THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2

by Nicola Davidson

  Her maid hesitated. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to eat first?”

  “No!” Pippa practically shrieked.

  “Lord P is going to move into the marquess’s bedchamber. All the upstairs servants are scurrying about, taking unwanted furniture up to the attic, and dusting and polishing the room. Tomorrow, several footmen will go to Cheapside to purchase a new mattress and comfortable chairs, but his lordship will take the desk from in here because he likes it.”

  Pippa stared at her hands, torn between cheering and sobbing. She desperately needed some distance between them until these unruly emotions could be wrangled back into a box, but separate bedchambers were so…permanent. Not to mention, Finn supposedly hated that room. “And, ah…what about me? Am I to stay or go? I mean obviously it doesn’t bother me at all, but I would like to know the plan in advance. You know how much I hate surprises.”

  “This is not direct from Lord P,” said Ruby, “so it could be wrong, but from what I can gather, the dowager is moving in here and you are going to her bedchamber, the proper place for the current marchioness. Now you just sit tight and I’ll get you some tea and toast.”

  Flopping back in the chair, Pippa covered her face with her arms.

  No wonder all the romance novels she read never featured aristocratic English couples; there was nothing romantic or lusty about husbands having mistresses and illegitimate children. Or sleeping alone in separate bedchambers and only finding out the household goings on because you had a loyal maid able to coax information out of others.

  Why was marriage so bloody hard?

  She’d read countless times to wed your best friend; that friendship was the strongest base for a long and solid union. She had literally done that, albeit under unusual circumstances, but it had all gone horribly wrong. In truth, Gabriel and Lilian had the right idea: an arranged marriage, wed three days after meeting, learn everything as you go along, be expertly bedded and end up falling madly in love. Then after that, have an adorable baby girl not for lineage or another wretched family alliance, but just because you wanted to have a child with the person you adored.

  The sound of heels clicking on the wooden floor provoked her to sit up, and seconds later Ruby barged back into the bedchamber, full tray in hand.

  “Food!” called her maid. “I saw Lord P, he said you should eat, then meet him in the marchioness’s chamber to discuss your décor preferences. It actually sounds rather exciting. Just think, an entire room to suit you and no other. Colors, fabrics, furniture…all you. Not your grandmother, your mother-in-law, even your husband…only you.”

  Pippa nodded as Ruby placed the tray on the table beside her. Although her stomach remained unsettled, she forced herself to eat the toast. It tasted like ashes in her mouth and she was grateful for the tea.

  Once she had smoothed her gown, and Ruby had brushed out her hair then neatly arranged it in a chignon fastened with pins and a jet-studded clip, Pippa ambled down the hallway to the marchioness’s chamber. She’d only been in the room twice; getting ready for her impromptu wedding ceremony and being measured for further mourning gowns, so hadn’t taken more than a perfunctory look at the colors and furnishings. But now she was here, it might not be the worst task in the world. Never had a room been decorated and furnished to her exact specifications, with her likes and dislikes in mind.

  “Good evening, Pippet,” said Finn, from where he stood next to the large arched window overlooking Hanover Square.

  Oh God.

  How could he even call her that after spending nearly all damned day with his mistress?

  “My lord,” she gritted out, bobbing an ungainly curtsy. “You wish to discuss my new lodgings?”

  Finn’s brow furrowed slightly, but he gestured around. “I think you’ll be very comfortable in here. Plenty of room, natural light to read, nice fireplace, soft bed. All it really needs is a writing desk for your correspondence and a plethora of cushions. Oh yes, and bookshelves. You must order whatever you wish, no matter what the cost…”

  He was being so kind; she truly couldn’t bear it.

  “Anything?” Pippa snapped. “What if I wish for a pleasure club madam’s boudoir? To raid the Duke of Devonshire’s greenhouse and steal so many potted plants the room resembles an untamed jungle? Construct a miniature pirate ship in the corner complete with skull and crossbones and trunks of body parts?”

  Now Finn just looked startled, as if he was shocked by her burst of temper. She itched to yell and pummel his chest and demand to know how a man who claimed to love her could hurt her so.

