Pippa nodded and poured them both a cup of tea from the tray. “Black gowns, black gloves, black bonnets with black veils, black jewelry…precisely nothing to make you feel better. Fortunately, there is cake. Really, we should have flouted convention and ordered an entire shop’s worth of cakes, pastries, and tarts. I think we are going to need a lot of fortification in the days to come.”
“Indeed,” said Evangeline morosely, as she sipped her tea. “That was lovely before, though, you saying you are fond of dark brown.”
“Why?”
“Finlay’s eyes are dark brown.”
Pippa’s brow furrowed. No. That sounded far too sentimental, and she wasn’t a sentimental person. She liked many things that were dark brown. A cup of chocolate. Rich beef stew. The leather of her kidskin half-boots. She certainly had not just ordered a gown because the color reminded her of her husband’s eyes. Had she?
Finn’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins. Then there are those ridiculously long lashes which I would sell Grandmother for. Even his thick eyebrows have a certain charm, especially when he raises one. Or quirks it. Forget the language of flowers, people should talk about the language of Finn’s eyebrows…
Good grief. Waxing lyrical over eyebrows. She’d obviously had too much tea and needed to open a brandy bottle.
“So they are,” she said eventually. “Just like his father.”
Evangeline finished her tea. “Do you know, I think I fell in love with those eyes before I even knew Pinehurst’s name.”
“Really?” said Pippa, genuinely curious to know what this woman had seen in the late marquess, about the opposite of a romance hero. “Do tell.”
“I was the greenest of green girls. Pinehurst attended one of my mother’s soirees, and she introduced us. I was smitten, he said she’ll do. Ha. The highest of compliments from him. I was so excited to land a marquess that I didn’t sleep a wink that night; the following morning he signed the contracts with my father. Pinehurst then bowed over my hand and informed me that we would be married in the parlor by special license a week hence. It’s strange, but I remember the ceremony as though it were yesterday; not over twenty-five years ago. What do you think?”
I think that is the saddest tale I’ve ever heard.
“Er…I can picture it exactly,” said Pippa. “That is interesting, you and his lordship wedding by special license then Finn and I doing the same all these years later.”
Evangeline sat forward and took her hand. “I know it was unexpected, but I’ll be forever grateful you agreed to that. My husband was as well, even if he couldn’t say so, being too ill. Seeing his heir properly married…that was always his fondest wish. And a wife from the Nash family, well I doubt Finlay could have chosen anyone more suitable. Pinehurst felt extremely strongly about lineage.”
“He did indeed.”
“Now Finlay’s most important task is securing the title with an heir of his own. I cannot wait to be a grandmother; it’s the only thing keeping me from sinking into melancholia. You two will make the most adorable babies, that, I am sure.”
Argh. This discussion had gotten progressively worse, but it certainly wasn’t the right time to tell Evangeline that there might not be babies anytime soon. Not as long as Finn spilled on his wife’s belly, at least. In truth, after witnessing Amanda’s birth she wasn’t in any hurry to get pregnant. But Finn should have talked to her, damn it. They should have made the decision together. It nagged at her that they hadn’t, but there was just too much going on in the household to broach the subject.
“Children will come eventually, I’m sure,” said Pippa.
Evangeline dropped Pippa’s hand. “Why would you delay? Surely you know your duty as Marchioness of Pinehurst. Even I knew my duty, and I was seventeen years old. You are nearly twenty-one. Exactly the right age to have a baby.”
“Ah…”
“My son has such affection for you, and I’m sure he wishes for a family. But I wonder how you truly feel about him, if you would deny him his heart’s desire.”
“Finn has been my best friend for sixteen years,” said Pippa, floundering at the accusatory tone.
“That is not what I asked.”
Good lord. The other woman was sniffling now; such overt emotion made her supremely uncomfortable. “I’m causing you distress. Perhaps I should leave.”
The dowager shook her head. “We have duties to attend.”
