Wynn time to think. “It should not be necessary to defend her, ma’am,” he said reasonably, “if only people would give the matter a little thought.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Consider: The first of Valentine Dred’s romances was published eight years ago, when I was still up at Oxford. Miss Lisle is Albinia’s age. Eight years ago she was a schoolroom miss of sixteen! Can anyone seriously credit that a mere chit of sixteen, living secluded in a country village, could write such a book?”

  Much struck, Lady Jersey nodded. “Which one was that?” she asked.

  “The Heart and the Dagger.” Wynn grinned. “I hope my titles improved with practice.”

  “I remember it well. You are right, none but a complete nodcock could believe a schoolroom chit wrote that gory farce. Much more like the work of an undergraduate—the stories, if not the titles, have certainly improved with practice. So you are the author!”

  “I am,” said Wynn wryly, recalling the pains he had taken to protect his anonymity.

  With a raised hand and an imperious gaze, Lady Jersey collected several of her cronies. The work of reestablishing Pippa’s good name began.

  By the end of the evening, Wynn felt he had convinced enough people that he was Valentine Dred to be sure the news would quickly spread. The few who held out were those who preferred a juicy bit of scandal to the truth, at any cost. The new Viscount Selworth’s authorship did not make half so piquant a story as a young lady’s disgrace.

  Piquant enough, though, to wreck his parliamentary hopes. Lady Castlereagh had made that quite plain.

  Tapping his arm with her fan, the plump, dowdy wife of the Foreign Secretary said amiably, “So you are the naughty man we have all been racking our brains to discover! Castlereagh will be excessively relieved to hear it. He and Lord Liverpool have been quite concerned about you, I collect, and all for nothing!”

  Wynn returned to Albany torn between elation at having saved his beloved from public ignominy and depression at having ruined his prospects of public service.

  After spending all day on the road and half the night at Almack’s, Wynn slept late the next morning. Having forgotten to tell Clark to wake him, he was annoyed with himself, for he had intended to go early to Charles Street to tell the Lisles the end of their ostracism was in sight.

  He ate a quick breakfast and hurried round to his sister’s house.

  Opening the door to him, the First Footman exclaimed, “My lord!” and peered past him into the street. The result of his peering appeared to disappoint him.

  Puzzled, Wynn glanced back. A knife grinder was receding down the street, and a groom held a pair of horses outside one of the houses opposite. What had the footman hoped or expected to see?

  “The ladies at home, Reuben?”

  “In the drawing room, my lord.”

  Wynn took the stairs two at a time. As he entered the room, Bina, Millicent, Kitty, even Mrs Lisle surged to their feet and advanced upon him, all talking at once. The only word he could make out was Pippa’s name. They, too, seemed to be looking behind him and to be disappointed by what they did not see.

  Indeed, Mrs Lisle was half distraught, an alarming sight in a lady usually so serene.

  Holding up his hands to still the clamour, he went to her and urged her to sit down on the nearest sofa. He seated himself beside her, took both her hands in his, and said soothingly, “You may be easy, ma’am. I have already refuted the rumours about Miss Lisle, at Almack’s last night, and all is in train to set matters to rights. I’m heartily sorry she, and you, landed in the suds on my account.”

  “On your account?” said Millicent. “But—”

  “I am Valentine Dred,” said Wynn, “as half the haut ton knows by now, and the other half will by nightfall.”

  “You! But—”

  “Does Pippa know?” asked Mrs Lisle eagerly.<
br />
  “Yes.”

  “Then at least that explains it!”

  “Where is she, ma’am? I must make my apologies to... Explains what?”

  “Why she went off to find you, hoping you might be able to alleviate our troubles.”

  “She what?” Wynn cried, springing to his feet. “When? How?”

  “It is my fault,” Bina said penitently, “at least in part. She spoke of going by stage coach to search for you. I could not let her do that, so I offered the landau and John Coachman and a maid. I wish I had not, for she might have realized the impossibility and stayed at home to wait for you.”

  “But you are back, Lord Selworth,” said Kitty, “and Pippa is not. You must have missed each other on the road.”

  Bina frowned. “She was going to enquire for you along the way, though, Wynn. She must surely have been told you were on your way south, yet you arrived last night in time to go to Almack’s and she has not come home.”

