The Best Marquess by Nicola Davidson

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?”

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 all 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.