The Best Marquess by Nicola Davidson
Chapter 7
Most days, London was so cold and dreary that hope could be difficult to muster. But right now, high up in this curricle snuggled next to Finn, the whole world appeared brighter.
Pippa took a deep breath and gazed all about her. The air seemed fresher, the temperature warmer, the sun was trying to peek through the heavy cloud, and best of all, she could see joy. A pie cart owner cheerfully handing over piping hot pasties to a couple. Children laughing as they played with a rambunctious puppy. Women walking arm in arm and sharing secrets. A line of prosperous merchants purchasing newspapers from a young lad with a bulging satchel over his shoulder.
What a difference a few orgasms made.
Even now, her body still thrummed with happiness. And she understood why lovers risked all for pleasure, even in public places, although Georgiana taking part without receiving such a reward remained incomprehensible. In truth, had they not been perched up on a curricle in the middle of Hyde Park, she might have permitted far more.
Finn’s fingers warranted the commissioning of a statue as a marvel of the age. Making herself come while reading an explicit book was wonderful, but it didn’t compare to skilled fingers, neck kisses, and wicked words whispered in her ear. That had resulted in orgasms of a cataclysmic nature and needed to be repeated in the near future. Preferably tomorrow.
“What are you thinking, I wonder,” said Finn curiously, as he halted the grays to allow a delivery cart stacked high with firewood to pass.
“Statue commissions,” she replied.
“Really?”
“Well, I was thinking that, but then I remembered how disrespectful birds can be.”
Other people would have looked at her askance or enquired about her health, but Finn was unperturbed. “Tis a sad state of affairs when not even a king, saint, or celebrated warrior is immune from a passing pigeon. A statue of what in particular?”
“Your fingers,” Pippa blurted. “But in light of the aforementioned facts, an ode would be better. All hail Finn’s fingers, the delight lingers. If not again tomorrow, I’ll feel tremendous sorrow.”
His cheeks flushed. “Did you hear that breast-beating wail? That was Byron, knowing he will never pen anything so concisely elegant or heartfelt.”
“Oh, that man. Poetry is a secondary occupation to obeying his wandering cock. Perhaps if he’d invested more time in his marriage, his wife wouldn’t have left him and taken dear baby Ada with her. I hope when you marry, you’ll halt your rakish ways. Actually…I hope you’ll halt them for the duration of our pretend betrothal. If you are pleasuring me, do not pleasure anyone else.”
A long silence stretched between them and Pippa cursed her wayward tongue. She hadn’t sounded like a calm, rational woman just then, but a sharp-tongued shrew. Gah. Why was she feeling so oddly possessive of Finn?
He cleared his throat. “I hereby swear, Princess Pippet and no other. But you are right about Byron and the other bad husbands. I wanted Bliss items to add spice to bedchamber antics. But so many people are just lonely or have been badly treated in the past. Which makes me ponder: do members of the ton trudge down the duty path because they are awful, or because finding the right person is too difficult?”
“I can’t help thinking awful. Far too many generations of noble families intermarrying. Without regular doses of decent common blood, they end up like the Spanish royals. Speaking of Bliss, though…when will I get a guided tour of the premises? In the eyes of the world, we are betrothed now.”
“Whenever you like.”
Pippa gave him a hopeful look. “Now? I would love to see the special toys you make. And the romance novels you’ve imported. It all sounds exceedingly interesting.”
Unaccountably, Finn hesitated. “We’ll arrange a time. Soon, I promise. But the staff there…I can’t just turn up unannounced with a guest. Not everyone is as broad-minded about the items as us, that is why orders go to a post office box rather than the actual address. Their privacy and safety are important to me.”
She sat back in the curricle seat, trying not to feel cut to the core. Others would say Finn was being a responsible employer; as he’d said, there were many who were foolishly puritanical about anything connected to pleasure. But she wasn’t just anyone. She was his best friend and his pretend betrothed for heaven’s sake, as well as an avid romance novel reader. Did his staff really need protection from her? It wasn’t like she was going to start a protest group outside and demand a magistrate close the business for lewd and improper behavior. “I…uh…very well. If that is how it must be.”
