“Pippet,” he said hoarsely, burying his face against her neck. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do. My father…they all want to talk about everything that must happen when…if…he passes. Mother won’t stop crying. I can’t think.”
Pippa held him tighter. Few people knew exactly how bad things had been between Finn and his father; while many heirs would be jumping for joy, Finn had never coveted the marquessate. Just the freedom to make his own choices, which the odious Pinehurst never allowed. If the marquess died, Finn would receive the title and fortune, but he would never be free again. All responsibility for the estates, tenants, and servants would be his, as would the seat in the House of Lords. The only foreseeable outcome was Finn’s gentle, irreverent and creative soul crushed by the harsh boot of duty.
“They are cruel to load your shoulders now, Finn. You don’t have to hear all the information in one afternoon.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. The dowager was even more militant than usual when I arrived to collect you for our outing; she declared you indisposed and threatened to have me escorted from the premises if I didn’t leave of my own accord.”
She frowned. Finn hadn’t forgotten? Grandmother had lost her thin veneer of icy civility and threatened Finn? ARGH. A pinch more familial nonsense and her head would actually explode.
“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Pippa said instead. “I can only imagine how difficult and complicated this is. Would a caramel help? I have an emergency supply in my reticule.”
Finn leaned back and a ghost of a smile lifted his lips. Then he cupped her cheek. “I’m not sure I could, my stomach has been unsettled all damned day. But a kiss might.”
Pippa went up on her tip toes and brushed her lips against his. He groaned a little, deepening the kiss, and she curled her arms up his back, hanging on for dear life as her mind whirled and her toes curled.
“There, rake,” she said at last, forcing herself to pull away so she didn’t start climbing him like a tree in the blasted entrance hall when physicians and lawyers and bankers and the archbishop were waiting to discuss morbid topics. “Should I wait somewhere or should I go? It is entirely up to you. I don’t want to add to your burdens.”
“Stay,” he said quietly. “Please. I need one person who is here for me, not angling for favors or gain. Ask any question you like.”
Pippa blinked. “You want me to accompany you into the meeting?”
“Yes.”
Torn, she hesitated. For a real betrothed, perhaps a quite appropriate act. But she was a chum playing pretend, and to do that in front of a clergyman…yet she couldn’t leave Finn to face the vultures alone. He would never abandon her.
“Then let’s go before they start pocketing the silver.”
Finn smiled, a real one this time, and offered his arm.
Gird your loins, girl. This is going to be tough.
Pippa was here.
For the first time in the agonizing, relentless years that had made up this day, Finn felt like he could breathe. Like he wasn’t being pummeled from all directions by this party of old men who were performing an intricate dance of both obeying his father’s previous edicts in the event he miraculously recovered, and demanding Finn know everything at once if he did not.
It was so utterly wearying.
But Pippa was here.
Few things could compare to the elation he’d felt when Travers interrupted the meeting to tell him she’d arrived on the doorstep, especially after this morning and the bizarre conversation with Lady Kingsford. Except perhaps the elation of that kiss they’d just shared. Now he felt buoyant, and yet armored as well. As though he could face whatever arrow next came his way, as long as Pippa remained at his side.
When they entered the library, the men in the room quickly got to their feet, most sending him puzzled glances.
Yes, I’ve brought a lady. Chide me at your peril.
Finn inclined his head. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you all know of my betrothed Lady Pippa Nash.”
Charles Manners-Sutton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, beamed at Pippa. “My dear! It gladdens my heart to see you here offering support and comfort to Lord Knighton in his time of trial. I hope you are well. May I enquire after your sister? I hear she was delivered of a sweet baby girl. Daughters are such a tremendous blessing.”
Pippa relaxed and returned the smile. “Lilian and baby Amanda are doing very well, thank you. As is His Grace, after the nervous wait.”
“Please do send my best wishes to them both. After performing the wedding, it would certainly be my honor to perform the christening.”
