Page 24 of The Best Marquess

“Exactly. I’m sincerely looking forward to being a husband, and thus as exciting as barley water to the marriage-minded mamas and their offspring.”

You cannot have Pippa!

Finn inhaled deeply rather than snarling the words and demanding a dawn appointment. “Er, yes. Quite—”

“Devonshire, there you are,” said Lady Kingsford crisply, curling a proprietary hand around the duke’s arm. “Why don’t we go and find dear Pippa. I heard it from her own lips that she is greatly anticipating this evening. A little dancing, a little supper with my granddaughter sounds just the thing before the grand announcement does it not?”

Grand announcement?

Finn froze, but the duke politely murmured, “Indeed, my lady.”

“Excellent…Knighton, be a good boy and go tend your father. His cheeks are quite flushed. Devonshire and I have important business we must see to.”

Shit.

As usual, Lady Kingsford was advancing plots, and was about to unleash a nasty surprise on Pippa.

He had to get to his best friend first.

She didn’t like this drawing room when empty, but once filled to overflowing with people, it reeked of perfume, sweat, wilting flowers, burning firewood, and various supper platters. A combination to turn anyone’s stomach; but far worse: Finn was nowhere to be found.

Pippa craned her head, even went up on her tip-toes to get a better view, but while she could see Xavier and Georgiana each holding court in a corner, and her father talking with several politicians, no Finn.

Argh.

After landing the first blow with her scarlet gown, to be this close to victory over Grandmother made the wait unbearable. A public betrothal offered so much freedom; no more forced dancing, supper conversations, or murdered flowers. Though her father knew nothing about the plan, he liked Finn and was always amenable to something that required no effort on his part to achieve, so she remained confident he would raise no objection. But it needed to be announced at once, just for peace of mind.

“Pippa, dear. There you are.”

She shuddered. Grandmother only called her dear in public, and only in front of exalted company. Right now, that was the Duke of Devonshire, and the man was being towed like a shipwreck chained to a barge. “Indeed, here I am, Grandmother. Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Lady Pippa,” he said perfunctorily, looking every inch a wealthy duke in his immaculate black jacket, elaborate cravat, and gray satin breeches. “May I escort you to the supper table?”

If she had any feelings at all for Devonshire, the complete absence of lust, affection, or adoration in his gaze would have stung. Gracious, how did couples navigate marriage when they didn’t even like each other?

“Pippa would adore that,” said Lady Kingsford. “Run along with the duke now.”

“I was just looking for someone,” said Pippa. “Perhaps soon.”

Grandmother pinned her with a frigid gaze. “Perhaps now.”

The fact that glare still made her shrivel inside was infuriating. She was just one elderly woman, not a handmaiden of the devil. Well, not an official handmaiden.

The duke’s brow furrowed. “If not supper, a dance perhaps?”

“Yes,” said Grandmother approvingly. “Go on, Pippa. What a fine pair you’ll make…isn’t that right, everyone? My granddaughter and Devonshire?”

It felt like hundreds of eyes were abruptly upon her, and the soiree guests moved closer, like a pack of hunting dogs circling an injured fox.

“Supper,” Pippa gritted out. “I have an urgent craving for…berry tarts.”

“One tart, dear. Nobody likes a glutton, especially a lady soon to be a duch…oh no, I almost said too much, didn’t I, Your Grace?”

Her heart plummeted as the pack eyes lit up and loud whispers began. Grandmother was truly despicable; no villain in a romance novel even came close. Like two babes in the woods, Finn and Pippa had skipped along thinking they enjoyed the upper hand, but once again the ton grande dame fought dirty. And Devonshire, damn him, was meekly trotting along behind her, for he wanted the same outcome. Naturally, neither gave a fig for her wishes.

Where the bloody hell was Finn?

“Naughty Lady Kingsford,” said Devonshire indulgently. “But there is always time for a berry tart; I’m quite partial myself. Lady Pippa? Shall we?”