  “Where can she be?” moaned Mrs Lisle. “How could she go off alone like that?”

  “My dear ma’am, she has the Debenhams’ coachman and a maid with her.” Wynn forced himself to sound calm. “I’m sure she is quite safe and will turn up at any moment, but if she is not here very shortly I shall go and look for her. When did she leave?”

  “The day before yesterday,” Kitty told him. She took a deep breath, apparently steeling herself to continue: “And the day before that, Mr...” She stopped, staring at the door. “Pippa!”

  Wynn swung round. There she stood, tired, tousled, begrimed, and absolutely the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

  And behind her stood Gilbert Chubb.

  “Pippa, my dearest!” Mrs Lisle rushed to embrace her errant daughter. “Thank Heaven you are safe. Where have you been? What happened?”

  Pippa kissed her. “Pray let me sit down, Mama. I am quite exhausted. Though Mr Chubb’s gig is excellently sprung—” She smiled over her shoulder at Gil, firing a dart of pure jealousy through Wynn’s chest “—a gig is not the vehicle I should choose for a long journey!”

  She sank into a chair. Gil, exposed to everyone’s gaze, bleated, “Accident!”

  “What do you mean, accident?” Wynn demanded. “Where do you come into this?”

  Gil turned bright red and threw a pleading glance at Kitty.

  “I asked Mr Chubb to try to find you,” she said defiantly. “He told me the author was a friend of his, and I guessed it must be you. I could not bear Pippa to be under a cloud a day longer than need be.”

  Mrs Lisle gave her a penetrating look.

  “Wynn has already told people he wrote that book, Pippa,” Millie said. “He went to Almack’s last night and....”

  While his sister chattered, Wynn met Pippa’s eyes, full of gratitude and regret. “It was the only way,” he said softly, knowing she understood what it cost him to protect her.

  “But what is this about an accident, my love?” Mrs Lisle interrupted Millicent, “and why have you been travelling with Mr Chubb?”

  “The landau went into a ditch in the dusk in a narrow lane, after we turned off the Great North Road to go to Kymford.”

  “That’s where we missed each other,” Wynn said. “I didn’t stop at Kymford on the return journey. I was in a hurry to get back. You were not hurt?”

  “Not at all. The wheel of the landau broke, I fear, Bina, and we were some distance from a village where it could be repaired. I cannot tell you how delighted I was when Mr Chubb turned up and offered to drive me back to London!”

  “Couldn’t leave you beside the road,” Gil exclaimed.

  “I am not sure where Kymford is,” said Mrs Lisle. “How long were the two of you travelling together?”

  “Since Tuesday evening, Mama. We owe Mr Chubb for two nights’ lodging on the way.”

  “Oh dear!” Her mother shook her head in dismay. “As I feared. You are hopelessly compromised, Pippa dearest. Mr Chubb, I know I can rely upon you to do the gentlemanly thing. Come, Kitty.”

  Somehow, without being quite aware how it had happened, Wynn found himself swept out of the drawing room with the others, leaving Gil and Pippa alone there.

  “I shall order refreshments,” said Bina. “Wynn, will you take tea or would you prefer Madeira? Or shall I send for champagne, Mrs Lisle?”

  His best friend was proposing marriage to his love, and his sister offered him tea or Madeira! Champagne? Pah! “Hemlock,” he growled inaudibly.

  Turning on his heel, he sprang down the stairs and strode away from the house, his heart in his boots, bleeding with every step.

  Chapter 17

  Pippa gaped after her mother, too taken aback to believe she had heard correctly. But there she was, alone in the drawing room with Mr Chubb.

  Who stood with his mouth ajar, looking utterly terrified.

  “It is quite all right, sir,” Pippa said kindly. “I shall not accept, you know.”

  Hope flared in his eyes. “You won’t?”

  “No. I do not intend ever to marry. I shall keep Mama company when Kitty is married.”

  “M-miss Kitty m-married?”

  “She is bound to be, you know. Her suitors will flock back now that Lord Selworth has exonerated me. Kitty is not the sort to hold a grudge.”

  “Not at all,” spluttered Mr Chubb. “Sweetest temper, kindest, most—”

  “Exactly,” Pippa cut short his paean, “and very pretty, too, so she is certain to marry, even though she has no portion.”

