The Best Marquess by Nicola Davidson

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?”

Pippa straightened her shoulders against a wave of pure weariness. “I don’t even know, to be honest. I think at some point I will fall over on the floor and need to be carried to a room where I’ll sleep for a week. The events of the past few days…the macabre things I’ve had to do…” she finished with a full body shudder.

Her friend wrinkled her nose. “Oh God. Preparation of the body?”

“Indeed. I swear I’ll never read another gothic novel, now that I’ve seen death up close.”

“I would feel exactly the same. And how is Lord Knighton faring? I was going to congratulate him on being fortunate enough to marry you, but the wall of women around him cooing and offering handkerchiefs and hot tea was several feet thick. They all know he is a husband and not a bachelor now?”

Pippa snorted. “I’m not sure that would even deter some of them. The brunette who keeps patting his arm is going to lose that hand if she doesn’t cease and desist.”

“Oh my,” said Natalie, her eyes twinkling. “I thought it was Georgiana’s eyes that were green! All this time you lied to me and said that Knighton was nothing more than your cherished friend. I was so worried for you, but now I see there is no need. The villain has been vanquished, and the heroine has her hero. All is exactly as it should be for a happy ending as good as any romance novel.”

Startled, Pippa stared at her friend. Had Natalie downed an entire decanter of brandy before attending this event? Because there could be no other reason she would say something so preposterous.

Pippa Pearl Knighton jealous of Finn’s Regiment? Ha.

You literally just said you would remove that brunette’s hand if she didn’t stop touching him.

“I…er…yes, nothing to worry about,” she stammered as her mind whirled and clanged with the shocking realization that her feelings for Finn went deeper than friendship.

When had that happened?

How had that happened?

No. She couldn’t be in love with him. Finn was messy and rakish. He had unruly eyebrows, a caramel addiction, and his hair needed combing. Besides, it was irrational and illogical to think that she would surrender her well-guarded heart without even realizing it.

In truth, after everything that had happened in the past few days, her mind resembled syllabub. All she required was time, her fractured nerves would settle, and she could examine the situation from a proper analytical viewpoint. One didn’t just fall in love with their best friend after sixteen years, no matter how splendid their hugs were. No matter how skilled and unflagging that friend was with tongue and fingers and cock.

And he was so, so skilled…

“Pippa! Yoo hoo!”

She blinked ruefully at Natalie. “Forgive me. I’m not even sure what day of the week it is anymore.”

Natalie smiled sympathetically and guided her over to the table with cups, saucers, and freshly brewed tea that was being constantly refreshed by footmen dashing back and forth from the kitchens. “I think you need something to drink.”

“Tea? I need several decanters of brandy.”

“I’m sure we could find some. By the by, is your family coming?”

“Grandmother, Father, and Georgiana were here this morning,” said Pippa. “Grandmother naturally wished to be the first official mourner when we opened the doors to visitors at ten o’clock. I understand Xavier will be here later. Poor Exton is over there in the corner, trapped by several old lords who want his support for some bill they are trying to pass in the House. I guess discussing politics next to a dead body doesn’t bother them one whit.”

“I swear these men have a block of stone where their hearts should be, for it bothers me greatly,” said Natalie, glancing over at the coffin. “Would I be the worst friend in the world if I didn’t stay much longer? I keep getting whiffs of decay, and it is making my stomach churn.”

“The fact that you came to the mausoleum and walked me around it while listening to my complaints, rather than just sending a note or condolence card, makes you a great friend. But I would not be at all offended if you go. Really, I should get back to my hostess duties even if they give me hives.”

“We’ll speak soon, I promise,” said Natalie, before weaving her way through the crowd toward the front door with the speed and dexterity of a prison escapee.

Pippa glanced after her friend, firmly suppressing a yearning to follow. No. She was needed here. Someone had to protect Finn from those overfamiliar women.

Scowling, she peered at the group. While she resembled a crow in black, Finn looked even more handsome than usual in his black jacket, black waistcoat, and black trousers. And his Regiment were loud and lavish with their continuous compliments.

That did it. They were all going to lose a hand. Every last one of them.

“Lady Knighton!”

