Page 1 of The Best Marquess

Chapter 1

Kingsford House, London, late January 1816

“So. In conclusion, we have a most urgent and exceedingly grave Pippa Problem.”

Lady Pippa Nash grimaced at her grandmother’s icy words and slouched down further in her chair. This was probably how it felt to appear before a magistrate, except it was the Nash family sitting in judgement: alongside the dowager Lady Kingsford was her father the Earl of Kingsford, her twin brother Xavier, Viscount Northam, and younger sister Lady Georgiana. And rather than the docks, they were in her father’s library; a gloomy space dominated by dusty shelves of unread books, dark wood paneling, and a carved oak desk covered in documents, old newspapers, and broken quills.

A curious onlooker might think she’d done something truly dreadful; perhaps burgled the other houses in Hanover Square or sauntered naked through a performance of Bach at the Concert Rooms. But no. The Pippa Problem resulting in these lamentable theatrics was her failure last year to leg-shackle a husband. Naturally, the only acceptable remedy was to take part in a second Season. Her response that they had rocks in their heads and could all go bathe in the Thames had gone down as well as congealed sauce.

Ugh. To think she’d been forced to leave her current novel—a scandalously explicit French romance smuggled into the house in a hat box—behind in her bedchamber to hear this unabashed nonsense. In truth, she considered her nimble escape from the marital clutches of several boorish, turnip-brained ton bachelors as a great victory rather than a humiliating defeat. Unfortunately, only her oldest and dearest friend, Lord Finlay Knighton, applauded such antics and encouraged her to wait for just the right man.

One person cared about her happiness, at least.

Sighing, Pippa removed the spectacles she’d worn since childhood and cleaned them with a linen handkerchief. A necessary task, for the lenses attracted dust like honey attracted ants, but with the added bonus of blurring her surroundings. Rather useful when she needed to ignore a glare or her uninspiring reflection in a looking glass. Finn often played the jester and said she was beautiful, but if he truly thought nondescript height, blond hair, blue eyes, and lackluster curves equaled beauty, he needed spectacles as well. “The fact that I have little desire to wed is neither urgent nor grave, Grandmother. A second Season is entirely unnecessary.”

“Don’t be foolish. You’ll be twenty-one in May; practically on the shelf. Only the worst of daughters shame their family by refusing to marry. It is your duty. Lilian did, you must also.”

Pippa put her spectacles back on. Her older sister Lilian had been excused from this charade as she was due to give birth any day now and preferred to stay with her husband Gabriel, Duke of Exton. Apart from Finn; and Xavier, who was occasionally tolerable; her brother-in-law remained the only decent man in the ton. A real-life romantic hero: dashing and steadfast, lusty and faithful. The marriage might have started as one of convenience, but together Gabriel and Lilian had found true love. She was a rarity among society wives: happily and wickedly wed, content in the bedchamber as well as out.

Was it so wrong to want the same? To crave someone who shared news and random facts over breakfast, cuddled with books and blanket on a chaise, and ruthlessly pleasured in bed? No lofty title or fine address could ever make up for a lack of that.

Indeed, she would have a romance novel husband, or none at all.

“I’m well aware of my upcoming birthday,” said Pippa archly. “Mainly because Xavier and I will finally achieve financial and legal independence. Isn’t it interesting though, that twenty-one sees me as dried up and my twin as freshly bloomed?”

An awkward silence fell, rather common after she spoke plainly. Then her stout, ruddy-cheeked father cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “My dear, a husband wouldn’t be so very bad—”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” snapped Grandmother as she smoothed her immaculate silver hair and lilac gown. While half-mourning for a spouse usually lasted six months, she’d worn it for over thirty years. “But I won’t allow your second daughter to sabotage a second Season.”

“Come now, sabotage is a strong word, Mother.”

“But an accurate one,” said Pippa cheerfully. “I discovered what the suitor hated most, then mutated into that variant of moth. Fortunately, I kept a list to help me remember which moth I was to which man.”

“Ingenious, when you think about it,” drawled the lovable yet exasperating Xavier, saluting her with his brandy glass from where he lay half-sprawled on an embroidered chaise. He was the anti-Brummell, rejecting understated clothing to instead embrace ornate design, vibrant colors, old-fashioned knee breeches, and plenty of lace. Even more rebellious, he shunned shorter, military-style hair and kept his golden locks curling around the top of his cravat.

Grandmother glared at him. “No one will ever accuse you of thinking, Northam. I’m sure we all agree that Pippa must stop this silliness, especially when her bookish tendencies grow worse. She refuses to dance. She doesn’t like flowers.”

“I dance with Finn,” said Pippa. “And I like flowers. Just alive in a garden where they belong, not murdered in a bouquet.”

“Arghhh,” growled Georgiana, at nineteen years old the spoilt, headstrong, and uncommonly beautiful youngest Nash, from where she sat perched on Father’s desk. “Why do you have to be so odd? And selfish? Papa won’t let me marry until you do, and I’ve found my gentleman.”

Pippa raised a brow at her father, who had the grace to wince. The Pippa must marry first declaration was nothing more than a delaying tactic; the act of a man who didn’t want to farewell his favorite. Such a lack of gumption driving a wedge between sisters was another layer of the nonsense pile. Make that the nonsense mountain.

Irritated beyond all, she folded her arms. “I believe—”

“What you believe is irrelevant,” said Grandmother. “The truth is, you are selfish and stubborn and Lilian was far too lenient a chaperone. But now she is indisposed, I have taken the matter firmly in hand.”

Oh God.

“How?” she croaked.

Lady Kingsford smiled coolly. “I’m glad you asked. There are eight eligible dukes in the realm, including four royals. With my assistance, you’ll soon be a duchess like your sister.”

“I don’t want to be a duchess.”

“Yes, you do. Every woman does.”

Xavier snorted. “Well, a high percentage at least. But I must point out that St. Albans is an infant, so not exactly eligible.”