One of the lawyers glared irritably at Finn. “Are you sure you wish a lady present when there are delicate matters at hand? Perhaps she should go and sit with Lady Pinehurst.”
Finn shook his head. “Ladies are perfectly able to understand business and my betrothed has a sharp mind and a robust constitution. So yes, she will remain. Let us continue…except we seem to be missing someone?”
One of the physicians bowed. “My colleague has gone to examine his lordship, as it has been an hour since the last one. Then we shall know if his condition is improving, remaining the same, or worsening.”
That made sense at least. Not much in the previous hours had, although the lawyers and bankers had improved their tendency to argue and talk over each other since the archbishop had arrived, bless him. While Manners-Sutton came from a ton family, a grandson of the Duke of Rutland, unlike most of society, he was a good man. A loving husband and father who was respected by royals, commoners, and politicians alike.
“I know we are in safe hands with the archbishop praying for good news,” said Finn as he settled Pippa on a chair beside him and then took a seat.
Manners-Sutton held up a small bible. “All is in God’s hands.”
“Amen. Now, where were we?”
“We were discussing what should happen if his lordship recovers but is too unwell to make decisions with a sound mind,” said one of the bankers. “A partial transition of power for Lord Knighton, much like the Prince Regent employs on behalf of His Majesty.”
“And what would that entail, precisely?” asked Pippa politely.
The banker stared at her as though she’d started juggling flaming torches in the middle of the library. “I beg your pardon, madam?”
“I asked what a partial transition of power would entail. Would Lord Knighton sign documents? Investments? Would he have full access to his inheritance, or is that still limited until he turns twenty-five?”
“All good questions,” said Finn, wanting to applaud in pure gratitude. At the moment, even remembering the day of the week was a challenge, especially with so many uncertainties hovering over him like anvils waiting to drop on his head.
“Thank you,” she replied, squeezing his hand.
But before they could be answered, the second physician rushed into the room. “My lord. Sirs. Lord Pinehurst has opened his eyes! I feel we must return to his bedchamber at once.”
Finn exchanged a hopeful glance with Pippa, and she squeezed his hand again. Then everyone in the library stood and followed the physician up to the third floor.
His mother met them at the door, a smile lighting her tearstained face, her hands fluttering as though they didn’t quite know where to rest. “Pippa! Thank heavens. Oh Finn, darling. Did you hear? Pinehurst has opened his eyes. And taken some sips of barley water.”
He nodded. “I heard. Has he said anything?”
“Not much. I think…I think he wishes to speak to you.”
Finn glanced unwillingly over at the bed, and as though his father understood the reluctance, raised one hand a few inches above the quilt and impatiently beckoned Finn over.
With all those in the bedchamber now staring at him, he could only obey.
“Yes, Father?” he said, kneeling next to the bed and trying not to wince at how feeble the man looked. Pinehurst might have opened his eyes, but they were bloodshot, he was perspiring heavil
y, and his breathing sounded hollow and ragged at best.
“Knighton,” the marquess croaked. “My…son. Heed me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Follow my steps…to a righteous path. You could be…so much better. Banish your mother…to the country. Before she embarrasses the name…further.”
Finn almost ground his teeth to powder. How very Pinehurst; even on his deathbed, no expression of love or request for absolution here, just the usual spiteful criticism. “I hear you.”
“I’ve left…instructions…” the marquess paused as he was overcome by a coughing fit and his whole body convulsed. One of the physicians swiftly stepped forward and spooned a small amount of laudanum into the side of Pinehurst’s mouth, and soon he calmed again. “Knighton…do one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Marry the Nash gel. Now. So I know…it is done. So I know that you will not falter.”
Shocked, he glanced at Pippa, who returned the look with equally panicked eyes.
“We’re at home, Father,” he said quietly. “In your bedchamber. The banns haven’t even been read yet.”
“Damned fool. I know where I am. The special license is in my desk drawer. I arranged it…after the soiree. Knew you would forget. Kingsford signed it for the gel.”
