“Lady Pinehurst…I’m Finlay’s sister. Well, his half-sister. Nerissa here is his niece.”
The shocking words hit her like a tree trunk crashing through a roof, and Pippa’s mouth dropped open as she stared uncomprehendingly at Finn’s guest. “Beg pardon?”
Abby sighed. “The late Lord Pinehurst was my father. No, that’s not correct. He was never a father. But he did impregnate my mother. She was an actress. Unlike some illegitimate children, I was never acknowledged. I’m older than Finlay, by the way. I was inconveniently born just after the marquess announced his betrothal to his future marchioness, so it was all very awkward. I take it that is not what you thought to be true?”
“I…ah…no,” said Pippa, swaying between astonished and mortified. Now she was studying the woman with something resembling rationality, it was patently obvious Abby and Finn were related. They had the same brown eyes, with enviably long lashes. The same thick eyebrows, the same nose, and same little curve of the ear. If it weren’t for the hair, they might have been twins. “Sitting next to each other…you do look startlingly similar.”
“Yes,” said Finn. “That struck me as well. I only found out late last year, quite by accident. I went to a warehouse in Cheapside looking for mask trim. I asked the nearest assistant if they had any pink dyed feathers, and that assistant squawked and ran away from me.”
Abby coughed. “Excuse me, I did not squawk.”
“We’ll agree to disagree. But there was something about that face I had to see again, so I followed her up and down the aisles—”
“Like an escaped Bedlamite.”
Finn snorted. “Like a Bow Street Runner on a mission. And finally caught up with her next to a glass case of paste gems. But one more look at her face, and I knew. And she knew that I knew. So, I invited her to the tavern next door for a brandy and a bowl of beef stew. The brandy was terrible but the stew was rather tasty.”
“I told him everything that I knew about my mother and Lord Pinehurst,” added Abby. “Friends of hers from the theater provided more substantial detail. It was a long day, and ended up being quite emotional for us both. But we did pledge to stay in touch.”
“After that I confronted my father,” said Finn, his hands gripping his thighs. “He exploded with temper, tried to deny it all. But the truth was in his eyes. That is why our relationship worsened these past few months. He hated the fact that I offered Abby and Nessie rooms at Golden Square because they were living in a damp and overcrowded charity boarding house. The man remained utterly terrified that others would discover who Abby was, rightly label him the worst of hypocrites, and shun him. But no matter what, I wasn’t going to abandon my sister and niece. After Father passed, I purchased the townhouse in Golden Square so Abby and Nessie would always have a home.”
Reeling at the information, Pippa tried to pull herself together. Although it still rankled that he’d kept such momentous news from her, the reason why did make sense. “I do understand. And I…er…humbly apologize for thinking the worst. And bellowing like a fishmonger.”
Abby nodded as she rubbed her wriggling daughter’s back. “It was a perfectly reasonable conclusion, and if your grandmother believes it, no doubt many others do as well. But it’s just not true. What is true: how grateful I am to have a warm, comfortable place to live, and interesting employment. I love working at Bliss, and my bookkeeping experience certainly helps; Finlay is wonderfully creative, but not at all mathematical, and he is so messy.”
Pippa choked on a laugh. “Never a truer word has been spoken.”
“Excuse me, I am right here,” Finn protested. “And the damned marquess. Some respect if you please.”
“Language in front of children, your imperial highness,” said Abby, raising one eyebrow.
“Naughty Sweetie,” said Nerissa, shaking her finger at him.
For some unknown reason, Finn being chastised by a toddler shoved her over the edge, and Pippa began to giggle until her shoulders shook and tears streamed down her face. “Y-yes. Sweetie.”
“Sweetie because I am the provider of marzipan,” said Finn with great dignity, although his eyes glinted with amusement. “But I like to think also because I am delightful.”
“Occasionally delightful.”
“Occasionally?” he replied, the glint heating to something darker and headier. “My darling Pippa, that cuts me as deeply as satisfactory.”
Abby coughed again. “I do believe that is our cue to depart, you two obviously have, hmmm, matters to discuss. But I would ask that you not share my actual relationship to Finlay with anyone. If no flames are fanned, any gossip will die down much faster.”
