Page 85 of The Best Marquess

“Well, boy?” the baron snapped. “Have you taken your wife in hand after that shocking display in the dining room? No good comes from permitting a saucy tongue. No good at all.”

Pippa fluttered her lashes at Finn. “My lord husband?”

He turned and studied Lord Campbell as one might a fresh pile of manure. “I am not a boy, my lord. I am Marquess of Pinehurst. I have asked you to leave this house previously when you displayed poor manners, but today you think to give me or my wife instructions? No. Not now, not ever. We did ask Lady Kingsford about your purpose here, but she struggled to articulate it. Perhaps you will do better.”

Pippa almost laughed; the cheeks of both visitors had gone scarlet, and it was a marvelous thing. Although not quite as marvelous as having a husband who stood at her side and fired across the bow at will. Indeed, on the good ship Pinehurst, the captain and first mate role could switch at any given moment. After regaining control, she murmured, “Lord Campbell?”

The baron lifted his chin. “Your husband was tasked with identifying the scum responsible for a business by the name of Bliss. The nature of said business is far too immoral for the delicate ears of ladies; suffice to say they must be forced from the city. Lady Kingsford accompanied me here today, for she supported the late Lord Pinehurst in his great endeavor and wishes to assist me in continuing it.”

“There is enough sin in London as it is,” said the dowager. “And I believe young, high-ranking members of the aristocracy are involved in this Bliss.”

Pippa froze at the barely veiled insinuation, but managed to send her a sour look. “What did I say before about your opinion? Unwanted.”

Her grandmother’s shoulders drooped. “Your tone is unbecoming.”

“How unfortunate.”

“I was tasked,” said Finn irritably, “as you so charmingly put it, with this yesterday. Exactly what did you think would be achieved in the space of twenty-four hours?”

“What? There is no time to waste!” said Lord Campbell, a fervent, almost unholy glow in his eyes. “Indulge me with your plan. Are you making enquiries? Have you met with any of the ladies who received lewd material? Perhaps sent some men to the post office to discover who collects the mail then follow them to their place of business?”

Pippa gritted her teeth. How Lady Campbell, who seemed like a warm and delightful woman, had survived being married to this toad, she would never understand. No wonder Finn had sent the baroness a romance novel. Perhaps she should start her own salon here at Pinehurst House and invite such ladies to read and discuss their favorites. “As my husband said, the matter will be treated with all appropriate care and diligence. Was there anything else?”

Lady Kingsford shark-smiled. “I must enquire after your wellbeing, Pippa dear. Has the Golden Square matter…or should I say matters…been resolved? You were so distraught.”

Oh. One last stand from the defeated. But before Pippa could rip her to shreds, the baron frowned and said, “Golden Square? Nothing but artistic types. Damned ungodly area, trying to be respectable and failing.”

“Precisely,” said the dowager. “Lord Pinehurst keeps a house there for two special residents. An unwed woman and a young child.”

“Housing bastards? Never you say!”

Pippa exchanged a murderous glance with Finn. After hearing the evidence, no court in the land would convict her of dowagercide. “Surely you aren’t referring to Mrs. Overton, the late Lord Pinehurst’s goddaughter? I have met her, and her child, on several occasions. Charming woman. To claim anything else is slander, the kind that gets a person publicly banished to a one roomed cottage on the Scottish border. No soirees. No salons. No diamonds. A complete pariah. Forever.”

Her grandmother went ashen and took a step back. “I see.”

“It’s time to end this visit,” said Finn. “Alas, I’ve just recalled an urgent appointment that my wife and I must attend. Good day, Lady Kingsford. Lord Campbell.”

Given no other choice, their two elderly guests both inclined their heads the barest inch before sweeping from the room.

Pippa gripped Finn’s hand, if only to stop herself running after them and hurling porcelain figurines. “I won’t see her again. Ever. Only Grandmother would have the gall to call me Pippa dear then try and hurt me once more. She is the villain that must be shot between the eyes, Finn. Not the chest or the shoulder or the stomach, directly between the eyes. And the only bullet is the removal of her power. If she so much as sniffs in my direction, I will strap her to the roof of the Pinehurst carriage and escort her north myself.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll even include a year’s supply of porridge,” said Finn, stroking her hand until her heartbeat slowed. “Do you know, in my more fanciful moments, I wonder if we were brought together so we’d each have someone to stand with against my father and your grandmother.”

“Blessed be, Gunter’s Ices,” she said, smiling reluctantly.

“After that, we deserve the largest brown bread ice ever made. But first we must hire more footmen for Golden Square; I’m not comfortable with Campbell knowing where my sister lives. I’ll go to the same employment agency as last time; let’s just say they offer staff with uncommon and particular skills.”

Pippa nodded. “To the carriage!”

She didn’t trust her grandmother. Finn didn’t trust Lord Campbell.

With those two combined, an overabundance of caution was more than wise, it was a necessity.

The Gordon Agency was located on Charlotte Street, a nondescript two-story townhouse made of red brick with a collection of potted plants on the second-floor balcony. But inside was a hive of activity; men and women bustling about as they learned how to be first class maids, footmen, valets…and bodyguards.

Finn and Pippa were swiftly ushered to the comfortable first-floor office where Octavia Gordon, the middle-aged and endlessly calm proprietor, completed interviews and took care of paperwork. She had been the housekeeper for two prominent families, and after turning down a rather staggering sum to oversee a third, had opened her own business. Her husband Nicholas was a former prize fighter, so they tolerated no nonsense whatsoever. He liked them both immensely.

“Ah,” said the ebony-haired, creamy-skinned Octavia, bobbing a curtsy before returning to sit behind her large oak desk. “Lord Knighton…no, do excuse me. Lord Pinehurst. Such a lovely surprise, but first do allow me to offer my condolences on the recent death in the family. That has changed life for you quite considerably.”