Page 36 of The Best Marquess

“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.”