Her heart sank. Surely not. “You mean…”
Evangeline smiled grimly. “My late husband’s valet has agreed to bathe and dress his corpse before it is laid out so visitors might pay their last respects. But he cannot perform such a delicate task alone. We will assist him. Come along, Pippa.”
Oh God.
Bad enough she had to wear mourning for the cretin, but now she had to bathe and dress his dead body as well? This was nothing short of vengeance from beyond the grave.
It was hard to imagine a less enticing place to be the family rock than Kingsford House. But here, it was indeed the worst position in the world.
There wasn’t nearly enough talk about how overwhelming it was to inherit a title.
Rubbing a weary hand across his jaw, Finn stood next to the street-facing window in the library, the only spot in the room where he didn’t feel like he would be buried alive in dark paneled walls, crimson trim, stag heads, and paintings of gruesome biblical scenes.
Ugh. He hated the décor, only worsening his current emotional state.
It didn’t matter whether the death was sudden or expected, it was still a lot to work through. And unless you were a soulless ghoul—and society certainly had its share of unscrupulous heirs—it was a time of mind-twisting upheaval. From one minute to the next, he didn’t know whether to cry or hurl breakable objects. And yet they all expected him to be a stoic soldier of the British Stiff Upper Lip Brigade and lock away his feelings in the cellar. It was no wonder the ton gambled and had affairs and drank themselves into a catatonic state. If they had to answer the question ‘how are you’ truthfully, the empire would collapse.
But looking out the window was infinitely preferable to paper or parchment. Everything was blending together now; if he wasn’t careful, he would be thanking someone for a modiste bill instead of a condolence card. Far worse, he missed Pippa terribly; this might be perhaps the longest they had gone without a proper discussion in sixteen years. Yet she had enough to manage on her own, helping to prepare his father’s body for the hordes of visitors they would soon have, answering correspondence related to the wedding and the upcoming funeral, learning to manage a new household, and getting her belongings moved in. He would not cause his rock to shatter.
Finn yawned. He’d not slept since his father’s death, and his body ached like he’d run from London to Bath. God. Twenty-four, and feeling at least twice that. A part of him yearned for the carefree heir days, to just love Pippa and return to his business; concentrating on nothing more taxing than the trim of a demi mask or whether a romance novel was explicit enough to join the Bliss collection. But he couldn’t. He was marquess now, with a boulder’s worth of history and expectations sitting on his shoulders, and bankers, lawyers, stewards, secretaries, and clerks all wanting a slice of him.
At the sound of a delicate throat clearing, he glanced over to see Travers standing in the library doorway. “Yes?”
“Beg pardon, my lord, but ah…you have a visitor.”
“Who?” said Finn impatiently, in no mood whatsoever to see another old man.
“There is…er…a woman at the door. A Mrs. Overton. She has a young child and claims you will see her. That you…er…know each other well. I didn’t think I’d seen her before, and yet she is somewhat familiar, so perhaps I have. What are your instructions?”
Abby.
Joy warred with surprise that she would come here, knowing her loathing of the aristocracy and the name Pinehurst. Yet it wasn’t his place to fully identify her without permission. She might still wish t
o remain anonymous.
“My instructions,” said Finn pleasantly, “are that Mrs. Overton and her child are welcome in this house at any time. Warmly welcome. I would appreciate a tea tray. Perhaps a few squares of marzipan if there are any sweets in the kitchens.”
Travers blinked and smacked his lips together, no doubt gulping back at least a thousand questions. “Very good, my lord. I shall escort them in here and see about a tray.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, Abby walked into the library, Nessie perched on her hip. Both looked incredibly uneasy; the brown-haired toddler was clinging to her mother and the cloth toy Miss Wabbit like a barnacle.
“Abby!” he said walking forward with his hands outstretched.
She stared at him for a bit, then sank into a curtsy. “Lord Pinehurst.”
Nessie frowned. “Not Piney. Sweetie.”