Argh. Thwarted at her first foray into grievous bodily harm by a clergyman. God did not fight fairly.

Pippa pasted a welcoming look on her face. “Good afternoon, sir. The family is grateful for your presence here.”

“I had to come and honor Lord Pinehurst, a man of such noble virtue. Did you know he had already begun to rally the House into closing London’s pleasure clubs? Thank heavens Lord Campbell is taking up Lord Pinehurst’s sacred mantle in washing away the abhorrent sins of this city…”

She inwardly screamed.

This would officially be the longest day of her life.

He’d thought he would owe Pippa the largest favor in history for what she had done already, but in light of what she’d endured this day, the debt would never be repaid.

After finally extracting himself from a group of young matrons who had been surprisingly persistent in both their flirtation and their disregard for the occasion they attended, Finn made his way through the crush of people toward his wife. It appeared that poor Pippet was currently receiving a lecture from a rather notorious thunder and brimstone vicar, a man admired by Lord Pinehurst for his long sermons that blamed women for everything from failed crops to horses stumbling on loose cobblestones. By the blank expression on Pippa’s face, her thoughts had wandered far, far away. No doubt she was regretting their marriage with every bone in her body.

There was only one way he could possibly crawl back into her good graces: an outing to Bliss. Hopefully, copious orgasms with pleasure toys would help in erasing the horrors of the past few days from her mind, while reassuring her that he could in fact be a most excellent husband.

Even if he would be a marquess.

“Knighton, there you are.”

At Gabriel’s familiar and welcome voice, Finn turned and offered perhaps his first genuine smile of the day. “Exton. We have both managed to flee discussions we wished no part of. Would you care to celebrate with a brandy? I’ll even tip a few people out of chairs so we might sit down.”

The duke nodded and leaned harder on the carved jet walking stick he used when out and about. “I could not think…of a better offer. My damned foot…is starting to ache a bit.”

“Say no more.”

Shortly afterward, they were enjoying a glass of excellent vintage in a tiny antechamber adjacent to the drawing room, and even the small distance from the crowd and his father’s corpse improved his mood.

Gabriel raised his glass. “To you and Pippa. I know how difficult it is…to stay sane shortly after inheriting.”

“I appreciate the thoughts,” said Finn as he touched his glass to the duke’s and then took a restorative sip of brandy. “I also appreciate you not offering condolences.”

“Didn’t seem quite right. In the circumstances. You know, after I inherited…I had to hear many stories…about my sainted late cousin. And he was an arse. So I do understand.”

Finn let out a slow breath. As if he needed another reason to like Gabriel. “I’ve heard many stories today about my father’s so-called feats and triumphs and I wish I could scrub them all from my mind. They aren’t impressive; just a reminder how awful he was. How impossible his standards were for anyone to achieve and how much he hated women and did his best to make them miserable. Well, apart from Lady Kingsford. Ugh. Now I wonder if he was in love with her. Imagine if those two had become one.”

“I’d rather not…imagine the end of times,” said Gabriel. “Instead, I’ll ask after Pippa.”

“An actual saint. A marvel. Empress of all she surveys.”

“And marriage?”

His cheeks flushed a little as he thought of their wedding night, together with the ceremony, the greatest evening of his life. “I think it will be quite, quite splendid. Well, once today is behind us.”

The duke grinned. “Unconventional beginnings…can grow great unions.”

“That is what I hope—”

“Lord Knighton. I have been searching for you everywhere…”

At that grating, peevish tone, Finn gripped his brandy glass so hard it nearly shattered in his hand. Lord Campbell? Really? Just when his day was threatening to improve?

“…it is imperative that we speak,” the baron continued. “Oh, good afternoon, Your Grace. I understand you have a daughter now. Better luck next time.”

Gabriel rose to his feet, soon towering over the older lord. “Campbell. Her Grace and I are delighted…to have a baby girl. Amanda is her name. I’m away home now…to cuddle them both. It’s been far too long…several hours at least.”

