Page 40 of The Best Marquess

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.