Unable to stop himself, Finn chuckled. Nessie didn’t know he was her uncle, for the sole reason that small children had a unique ability to blurt out secrets at the worst possible moment. While she probably called him Sweetie solely because he brought her marzipan, a part of him stubbornly believed it was for love alone. “Clever Nessie. You have the right of it, I won’t be Pinehurst officially until after the funeral.”
His niece relaxed and held up Miss Wabbit. “Kiss.”
After the past week, something so normal and simple as this greeting ritual was as welcome as rain to parched earth. He leaned down and pecked the cloth rabbit on its dusty cheek, then opened his arms as Nessie wriggled to get to him for a hug. She smelled of rain and lavender soap and toddler, there was a smudge of berry preserve on the hem of her linen smock and he almost lost his composure. “It is very, very good to see you, little miss.”
Nessie patted his cravat. “Sweetie.”
Abby’s eyes danced with laughter. “Stop mining for marzipan, you scamp. Play with Miss Wabbit on the rug there.”
“I have a tea tray coming,” said Finn.
“That is kind. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. Travers, that’s the butler, has been informed that you and Nessie are welcome at any time. Please, take a seat. Let’s talk. There is much to discuss.”
“Is there?” said Abby, her gaze turning suspicious as she gingerly perched on the chaise next to him, while Nessie hopped her toy up and down on the floor.
Travers returned with a full tea tray, including some lemon marzipan squares, and placed it on the low table in front of them, then discreetly withdrew without offering to pour. Finn was grateful for the man’s unflappable nature; it seemed only his arch nemesis Cunningham truly ruffled his feathers. But he hoped Abby would agree to some sort of family connection identifier, otherwise the servants would be speculating she was his mistress or some such foolishness.
God. Even the thought of Pippa hearing that made his insides shrivel up.
“I’m glad you came,” he said gruffly. “I know it wouldn’t have been easy.”
“There are no other circumstances that I would set foot in this place,” Abby replied. “But I wanted to see how you were, and a letter seemed too impersonal. Inherited the title and married Lady Pippa. Or should that be the other way around?”
“At Father’s command, I wed Pippa by special license beside his sickbed, then I inherited yesterday morning.”
“Oh God. Finlay…”
His vision blurred, and he angrily dashed a hand across his face. “No need for sympathy, far worse things than having an ancient title, multiple estates, and a large fortune. Abby, I swear…do not look at me like that. I’m barely holding onto my sanity here.”
“There is no shame in crying,” she said kindly.
“I have nothing to cry about! I should be dancing a jig. Cartwheeling down the street. I hated h-him…”
To his horror, he choked on a sob, and Nessie glanced up. Frowning, she hopped Miss Wabbit up his leg and into his lap, took two marzipan squares, then clambered up herself.
“Shhhhh, Sweetie,” she cooed, patting his cheek before attempting to feed him the marzipan.
Tears began to trickle down his face, and he muttered a curse.
Abby took his hand. “Do you know I cried when I saw the death notice in this morning’s newspaper? Not because I mourned him. Because of what might have been, if he’d had a heart. I thought having no father was the worst outcome. But you had his spite and games of control every day. I never envied you. Not for a minute. He rejected my mother before I was even born, so she had to make the best of it. While she worked herself to death, another thing I will never forgive him for, I was fiercely loved, even when we had nothing but a damp, cold room and stale bread to eat. That might not have happened if Mama had been subjected to him for a long period of time. I’m grateful she wasn’t.”
“I’m going to purchase the house in Golden Square,” he said abruptly as he rubbed his niece’s back. “With the deed in your name. I will also open a bank account for you and Nessie, into which I’ll pay a quarterly allowance. You won’t ever have to worry about food or rent or money again.”
“Finlay…”
“Don’t argue, Abby. Security is the least I can do.”
“I well…ah…” his sister blinked furiously. “Damn it. Aristocrats are awful. How are you so loveable?”
“Because I surround myself with good women. My wife, who is also my best friend. My mother. My sister.”
“Speaking of wives…how is Lady Pippa? She must have whiplash as well.”
