The Best Marquess by Nicola Davidson

Chapter 8

The following morning, Finn pulled up his curricle to the Kingsford townhouse with a flourish, and waited for Pippa to come dashing outside. After making arrangements with Abby, who had chosen not to be present for the visit, he’d sent Pippa a cheery note to invite her on the promised grand tour of the Bliss premises.

He felt like a child the night before their birthday. Hell, he’d actually dithered over his wardrobe choices, to the point his valet had probably been on the verge of strangling him. But he’d opted for fawn trousers, muted gold waistcoat, and dark blue jacket with brass buttons. Pippa loved the color blue, so he hoped it boded well for the day.

He tapped his fingers on the side of the curricle, frowning when Pippa failed to appear. Perhaps she’d been waylaid by her grandmother or yet another family situation, and needed rescuing. At Kingsford House, that was nearly a daily occurrence after all.

Abruptly the front door opened, but it wasn’t Pippa.

“Morning, Lord Knighton,” said a footman as he approached. “Would you like me to hold the reins while you wait?”

“Much obliged,” Finn replied, handing the man a sixpence before walking into the entrance hall.

“Lord Knighton!” said the butler, inclining his head. “Ah…good morning. May I assist with something?”

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m just waiting for my betrothed. We’re going on an outing.”

The older man hesitated, an odd expression crossing his face. “Would you excuse me one moment, my lord? I’ll find out where Lady Pippa is.”

Confused, Finn leaned against a pillar. Was he early? Pippa was perhaps the most punctual person in England; he’d never had to wait for her in sixteen years. Truthfully, he didn’t want to spend any longer inside Kingsford House than necessary. The Tudor homage décor was so damned gloomy and oppressive.

When Lady Kingsford appeared at the top of the stairs, he groaned. Of all the Nash family members, why did it have to be the only one he truly despised?

“Knighton,” she said curtly, not even bothering to coat her tone with the thinnest layer of treacle. “What are you doing here?”

The gloves were indeed off.

“Waiting for Pippa, my lady. We’re going on an outing.”

“Unfortunately, you aren’t,” she replied, gliding down the stairs. “My granddaughter is…indisposed.”

“She’s unwell? Oh dear. I didn’t receive any word of that, no doubt there is a note sitting in the mail tray at home—”

“No note. Good day, my lord.”

Finn’s gaze narrowed as he judged the angle of staircase and height to swing himself up and around the elderly woman to get to Pippa. “I should like to see for myself whether a physician is necessary. I care very much for my betrothed’s health.”

“Pippa is resting. Now, are you going to leave, or must I call for footmen to escort you out of my entrance hall?”

“Ah,” he said pleasantly. “You are vexed that the plots with Devonshire were unsuccessful. Tis most unfortunate that you care nothing for your granddaughter’s happiness, only about your position in society. Well, you grossly underestimated how bold and brilliant Pippa is. And how I would do anything at all for her.”

Lady Kingsford reared back, like a snake about to strike. Then she laughed. “Oh, you think you’ve won. Foolish boy. You will regret interfering in my plans. Now get out.”

Finn gritted his teeth as she continued past him, stopping to speak to a footman and point in his direction. He didn’t believe for a minute that Pippa was indisposed; she was rarely ill and had been quite well yesterday. If it were true, she or Ruby would have sent a note requesting some treat to make her feel better.

This was punishment, pure and simple.

But he couldn’t stand here cooling his heels, or try and run up the stairs. This was not his home and now several footmen were watching him. He would think of another way to get to Pippa and try again tomorrow.

Once outside, he climbed back up on his curricle, and tapped the reins to move away from the Kingsford townhouse. Returning home now wasn’t an option after he’d made such a performance of going to see Pippa, so his only choice was to drive around London for a while, like the thwarted swain he was.

Three hours later, after he’d purchased more caramels, recommended titles to a group of eager matrons at Hatchard’s Bookstore, and passed by Gunter’s on the small chance Pippa had gone out to clear her head, Finn admitted defeat and returned to Hanover Square.

