“Indeed,” said Natalie miserably. “My uncle isn’t one for gossip, but he said the previous Lord Pinehurst lectured your husband many times about his, ah…companions.”
“They didn’t get on. At all.”
Her friend chewed her lip. “Come on, Pippa. Before the hackney driver gives up on us and leaves. If Lord Pinehurst returns for his horse, we won’t be able to explain what we are doing here. And we’ve seen more than enough.”
“I know.”
Pippa stumbled on a stone, and as though she’d just been rescued from a stormy ocean, Natalie put an arm around her waist and walked her back to the hackney. The driver took one look at their expressions and his weathered face fell. “Bad end to the quest, eh?”
She managed a nod; the man had been more than obliging in first following Finn at a discreet distance, and then waiting for them on the corner while they crept closer and peeked around the mews to spy like a pair of incompetent Runners. “Something like that, sir. I wonder if you could please return us h-home?”
“Sure…here now lassie, he ain’t worth your tears. Come on up to your seat, let’s away from the scene of the crime.”
Once settled in the hackney next to Natalie, Pippa tried to halt the trickle of moisture down her cheeks, but naturally her eyes stubbornly refused to cooperate, and she was forced to retrieve a handkerchief from her reticule as she sobbed like a ninny.
What was even wrong with her? Why was she being such a watering pot?
My husband, my best friend, the man who said he loved me, has been lying to me for years. Finn, the one person I thought I could trust without question.
How could someone who had coaxed her through so many bad times, who had held her when she’d been at her weakest, now be the cause of such pain? It was unfathomable. Like she’d woken up in a horrid world where everything was inside out and back to front.
Abruptly her hand was wrapped in the warmth of another, and Natalie stared at her with such compassion that it made her cry all over again. But eventually she managed to control the flow to a few rogue teardrops.
“Thank you,” Pippa croaked.
“What are you going to do?”
She shuddered. “I don’t know. I can’t even think right now. But I can hardly complain, because what would I say? My husband has a mistress? Nearly every gentleman in London has one. They’ll think I’m a damned henwit. Especially as it seems I’m the only person who didn’t know.”
Natalie winced as the hackney bounced over a rut in the road. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know either. I mean, he’s so popular with the ladies, I thought he didn’t want an official mistress. That he didn’t need one. But also, the way he looked at you. When my aunt came home from that soiree at Kingsford House, she spoke of nothing else but Lord Knighton charging through the crowd to claim you. I thought it sounded like the most romantic act in the world. Like what Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice would do…well, after several bottles of brandy, he was rather reserved.”
A watery laugh escaped. “Perhaps I need to stop reading romance novels. My expectations are too high.”
“No,” said Natalie fiercely. “Now is the time we must believe more than ever that there will be a happy ending. I know it is nearly impossible, but we must. That is all we have to cling to when days are at their darkest. Hope.”
Pippa lifted her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose with one finger. As per usual, she could feel the slight groove in her skin where her spectacles rested. Normally it did not bother her in the least. But today…today was different. Today it felt like a war wound rather than a badge of honor.
Finn’s mistress probably had perfect bloody vision to go with her perfect curves. The experience to match his. Not a silly wife who learned all she knew about bedding from romance novels.
Gah. She was going to start crying again and have an even blotchier face if she didn’t buck up and show some mettle.
Taking several deep breaths, Pippa wiped her face with the handkerchief then blew her nose. “Tomorrow will be better.”
“Yes. Yes, it will,” said Natalie, nodding frantically as the hackney pulled up in front of her aunt and uncle’s townhouse. “Send me a note if you need anything. But go to bed and get some rest. If anyone protests, tell them to go eat feathers. And don’t give up hope, Pippa. This will all work out for the best.”
After Natalie had jumped down, waved, and dashed inside, Pippa directed the hackney driver to take her back to Pinehurst House. The man sent her several concerned glances, but thankfully held his peace, for she didn’t have anything left inside for conversation.
Yet minutes later when they were back in Hanover Square, everything about it reminded her of Finn and their long history. And what an utter fool she’d been. What kind of twit thought, even for a moment, that he didn’t have a mistress? Of course, he did. How else would he be so skilled in providing orgasms? He pleasured women all the time. For heaven’s sake, she’d often teased him about his Regiment. He was never without them, even in a drawing room with a shrouded dead body nearby.
Except he loves this one. The mother of his daughter.
His wife will always be second best.
Pippa shuddered as she paid the hackney driver with a generous coin. “Thank you for your patience today.”
The man’s brow furrowed. “You take care now, lassie. Eat some caramels. They always help a body feel better.”
Oh God. He would say caramels.
Now truly on the verge of hysterics, Pippa babbled a farewell and slid down onto the footpath, before hurrying into the townhouse. The kitchens. She needed food, something she could rely on. Her best choice was to uplift an entire loaf of toasted bread and jar of honey from the kitchens, go straight to their bedchamber and barricade the door, then plant herself in front of the fire with a nice, no-nonsense Latin textbook.