The baron’s unabashed horror at such a sentimental response was comical. Finn couldn’t wholly suppress his laughter as he exchanged a heartfelt eye roll with Gabriel, but he then had to watch in profound regret as the duke left the house. How tempting to do the same; to scoop Pippa up and leave this crush, Lord Campbell, and his father’s corpse behind. They could go straight to Gunter’s for an ice. Even better, go upstairs to his bedchamber, lock the door, and pretend the outside world didn’t exist for the rest of the day.

But no. He had duties.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” asked Finn coldly. He couldn’t think of a single topic that they shared an interest in, and knowing how Campbell felt about him, it made the request even more bizarre.

“I would like to introduce my colleague, Sir Edwin Ironside,” said Campbell.

Finn groaned. The ambitious young man was an up-and-coming politician in the Commons, even stuffier than the baron; no doubt he was being groomed for higher office. He came from a particularly conservative town in the north of England and from the quotes Finn had read in various newspapers, wished to drag the realm back into the dark days of Cromwell and his ilk. “Sir Edwin.”

“My lord,” said Sir Edwin, bowing stiffly. “Sincere condolences on your monumental loss. But we have a greater purpose.”

“Oh?”

Campbell puffed out his chest. “We should like to know your stance on pleasure clubs.”

No. These two cretins were not adding to his already steaming pile of horseshit day.

“Really, my lord?” Finn bit out. “With my father’s body lying mere feet away in a shroud, you desire to know my stance on pleasure clubs?”

“Don’t be missish, boy. Pinehurst’s fondest wish was for you to become a man worthy of the title, and carry on his important works. Told me so on many occasions. And the crusade nearest to his heart was the closing of those dens of sin.”

“London has become a foul cesspit,” added Sir Edwin fervently. “We must stamp out the immorality with a steel boot before it creeps further into high society. Did you know there is a new business in the city, calling themselves Bliss? They are peddlers of filth. Poor Lady Campbell was sent a book with the lewdest content one could imagine. Lord Campbell burned it, of course.”

Finn sighed. Perhaps he could send a replacement to her via Lady Navemby. Apart from his mother, it was hard to imagine a more long-suffering wife than the baroness. “I’m confused, gentlemen. Do you wish my opinion on pleasure clubs, or a new business?”

“Both,” said Lord Campbell, staring at him with a black gaze that held no trace of warmth or compassion. Ugh. It was like being stared at by a viper about to strike. “We need to know if you are with us or against us. Your previous behavior would indicate against, but perhaps the shock of your father’s death will mend your outlandish ways. Perhaps now you will cease luring every woman you meet from a righteous path.”

He rubbed his jaw, if only to distract his hand from the strong urge to punch the baron in the nose. Gabriel had done that to a dandy who insulted him in a ballroom; perhaps Finn could continue the family tradition yet make it more scandalous with a corpse nearby. “How is darling Iris, my lord? Well, I hope. I don’t see her nearly often enough.”

The baron’s eyes bulged. “You dare mention Lady Campbell? Insolent pup!”

“This is my home. I dare a lot of things under my own roof. You, however, have outstayed your welcome. If you wish to discuss pleasure clubs or London businesses, make an appointment with my secretary. Good day now.”

“Knighton—”

“I said good day,” snapped Finn, stepping closer so he was toe to toe with Lord Campbell. “Now leave, or I shall be forced to personally throw you out on your arse, and wouldn’t that be a spectacle for the scandal sheets?”

Sir Edwin gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He turned and glared witheringly at the politician. “I believe we just established that there is no limit to what I would dare. You may leave my household also.”

There was a prolonged moment of silence that almost hummed with righteous anger, and Finn actually clenched his fists. But eventually the two other men inclined their heads the barest inch and departed the antechamber.

Fuck.

Finn took several deep breaths, but it did nothing to cool his ire. The world would know soon enough that he had no intention whatsoever to follow in his father’s footsteps. Quite the opposite, in fact. Bliss would be a resounding success.

“Would you like me to hold up some cushions for you to box? I’m well versed in the art,” a voice drawled, and Finn glanced over to see Pippa’s twin leaning against the antechamber doorway.

“I’m sure you are, and a lot more. Like listening to conversations that do not involve you,” he replied pointedly.