“We’ll go soon,” he said again, flashing her a relieved grin. “In the next week, certainly. I can’t wait to show you the items, I’ve worked hard on the design aspect and we’ve had some helpful comments from users for the next batches. Our first lot of nipple clamps were far too heavy; too much lobster grip not enough pleasurable pinch. I believe your hand after Amanda’s birth would have been entirely sympathetic.”
Pippa forced a smile. “Delicate areas require a delicate touch.”
“Exactly.”
They sat in silence for the rest of the journey back to Hanover Square, and she pulled the blanket higher as a chilly breeze whipped up and delved under her pelisse with great precision.
As soon as the curricle halted in front of Kingsford House, the door opened and her father trotted out.
“Pippa, your grandmother is looking for you. Some salon you are supposed to be attending to celebrate your betrothal?”
Her shoulders drooped. “I will be inside in just a moment.”
Lord Kingsford turned to Finn. “Knighton, I wonder if you are free to meet me at my club today? There is some important business I should like to discuss.”
“I can make time, my lord. Would two o’clock suit?”
“Perfect, lad. See you then,” said her father, disappearing back inside the townhouse.
Finn sighed. “While I am quite sure that my afternoon will be far more pleasant than yours, I don’t think anyone looks forward to a discussion of important business with a lady’s father.”
Pippa patted his knee, then lifted the blanket and got to her feet. “Buck up, soldier. He’s a kitten. As long as you talk about how wonderful I am and not the fact that you send me explicit romance novels with false covers, or just gave me two orgasms in Hyde Park.”
“Damn it, those were to be my two main topics of conversation.”
“Rake. Begone with you.”
“No farewell kiss, Pippet?” Finn said mournfully as he helped her climb down from the curricle onto the square’s graveled path.
Pippa peered at him over her spectacles. “After we tour a certain business, I will kiss you. Wherever on your person you would like to be kissed. I’m sure there is an antechamber or an office there that offers privacy.”
He groaned in a way that vastly improved her mood. “Soon. We’ll go very, very soon.”
“See that we do, my lord. Enjoy your afternoon.”
And with a jaunty wave, Pippa turned and entered Kingsford House.
“About time you returned,” said Grandmother, descending the staircase in a high-necked velvet gown as gray as Finn’s matched pair. “It would be the height of rudeness to arrive last at the salon, considering you are the guest of honor.”
Ugh. In the excitement of an outing, and the orgasmic aftermath, she had completely forgotten about it. Probably because the hostess was another of Grandmother’s cronies, rather than a friend her own age. In truth, she was treating the dowager with the caution of an ill person sniffing a new herbal elixir; the expected thunderous eruption after the soiree announcement had not yet occurred and that was highly suspicious in itself.
Her grandmother did not concede defeat. Ever.
“I’ll go upstairs and change gowns,” Pippa replied as she crossed the entrance hall, her half-boot heels overloud on the wooden floor. “I greatly enjoyed the curricle outing with my betrothed, thank you for asking.”
“Your tone is unbecoming. And do not dilly-dally further, Pippa. I have laid out the white gown for you.”
She rolled her eyes as she hurried to her bedchamber. That blasted gown needed to be hurled directly into the nearest fireplace. Or perhaps the scullery maids could use it to transport coal inside.
Ruby met her at the door. “You have a choice of two gowns, Lady Pippa. I wasn’t sure whether you were continuing with the charge, in which case I have brushed a lovely peach-striped calico, or strategically retreating to wear the white velvet with the itchy lace.”
“Continuing with the charge. Under no circumstances am I entering enemy territory and scratching. I need all my wits about me.”
Her maid laughed. “That is what I thought you’d say. I do note a certain spring in your step, though. May I assume your outing with his lordship went well?”
Pippa set down her reticule, then discarded her bonnet and pelisse. “Romance novel well.”
“Oooooh. That is half an exciting day, at least. Right, let’s get you dressed for the next battle.”
As Ruby unbuttoned the cerulean gown, lifted it away, and draped it over a chair, Pippa hesitated on the peach-striped calico. Perhaps she’d done enough nose-tweaking recently…
No.
If there was one person she could never show weakness in front of, it was Grandmother. And it was just a salon.