  “Money! Who cares about money?”

  “Well, if one has none—”

  “Got plenty. M’father’s no Chronos—that the fellow I mean?”

  “Chronos was a Titan who swallowed his children. I expect you mean Croesus,” Pippa suggested, fighting to keep a straight face. “The richest man in the world.”

  “That’s the chap. M’father ain’t one, but he’s not short of the blunt and he’s no nipfarthing. When I marry—”

  “Mr Chubb, you do not need to tell me all this. I promise you, I do not expect an offer.”

  “B-but Mrs Lisle relies on me,” he said, distressed and uncertain. “Said so.”

  “Very well, then, make your proposal, and I promise you I shall refuse you.”

  Awkwardly, Gil Chubb went down on one knee before her. “Miss Lisle,” he said earnestly, “it would be a great honour if you would give me your hand. And I mean it, even if I know you won’t.”

  “I am honoured by your offer, sir,” Pippa said, as gentle as she could be when she wanted to burst into tears, “but I cannot marry where my heart is not given. And nor should you.”

  “No.” He sighed, then heaved himself to his feet with a thoughtful look. “Dashed if you ain’t right, ma’am. Dashed if I won’t try my luck.”

  “I cannot say whether Kitty will have you,” Pippa warned, “but I shall send her to you.” She sped from the room.

  A couple of sniffs restored her control of her emotions. She went up to the sitting room, where she found her mother, Bina, and Millicent, but no Kitty.

  Millie rushed to meet her. “Are you betrothed? I am so glad everything has worked out so well. I think it is excessively romantic, Mr Chubb coming to the rescue when you were stranded, but Kitty is quite overset for fear you are forced into a distasteful marriage, though I am sure the heir to a baron must be considered an excellent match and Mr Chubb is not so very ill-favoured, only a little shy, so I daresay you may be as happy with him as with—”

  “I am not betrothed, Millie,” Pippa said firmly.

  “But you are compromised! Mrs Lisle said so.”

  “I do not care if I am, but Mama gave us no opportunity to explain. We stayed at small, out-of-the-way inns, where I had the maid sleep in my chamber each night, and we kept off the turnpike, so no one saw us together. I see no need to marry Mr Chubb. Mama, what were you thinking of to put me in such a position?”

  “I had my reasons, dearest. “ Mrs Lisle was her usual serene self once more. “
I did not for a moment suppose you would accept Mr Chubb, though I fear Kitty was not so certain.”

  “Where is she? I told Mr Chubb I would fetch her to him.”

  Her mama and Bina exchanged a congratulatory glance. “Locked in your chamber, weeping her heart out,” said Bina. “If I am not mistaken, the position your mother put you in forced her to examine her own feelings.”

  “Mama! I have had reason before now to accuse you of being hardened in deceit, have I not?” Pippa protested, half cross, and half laughing. “I shall go and tell her he is waiting for her.”

  * * * *

  Kitty felt as if the world had crashed about her ears. Pippa was to marry Gil Chubb! And all because he had so gallantly agreed to go off on a wild goose chase, at Kitty’s request, to spare her and her family a day or two of infamy.

  He was not as dashing as Lieutenant Pendrell, not as romantic as Lord Fenimore, not as handsome as Mr Carson, as witty as Lord Bellamy, as smart as Lord Edward Stanborough, nor as good a dancer as Mr George Tarrington. But Kitty could not imagine spending the rest of her life with any of those attractive and eligible gentlemen—even if they had not abandoned her in the time of trouble.

  Gil was kind and constant. He was clever and knowledgeable about the things which interested Kitty. Above all, she was always comfortable with him.

  And he was to marry Pippa! Tears flowed afresh.

  “Kitty, I must speak to you,” came her sister’s urgent voice through the door.

  “C-coming.” Kitty blotted her eyes, blew her nose, and tried to prepare herself to offer sincere-sounding felicitations. It was not Pippa’s fault she had stolen Gil away. She did not even know Kitty loved him, for she had been at pains to show no preference amongst her suitors.

  She unlocked the door, opened it, and was enveloped in a hug before she had time to attempt a smile.

  “I am not going to marry Mr Chubb,” Pippa said at once. “He is waiting for you in the drawing room, and Mama says you may see him alone—if you wish.”