“That is true, Lord Knighton,” said the archbishop, his brow furrowing. “I thought the license was done on behalf of yourself and Lady Pippa with your full knowledge and consent. Is that not the case? After that public declaration, I believed you two to be a love match that simply couldn’t wait.”
Feeling pummeled once again, Finn rubbed a hand across his face. He’d thought before that he knew about being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, but now his father, his odious monstrous arse of a father who had caused him lifelong misery…was the person offering him the one thing in the world he wanted: the chance to marry Pippa.
And he couldn’t do it.
No way would he force or manipulate her into a wedding. It was supposed to be a special day of celebration and love and respect. One to be remembered fondly. “Father, I—”
“Marry her. Good blood…on her father’s side. Mother was fertile at least. Do something right…for once in your life. Before I die.”
“But…ah…don’t we…” stammered Pippa, her face starkly pale, “Don’t we need to wed between eight in the morning and noon? Isn’t that the law? It’s nearly five in the evening!”
The archbishop shook his head. “Not with a special license, my dear, do not fret about that. You can wed anywhere at any time. It is all legal and valid as long as the bride and groom are of age or have parental consent, the license is approved by me, and there are witnesses of good standing, of which we have plenty.”
Without warning, Lady Pinehurst grabbed Pippa’s hand and near-dragged her over to Finn’s side. Then she dropped to her knees. “Please, Finlay. Please, Pippa. I’m begging you. Do as Pinehurst asks. Oh p-please. Get married. Here. This evening. I will send servants to fetch your family, Pippa. And a suitable g-gown. My husband has given his blessing. The archbishop is here. Please. It might…it might be his final wish…”
A thumping headache threatened to split Finn’s skull. Everyone in the room was frowning at him now, wondering what kind of monster didn’t leap at the chance to wed his publicly declared lady love, to please his dying father and his pleading, tearful mother. Yet only he and Pippa knew why he made no decision. Not for the world would he force her to do something. Unlike their grand plans of undoing the pretend betrothal when the Season was over and Lady Kingsford’s plots ran out of time, a marriage couldn’t be dissolved without an act of parliament. Marriage was, to all intents and purposes, forever.
“Finn,” said Pippa, in a low voice. “Do you want to wed me?”
What on earth did he say to that? He’d loved her for sixteen years.
Pippa and no other.
“Yes,” he blurted hoarsely. Helplessly. Hating himself for putting her in this position, even as he yearned for it.
She nodded. “Very well. I’ll marry you. Tonight.”
Chapter 9
What was she even doing?
Pippa stared at the looking glass in Lady Pinehurst’s lavish bedchamber, which her future mother-in-law had eagerly ushered her into to get ready for the ceremony.
Her wedding ceremony. She was getting married.
To Finn.
In the cauldron of Lord Pinehurst’s room, with a dying man in front of her, a tearful woman behind her, and the Archbishop of Canterbury himself oh so gently interrogating their supposed love match…she’d hardly had a choice.
What nonsense. You had a choice. You just didn’t want to return to Kingsford House.
Pippa closed her eyes briefly as shame washed over her. Finn had been so wonderful; charging through a crowd to rescue her, holding her when she’d faltered after Amanda’s birth, sending her romance novels in disguise, and providing not only toe-curling kisses but mind-exploding orgasms. How was she repaying such heroic acts? Forcing him to turn their pretend betrothal into a real marriage for her own selfish ends.
She would beg forgiveness and make it up to him tenfold. Lilian had escaped Kingsford House and not only found true love, but her inner roar. Perhaps she could find her own paradise as Viscountess Knighton. Or, as it seemed she might well shortly be: Marchioness of Pinehurst.
A shudder passed through her, and Ruby paused in arranging Pippa’s hair into a loose chignon with emerald clips from the Pinehurst collection.
“Do you need a moment?” the maid asked sympathetically.
“No,” she replied, attempting a reassuring smile. “No moments to spare.”