The only sensible response in a crisis of the heart.
Chapter 14
It was dusk when Finn finally returned home, and all his muscles ached, but not only did he have a tidy inventing room, he’d also solved the issue of the double dildo belt. It had taken him a lot longer than anticipated to cut the leather sample to precisely the right size, and ensure it could be fastened with a buckle, but he was certain Pippa would be thrilled with the result when his chosen tanner delivered the leather strips.
After he entered the townhouse, an odd, discordant sound made him pause. Was that…a pianoforte?
Finn turned and walked to the music room. After the previous two weeks, a specter now haunting the house seemed fitting; when he entered the candlelit yet rather chilly space to see his mother seated at the instrument, absently tapping the keys, it was almost disappointing.
“Good evening,” he said softly.
Evangeline’s head jerked up. “Pinehurst! Was I too noisy? Forgive me, I should have closed the door. I couldn’t face embroidery or reading, so decided to toddle downstairs…wait. Have you just returned home? Where have you been? Visiting?”
He raised an eyebrow at the barrage of questions, and she flushed. But instead of chiding her that as the marquess he could come and go as he pleased, Finn gestured at the pianoforte. “I’m glad to see you out of your chamber and dressed, even if it is freezing in here. Shall we play something?”
A shy smile spread across her face. “Like when you were a boy. I so enjoyed our duets, even if your father…well, you know.”
Yes. He did know. Father had eventually deemed his laughter and enthusiastic rather than skilled pianoforte playing too loud, not to mention unbecoming of an heir, so had banned the lessons. The instrument—and this room—had sat gathering dust for years, another symbol of thwarted fun.
“I will be quite, quite awful,” Finn warned, as he continued across the bare wooden floor and slid onto the rectangular cushioned leather stool beside her.
“I don’t mind.”
They began to play a simple childhood tune. His fingers were clumsy, and he couldn�
��t help wincing at his many mistakes. “Ghastly.”
“Stop thinking. Just play.”
Finn flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders, then tried again. Ah, now this was starting to sound more like music rather than the pianoforte being pushed down a staircase. “Well. I do remember something.”
Evangeline flicked through the pages of her music book and pointed to another tune. They played that, and two more, before she abruptly halted and turned to him. “I know she came here last week. Your father’s illegitimate daughter, I mean.”
Finn froze. Like a twit, he’d thought his mother and Pippa so occupied bathing and dressing his father’s body, that a short visit from Abby and Nessie wouldn’t matter. Someone had obviously told her. Or perhaps she’d seen out the window and recognized the flaming red hair. “Abby is my half-sister,” he said gently. “You don’t ever have to meet her or see her, but I like her a great deal and she may visit again.”
“I blamed her for the longest time,” Evangeline whispered. “I thought she and her mother were the reason your father didn’t love me back. I was so young. Such a fool to think a marriage proposal meant love. But your father never felt anything for me; he wasn’t capable of it and day by day it killed my soul. No matter what I did, he found fault. It is a strange thing to both love someone and hate them as well.”
Finn rubbed a hand across his stubble-roughened chin. “I know. I’ve shed tears and it made me angry because he was such a bad father. But Abby said something that resonated, that I wasn’t mourning him, but what might have been.”
“That makes sense,” said his mother grudgingly, as she closed the pianoforte lid. “However, I am worried about you traveling down the same path. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back and it twisting you into a person you don’t want to be. I fell in love with your father with all the haste and strength of a starry-eyed young lady who knew nothing of the world. But that was courtship. You’ve loved Pippa for sixteen years. What will you do if she never returns your ardent affection?”
And there it was, his greatest fear articulated.
Perhaps it was just his weariness, but all his doubts suddenly crushed him from every side. In the past, his unrequited love for Pippa had been so unremarkable, so natural in his day-to-day life, that he didn’t examine it overmuch. Like bandaging a wound and leaving it be. The pretend betrothal had been an unexpected turn in the road, and he’d seized on it as an opportunity for courting, to eventually prove they could be much more than friends. And it had started so well with the kiss at the soiree then the lusty outing to Hyde Park.
But instead of having months to develop the romantic and sexual side of their relationship then proposing for real, they were married. The past week had been glorious, and the hopeful, romance novel-reader part of him believed one day that his love would be returned. But what if friendship was all Pippa would ever feel for him?
“Don’t worry about me, all will be well,” he replied briskly. “More to the point, what do you wish to do? Stay in London? Retire to the country or the seaside? Travel abroad? I know society demands you wear black and stay at home for at least six months, but there are choices to make.”
Evangeline blinked. “Really?”
Finn nodded. “You’re my mother, not my prisoner. Whatever you wish to do next, I can arrange. And provide funding for.”
“That is a kind offer. Very kind. I wondered how I was going to broach the topic, because I feel like a third curricle wheel here. Not that you or Pippa have done or said anything to make me feel that way, quite the contrary. But this house isn’t home for me anymore. Actually…old friends of mine have a cottage in Tuscany. They invited me so many times to go and stay for a summer, to paint and drink wine, but I never could because your father said it was unbecoming to traipse around the continent like the harlot Princess of Wales.”