  “It is your chamber,” he said eventually. “Do as you please.”

  “I will, thank you,” she retorted. “Have you made any décor decisions regarding your new room? Must I make an appointment to visit, perhaps slip a calling card under the door? There is the matter of the heir you’ll eventually need.”

  His jaw clenched. “I am not my father. The door won’t be locked…what on earth is the matter, Pippa? Has something happened that I don’t know about?”

  She closed her eyes briefly. There was yet another issue, he wanted her to just say the words and she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway, when her thoughts were so damned jumbled. No way in the world could she have a calm, rational discussion, free of theatrics and tears at this time. “I am…very tired. Earlier today, I went to Lilian’s house to see her and Georgiana…but Grandmother decided to attend also. Things were said. Things that cannot be unsaid.”

  “Oh no,” Finn replied, his expression turning sympathetic as he stepped forward. “Poor Pippet. Honestly, I’m quite tired as well, perhaps we should get supper on a tray and tuck ourselves into bed.”

  No. No. Absolutely not. She could not share a bed with him tonight. Not after where he’d been.

  “I cannot,” Pippa blurted. “I have…er…my menses have arrived. I feel dreadful. Perhaps you could sleep in the marquess’s chamber tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He reached out a hand but she avoided it, instead dashing out the door and near-sprinting back to his old bedchamber and hurling herself onto the bed.

  No doubt she would become well used to wetting a pillow with tears.

  After the worst night’s sleep possible in his father’s too-firm bed, and without Pippa curled around him, Finn was in the foulest of moods.

  He was also extremely confused.

  Not that he understood every intricacy about menses, but why would she insist she had to sleep alone? He wasn’t squeamish about blood, and if it was painful, he could fetch her towels warmed by the fire to wrap around her belly. Or some sort of tonic to ease the gripes. Perhaps she thought he would insist on bedding, even when she did not want to?

  The way she had avoided his touch and run from the room…

  Finn scowled at the looking glass as he finished arranging his cravat. Excellent. Somehow, in the space of a day, his wife thought he’d turned into a selfish monster.

  “My lord? The new furniture has arrived.”

  He turned and beckoned the footmen hovering in the open doorway of the marquess’s bedchamber. “Bring it all in. Thank you.”

  For the next few hours, a procession of footmen and maids, supervised by Mrs. Travers, transformed the room. It was rather astonishing the difference cream-colored curtains, thick blue striped rugs, soft mattress with fresh linen, and modern furniture carved of a lighter wood made. Already the space appeared brighter and more spacious instead of pretentious and forbidding.

  “You’ve done sterling work,” said Finn when they were finished, presenting each of them with a shilling for all their hard work. “I didn’t think it would be possible to purchase a mattress and two chairs within a day.”

  The youngest footman gave him a cocky grin. “You got to know where to shop, my lord. My second cousin has a warehouse over in Cheapside that imports fancy furniture from Paris and Florence. That’s where we got them fine leather chairs. Down the street from that is another cousin’s shop, and they sell al
l a body needs for a good night’s sleep. Fine Irish linen, goose feather pillows, embroidered quilts, and mattresses. So, we went there as well. You need anything else, just ask me. I can find you the best quality for a fair price anywhere in the city.”

  Amusement bubbled. “Duly noted. But you have no desire to work in the family business? Er, businesses?”

  “No,” said the footman, shuddering. “We have a bargain. I send them customers with the blunt to buy nice things, they stop nagging me to get married.”

  Finn laughed. “Fair enough.”

  Another footman added, “It did help that we had a money purse, my lord. Merchants get real friendly and obliging when you clink coins. They remember the mattress that has just been finished, or the chairs with the supple leather that are sitting in the corner display.”

  “I’ve no doubt. Thank you.”

  The servants bowed and curtsied, then hurried from the room.

  Finn strolled over to one of the newly purchased cushioned chairs which now sat in front of the fireplace, and sat down. Then sighed deeply, for it was like being embraced by a light brown leather cloud. All other chairs in the household, apart from this one’s matched pair, would forever be inferior.