Northam whipped out a white linen handkerchief to wave. “I am not your enemy. Quite the contrary. And you should be wary of those two, especially Campbell. He has a nasty temper when thwarted, likes to wave a small pistol about.”

“I’m well aware of his lordship’s character. He was my father’s crony after all.”

“Didn’t mean to imply otherwise. In truth, I’m here on behalf of my twin, otherwise known as your wife. I believe she may petition for a divorce unless you swoop in and remove her from that clergyman’s clutches. Either that, or there may be another body to bury.”

Finn grimaced. He really was a terrible husband.

“I’m on my way.”

If she ever had to see people again, it would be too soon.

After they had ushered the last lingering visitor from the drawing room, Lord Pinehurst’s body had been transported with all due pomp and ceremony to the family tomb for burial. As women didn’t attend funerals, she and Evangeline had remained here to supervise the cleaning of the house and the return of all furniture stacked in the music room. When Finn got home, he had been dry-eyed yet his shoulders were slumped and her heart ached for him. She knew the feeling of a body beyond weariness. But now, finally, they would be able to spend some uninterrupted time together.

Arm in arm, they stumbled to the dining room for supper. At this point they were holding each other up; the slightest puff of wind would knock them over.

Pippa glanced at her husband as they sat down at the table. They had already decided to forgo the foolishness of the marquess at one end and the marchioness at the other, forever separated by several floral arrangements and about a mile of polished wood, so private conversations weren’t an issue. He sat at the head of the table; she directly to his right, and as Evangeline had requested a tray in her chamber, they could speak freely if they kept their voices low enough so the footmen didn’t hear.

“If I slump face-first into a bowl of soup,” said Pippa, “do you solemnly swear to fish me out?”

“It would be my honor,” said Finn. “And I humbly beg you to do the same. I don’t know how to express my gratitude for the past few days. You’ve gone far, far beyond the call of duty.”

She mustered a smile. “Let us never speak of these few days ever again. My nerves have been shattered; I will require daily hartshorn from now on.”

“I’ll fight you for it,” he replied, propping his chin on one hand. “You would not believe the conversations that were inflicted on me in the drawing room.”

“Oh, I would…”

Pippa’s voice trailed off as two footmen placed their supper plates in front of them and her stomach roiled violently.

What fresh hell was this?

It was difficult to know which repulsed her more, the bloodied slices of beef or the vegetables cooked to the consistency of mush. She took a gulp of wine instead.

“Lost your appetite, Pippet?”

Glancing over at Finn, she was mollified to see his plate equally untouched. “I am famished, just not for this crime scene. If I strain my ears, I can still hear a plaintive moo.”

Her husband grinned apologetically. “My father enjoyed beef cooked in this fashion. And vegetables the consistency of mud. I’ll request something else. Perhaps an emergency infusion of dessert would be better?”

“I think so. I shall speak with the chef to ensure food is never served in such a manner again. He will create dishes to please us, not his former employer. From this day forward, a new Pinehurst era.”

“I would appreciate that. No blood necessary, the ton sharks circle closely enough as it is,” said Finn as he beckoned over the three footmen standing at attention near the dining room wall. Minutes later, much to her relief, the too-rare beef had been removed. Instead, a large slice of apple tart seasoned with nutmeg and served with a dollop of vanilla cream sat in front of her, and she dipped her spoon in eagerly. This was fare she approved of.

Once they’d eaten their fill of tart, Pippa moved her bowl to one side and then took another gulp of wine. “So. Between the black-shrouded body and the anecdotal stories that made my ears hurt and filled me with dread and despair, today was a scene cut directly from a gothic novel. Do you concur?”

Finn hesitated, glancing at the footmen. “If you’re finished, perhaps we might retire upstairs.”

Oh dear.

“As you wish,” she said graciously.

They walked to his bedchamber in silence, and Pippa was even more perturbed when Finn politely dismissed his valet and Ruby so they were alone. Then he ambled over to the chairs in front of the fireplace, sat down, and removed his shoes, stockings, jacket and cravat.

“What an endless day,” said Finn, leaning his head back on top of the chair. “I take it the stories you heard were all about Saint Pinehurst the Great, sole reason the city of London has not fully turned into the darkest pit of sin and vice imaginable?”