Only to find a plethora of carriages outside the Pinehurst residence.

As soon as he pulled up, Travers dashed out to greet him.

“My lord. Thank goodness,” said the butler breathlessly.

Finn jumped down from the curricle seat, then two footmen led the horses away. “What is the matter? Whose are those carriages?”

“It’s Lord Pinehurst. He’s taken a turn for the worse. Cunningham summoned a physician. And er…the lawyers. And bankers.”

He gaped at the butler. “What? Where is my mother?”

“In her bedchamber, my lord. The physician dismissed her from his lordship’s presence after she became a trifle…hysterical.”

Finn pursed his lips. And he’d thought being barred from Pippa’s side was the worst that could happen today. Nodding to Travers, he hurried upstairs. As his father had stopped visiting his mother a long time ago, the connecting door between their chambers was always locked. She couldn’t even push it ajar to listen.

He knocked on her door. “Mother? It’s me.”

Soon it swung open, and she threw herself against him. “Oh Finlay,” she sobbed. “You’re home. There are so many people here and they won’t tell me anything. But I think it is bad. Very bad. My husband…your father is dying.”

DYING.

His head spun, and he clutched the doorframe.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Father just needs rest. You’ll see. I’ll go and find out what is happening. And tell them if they ever disrespect you again, they will be out of this house. Now, sit by the fire and warm up. Your hands are like icicles.”

“Yes, Finlay,” she choked out. But her eyes were still wild, so he escorted her over to the chaise and sat her down, then covered her with a light woolen blanket.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he promised, turning on his heel and leaving her chamber for the marquess’s one next door. Finn’s knock was no more than perfunctory, and when his father’s valet opened it, he swiftly stood aside to let Finn enter.

God. There was a small crowd gathered, all surrounding the oversized bed. Two lawyers, two bankers, and two physicians, all whom he recognized, but Cunningham sat in the corner as well.

“Gentlemen,” Finn said brusquely. “Tell me exactly what is going on.”

All turned and bowed, then the two stout, silver-haired physicians moved away from the bed to give him room. “Good afternoon, my lord,” said one.

He sucked in a harsh breath. His father lay propped upright on pillows, still as death, his face ashen and his eyes closed. “Is he…?”

“No, no,” said the other physician hastily, as he mopped his brow. “I took the liberty of administering some laudanum to help your sire rest easier. Though I’m afraid the news isn’t good, my lord. When we examined him, his breathing was shallow and his heart weak. I believe we’ll know in the next few days if he is to recover…but I fear you and her ladyship may need to brace for the worst. If we’d been summoned earlier…”

Terror and anger churned his gut, but Finn managed to glare at the man. “As you well know, my father decides who is and isn’t summoned, sir. And if anyone again bars Lady Pinehurst from her husband’s chamber, their services will no longer be required by this family. Is that understood?”

A chorus of assent sounded, and the nausea became so bad, he coughed against his fist. There was a reason they were all being so polite. So deferential. None of them believed his father would recover. They were changing their allegiance as the clock ticked, hoping to gain favor with the man who would be the next Marquess of Pinehurst.

Fucking vultures.

“Would you like to discuss the next course of treatment, my lord?” asked the physician tentatively.

“Just one moment,” Finn replied. “I shall return with Lady Pinehurst.”

He walked to the door then near-sprinted for his own room, barely making it to the chamber pot before falling to his knees and purging his insides in three violent retches.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

This could not be fucking happening.

His wretched, awful father could not be dying.

Limbs shaking, perspiration trickling from his temples, Finn somehow hauled himself to his feet and splashed his face with cool water from the basin. Then he stumbled to his desk and poured a brandy to get the awful taste from his mouth.

Pull yourself together, man. Your mother needs you. Besides, the spiteful old weasel could still prove them all wrong…please God, let him prove them all wrong…I don’t want to be marquess. I’m not ready to be marquess…oh Pippa, I need you…

Finn smoothed his hair and clothing. By sheer luck, he’d managed to keep it clean. Then he took several deep breaths, before sauntering to his mother’s chamber as though all was well. As though he would be Lord Knighton for some time to come.

