Page 71 of The Best Marquess

“I believe I will. Now, Finlay, please do not take offense, but I have a delicate matter to raise. When are you and Pippa going to take your proper place in the marquess and marchioness’s bedchambers? The two of you sleeping where you are is causing talk. I should be in that chamber. Or even a dower house.”

Finn drummed his fingers on the pianoforte lid. Then glanced out the window at the nearly-black sky. Anything to avoid answering a very reasonable question. Applying for the writ of summons had been one of the final steps in his inheritance; but moving into the marquess’s bedchamber was the last. If he did that, there was no closing the door and pretending he remained the heir. Not to mention that Pippa would have her own bed, rather than circumstances insisting they shared.

Shit.

He didn’t want to leave his bedchamber, a space that was, and always had been, his. But his mother was correct. Continuing to sleep there now he’d inherited would be gossiped about.

He had to take the final step.

Finn straightened his shoulders. “Funny you should mention it, but I intend to begin moving tomorrow. I will purchase a new mattress, though. And replace the furnishings and curtains.”

She looked a touch baffled. “Finlay, you are the marquess. It is your choice entirely how you wish to decorate the chamber, just as it will be Pippa’s choice how she decorates hers. You both must be comfortable; those rooms shall be your sanctuary for a long time. But do ask if you need any assistance.”

After she left the music room, Finn muttered a curse. But he had a task to complete; informing Pippa of their new lodging arrangements.

Others might call this a new beginning. But quite frankly, all his weary, uncertain heart could see right now was the beginning of the end.

Finn had finally deigned to return home after spending most of the day with his mistress.

Pippa stood in front of the bedchamber fireplace, but she still couldn’t get warm. A part of her wondered if she would ever be warm again. It really did add insult to injury that she didn’t have a room in this damned house where she could flee to be alone; it was difficult to think through this kind of hurt and jealousy when you were literally surrounded by the person in question’s belongings. When the air had a permanent hint of the shaving soap and herbal aftershave he used.

While she had soldiered on through many events in her life, had suppressed feelings of anger and frustration and grief in order to be strong for others, at this moment in time, she was as brittle as a tower of sugar. For someone who prided herself on being stoic and no-nonsense, the raw, volatile emotions that had clawed and slashed at her all day were utterly unnerving. They were so close to the surface; one light scrape and she would lose control and explode like a volcano. It was downright humiliating to think how happy she’d been, nearly skipping into Lilian’s parlor, how naïve and foolish to presume she knew everything about her best friend.

How did other women manage this? How did they swallow their despair at the lies and the frequent absences and the knowledge that their husband loved another? Bedded another? Had a child with another?

It seemed an impossible task. And yet ladies did it every single day.

But in her case, it seemed much worse that he’d said he loved her. That they’d shared a bed each night since their marriage, and she’d grown used to hearing the comforting thump of his heartbeat when resting her head on his chest. Grown used to the way he stroked her shoulder, absently, affectionately, like someone petting a cat while reading a book. In the past, she had mostly avoided hugs and other casual touch, because it always appeared so insincere. But she liked when Finn petted her, damn it. And he’d just done it, not made her beg.

All the while he’d had a mistress. And a child.

Pippa folded her arms and tried to calm her breathing. It made her lightheaded, and she turned and staggered over to one of the armchairs instead. No need to add further theatrics to this horrid day by ending up in a heap on the floor and having to be revived by hartshorn.

“Still in here, Lady P?”

Coughing to muffle a groan, Pippa glanced across to the chamber doorway. Ruby had just walked in carrying her new black mourning gown, after taking it away to mend a torn hem and press it.

“Yes. I’m pondering staying in here until summer begins because I loathe being cold so much.”

“Would you like some tea or chocolate to warm you up? Perhaps some toasted bread and marmalade to tide you over until supper? I think you might need extra sustenance.”

Pippa’s stomach began to churn. “Why?”

Her maid hesitated. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to eat first?”

“No!” Pippa practically shrieked.

“Lord P is going to move into the marquess’s bedchamber. All the upstairs servants are scurrying about, taking unwanted furniture up to the attic, and dusting and polishing the room. Tomorrow, several footmen will go to Cheapside to purchase a new mattress and comfortable chairs, but his lordship will take the desk from in here because he likes it.”

Pippa stared at her hands, torn between cheering and sobbing. She desperately needed some distance between them until these unruly emotions could be wrangled back into a box, but separate bedchambers were so…permanent. Not to mention, Finn supposedly hated that room. “And, ah…what about me? Am I to stay or go? I mean obviously it doesn’t bother me at all, but I would like to know the plan in advance. You know how much I hate surprises.”

“This is not direct from Lord P,” said Ruby, “so it could be wrong, but from what I can gather, the dowager is moving in here and you are going to her bedchamber, the proper place for the current marchioness. Now you just sit tight and I’ll get you some tea and toast.”

Flopping back in the chair, Pippa covered her face with her arms.

No wonder all the romance novels she read never featured aristocratic English couples; there was nothing romantic or lusty about husbands having mistresses and illegitimate children. Or sleeping alone in separate bedchambers and only finding out the household goings on because you had a loyal maid able to coax information out of others.

Why was marriage so bloody hard?