How bad could that possibly be?
“Thank you for meeting me here, Knighton. I know it’s not as private as my library, but…ah…nice enough place, eh?”
Finn smiled politely at Lord Kingsford as they walked up the steps and through the heavy wooden doors of the gentleman’s club. He’d been surprised when Pippa’s father had waylaid him outside Kingsford House, but while the words remained unsaid, he knew exactly why the older man didn’t want to talk there: the dowager. “No trouble, my lord. It is indeed very fine.”
And it was fine, if one liked stepping into an exclusive world of hushed, expensive elegance. He found this club stuffy and pretentious; although he’d visited a few times with his father, he’d not taken up a membership of his own, much to his sire’s disgust. But he could still appreciate the attentive staff and well-made furnishings.
Above their heads, a crystal chandelier lit up the room like a sparkling sunbeam and several fireplaces provided constant warmth. Over in the east corner, separated by embroidered screens, was a supper area where the tastiest roasted duck and beefsteaks in London were served. But most of the large, mahogany-paneled space was filled with oversized armchairs in sets of two or four or six depending on the size of the party. Underfoot, there were thick and discreetly patterned Aubusson rugs, and footmen in spotless livery constantly circled the room to refresh decanters of brandy or wine and supplies of cheroots or snuff.
Indeed, this club positively reeked of money and power; his father had practically lived here before his illness. Each day deals were made that affected the entire country, and wagers were placed in the betting book, some hilarious, some exceedingly foolish, some unfathomably cruel.
Kingsford might be a member here, but he was a sparrow among hawks.
No doubt Finn was also.
“Would you care for a brandy?” asked Lord Kingsford.
He nodded, knowing the vintage would be an excellent one. “Please.”
The earl gave his order to a footman who bowed and hurried away. Then they settled into one of the two-chair sets, close enough to the roaring fireplace that they would stay warm without being right next to it and overheating.
“So,” said Pippa’s father delicately. “You wish to marry my daughter. Well, I know you do, considering you hurled bodies left and right to make the announcement in my drawing room in front of several hundred witnesses.”
Finn flushed and tapped his fingers on the armchair, upholstered in a smooth, dark brown leather which his backside heartily approved of. “I know that method was…unconventional. I apologize if my actions offended you.”
“Only thing that was a trifle offensive, lad, is how long you took to charge to the center of the room. A man can pause and scratch his head for a certain length of time, but after that the guests start to wonder if he has fleas. And I don’t have fleas.”
He blinked at the unexpectedly chiding response, halting his reply as the footman returned with a silver tray and placed two glasses of brandy and a decanter on the low table between them before departing. The dark amber color promised a most delicious drop and Finn couldn’t resist a taste, reveling in the rich flavor and welcoming glow in his mouth.
“I got trapped next to the wall,” he said ruefully. “Standing on a damned footstool. But when I saw what was about to happen…”
“I understand,” said the earl, taking a sip of his drink. “My mother and the duke had made plans; I said I had no objections unless a better offer came along. And then it did.”
Finn laughed. “I’m a better offer? A viscount?”
“Better for Pippa. Friendship is a grand building block for marriage. You two have so much in common. You know, I was a chum of Miss Mandy…er, the late Lady Kingsford, before we were married. She was the rebellious daughter of the neighboring town mayor, I much preferred horses to people. But Mandy always sent me an invitation to parties and whatnot. I thought it was a hostess being charitable, never thought for a moment she might think of me in a romantic way. But one afternoon, at a Mayday fete after we’d all indulged in too much apple wine, Mandy told me I was a nincompoop and she was getting gray hairs waiting for me to propose. After that, she got down on her knee, right there and then, and asked me to marry her. Once I retrieved my jaw from the floor, I said yes, of course.”
“You must miss her,” said Finn awkwardly. It was an uncomfortable situation, sympathizing with a man who had continually placed such heavy burdens on Pippa’s shoulders. She would always have his first loyalty. Always.
