Page 51 of The Best Marquess

“I would prefer white,” Pippa said, offering a smile to atone for her bluntness. “Perhaps with a violet trim?”

“Of course, madam, that is no trouble,” said the modiste smoothly, her eyes flint-hard. Such mettle was no doubt essential when catering to the whims of society ladies. “But one gown for half-mourning surely isn’t sufficient for a lady of your standing. The granddaughter of a society grande dame…sister to a duchess…a new marchioness…”

Gah. She could hardly say no thank you, I refuse to pretend mourn that bile-ridden skunk in front of someone who had loved the late Lord Pinehurst. Although quite why Evangeline did was a mystery. It wasn’t like he had loved her, or even treated her with consideration and civility. He’d been as cold and cruel toward her as he’d been toward Finn.

Then again, she couldn’t judge, not when her own sister remained utterly infatuated with someone who didn’t even make her come during their secret assignations. After the wedding ceremony, Georgiana had taken her aside and guiltily confessed to succumbing to the gentleman’s pleas and meeting him once again. In a bloody coat room. The whole situation made her want to hunt this scoundrel down and string him up by the cock; hopefully Xavier and his mysterious contacts, whoever they were, would have a name soon. Gigi deserved respect. Tender care. And copious orgasms, damn it.

She could highly recommend a husband who provided all three. And listened to her point of view.

“Three black gowns, a white, a violet, and er…brown,” said Pippa reluctantly. “But not light brown, dark brown like chocolate. I have a fondness for the color.”

“Very good, my lady. It is no trouble to return should you discover that six gowns are grossly inadequate for your needs.”

She pursed her lips. Shopping pained at her at the best of times, but spending money on mourning and half-mourning gowns for Finn’s father grated her last nerve. The only benefit to all this nonsense was that she had a watertight excuse to decline party invitations and host no balls. If she could stretch it to midsummer, the ton would be retiring to their country estates, in which case she wouldn’t have to entertain at all.

Perfect.

Pippa glanced over at her mother-in-law as she stepped down from the stool. “Do you need any further gowns, Evangeline? I’m quite satisfied with six.”

The older woman sighed. “I think I have sufficient gowns until summer at least.”

The modiste looked utterly woebegone, but rallied herself, curtsied, and departed the chamber after promising to deliver the first black gowns in the morning.

Grateful her brief submission to society norms was over, Pippa slumped into the chair beside Evangeline. “How are you feeling after that?”

“I’m not sure,” said her mother-in-law. “The year is stretching ahead of me like an abyss. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself except wear black, which really won’t do anything to improve my mood.”

Pippa nodded and poured them both a cup of tea from the tray. “Black gowns, black gloves, black bonnets with black veils, black jewelry…precisely nothing to make you feel better. Fortunately, there is cake. Really, we should have flouted convention and ordered an entire shop’s worth of cakes, pastries, and tarts. I think we are going to need a lot of fortification in the days to come.”

“Indeed,” said Evangeline morosely, as she sipped her tea. “That was lovely before, though, you saying you are fond of dark brown.”

“Why?”

“Finlay’s eyes are dark brown.”

Pippa’s brow furrowed. No. That sounded far too sentimental, and she wasn’t a sentimental person. She liked many things that were dark brown. A cup of chocolate. Rich beef stew. The leather of her kidskin half-boots. She certainly had not just ordered a gown because the color reminded her of her husband’s eyes. Had she?

Finn’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins. Then there are those ridiculously long lashes which I would sell Grandmother for. Even his thick eyebrows have a certain charm, especially when he raises one. Or quirks it. Forget the language of flowers, people should talk about the language of Finn’s eyebrows…

Good grief. Waxing lyrical over eyebrows. She’d obviously had too much tea and needed to open a brandy bottle.

“So they are,” she said eventually. “Just like his father.”

Evangeline finished her tea. “Do you know, I think I fell in love with those eyes before I even knew Pinehurst’s name.”

“Really?” said Pippa, genuinely curious to know what this woman had seen in the late marquess, about the opposite of a romance hero. “Do tell.”

“I was the greenest of green girls. Pinehurst attended one of my mother’s soirees, and she introduced us. I was smitten, he said she’ll do. Ha. The highest of compliments from him. I was so excited to land a marquess that I didn’t sleep a wink that night; the following morning he signed the contracts with my father. Pinehurst then bowed over my hand and informed me that we would be married in the parlor by special license a week hence. It’s strange, but I remember the ceremony as though it were yesterday; not over twenty-five years ago. What do you think?”

I think that is the saddest tale I’ve ever heard.

“Er…I can picture it exactly,” said Pippa. “That is interesting, you and his lordship wedding by special license then Finn and I doing the same all these years later.”

Evangeline sat forward and took her hand. “I know it was unexpected, but I’ll be forever grateful you agreed to that. My husband was as well, even if he couldn’t say so, being too ill. Seeing his heir properly married…that was always his fondest wish. And a wife from the Nash family, well I doubt Finlay could have chosen anyone more suitable. Pinehurst felt extremely strongly about lineage.”

“He did indeed.”

“Now Finlay’s most important task is securing the title with an heir of his own. I cannot wait to be a grandmother; it’s the only thing keeping me from sinking into melancholia. You two will make the most adorable babies, that, I am sure.”