Finn nodded. “She is upstairs right now helping to bath and dress Father’s body. I’m not sure how I will ever make this up to her. Do you want to be introduced? I can go and get her.”
“Not today,” said Abby gently. “I need to manage my own thoughts and emotions about Pinehurst’s death before meeting anyone. But soon. Now, I need to get this poppet home for her nap or she’ll turn into England’s smallest despot. Take care, Finlay. And know there is a friendly ear and sticky toddler hugs at Golden Square whenever you need them.”
He swallowed hard. “I am grateful to have you in my life.”
“I feel the same about you. But Nessie isn’t the only one who needs a nap. You look dreadful. Off you go.”
Finn laughed reluctantly.
About the soundest advice he’d heard all day.
Chapter 11
The amount of horseshit she had heard today was more than any woman should endure.
“Bless you, my dear, for granting Lord Pinehurst’s final wish. How fortunate you are to have married the son of a truly exalted man.”
“You must be devastated at the loss of a fine, upstanding peer.”
“We shall miss Pinehurst terribly in the House. And at our club. Won’t be the same without him. My word, the entire city should be shrouded in black at the demise of such a lion.”
“He was a great leader, who worked tirelessly to stamp out sin in this realm. But also, a splendid husband and father…”
Pippa’s smile was so fixed, so frozen in place, she might not ever be able to talk again. Everything about this occasion was her personal purgatory; trapped in a soulless, black-draped drawing room with a dead body, hundreds of people traipsing through and draining their supplies of tea and brandy, the conversation nothing but long and detailed anecdotes of an utterly vile man. And it wouldn’t be over anytime soon. Hanover Square had become the busiest place in London, with carriages jostling for place and grooms holding horses on the grass while lords and ladies and politicians and clergymen paid their respects. Or on a more uncharitable note, ensured they were seen doing so by others.
A heavy wooden trestle table had been set up in the middle of the room, and atop it lay Lord Pinehurst’s intricately carved coffin. His body had been wrapped in a black silk shroud; she would probably have nightmares forever about the preparation of his body for this damned circus. At least it was winter though. Heaven knew how families managed all this in the heat of summer; every so often the putrid stench of death
would assault her nostrils, and it didn’t seem to matter how many wreathes of mint and camphor they put around the body. On several occasions she’d been forced to press a scented handkerchief to her nose so she didn’t cast up her accounts all over someone’s shoes.
The only saving grace was that Pinehurst would be entombed later this afternoon.
“How are you, Pippa? Or should I say Lady Knighton?”
She turned in genuine joy to see Natalie Voyce. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Perhaps a turn about the room?”
Her friend nodded and offered her arm. “That bad?”
“Oh no, much worse. You know how I felt about him. He treated Finn and her ladyship abominably. But for an entire day I’ve been forced to listen to stories about how wonderful he was. What an example of saintly moral virtue. All while wearing black bombazine and rustling like I’m making a nest in the middle of a shrub.”
“Then I’ll not ask a single question about his lordship’s passing. Instead, I’ll demand you share all the details of how you foiled your grandmother. My aunt is torn between glee and shock at the news you married Knighton.”
“Not sure I did foil her,” Pippa admitted. “As soon as I learned that the old marquess was poorly, I rushed over here to support Finn. Then Lord Pinehurst insisted we get married, and Lady Pinehurst became hysterical and begged us to. Everyone was staring at me and Finn, including the archbishop himself…and I found myself agreeing to a wedding. I got dressed in Lady Pinehurst’s chamber, they fetched Exton and other members of my family, and we were married in the marquess’s bedchamber by special license. Something that Lord Pinehurst had arranged, by the way. So, it wasn’t me that foiled my dastardly grandmother, it was an evil marquess on his deathbed.”
Natalie’s eyed widened. “My goodness.”
“I know. It is quite a tale. To add to it, his lordship passed the following morning.”
“Then I’ll ask you once again, and I truly want to know the answer…how are you?”
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 16