  He closed his eyes and wallowed in comfort for several minutes, then blinked and surveyed the room with a critical eye. While the changes pleased him greatly, it would still take a while for this bedchamber to truly feel like his. In truth, if it weren’t for the fact that he and Pippa had wed in here, the room would hold nothing but bad memories. So many belittling lectures, endless criticisms of his clothing, hair, manner, and activities, and sharp scoldings for whatever misdeeds his father deemed he had committed that day.

  It had been excruciating, and knowing it wasn’t just him, that his mother had endured the same, did not make him feel any better. But now they were both free of the man’s long, dark shadow. As were Abby and Nessie. Now, they could all go forth and make their own mark on the world, and anyone who thought that he would follow in his father’s pleasure-hating footsteps would have to just swallow their disappointment and carry on, as stoic British gentlemen apparently did.

  A knock at the door startled him, and he glanced over to see a downstairs maid standing there, an apologetic look on her face. “Yes?”

  “Beg pardon, my lord, but Mrs. Overton and her daughter are here and asked if you might see them. She says it is a matter of some urgency, regarding, er…trinkets?”

  Finn valiantly tried to conceal his surprise, and a little trepidation. They had just spoken yesterday. It would have to be something out of the ordinary for her to visit here again. “Please escort them to the blue parlor and say I’ll be with them in just a minute. Oh, and a tea tray please.”

  The maid curtsied. “Yes, my lord.”

  After putting on a black jacket, and giving his unruly hair another comb, Finn strode down the hallway to his old bedchamber and tapped on the door, thinking to invite Pippa downstairs to meet Abby and his niece. But Ruby informed him that she was napping, so he continued on downstairs to the parlor. It was one of the nicer rooms in the house, his mother had decorated it with pale blue silk walls, landscape paintings, and chairs that weren’t like sitting on solid stone. It was also perfectly placed for noon sunshine, and today the weather was trying hard to oblige.

  “Good morning, Finlay.”

  “Good morning, Abby,” he said, leaving the parlor door slightly ajar behind him. She sat perched on a chaise with Nessie fast asleep on her lap, a full cup of tea and half-eaten cream cake in front of her. “I’m afraid Pippa won’t be joining us; she is feeling a bit poorly. But what has happened since yesterday?”

  Abby drummed her fingers on the arm of the chaise. It was such a familiar gesture; if the circumstances were different, he might have smiled. “In today’s post we received four bibles, six essays on the wages of sin, a drawing of romance novels being burned…and a dead rat. In a box. With a note that read, and I quote, To the misguided owner of Bliss, when you conduct business in the realm of the sewer, you must expect rats.”

  “God damn it,” he said, sickened if unsurprised at how prudish and ridiculous people could be when it came to pleasure. But that was London for you; the full range of beliefs. Some would yell and wave a placard in your face…and some would send dead rats to a post office box. Would Lord Campbell or Sir Edwin be so crass? “I’ll hire some more footmen for security today.”

  “And craftspeople. We need craftspeople. Bridget has reached out to some other artists and jewelry makers in her circle of acquaintances to see if they would be interested in regular work. She thinks at least several will come forward. Oh yes, and she has some ideas on how to achieve a smoother finish with the nipple clamps. Have you thought of offering plain ones, without adornment? Bridget likes to wear them under her sculpting smocks.”

  “Does she now?” he replied, his lips twitching wildly.

  “Don’t you dare laugh, Finlay.”

  “Who me?”

  Abby clasped her hands together and stared at the teapot. “Bridget is…special,” she mumbled. “I’ve never met anyone like her. Do you know, I thought I’d lost my mind when I was so attracted to her after only bedding men. But I know some of Mama’s friends in the theater bedded men and women and it was unexceptional. Have you met anyone in the ton who does so?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “I think it’s more common than we could ever imagine. But people must be cautious with their love, what with the church and the law forever wanting to dictate events in the bedchamber and punish those who want something else.”

  “It makes me wonder right now, how many men who are good friends or women who are companions are in fact lovers.”

