“Sorry, sorry,” Bridget muttered. “Supper did not go as planned. Lady Henrietta is offended, but Lord Barwick is still interested. It may still be salvaged.”
Pippa nodded faintly, chewing her lip. “Mama, do you think it’s possible to fall in love at first sight?”
Bridget shot her a sharp look. “Love at first sight?”
She cleared her throat. “Notlove, exactly, I know that love takes time to build up. I mean, I suppose,interest. Not just finding someone handsome but finding them appealing in other ways. Their conversation, their interests, that sort of thing. Feeling as if you just fittogether.”
She risked a glance at her mother and found that Bridget was smiling faintly.
“Yes,” she said at last, sighing. “It is possible. When I met your papa for the first time, it felt as though all of the air had fled from the room. It was thrilling. He’d be glad to know that you feel that, too. And Lord Barwick issuchan eligible match. I’m glad you like him, darling.”
Pippa cleared her throat. “I wasn’t talking of Lord Barwick, Mama. I meant Lord Whitmore.”
Bridget stopped dead. Her hand, resting on Pippa’s forearm, suddenly tightened.
“Lord Whitmore is not being presented to you as a suitor,” she hissed, glaring into her daughter’s eyes.
A few other guests walked past them, heading to the drawing room, and shot curious glances their way.
“Why not?” Pippa whispered back. “Is he betrothed elsewhere? Is he a confirmed bachelor?”
“No, nothing like that. But Pippa, you need to marry well. The Whitmores are hardly an old family, and while they do have money, money is only one element of what is needed for us to retake our place in Society. You need a title, my girl, and the only way to get that is to marry a man with one.”
“Lord Whitmore has a title,” Pippa said, bewildered. “He’s a lord.”
“He’s a viscount. And I told you that you need at least a marquess,” Bridget sighed angrily, shaking her head. “I should have kept a closer eye on you. I do not give my permission for this nonsense with Lord Whitmore, as he is not suitable for you. You’ll court Lord Barwick, or somebody better, if you can find them.”
“You can’t stop me from talking to Lord Whitmore.”
Pippa wasn’t sure where the words had come from but immediately regretted them. Bridget’s head shot up, eyes narrowing.
“Why would Lord Whitmore want to marry a girl from a disgraced, fallen family, with no money and nothing but her mother’s maiden name to recommend her?” she enquired, voice icy. “Don’t be a fool. If Lord Whitmore has any sense – and he’s said to be a very clever man – he will marry a woman with better breeding than himself, or at the very least a large dowry. You, my girl, have neither.”
“But what if he falls in love with me?”
Bridget gave an exasperated sigh. “Pippa, you poor foolish girl, love is not something these people think about. You think that because I threw away everything for your father, many others do the same. It is a rarity. Love is something talked about a great deal in Society, but it is not factored into practical decisions. And here is another practical matter for you to consider. What will we do when your cousins’ charity runs out?”
Pippa flinched backwards. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that, at the moment, they are very much enjoying playing the benevolent relative. But suppose you or I offend them in some way, or they get tired of hosting us? It can get expensive, having another pair of mouths to feed. When that occurs, mark my words, we shall both find ourselves turned out with no place to take refuge. No, our only hope is for you to marry and marry well. And that will not be achieved by dancing around Lord Whitmore. Heavens, the man probably only felt sorry for you, on account of you acting like a gawping country girl!”
Every word seemed to hit Pippa like a slap in the face. She wilted more and more, until by the end of her mother’s speech tears began to prick her eyes.
Am I a fool?
“Come, do not contort your visage like a petulant child,” Bridget chided. “We ought to proceed to the drawing room with the others. They shall surely wonder at our delay.”
Chapter Eight
“Oh, hard luck, friend!”
Somehow, Nathan didn’t think that Lord Owen Barwick reallydidcare that he’d missed his shot.
Sighing, Nathan straightened, and let the next player take their turn at the billiards table.
He was a little disappointed at having to play out the game. Some of the other gentlemen had already joined the ladies in the drawing room, but Timothy had been so insistent that Nathan play with them, at least for a little while.
The conversation he’d had with Miss Randall kept going through Nathan’s head. What he’d said, whatshe’dsaid, the way she laughed, the way she looked at him… he swallowed thickly.