“Very well,” said Pippa. “But we must have some sort of story ready, especially after today’s visit. Even a tight ship has the odd leak. A distant cousin, perhaps? No, that won’t work. Oooh, I know. The late Lord Pinehurst’s goddaughter from the country. He was so charitable, so unwilling to be praised for acts of kindness, that he kept the support of his…er…seafaring childhood playmate’s daughter a secret from everyone.”
Finn burst out laughing. “And by seafaring she means lovelorn pirate, Abby. You can’t read romance novels and not occasionally think of lovelorn pirates.”
“You know,” said Abby thoughtfully, as she got to her feet and shifted Nerissa onto her hip, “I do like the thought of being a lovelorn pirate’s daughter.”
“Sadly lost at sea, but when you stand on shore in certain weather, you can hear the sounds of cannons and the flash of gold as he leaps overboard clutching a treasure chest,” added Pippa. “We shall look forward to your next visit.”
Nerissa waved. “Bye, Pip Pip.”
Abby laughed. “I’m afraid it’s official now. You shall be Sweetie and Pip Pip, forevermore. I hope you’ll come and visit Bliss again soon, Lady Pinehurst.”
“Pippa. I’m Pippa. May I call you Abby? We are family after all.”
The other woman blinked. “Yes. Family. A new start for the Pinehurst name. I know you two will do great things together, Finlay. You’re a better man than him in all ways.”
And with that, Abby bobbed another curtsy and she and Nerissa left the room.
Finn slumped onto the chaise, then leaned forward and lifted the teapot from the tray. “Tea?”
She let out a slow breath. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They exchanged hopeful, tentative smiles.
Perhaps, just perhaps, everything would be well.
“Afternoon, Pinehurst. Thank you for meeting me. I know you prefer to exercise indoors.”
At the irreverent hail from his brother-in-law, Finn laughed and patted his horse, who was, in truth, more excited about the outing than him. But after taking tea with Pippa, she had gone upstairs to supervise the redecorating of her new bedchamber. He’d been at a bit of a loose end, and a ride out in the fresh air sounded tolerable enough. Besides, he did have fond memories of Hyde Park after his interlude here with her.
“Afternoon, Northam,” he replied. “I was happy to get the invitation. Between the rites of mourning and learning my new responsibilities as marquess, I’ve not been getting out much. Although I must say, I certainly have greater freedoms than Pippa.”
Xavier skillfully brought his mount to a halt beside him. Damn it, how did his brother-in-law always manage to make haphazard look so elegant? If Finn grew his hair longer, wore shirts with lace cuffs, or tied that half-knot with his cravat, he would resemble someone who’d woken up in a gaming hell alley at dawn. With probably a lot worse than a quill stuck to his forehead or ink staining his fingertips. “I don’t think my favorite twin is losing any sleep over the lack of soirees in her life.”
“True,” said Finn, as they began an easy trot down the tree-lined path of Rotten Row. “But I have to ask. Is this a general companionable ride with your second favorite brother-in-law, or do you have something to discuss with me?”
“Why would you assume you are second favorite?”
Finn sno
rted. “Even I would choose Gabriel over myself. I like him a great deal. And he loves Lilian so.”
“He really does. They’ve overcome a lot together, which is most admirable, and he dotes on baby Amanda. But to answer your question, does it matter whether this is a companionable ride or private discussion?”
Well. Further proof that the young viscount truly did not like being questioned. Did he ever provide a direct answer? Or was his entire conversation deflection with lashings of charm?
“You didn’t answer the question, you asked a new one,” said Finn lightly. “But my enquiry is innocent, I swear.”
Xavier’s lips twisted briefly, as though recalling an unpleasant memory. “Innocent enquiries don’t exist.”
How curious.
“Well, mine is,” said Finn with a shrug. “Just need to know if I can ride in my usual ungainly manner, or if we are being observed by foreign spies or some shadowy branch of the government. If that is the situation, I will try to sit up straight and uphold the pretense that all English gentlemen possess superior equestrian skills.”