If he wished hard enough, perhaps it could be true.

She couldn’t take much more of her family.

Pippa rested her forehead against the bedchamber window, welcoming the cool press of the glass. Grandmother swayed between frigid silence and biting comments about everything from the way she walked to the shape of her hair pins. Father appeared only for meals, spending the rest of the time barricaded in his library to avoid all the unpleasantness. Georgiana was moping because her gentleman had reacted coolly to her informing him that they couldn’t indulge in one of their illicit, pleasure-for-him meetings for a while. And, as per usual, Xavier had disappeared for destinations unknown. Although, with the current tensions in the household, she couldn’t really blame him.

Packing a satchel and leaving London on the next stagecoach to anywhere sounded like an excellent idea. Especially as Finn had forgotten to escort her to the Bliss premises as his note had promised. He knew how much she wanted to go there and examine the toys and accessories. How could he dangle such a treat and then snatch it away?

Pippa scowled and slumped back onto her window seat. In the past, every single time she’d been sad or angry or frustrated beyond measure, Finn had been her source of comfort. More recently he’d been her source of pleasure; the only real-life respite from the theatrics and other related nonsense at Kingsford House. And now she had plummeted back to earth with a resounding crash, for it seemed Pippa Pearl wasn’t permitted respite.

A harsh knock at the door made her yelp. Seconds later, Xavier burst in looking more haphazard than usual, his claret-colored jacket rumpled, the lace at the cuffs of his linen shirt torn and dirt-stained, and his knuckles scratched and dotted with blood.

“Good. You’re dressed,” he said abruptly. “Brush your hair and pinch your cheeks or whatever it is you do to get ready.”

She stared at him in shocked confusion. “Have you been in a fight?”

“Never mind about that. You need to go to Knighton. Now.”

Pippa straightened her shoulders as irritation flared. She was finished with this family and their damned secrets. Finished. “I do not. And if you were in this house longer than five bloody minutes at a time, you’d know why.”

“Counter argument: if you looked out the window across the square rather than this one, you would see the large collection of carriages outside the Pinehurst townhouse.”

Fright jolted her up onto her feet. “Finn isn’t…he isn’t hurt?”

Xavier patted her shoulder, his gaze softening. “A reliable source informs me that Lord Pinehurst is dying. I have no doubt that poor Knighton is being bombarded from all sides and desperately needs someone who cares about him, not what he is about to inherit.”

“Oh no,” Pippa whispered, horrified. “Finn…”

“Run.”

After giving her twin a quick, hard hug for informing her of such news when no one else had bothered, Pippa stumbled over to her dressing table. First, she dragged the hairbrush through her hair and coiled it into a simple knot, secured with ribbon and several pins. Thankfully Ruby had convinced her to get dressed earlier, so she wore a practical primrose yellow-striped calico gown, the color chosen to try and improve her mood. Then she pulled on woolen stockings, kidskin half-boots, and her bonnet, snatched up her reticule, and ran to the door.

The sound of her heels thumping on the stairs was jarringly loud, and Pippa clung to the banister so she didn’t tumble headfirst to the bottom. Bloody damned stairs. A true heroine would have flung some knotted sheets out the window and slid to the ground.

“Pippa! What on earth are you doing?”

She continued past her grandmother, just managing to avoid the familiar clamp of elderly hand around wrist or elbow. “Can’t talk. Going out.”

“I think not! Pippa. Pippa, get back here this instant.”

But she ignored the order, charging on and yanking open the front door. After the warmth of the townhouse the cold wind hit her like a slap to the face, but she forced her legs to run some more. By good fortune alone she wasn’t run over by a carriage or curricle in her ungainly dash across Hanover Square, and within minutes she was pounding on the Pinehurst front door.

It eventually opened to reveal the butler.

“Good afternoon, Travers,” Pippa wheezed, bracing one hand on the doorframe as she struggled to get her breath back.