“I think you should write to them and say you will come this year.”
“Perhaps I shall. Although if the rumors are true, our Princess Charlotte may soon be announcing her engagement to Prince Leopold, and I would certainly hate to miss a royal wedding where the couple truly liked one another.”
“You could do both,” he said easily.
His mother tapped her cheek, a kind of dawning wonder on her face. “I could. Oh, Pinehurst. The possibilities.”
“Finlay. Just Finlay. But there is a condition…no married men. Find yourself a nice widower or bachelor. Someone who is free to love you properly and could be your travel companion.”
“I do so swear. That friend I had was becoming tiresome, anyway,” she said, her cheeks pink. “Affairs aren’t nearly as satisfying as I thought they might be.”
“Then it’s settled. When your summer plans are in place, I will provide a bank draft to cover your expenses.”
Evangeline patted his hand and rose to her feet. “The world feels brighter already. I also promise no more pianoforte with the door open.”
“I think that is a promise I need to make more than you, Mother. Although really, at any time of the day or night. Will you come down for supper?”
“I believe I will. Now, Finlay, please do not take offense, but I have a delicate matter to raise. When are you and Pippa going to take your proper place in the marquess and marchioness’s bedchambers? The two of you sleeping where you are is causing talk. I should be in that chamber. Or even a dower house.”
Finn drummed his fingers on the pianoforte lid. Then glanced out the window at the nearly-black sky. Anything to avoid answering a very reasonable question. Applying for the writ of summons had been one of the final steps in his inheritance; but moving into the marquess’s bedchamber was the last. If he did that, there was no closing the door and pretending he remained the heir. Not to mention that Pippa would have her own bed, rather than circumstances insisting they shared.
Shit.
He didn’t want to leave his bedchamber, a space that was, and always had been, his. But his mother was correct. Continuing to sleep there now he’d inherited would be gossiped about.
He had to take the final step.
Finn straightened his shoulders. “Funny you should mention it, but I intend to begin moving tomorrow. I will purchase a new mattress, though. And replace the furnishings and curtains.”
She looked a touch baffled. “Finlay, you are the marquess. It is your choice entirely how you wish to decorate the chamber, just as it will be Pippa’s choice how she decorates hers. You both must be comfortable; those rooms shall be your sanctuary for a long time. But do ask if you need any assistance.”
After she left the music room, Finn muttered a curse. But he had a task to complete; informing Pippa of their new lodging arrangements.
Others might call this a new beginning. But quite frankly, all his weary, uncertain heart could see right now was the beginning of the end.
Finn had finally deigned to return home after spending most of the day with his mistress.
Pippa stood in front of the bedchamber fireplace, but she still couldn’t get warm. A part of her wondered if she would ever be warm again. It really did add insult to injury that she didn’t have a room in this damned house where she could flee to be alone; it was difficult to think through this kind of hurt and jealousy when you were literally surrounded by the person in question’s belongings. When the air had a permanent hint of the shaving soap and herbal aftershave he used.
While she had soldiered on through many events in her life, had suppressed feelings of anger and frustration and grief in order to be strong for others, at this moment in time, she was as brittle as a tower of sugar. For someone who prided herself on being stoic and no-nonsense, the raw, volatile emotions that had clawed and slashed at her all day were utterly unnerving. They were so close to the surface; one light scrape and she would lose control and explode like a volcano. It was downright humiliating to think how happy she’d been, nearly skipping into Lilian’s parlor, how naïve and foolish to presume she knew everything about her best friend.
>
How did other women manage this? How did they swallow their despair at the lies and the frequent absences and the knowledge that their husband loved another? Bedded another? Had a child with another?
It seemed an impossible task. And yet ladies did it every single day.
But in her case, it seemed much worse that he’d said he loved her. That they’d shared a bed each night since their marriage, and she’d grown used to hearing the comforting thump of his heartbeat when resting her head on his chest. Grown used to the way he stroked her shoulder, absently, affectionately, like someone petting a cat while reading a book. In the past, she had mostly avoided hugs and other casual touch, because it always appeared so insincere. But she liked when Finn petted her, damn it. And he’d just done it, not made her beg.
All the while he’d had a mistress. And a child.
Pippa folded her arms and tried to calm her breathing. It made her lightheaded, and she turned and staggered over to one of the armchairs instead. No need to add further theatrics to this horrid day by ending up in a heap on the floor and having to be revived by hartshorn.
“Still in here, Lady P?”
Coughing to muffle a groan, Pippa glanced across to the chamber doorway. Ruby had just walked in carrying her new black mourning gown, after taking it away to mend a torn hem and press it.
“Yes. I’m pondering staying in here until summer begins because I loathe being cold so much.”
“Would you like some tea or chocolate to warm you up? Perhaps some toasted bread and marmalade to tide you over until supper? I think you might need extra sustenance.”
Pippa’s stomach began to churn. “Why?”
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 21