Now, Xavier relaxed. “That is a stunningly Pip-like reply. Very well. I shall admit to offering an invitation for both amiable companionship and discussion. I take it you know she reads romance novels?”
“Of course. It is a habit I strongly encourage and indulge in myself.”
“I see. The word on the street is that a London business called Bliss imports explicit novels translated from French, and also distributes them. Pippa received one at Kingsford House, and several other ton ladies also received a book personally addressed to them. I find it entertaining; however, it seems elsewhere pearls are being clutched to powder. Have you read the latest scandal sheet?”
“I haven’t,” said Finn carefully, trying to remain loose-limbed in the saddle. Horses were intuitive creatures; if his tone changed or he became too rigid, his mount would notice and become equally unsettled. Far more unnerving: the way his brother-in-law was watching him, as though waiting for a full confession of criminal activity. Exactly how much did he know?
Once again, Xavier expertly brought his horse to a smooth halt; Finn did the same with decidedly less grace. Then the viscount reached into the pocket of his bright apple-green jacket, and removed a folded piece of newspaper. “Here. Read for yourself.”
Finn reached for the scandal sheet, anticipation and dread coiling together in his stomach. Pearl-clutching could perversely provide a wonderful boost in sales for Bliss. But if he or their true address in Golden Square had been revealed…Abby, Nessie, and the staff there could be at risk from protestors. Or even more dangerous, the moralistic arses who loved to dictate the lives of other people rather than examine the abyss-like emptiness in their own souls.
He opened up the piece of newspaper.
LONDON LEWDNESS
Objectionable Novels Sent to Ladies—Husbands Vow No More Bliss
Scandal, dear readers! This author has learned that Mayfair is all-aflutter after several high-ranking ladies unexpectedly received gifts of shockingly explicit novels from a new business called Bliss. Far worse, the gift also included an order sheet for items of an extremely personal nature, enjoyed by those with deviant proclivities. While said orders can only be placed via a post office box, indignant husbands have vowed to expose the shamefully wicked culprits and close the business for the good of the city…
Finn stared at the words until they blurred together. The headlines might be amusing, but never would he underestimate the threat of indignant husbands.
“Interesting,” he said, striving for a tone both polite and a trifle baffled.
“That’s not all,” said the viscount abruptly. “Come with me.”
They rode along Rotten Row for a while longer, and with each minute that passed Finn’s heart sank further. But it plummeted directly to the ground when up ahead he saw a small cluster of men in curricles…the husbands of three of the women he’d instructed Abby to send the romance novels to, including Lord Campbell. Sir Edwin Ironside was there also. All reminded him of London weather at its bleakest; he’d never seen so many hues of gray clothing in one place. But their expressions were grimly purposeful. This was no chance encounter in the park, but a planned meeting.
Shit. What on earth was Pippa’s twin doing? Delivering a gladiator directly to the arena to be consumed by lions seemed too cold, even for someone as ambiguous as Xavier.
“Ah, Northam,” said Sir Edwin, his cravat so starched it looked as though it could poke out an eye. “We are grateful for the continued support of the illustrious Nash family. And…Pinehurst! My, how it gladdens my heart to see you finally turn onto the righteous path of your dear departed father and offer your assistance in our quest. I forgive your past behavior in the drawing room, I’m sure grief temporarily turned your mind.”
“The quest. Of course,” said Finn, trying not to sound like the one actor in the play who didn’t know his lines.
Xavier’s eyes glinted. “Why yes, my lord marquess. These fine gentlemen here are determined to unmask the scoundrels responsible for Bliss. Everyone knows the city should be Bliss-free, or the ladies at least. No good comes from Bliss.”
Comprehension dawned. Not a delivery, but a warning. And confirmation of the villains of the tale.
“Ah,” murmured Finn. “A good old-fashioned investigation.”
“Damned right,” said Lord Campbell. “While I’m not as charitable as Sir Edwin and consider your morals exceedingly lax, in this situation you may well be just the man to assist. Join us and prove your worth to society, for many doors closed to a reckless heir will be opened to a pious marquess. Your task, should you choose correctly and accept it, is to talk to the ladies and discover who is behind the nefarious plot to replace good, decent Englishmen with this treasonous French deviancy. Romance novels are dangerous, incendiary tools, corrupting pure feminine minds. As for dildos…why would they need those?”
