The duke blinked, his jaw actually dropping. “Well. That was direct.”
“I am a direct woman,” she replied with a shrug, utterly ignoring the audience straining to hear the conversation. “I also believe in love and happy endings. I will only marry a man who I care for and who in turn cares for me. Who understands my eccentricities. One reason I will never, ever wed, is because my grandmother tried to manipulate me—and the gentleman—into it.”
“Lady Kingsford is…rather forceful,” he said hesitantly.
Pippa snorted. “Try living with the woman. No, actually, don’t. I would not recommend it. But listen. As someone else close to me accurately noted, Your Grace, you are twenty-five, have all your own teeth, don’t creak when you walk, and dress rather well. Plus, those other things like ancient title, multiple estates and fortune, et cetera, et cetera. Why don’t you wed someone you truly love? Who truly loves you? Duty marriages are a pox on society. A barnacle on the backside of happiness.”
Devonshire chuckled, albeit a trifle sadly. “The more you say, the more I like you, Lady Pippa. Knighton is a fortunate man. But while this isn’t the first time I’ve been tossed over for a viscount; I pray it is the last. Now, I shall bow and strategically retreat…if, however, you ever need a friend, you may call on me. I mean that.”
“Much obliged, Your Grace,” she said, patting his hand. “I hope you find the one you are looking for. Romance novels decree that quite often the path to love is rocky and treacherous, filled with wolves and snakes and pits of despair before the sunshine and rainbows of Utopia.”
His lips twitched madly, then he lifted her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, Lady Pippa. Please give my regards to your grandmother. Wait. On second thought…do not.”
Pippa laughed. “Fare thee well, Your Grace.”
After the duke departed, the other women in the room practically sprinted back.
“Well?” said Lady Voyce breathlessly.
Lady Kingsford’s expression was the very portrait of self-satisfied. “Devonshire kissed dear Pippa’s hand. I think we all know what that means.”
“It means that the duke and I decided we shall be great friends but definitely not husband and wife,” said Pippa brightly, her smile broadening as her grandmother’s face turned to stone.
Another round in the ring, another defeat for the devil’s unofficial handmaiden.
Nothing could upend her life now, for Pippa Pearl Nash had full control.
Exactly as it should be.
Chapter 8
The following morning, Finn pulled up his curricle to the Kingsford townhouse with a flourish, and waited for Pippa to come dashing outside. After making arrangements with Abby, who had chosen not to be present for the visit, he’d sent Pippa a cheery note to invite her on the promised grand tour of the Bliss premises.
He felt like a child the night before their birthday. Hell, he’d actually dithered over his wardrobe choices, to the point his valet had probably been on the verge of strangling him. But he’d opted for fawn trousers, muted gold waistcoat, and dark blue jacket with brass buttons. Pippa loved the color blue, so he hoped it boded well for the day.
He tapped his fingers on the side of the curricle, frowning when Pippa failed to appear. Perhaps she’d been waylaid by her grandmother or yet another family situation, and needed rescuing. At Kingsford House, that was nearly a daily occurrence after all.
Abruptly the front door opened, but it wasn’t Pippa.
“Morning, Lord Knighton,” said a footman as he approached. “Would you like me to hold the reins while you wait?”
“Much obliged,” Finn replied, handing the man a sixpence before walking into the entrance hall.
“Lord Knighton!” said the butler, inclining his head. “Ah…good morning. May I assist with something?”
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m just waiting for my betrothed. We’re going on an outing.”
The older man hesitated, an odd expression crossing his face. “Would you excuse me one moment, my lord? I’ll find out where Lady Pippa is.”
Confused, Finn leaned against a pillar. Was he early? Pippa was perhaps the most punctual person in England; he’d never had to wait for her in sixteen years. Truthfully, he didn’t want to spend any longer inside Kingsford House than necessary. The Tudor homage décor was so damned gloomy and oppressive.
When Lady Kingsford appeared at the top of the stairs, he groaned. Of all the Nash family members, why did it have to be the only one he truly despised?