“I wish you weren’t wedding like this.”
Pippa stilled as she considered the words. “Do you know, this is the one part I actually don’t mind. No crowds staring at me. No aisle to trip down. No flowers murdered for bouquets and arrangements. No time for foolish bedding talks, either.”
Ruby grinned as she expertly slid in another pin to secure the chignon. “If I thought you were entering this marriage ignorant, I would have stepped in. But between the textbooks, the romance novels, and the curricle outing, I’m quite confident you know what goes where. And that his lordship does as well. With admirable talent.”
“Precisely.”
Even as Pippa said the word, her stomach fluttered. Such an obvious thing, yet she hadn’t even thought about it until now. After a wedding came a wedding night. She and Finn sharing a bed. Being naked together. Pleasure.
A blush swept across her cheeks. Certain foundations might be shaky with their unexpectedly sudden wedding, but after that interlude in Hyde Park, at least she knew marital relations would be good. No, far better than good. Screamingly, writhingly wonderful.
“Pippa! Are you ready yet?” said Georgiana, as she burst into the chamber in a flutter of rose-pink skirts. “The men are starting to get restless and there is only so long I can tell them they are interesting and intelligent and special when they are as dull as an old farthing. Also, Lady Pinehurst is admirably trying to distract her, but Grandmother is threatening to come in and assist.”
Pippa and Ruby exchanged an appalled glance in the mirror.
“You are doing sterling work, Gigi,” said Pippa.
“Your sister is nearly ready,” said Ruby cheerfully. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
Georgiana paused and studied her. “You really do,” she replied thoughtfully. “I always thought blue was your best color, but that dark green looks splendid. Especially with those divine Pinehurst emeralds in your hair. Even your spectacles don’t look so bad.”
Pippa poked out her tongue. “As always, my spirits are uplifted by your kind words.”
“Why wouldn’t your spirits be high? Apart from the whole wedding in a bedchamber part, you are marrying the best friend who charged through a crowd to claim you and kissed you until you melted into a Pippa puddle. Now hurry up. Even the archbis
hop has glanced at the clock.”
And with that, her sister disappeared out the door.
“Well,” said Pippa uncertainly. “I guess all that is true.”
“It is. I’m going to miss our candid discussions.”
“What?” she squawked. “You will be accompanying me here and receiving a wage increase. Did I forget to say that?”
Ruby let out a slow breath. “Thank heavens. I didn’t want to find a new position. After all this time with you, I’m not sure I could bear a charge who actually likes shopping. Although, as a married woman, you will need an entire new wardrobe. Lord Knighton won’t want you wearing anything selected by your grandmother.”
“How dare you threaten me with shopping on my wedding day,” said Pippa, as she stood and smoothed the front of her elegant silk gown, which sported elbow-length sleeves, a gold sash under her breasts and delicate gold lace at the hem. For once, she did feel beautiful.
It seemed bridal magic occurred no matter what the location or circumstances.
A tentative knock sounded, and Lord Kingsford poked his head around the door. “Pippa m’dear, are you…oh my. Don’t you look fine as a Thoroughbred.”
She almost laughed. Fine as a Thoroughbred was the highest compliment her father paid. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Good, good. Exton is standing up with Knighton. I know Lilian wishes she could be here, but I think sending her husband to add even more consequence to the occasion was the next best thing, eh?”
Pippa took his arm. “Indeed. Shall we?”
It was only a short walk to the adjoining chamber, yet with each step, she could feel her knees knocking and perspiration gathering at the nape of her neck. Hopefully her stomach wouldn’t growl like an angry bear in the middle of the ceremony; she had been too anxious to eat anything, even when the Pinehurst kitchens sent up a tray of still-warm buttered bread and sliced fruit to tide her over until supper.
As she approached from the hallway, a liveried footman bowed then set a violin to his shoulder and skillfully played a merry tune. Touched at the kind gesture, she nodded at the young man, took a deep breath, then entered the chamber.
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 13