“Every hour of every day. It’s been nearly eleven years, but sometimes still feels as fresh as a week. Mother was most displeased with the match and thought I should wed again to sire another son, but that wasn’t for me. Once you’ve met your great love, that’s it. Well, in my opinion anyway. So I made a vow. Happy marriages for my children. I was concerned for Lilian, especially because her match began to repay my debts after some bad investment decisions. But Exton minds that now and he’s a genius, so all’s well that ends well, as the bard says.”
Startled at the earl’s unexpected candor, Finn stared at his brandy glass. He’d not expected the tale of the countess proposing; in truth it was difficult to fully recall Pippa’s mother now, for she had passed when he’d been away at Eton. But one point he could very much relate to: meeting your great love and deciding that was that.
“I was eight,” he said abruptly, looking up and meeting Kingsford’s gaze. “When I knew.”
The older man smiled. “Pippa’s a good girl. Strong as an oak which has been wonderful for the family, but she needs to open her heart to delicate sensibilities as well. She’ll be a good wife, I’m sure. On that note, may I ask how Pinehurst is faring? I received some documents to sign, and have been trying to set up a meeting with him, but his secretary insists he is indisposed. The marquess did look rather ghastly at the soiree, though.”
The back of Finn’s neck prickled. His odious father wouldn’t try and sabotage this after the announcement, would he? Nothing good could possibly come of him and Lady Kingsford putting their heads together…
“Father has been under the weather for a few weeks now. I’m sure he’ll be available shortly—”
“Kingsford. Knighton.”
Finn’s heart sank at the curt words in a familiar peevish tone, and he reluctantly turned his head to acknowledge Lord Campbell. How fortunate, trapped in an enclosed space with one of the two men he wished to see least of all. All the occasion needed now was Devonshire demanding satisfaction, Prinny singing, or perhaps a flock of angry geese storming the club, for actual purgatory.
Both Finn and the earl stood and inclined their heads.
“Campbell,” said Finn crisply.
Lord Kingsford’s placid gaze rested on the baron. “Er…would you like to join us? I’m sure it wouldn’t be any trouble for a chair to be brought over.”
“Not really appropriate in the circumstances; Knighton once again seducing another fellow’s lady,” snapped the baron, flicking a speck from his brown jacket sleeve. “But I have a large party joining me, so may need these chairs. Perhaps once you’ve finished your brandy, you’ll favor us with a swift departure.”
What an arse.
The ladies of the ton might have applauded and kissed his cheek over the romance of an unexpected drawing room declaration, but it seemed the men were irritable as old barn cats. Although in fairness, quite a few also thought he’d bedded their wives.
“Indeed,” said Lord Kingsford jovially. “After we’ve finished our celebratory brandies. Good day, Campbell.”
As the baron frowned then moved away, Finn raised an eyebrow. “That was brave of you, my lord. Right now, I am persona non grata, as Pippa would say.”
“Bah. Campbell is only happy when he has something to complain about, and he knows damned well that Devonshire could crook his little finger and half the women in London would line up to accept the ducal coronet. Also, in that His Grace has spoken to Pippa for a grand total of an hour in his entire life, I think perhaps his heart remains intact. As I said earlier, I want happy marriages for my children. If that means Pippa is a viscountess rather than a duchess, so be it. Speaking of happy marriages, though, I must ask a delicate question.”
“Go on.”
The earl sat forward in his chair; his expression earnest. “I know your father’s stance on this topic. And that you are…er…very popular with the ladies…”
“If you’re asking whether I have a mistress, the answer is no. I don’t intend to have one, either.”
“Capital,” said Kingsford, obviously relieved as he took out a linen handkerchief to dab at his perspiring brow. “I know I’m an oddity among my peers, but I don’t admire the practice. Unless it is agreed by both parties, not all like marital relations. But the ton is weakened by too many loveless unions, in my humble opinion. Money and duty make cold bedfellows…oh, listen to me, rambling on and not allowing these chairs to be uplifted for Campbell’s party.”
Unable to help himself, Finn laughed. Then he raised his brandy glass. “To loving marriages. And your continued good health, my lord.”
“I will drink to that.”
If she couldn’t take a tour of Finn’s Bliss premises, the next best option would have been reading A Wicked Comte while eating a nice slice of rich fruit cake.
But no. Instead, she had to endure a salon with a group of society matrons.