“Knighton,” she said curtly, not even bothering to coat her tone with the thinnest layer of treacle. “What are you doing here?”
The gloves were indeed off.
“Waiting for Pippa, my lady. We’re going on an outing.”
“Unfortunately, you aren’t,” she replied, gliding down the stairs. “My granddaughter is…indisposed.”
“She’s unwell? Oh dear. I didn’t receive any word of that, no doubt there is a note sitting in the mail tray at home—”
“No note. Good day, my lord.”
Finn’s gaze narrowed as he judged the angle of staircase and height to swing himself up and around the elderly woman to get to Pippa. “I should like to see for myself whether a physician is necessary. I care very much for my betrothed’s health.”
“Pippa is resting. Now, are you going to leave, or must I call for footmen to escort you out of my entrance hall?”
“Ah,” he said pleasantly. “You are vexed that the plots with Devonshire were unsuccessful. Tis most unfortunate that you care nothing for your granddaughter’s happiness, only about your position in society. Well, you grossly underestimated how bold and brilliant Pippa is. And how I would do anything at all for her.”
Lady Kingsford reared back, like a snake about to strike. Then she laughed. “Oh, you think you’ve won. Foolish boy. You will regret interfering in my plans. Now get out.”
Finn gritted his teeth as she continued past him, stopping to speak to a footman and point in his direction. He didn’t believe for a minute that Pippa was indisposed; she was rarely ill and had been quite well yesterday. If it were true, she or Ruby would have sent a note requesting some treat to make her feel better.
This was punishment, pure and simple.
But he couldn’t stand here cooling his heels, or try and run up the stairs. This was not his home and now several footmen were watching him. He would think of another way to get to Pippa and try again tomorrow.
Once outside, he climbed back up on his curricle, and tapped the reins to move away from the Kingsford townhouse. Returning home now wasn’t an option after he’d made such a performance of going to see Pippa, so his only choice was to drive around London for a while, like the thwarted swain he was.
Three hours later, after he’d purchased more caramels, recommended titles to a group of eager matrons at Hatchard’s Bookstore, and passed by Gunter’s on the small chance Pippa had gone out to clear her head, Finn admitted defeat and returned to Hanover Square.
Only to find a plethora of carriages outside the Pinehurst residence.
As soon as he pulled up, Travers dashed out to greet him.
“My lord. Thank goodness,” said the butler breathlessly.
Finn jumped down from the curricle seat, then two footmen led the horses away. “What is the matter? Whose are those carriages?”
“It’s Lord Pinehurst. He’s taken a turn for the worse. Cunningham summoned a physician. And er…the lawyers. And bankers.”
He gaped at the butler. “What? Where is my mother?”
“In her bedchamber, my lord. The physician dismissed her from his lordship’s presence after she became a trifle…hysterical.”
Finn pursed his lips. And he’d thought being barred from Pippa’s side was the worst that could happen today. Nodding to Travers, he hurried upstairs. As his father had stopped visiting his mother a long time ago, the connecting door between their chambers was always locked. She couldn’t even push it ajar to lis
ten.
He knocked on her door. “Mother? It’s me.”
Soon it swung open, and she threw herself against him. “Oh Finlay,” she sobbed. “You’re home. There are so many people here and they won’t tell me anything. But I think it is bad. Very bad. My husband…your father is dying.”
DYING.
His head spun, and he clutched the doorframe.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Father just needs rest. You’ll see. I’ll go and find out what is happening. And tell them if they ever disrespect you again, they will be out of this house. Now, sit by the fire and warm up. Your hands are like icicles.”
“Yes, Finlay,” she choked out. But her eyes were still wild, so he escorted her over to the chaise and sat her down, then covered her with a light woolen blanket.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he promised, turning on his heel and leaving her chamber for the marquess’s one next door. Finn’s knock was no more than perfunctory, and when his father’s valet opened it, he swiftly stood aside to let Finn enter.