Pippa nodded as she joined him. “They were. I believe the phrase ‘a lion of the House’ was used on several occasions. Also ‘exalted lord’ ‘a man of noble virtue’ and ‘splendid husband and father’. It is my solemn duty to inform you, Finlay, that the man in the shroud who you had buried in the family tomb in a small, private ceremony mere hours ago, is not in fact your sire.”

“Thank God for that. But I do have a tale that can best yours.”

“Oh really? Your Regiment started attacking each other in their bid to offer you the finest embroidered handkerchief and the sweetest words of comfort, and your mourning jacket was torn to shreds by the fangs and claws?”

Finn’s eyebrows almost quirked into his hairline. Mortified at her outburst, Pippa began studiously examining her fingernails. It seemed now that she’d been fortified by apple tart her mind had begun functioning again, and she remembered every single excruciating detail of her conversation with Natalie about deeper feelings. About jealousy.

Which she had just demonstrated with such aplomb.

Gah.

“I mean, er…” she mumbled. “Do tell me your tale.”

“Pippet…he replied, surprisingly gently. “They can offer as many handkerchiefs as they like, but I carry my own. It’s a small square of linen with a crooked embroidered ‘P’. You dropped it at a picnic when you were about eight or nine. I should have returned it, but I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Her heart began to thump erratically. That sounded like a declaration. Except it couldn’t be. If Finn had held tender feelings for her since childhood, then how was it he’d grown up to be England’s premier rake? Everyone knew the Regiment wasn’t just for show, that he’d bedded all of them. It wasn’t logical in the slightest to claim affection that stretched that far back in time. “Er…well. Cunning of you to only confess that after our marriage, so I cannot pursue justice for such a shocking crime.”

Unexpectedly, Finn looked a bit hurt at her jest, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, an odd sensation pressing on her chest. But it was his own fault. Finn knew that even a hint of tender sentiment caused her to duck and weave like someone attempting to escape a swarm of bees. Acts of devotion she believed. Things she could see or touch or receive, like a book. Words, she did not trust. Good lord, one only had to look at her family to see the way words were used as tools of destruction. Either that or a way to conceal, and absolve themselves of any responsibility.

No, she much preferred acts.

“Quite,” said Finn eventually, as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Anyway, my tale. I had just sat down to have a restorative brandy with Gabriel, when we were interrupted by Lord Campbell and Sir Edwin Ironside of all people.”

Relieved at the change of subject to something far removed from the realm of uncomfortable emotions, Pippa sat forward in her chair. “Ugh. What did those two cretins want? Do not spare a single detail.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Well, Lord Campbell wished to know my stance on pleasure clubs. Apparently, my father’s one true purpose in life was to get them all closed down. Sir Edwin, however, wished to tell me about a brand-new business in the city called Bliss that was peddling filth. They both desire to stamp out immorality with a steel boot, and demanded to know if I was going to follow in Father’s footsteps and join them.”

Pippa stared at him, her mouth agape. “I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. They want you, the secret owner of Bliss, a provider of accessories to pleasure clubs, to…join a quest to destroy Bliss and pleasure clubs?”

“That is correct. I will admit that I didn’t answer the question…and I may have threatened to toss them out on their arses in front of the other mourners.”

“Finlay Knighton.”

“Lord Pinehurst,” he replied quietly. “Now the funeral is over, it’s practically official, apart from the paperwork to take my seat in the House. And you are Lady Pinehurst.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, then settle over both of them like a sodden cloak, dark and suffocating.

“I think I might go to bed,” said Pippa as she stood, abruptly desperate for the warmth and comfort of pillows and quilts. “Would you unbutton me?”

“Of course,” he replied, standing up to assist. “I just have a few more documents to peruse downstairs, then I’ll return and join you.”

After a brief sponge bath in front of the fire, Pippa donned a fresh chemise and nightgown, then climbed into bed. But try as she might, her eyes would not shut, and the name Lady Pinehurst circled her mind until it ached.

From a distance, being a marchioness had almost looked easy. But it could well prove to be the greatest challenge of her life.

Was she ready?