“Lady Pippa!” he said, eyes wide. “My goodness. Come in.”

“I am here to see Finn…my betrothed,” she finished, because if ever there was a time to play that card, this was it. The only thing that mattered right now was helping her best friend through an awful ordeal.

“Of course. His lordship is in the library with the physicians, bankers and lawyers, and er…the archbishop arrived about a quarter hour ago.”

Pippa gasped as she removed her bonnet. “Oh no. That bad?”

Travers glanced around. “I understand the outlook is poor,” he whispered. “They think perhaps…a few days at most. It is wonderful you are here, my lady. Lord Knighton…well, he will be grateful. I’ll go and see if he wishes to be excused from the meeting for a spell. Please wait here.”

She sat gingerly on an uncomfortable chair, not wanting to cause anyone further distress. Usually, Pinehurst House was as cold and silent as a mausoleum, but there was an eerie urgency today. Servants always knew when things were afoot, even if they weren’t told. And they would be understandably concerned how a change in titleholder would affect them and their duties; especially when the marquess and his heir were different people in every possible way.

As for all the guests, while she could understand physicians for medical assistance and the archbishop for spiritual comfort, it did seem premature to be bringing in the bankers and lawyers. Ugh. How cold.

“Pippa.”

She jumped up, unable to suppress a low cry at how haggard Finn looked; like he’d aged about twenty years in the space of a day. His handsome face was pale, there were grooves etched around his mouth and across his brow, and the start of dark circles under his eyes. “Finn…I…ah…well, I’m here.”

He swayed, so she reached out and wrapped herself around him like a human cravat.

“Pippet,” he said hoarsely, burying his face against her neck. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do. My father…they all want to talk about everything that must happen when…if…he passes. Mother won’t stop crying. I can’t think.”

Pippa held him tighter. Few people knew exactly how bad things had been between Finn and his father; while many heirs would be jumping for joy, Finn had never coveted the marquessate. Just the freedom to make his own choices, which the odious Pinehurst never allowed. If the marquess died, Finn would receive the title and fortune, but he would never be free again. All responsibility for the estates, tenants, and servants would be his, as would the seat in the House of Lords. The only foreseeable outcome was Finn’s gentle, irreverent and creative soul crushed by the harsh boot of duty.

“They are cruel to load your shoulders now, Finn. You don’t have to hear all the information in one afternoon.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. The dowager was even more militant than usual when I arrived to collect you for our outing; she declared you indisposed and threatened to have me escorted from the premises if I didn’t leave of my own accord.”

She frowned. Finn hadn’t forgotten? Grandmother had lost her thin veneer of icy civility and threatened Finn? ARGH. A pinch more familial nonsense and her head would actually explode.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Pippa said instead. “I can only imagine how difficult and complicated this is. Would a caramel help? I have an emergency supply in my reticule.”

Finn leaned back and a ghost of a smile lifted his lips. Then he cupped her cheek. “I’m not sure I could, my stomach has been unsettled all damned day. But a kiss might.”

Pippa went up on her tip toes and brushed her lips against his. He groaned a little, deepening the kiss, and she curled her arms up his back, hanging on for dear life as her mind whirled and her toes curled.

“There, rake,” she said at last, forcing herself to pull away so she didn’t start climbing him like a tree in the blasted entrance hall when physicians and lawyers and bankers and the archbishop were waiting to discuss morbid topics. “Should I wait somewhere or should I go? It is entirely up to you. I don’t want to add to your burdens.”

“Stay,” he said quietly. “Please. I need one person who is here for me, not angling for favors or gain. Ask any question you like.”

Pippa blinked. “You want me to accompany you into the meeting?”

“Yes.”

Torn, she hesitated. For a real betrothed, perhaps a quite appropriate act. But she was a chum playing pretend, and to do that in front of a clergyman…yet she couldn’t leave Finn to face the vultures alone. He would never abandon her.

“Then let’s go before they start pocketing the silver.”