God. There was a small crowd gathered, all surrounding the oversized bed. Two lawyers, two bankers, and two physicians, all whom he recognized, but Cunningham sat in the corner as well.
“Gentlemen,” Finn said brusquely. “Tell me exactly what is going on.”
All turned and bowed, then the two stout, silver-haired physicians moved away from the bed to give him room. “Good afternoon, my lord,” said one.
He sucked in a harsh breath. His father lay propped upright on pillows, still as death, his face ashen and his eyes closed. “Is he…?”
“No, no,” said the other physician hastily, as he mopped his brow. “I took the liberty of administering some laudanum to help your sire rest easier. Though I’m afraid the news isn’t good, my lord. When we examined him, his breathing was shallow and his heart weak. I believe we’ll know in the next few days if he is to recover…but I fear you and her ladyship may need to brace for the worst. If we’d been summoned earlier…”
Terror and anger churned his gut, but Finn managed to glare at the man. “As you well know, my father decides who is and isn’t summoned, sir. And if anyone again bars Lady Pinehurst from her husband’s chamber, their services will no longer be required by this family. Is that understood?”
A chorus of assent sounded, and the nausea became so bad, he coughed against his fist. There was a reason they were all being so polite. So deferential. None of them believed his father would recover. They were changing their allegiance as the clock ticked, hoping to gain favor with the man who would be the next Marquess of Pinehurst.
Fucking vultures.
“Would you like to discuss the next course of treatment, my lord?” asked the physician tentatively.
“Just one moment,” Finn replied. “I shall return with Lady Pinehurst.”
He walked to the door then near-sprinted for his own room, barely making it to the chamber pot before falling to his knees and purging his insides in three violent retches.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
This could not be fucking happening.
His wretched, awful father could not be dying.
Limbs shaking, perspiration trickling from his temples, Finn somehow hauled himself to his feet and splashed his face with cool water from the basin. Then he stumbled to his desk and poured a brandy to get the awful taste from his mouth.
Pull yourself together, man. Your mother needs you. Besides, the spiteful old weasel could still prove them all wrong…please God, let him prove them all wrong…I don’t want to be marquess. I’m not ready to be marquess…oh Pippa, I need you…
Finn smoothed his hair and clothing. By sheer luck, he’d managed to keep it clean. Then he took several deep breaths, before sauntering to his mother’s chamber as though all was well. As though he would be Lord Knighton for some time to come.
If he wished hard enough, perhaps it could be true.
She couldn’t take much more of her family.
Pippa rested her forehead against the bedchamber window, welcoming the cool press of the glass. Grandmother swayed between frigid silence and biting comments about everything from the way she walked to the shape of her hair pins. Father appeared only for meals, spending the rest of the time barricaded in his library to avoid all the unpleasantness. Georgiana was moping because her gentleman had reacted coolly to her informing him that they couldn’t indulge in one of their illicit, pleasure-for-him meetings for a while. And, as per usual, Xavier had disappeared for destinations unknown. Although, with the current tensions in the household, she couldn’t really blame him.
Packing a satchel and leaving London on the next stagecoach to anywhere sounded like an excellent idea. Especially as Finn had forgotten to escort her to the Bliss premises as his note had promised. He knew how much she wanted to go there and examine the toys and accessories. How could he dangle such a treat and then snatch it away?
Pippa scowled and slumped back onto her window seat. In the past, every single time she’d been sad or angry or frustrated beyond measure, Finn had been her source of comfort. More recently he’d been her source of pleasure; the only real-life respite from the theatrics and other related nonsense at Kingsford House. And now she had plummeted back to earth with a resounding crash, for it seemed Pippa Pearl wasn’t permitted respite.
A harsh knock at the door made her yelp. Seconds later, Xavier burst in looking more haphazard than usual, his claret-colored jacket rumpled, the lace at the cuffs of his linen shirt torn and dirt-stained, and his knuckles scratched and dotted with blood.