“Why indeed,” said Xavier gravely.
“The owners of Bliss should be horsewhipped,” snapped a silver-haired, thrice-married earl. “Stirring up trouble like this, denying the natural order in the household. So, you agree to lead the charge then, Pinehurst? Find out who the bastards are?”
Finn blinked, still trying to grasp the notion of romance novels as dangerous, incendiary tools that denied the natural order in a household. Although in fairness, it wasn’t hard to imagine these particular numbskulls being so small-minded, so pathetic, so out of step with the hopes and dreams and desires of their wives, that books and pleasure toys were considered an affront to decency. “Er…I’m not sure how I could be of service, my lord. As I’m officially in mourning, I won’t be attending any social events, so not much occasion to talk to your fine ladies. My dear wife cannot host anything for the same reason.”
Lord Campbell sniffed. “You had no trouble talking to my wife and niece outside that sweet shop.”
“Very much a chance occurrence.”
“Then create some more chance occurrences, boy,” snapped the baron. “Take a stroll. Visit a bookshop or museum. Purchase an ice. Unless you are a secret supporter of deviancy?”
Xavier cleared his throat. “Perhaps Pinehurst could make some discreet enquiries over the next few weeks and report back. But in the meantime, no one else must do anything. Mistakes have already been made in giving the story to a scandal sheet. Even now, the owners of Bliss may be taking steps to go underground. Then you’ll never catch them and the corruption of ton wives with romance novels and dildos will continue unabated.”
“Very well,” said Lord Campbell grudgingly. “In two weeks, we meet back here. Same time.”
The other men voiced their assent, then one by one they drove their curricles away until only Xavier and Finn remained.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Finn quietly.
Xavier inclined his head. “Good luck.”
Pippa had actually enjoyed redecorating the marchioness’s bedchamber; choosing a palette o
f creams and golds, so it looked like the sun always shined into the room. With a new mattress on the bed, a charming mahogany writing desk by the window, and new leather armchairs beside the fire she was more than content with her sanctuary. Except for one thing. Thanks to her foolish lie the previous evening about having her menses, instead of testing out their new mattresses with some prolonged and enthusiastic bedding, Finn had kissed her forehead, handed her a bottle of herbal tonic, and wished her good night before retreating to his own chamber.
He was being decent, damn his eyes.
And now, a storm was unleashing outside. Not just a shower of rain and a few gusts of wind, but a fully-fledged Gothic novel violent tempest of a storm. Thunder shook the townhouse, rain lashed the windows, and lightning streaked across the sky like yellow paint on black canvas.
Pippa huddled under her quilt in abject misery.
She hated storms. Not because of the sounds or the reminder of how fierce the elements could be, but because whenever there was a storm, memories of the night her mother died flooded her mind.
I want Finn.
Reaching across to the small side table, Pippa fumbled for her spectacles and put them on. That marginally improved the situation; a raging storm, flickering candles, and shifting wood pieces in the fireplace were bad enough without everything looking like misshapen blobs that had slithered out of the Thames. Then she glanced over at the connecting door between her chamber and Finn’s. It stood a few inches ajar, but seemed too far away. There was also the fact that she had never told him about her night storm terror, after making such a scene about secrets.
Another flash of lightning lit up the room and Pippa whimpered. No. She couldn’t remain in here alone. Already perspiration was gathering at the nape of her neck, her limbs were shaking, and her heart thumping. Slowly, she slid her legs out of bed and eased them onto the polished wood floor. It was cold under her feet, and her teeth chattered. With only the smoldering flicker of the fireplace and the soft glow of the candelabra in the corner to light her way, Pippa crept over to her new writing desk and picked up her reticule. Yes. Excellent. There were still a few wrapped caramels in there to sweeten Finn’s pain at her untimely arrival. Then she took several deep breaths before hurrying over to the connecting door, yanking it fully open, and stepping into his chamber.
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 23