And it was not progressing well.
Pippa glanced around Lady Voyce’s parlor and tried not to shudder at the décor; a startling array of purple shades from lilac to deepest violet, like the entire room had bumped into the corner of a table and bruised itself. Everything was purple, right down to the teapot on the tray. And the cakes.
Under no circumstances would she eat a purple cake. Nor would she be participating in the reputation destruction of those not present. If this was what it meant to be a ton matron, she would pack her bags and move to…well, someplace warm with lots of books. Or at least find a salon in London comprised entirely of free-thinking romance novel readers. Not all groups were as unpleasant as this one, surely.
“Pippa, dear,” drawled Lady Voyce. “I know we are all wondering, so I must ask: whatever were you thinking, choosing Knighton over Devonshire?”
All eyes fixed on her. It was like the magisterial panels in her father’s library except a thousand times worse. Some of the ladies were studying her with genuine curiosity. Some were scornfully shaking their heads; while others were openly relieved, for they had daughters to marry off. Only two gazes held any traces of pity; Miss Natalie Voyce, a plump, shy brunette she had first met the previous Season and become friends with, and Lady Campbell, the silver haired baroness who had congratulated Finn at the soiree.
“Errrrr….” she began. “Well—”
“How could you refuse Devonshire?” burst out an ebony-haired miss, sitting next to her equally dark-haired mother. “You would have been a duchess! Top of the tree!”
Pippa quirked a brow. “Indeed, that usually happens if one weds a duke. But top of the tree is a long way to fall.”
“I think it’s lovely you will be marrying your good friend,” said Natalie warmly. “Always things to talk about.”
Pippa beamed. “Exactly. It is—”
“Do excuse my niece, Lady Pippa,” said Lady Voyce. “Her mind has been rotted thanks to her older sister lending her a novel called Pride and Prejudice or some such nonsense. A bluestocking daughter of the gentry poor criticizing the manners of her betters, can you imagine! Worse, she refuses a perfectly respectable proposal from a clergyman. But then a gentleman of ten thousand a year chooses her! Preposterous.”
“I’ve read it, and personally believe that a loving marriage with one who understands you is something everyone deserves,” Pippa replied.
Silence descended on the parlor like a sodden cloak. Had she said something outlandish? Perhaps accidentally confessed to another gunpowder plot on parliament, or stealing the crown jewels? Offered a petition to ban tea because it was the devil’s own beverage?
Lady Kingsford tapped a spoon on the edge of her teacup. “What my granddaughter meant to say, is that marriage is an important undertaking that should be arranged by those who are accomplished in such matters. Wise people who understand the importance of their family’s position in society and wish to uphold and advance it for the benefit of future generations.”
“Hear, hear,” said Lady Voyce. “I honestly could not believe my eyes and ears when Knighton crashed through the crowd at your soiree. Such chaos! But he is a bold one.”
“I thought it wonderfully romantic,” said Lady Campbell, adding a lemon slice to her tea. “A gentleman fighting for the woman he loves and publicly declaring it.”
Pippa almost cheered. Someone else who believed Finn’s performance. She would have to share this tidbit with him later. “He certainly marched with purpose.”
“That he did, my dear. And you know what they say about reformed rakes. They make the best husbands.”
Lady Voyce tittered. “Reformed? Knighton? He’s bedded half of London and counting. I don’t think you could refer to his lordship as reformed, not when matrons, widows, even spinsters just fall into his arms. And he doesn’t discriminate based on age or looks, does he, Lady Campbell? I believe you were embracing him the other day on Bond Street or so the tale goes.”
The baroness met Pippa’s gaze and rolled her eyes. “It was a hug, Lady Voyce. My skirts weren’t up about my ears.”
Pippa stifled a laugh as the hostess’s cheeks almost turned a shade of purple to match her décor. “Finn…that is, Lord Knighton does give marvelous hugs. Yet he is marrying me.”
“I still think Devonshire would be a much steadier husband. He understands duty,” said Lady Voyce sharply.
“Why thank you, my lady. And may I say…what a very purple parlor you have.”
A collective gasp sounded in the room at the sight of the duke himself standing in the doorway, but Pippa’s gaze travelled directly to her grandmother. The elderly woman stared back, her lips curving, before daintily sipping her tea.