Finn smiled, a real one this time, and offered his arm.

Gird your loins, girl. This is going to be tough.

Pippa was here.

For the first time in the agonizing, relentless years that had made up this day, Finn felt like he could breathe. Like he wasn’t being pummeled from all directions by this party of old men who were performing an intricate dance of both obeying his father’s previous edicts in the event he miraculously recovered, and demanding Finn know everything at once if he did not.

It was so utterly wearying.

But Pippa was here.

Few things could compare to the elation he’d felt when Travers interrupted the meeting to tell him she’d arrived on the doorstep, especially after this morning and the bizarre conversation with Lady Kingsford. Except perhaps the elation of that kiss they’d just shared. Now he felt buoyant, and yet armored as well. As though he could face whatever arrow next came his way, as long as Pippa remained at his side.

When they entered the library, the men in the room quickly got to their feet, most sending him puzzled glances.

Yes, I’ve brought a lady. Chide me at your peril.

Finn inclined his head. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you all know of my betrothed Lady Pippa Nash.”

Charles Manners-Sutton, the Archbishop of Canterbury, beamed at Pippa. “My dear! It gladdens my heart to see you here offering support and comfort to Lord Knighton in his time of trial. I hope you are well. May I enquire after your sister? I hear she was delivered of a sweet baby girl. Daughters are such a tremendous blessing.”

Pippa relaxed and returned the smile. “Lilian and baby Amanda are doing very well, thank you. As is His Grace, after the nervous wait.”

“Please do send my best wishes to them both. After performing the wedding, it would certainly be my honor to perform the christening.”

One of the lawyers glared irritably at Finn. “Are you sure you wish a lady present when there are delicate matters at hand? Perhaps she should go and sit with Lady Pinehurst.”

Finn shook his head. “Ladies are perfectly able to understand business and my betrothed has a sharp mind and a robust constitution. So yes, she will remain. Let us continue…except we seem to be missing someone?”

One of the physicians bowed. “My colleague has gone to examine his lordship, as it has been an hour since the last one. Then we shall know if his condition is improving, remaining the same, or worsening.”

That made sense at least. Not much in the previous hours had, although the lawyers and bankers had improved their tendency to argue and talk over each other since the archbishop had arrived, bless him. While Manners-Sutton came from a ton family, a grandson of the Duke of Rutland, unlike most of society, he was a good man. A loving husband and father who was respected by royals, commoners, and politicians alike.

“I know we are in safe hands with the archbishop praying for good news,” said Finn as he settled Pippa on a chair beside him and then took a seat.

Manners-Sutton held up a small bible. “All is in God’s hands.”

“Amen. Now, where were we?”

“We were discussing what should happen if his lordship recovers but is too unwell to make decisions with a sound mind,” said one of the bankers. “A partial transition of power for Lord Knighton, much like the Prince Regent employs on behalf of His Majesty.”

“And what would that entail, precisely?” asked Pippa politely.

The banker stared at her as though she’d started juggling flaming torches in the middle of the library. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

“I asked what a partial transition of power would entail. Would Lord Knighton sign documents? Investments? Would he have full access to his inheritance, or is that still limited until he turns twenty-five?”

“All good questions,” said Finn, wanting to applaud in pure gratitude. At the moment, even remembering the day of the week was a challenge, especially with so many uncertainties hovering over him like anvils waiting to drop on his head.

“Thank you,” she replied, squeezing his hand.

But before they could be answered, the second physician rushed into the room. “My lord. Sirs. Lord Pinehurst has opened his eyes! I feel we must return to his bedchamber at once.”

Finn exchanged a hopeful glance with Pippa, and she squeezed his hand again. Then everyone in the library stood and followed the physician up to the third floor.

His mother met them at the door, a smile lighting her tearstained face, her hands fluttering as though they didn’t quite know where to rest. “Pippa! Thank heavens. Oh Finn, darling. Did you hear? Pinehurst has opened his eyes. And taken some sips of barley water.”

He nodded. “I heard. Has he said anything?”