“Good. You’re dressed,” he said abruptly. “Brush your hair and pinch your cheeks or whatever it is you do to get ready.”
She stared at him in shocked confusion. “Have you been in a fight?”
“Never mind about that. You need to go to Knighton. Now.”
Pippa straightened her shoulders as irritation flared. She was finished with this family and their damned secrets. Finished. “I do not. And if you were in this house longer than five bloody minutes at a time, you’d know why.”
“Counter argument: if you looked out the window across the square rather than this one, you would see the large collection of carriages outside the Pinehurst townhouse.”
Fright jolted her up onto her feet. “Finn isn’t…he isn’t hurt?”
Xavier patted her shoulder, his gaze softening. “A reliable source informs me that Lord Pinehurst is dying. I have no doubt that poor Knighton is being bombarded from all sides and desperately needs someone who cares about him, not what he is about to inherit.”
“Oh no,” Pippa whispered, horrified. “Finn…”
“Run.”
After giving her twin a quick, hard hug for informing her of such news when no one else had bothered, Pippa stumbled over to her dressing table. First, she dragged the hairbrush through her hair and coiled it into a simple knot, secured with ribbon and several pins. Thankfully Ruby had convinced her to get dressed earlier, so she wore a practical primrose yellow-striped calico gown, the color chosen to try and improve her mood. Then she pulled on woolen stockings, kidskin half-boots, and her bonnet, snatched up her reticule, and ran to the door.
The sound of her heels thumping on the stairs was jarringly loud, and Pippa clung to the banister so she didn’t tumble headfirst to the bottom. Bloody damned stairs. A true heroine would have flung some knotted sheets out the window and slid to the ground.
“Pippa! What on earth are you doing?”
She continued past her grandmother, just managing to avoid the familiar clamp of elderly hand around wrist or elbow. “Can’t talk. Going out.”
“I think not! Pippa. Pippa, get back here this instant.”
But she ignored the order, charging on and yanking open the front door. After the warmth of the townhouse the cold wind hit her like a slap to the face, but she forced her legs to run some more. By good fortune alone she wasn’t run over by a carriage or curricle in her ungainly dash across Hanover Square, and with
in minutes she was pounding on the Pinehurst front door.
It eventually opened to reveal the butler.
“Good afternoon, Travers,” Pippa wheezed, bracing one hand on the doorframe as she struggled to get her breath back.
“Lady Pippa!” he said, eyes wide. “My goodness. Come in.”
“I am here to see Finn…my betrothed,” she finished, because if ever there was a time to play that card, this was it. The only thing that mattered right now was helping her best friend through an awful ordeal.
“Of course. His lordship is in the library with the physicians, bankers and lawyers, and er…the archbishop arrived about a quarter hour ago.”
Pippa gasped as she removed her bonnet. “Oh no. That bad?”
Travers glanced around. “I understand the outlook is poor,” he whispered. “They think perhaps…a few days at most. It is wonderful you are here, my lady. Lord Knighton…well, he will be grateful. I’ll go and see if he wishes to be excused from the meeting for a spell. Please wait here.”
She sat gingerly on an uncomfortable chair, not wanting to cause anyone further distress. Usually, Pinehurst House was as cold and silent as a mausoleum, but there was an eerie urgency today. Servants always knew when things were afoot, even if they weren’t told. And they would be understandably concerned how a change in titleholder would affect them and their duties; especially when the marquess and his heir were different people in every possible way.
As for all the guests, while she could understand physicians for medical assistance and the archbishop for spiritual comfort, it did seem premature to be bringing in the bankers and lawyers. Ugh. How cold.
“Pippa.”
She jumped up, unable to suppress a low cry at how haggard Finn looked; like he’d aged about twenty years in the space of a day. His handsome face was pale, there were grooves etched around his mouth and across his brow, and the start of dark circles under his eyes. “Finn…I…ah…well, I’m here.”
He swayed, so she reached out and wrapped herself around him like a human cravat.
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 12