Oh, that unspeakably evil serpent witch.
“Your Grace!” babbled Lady Voyce, her hands clasping and unclasping as she bobbed up and down. “Forgive me. I did not know you were attending my salon. Goodness gracious. What an honor. A pleasure. How did I forget that I sent you an invitation? Such an exalted guest…Natalie! Fix your hair! My goodness…do take a seat, Your Grace…some tea perhaps?”
“I believe someone else issued the invitation,” said Pippa coldly, as Devonshire sat down in the one free chair, coincidentally next to her own. “Grandmother? Something to confess to your friend?”
“Confessing implies I did something wrong,” said Lady Kingsford. “I merely mentioned to the dear duke that we were attending a little gathering, and after the theatrics of the other night were forgotten, that cooler heads would prevail. Now, why don’t you and the duke speak privately and mend fences, while we go and admire the watercolors.”
Pippa ground her teeth as every other woman in the room stood and dutifully followed the dowager over to the wall where several gilt-framed paintings were displayed. Unspeakably evil serpent witch did not even begin to describe her grandmother.
Cooler heads would prevail? Was it not perfectly obvious that she did not want to marry the duke? Would never want to marry the duke? ARGH.
“Good afternoon, Lady Pippa,” said Devonshire, before taking a sip of the tea Lady Voyce had poured for him. “I’m glad we have the opportunity to talk. People make mistakes. Ladies change their minds.”
She took a deep breath, in a futile attempt to calm her temper. There was only one person truly to blame in all this; and it wasn’t the man sitting next to her. Not really. Well, perhaps if he’d shown some gumption, like Finn had when he’d charged through the crowd to claim her…
“Your Grace, I think you have been lured here under false pretenses,” Pippa said firmly. “I’m betrothed to Lord Knighton. Happily so. I’m sure you are lovely, but I have no wish to wed you.”
The duke blinked, his jaw actually dropping. “Well. That was direct.”
“I am a direct woman,” she replied with a shrug, utterly ignoring the audience straining to hear the conversation. “I also believe in love and happy endings. I will only marry a man who I care for and who in turn cares for me. Who understands my eccentricities. One reason I will never, ever wed, is because my grandmother tried to manipulate me—and the gentleman—into it.”
“Lady Kingsford is…rather forceful,” he said hesitantly.
Pippa snorted. “Try living with the woman. No, actually, don’t. I would not recommend it. But listen. As someone else close to me accurately noted, Your Grace, you are twenty-five, have all your own teeth, don’t creak when you walk, and dress rather well. Plus, those other things like ancient title, multiple estates and fortune, et cetera, et cetera. Why don’t you wed someone you truly love? Who truly loves you? Duty marriages are a pox on society. A barnacle on the backside of happiness.”
Devonshire chuckled, albeit a trifle sadly. “The more you say, the more I like you, Lady Pippa. Knighton is a fortunate man. But while this isn’t the first time I’ve been tossed over for a viscount; I pray it is the last. Now, I shall bow and strategically retreat…if, however, you ever need a friend, you may call on me. I mean that.”
“Much obliged, Your Grace,” she said, patting his hand. “I hope you find the one you are looking for. Romance novels decree that quite often the path to love is rocky and treacherous, filled with wolves and snakes and pits of despair before the sunshine and rainbows of Utopia.”
His lips twitched madly, then he lifted her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, Lady Pippa. Please give my regards to your grandmother. Wait. On second thought…do not.”
Pippa laughed. “Fare thee well, Your Grace.”
After the duke departed, the other women in the room practically sprinted back.
“Well?” said Lady Voyce breathlessly.
Lady Kingsford’s expression was the very portrait of self-satisfied. “Devonshire kissed dear Pippa’s hand. I think we all know what that means.”
“It means that the duke and I decided we shall be great friends but definitely not husband and wife,” said Pippa brightly, her smile broadening as her grandmother’s face turned to stone.
Another round in the ring, another defeat for the devil’s unofficial handmaiden.
Nothing could upend her life now, for Pippa Pearl Nash had full control.
Exactly as it should be.