  “Countless. Well, the ones who have the mettle to ask another to supper or to a musicale or Vauxhall Gardens at least. Certainly not those who gnash their teeth and use their daughter as a shield because love is unnerving.”

  “Don’t you dare preach to me about love, young man.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

  She wiggled her equally thick ones back, and soon they were both shaking with helpless laughter. Unfortunately, they were loud enough to wake Nessie up, who gave them both a supremely disgruntled look before unleashing a wail.

  “Yes, my husband is rather humorous, isn’t he?”

  Dismay curled in his gut as Finn’s gaze darted to the parlor door to see Pippa standing there, her face ashen and fists clenched. He’d never heard such a tone from her, one practically brimming in hurt fury. “Pippa—”

  “Oh, you do remember who I am. Reassuring that I haven’t been entirely replaced…how could you, Finn? How could you bring your mistress and child here? Again?” she finished, her chin now quivering even as she valiantly attempted to lift it in haughty disdain.

  His jaw dropped. Pippa thought…

  Oh fuck.

  Nessie whimpered and resettled herself against her mother’s chest, shoving her thumb in her mouth.

  Abby began to rock her. “Perhaps I should go.”

  “No,” said Finn firmly. “Stay. There are introductions to be made. Come and sit down, Pippa. Now.”

  They had a lot of explaining to do.

  Chapter 15

  Pain. Unimaginable pain.

  It had been devastating enough seeing Finn and his other family at Golden Square, but here? In the damned parlor? Their marital home?

  And now he expected her to take tea with the woman?

  The questions buzzed in her mind like a hive of wasps, each stinging without mercy. But what could she do other than sit? If she fled the battle, her husband’s mistress would win another victory, this time on enemy soil, and that could not be borne.

  Pippa marched into the room, her back ramrod straight. Although her insides were a crumbling, pitiful mess, not by so much as an eyebrow twitch would this redheaded interloper know the truth. Grandmother’s relentless lessons about how a Nash behaved in public had to come in useful at some point in her l
ife, and it seemed this was the day.

  As she perched stiffly on a chair, the other woman rose to her feet, her adorable child peeping at Pippa with wary eyes. Wonderful. Now she was a harpy who upset toddlers as well as a wronged wife. Could the floor of this serene blue parlor just save them all some time and swallow her up immediately?

  “Good afternoon, Lady Pinehurst,” said the woman politely, bobbing a curtsy before sitting down again.

  “Tell my wife who you are, Abby,” said Finn. “The explanation you are comfortable with.”

  She couldn’t help thinking that Abby was an oddly ordinary name for a mistress. Didn’t they usually have bold, theatrical monikers? Come to think of it, this Abby was neatly dressed in a practical, bronze-striped calico gown rather than expensive velvet or silk. Had Finn been miserly in his patronage? Would that change now?

  Stop thinking. It’s not helping.

  “I know who she is,” said Pippa woodenly.

  Finn, her lying skunk of a husband, gave her a startled look. “You do?”

  “Apparently everyone knows. Well, Grandmother knows, and if she does then most of London does or they soon will. But I didn’t believe it, so followed you when you went to Golden Square yesterday. My friend Natalie Voyce, Lady Voyce’s niece, was with me. I thought we were best friends, Finn. But best friends don’t keep secrets like this, and you’ve had so many opportunities to tell me.”

  “It wasn’t Finlay’s secret to tell,” said Abby.

  “Oh?” snapped Pippa, hating the fact the woman could be so calm when she wanted to rage and scream and smash tea cups, anything to release the anguish trapped inside. “It involves you both, does it not? The proof is sitting on your lap.”

  The redhead with the luscious locks frowned. “Oh God. You think…”

  “Just say it. I’m no delicate miss. I’m a Nash.”

  “You are a Knighton,” said Finn quietly.

  She ground her teeth. “And you are scraping my last nerve. Either someone explain why this house isn’t a sanctuary for me, or I will retire upstairs. Unless you are consigning me to the garret? Where does one banish an unwanted wife in these modern times?”