“Not much. I think…I think he wishes to speak to you.”

Finn glanced unwillingly over at the bed, and as though his father understood the reluctance, raised one hand a few inches above the quilt and impatiently beckoned Finn over.

With all those in the bedchamber now staring at him, he could only obey.

“Yes, Father?” he said, kneeling next to the bed and trying not to wince at how feeble the man looked. Pinehurst might have opened his eyes, but they were bloodshot, he was perspiring heavily, and his breathing sounded hollow and ragged at best.

“Knighton,” the marquess croaked. “My…son. Heed me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Follow my steps…to a righteous path. You could be…so much better. Banish your mother…to the country. Before she embarrasses the name…further.”

Finn almost ground his teeth to powder. How very Pinehurst; even on his deathbed, no expression of love or request for absolution here, just the usual spiteful criticism. “I hear you.”

“I’ve left…instructions…” the marquess paused as he was overcome by a coughing fit and his whole body convulsed. One of the physicians swiftly stepped forward and spooned a small amount of laudanum into the side of Pinehurst’s mouth, and soon he calmed again. “Knighton…do one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Marry the Nash gel. Now. So I know…it is done. So I know that you will not falter.”

Shocked, he glanced at Pippa, who returned the look with equally panicked eyes.

“We’re at home, Father,” he said quietly. “In your bedchamber. The banns haven’t even been read yet.”

“Damned fool. I know where I am. The special license is in my desk drawer. I arranged it…after the soiree. Knew you would forget. Kingsford signed it for the gel.”

“That is true, Lord Knighton,” said the archbishop, his brow furrowing. “I thought the license was done on behalf of yourself and Lady Pippa with your full knowledge and consent. Is that not the case? After that public declaration, I believed you two to be a love match that simply couldn’t wait.”

Feeling pummeled once again, Finn rubbed a hand across his face. He’d thought before that he knew about being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, but now his father, his odious monstrous arse of a father who had caused him lifelong misery…was the person offering him the one thing in the world he wanted: the chance to marry Pippa.

And he couldn’t do it.

No way would he force or manipulate her into a wedding. It was supposed to be a special day of celebration and love and respect. One to be remembered fondly. “Father, I—”

“Marry her. Good blood…on her father’s side. Mother was fertile at least. Do something right…for once in your life. Before I die.”

“But…ah…don’t we…” stammered Pippa, her face starkly pale, “Don’t we need to wed between eight in the morning and noon? Isn’t that the law? It’s nearly five in the evening!”

The archbishop shook his head. “Not with a special license, my dear, do not fret about that. You can wed anywhere at any time. It is all legal and valid as long as the bride and groom are of age or have parental consent, the license is approved by me, and there are witnesses of good standing, of which we have plenty.”

Without warning, Lady Pinehurst grabbed Pippa’s hand and near-dragged her over to Finn’s side. Then she dropped to her knees. “Please, Finlay. Please, Pippa. I’m begging you. Do as Pinehurst asks. Oh p-please. Get married. Here. This evening. I will send servants to fetch your family, Pippa. And a suitable g-gown. My husband has given his blessing. The archbishop is here. Please. It might…it might be his final wish…”

A thumping headache threatened to split Finn’s skull. Everyone in the room was frowning at him now, wondering what kind of monster didn’t leap at the chance to wed his publicly declared lady love, to please his dying father and his pleading, tearful mother. Yet only he and Pippa knew why he made no decision. Not for the world would he force her to do something. Unlike their grand plans of undoing the pretend betrothal when the Season was over and Lady Kingsford’s plots ran out of time, a marriage couldn’t be dissolved without an act of parliament. Marriage was, to all intents and purposes, forever.

“Finn,” said Pippa, in a low voice. “Do you want to wed me?”

What on earth did he say to that? He’d loved her for sixteen years.

Pippa and no other.

“Yes,” he blurted hoarsely. Helplessly. Hating himself for putting her in this position, even as he yearned for it.

She nodded. “Very well. I’ll marry you. Tonight.”