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Chapter 1
London, 1839
The haut monde of London no longer whispered whenever Miss Phillipa Beatrice Cavanaugh—Pippa to friends and family— made one of her rare appearances in society. Tonight, at Lady Peregrine’s midnight ball, the hushed words repeating her family’s history no longer rode the air, cutting against her skin, and burrowing into her heart. Their eyes however still gleamed with speculation, judgment, and perhaps pity. As it stood only a few lords and ladies of society made overtures to welcome Pippa and her mamma, Lady Lavinia Cavanaugh, within their elevated circles despite her being the daughter of a Baron, Lord Rupert Cavanaugh.
Correction…the daughter of a disgraceful runaway Baron.
Pippa’s scandal was not the typical one that haunted most society families—the reckless racing, gambling debts, a deliberate compromising, or an elopement to Gretna Green. Pippa, at only two and twenty, suffered from a tarnished reputation these last several years because of a selfish decision her father had made. The consequences had also reduced Pippa and her mother to genteel poverty. Her father’s modest estate in Hertfordshire hung in limbo and disrepair, for he’d abandoned them to live with the woman he loved in America. He had written to Pippa over the years, informing her of the two children he had with his wealthy American mistress, and while Pippa’s mother bitterly called them her husband’s little bastards, a part of Pippa yearned
to know her siblings.
Still, the dreadful scandal resulting from her father’s decision followed them like the foulest of airs. It was as if his inconsistency and dishonor would one day show in her blood. In the five years since her father left them, the pain and disgrace of it all had seen mamma insisting they seclude themselves in the heart of the country, ignoring all invitations to town, and the indulgence of the season. Despite their steward’s best effort to keep the estate solvent, they’d been informed the coffers were nigh on empty.
When her mother had wearily informed her it was time to marry, Pippa hadn’t rebelled, wanting to escape the shame and pain of her papa’s decision, and forge another path for herself. Perhaps there would be a new adventure within marriage, a happier life, a fresh beginning. Anything would undoubtedly be better than the tedium of country life, where she took long walks, attended church, and balls at the local assembly. The only bright spot was the romantic comedy she wrote, solely based on the life of the people in her idyllic village—Crandleforth.
In truth, the people of Crandleforth almost made their village feel like home. There, no one blamed them for her father’s dishonor, and they were treated as faithful friends, family even. But Pippa still wanted to leave. Surely there was more to life than the everyday humdrum of Crandleforth and its citizens, even the pleasant ones.
Quite irritated with herself for remembering the sly, cruel murmurs that had rabidly whispered of her family’s misfortune, Pippa pinned a small smile on her lips and tapped her feet ever so slightly to the dazzling and invigorating music leaping to life from the orchestras’ bow. Tonight should be about the future, not wallowing in the past.
She’d been in town a week now, and the glitter and dazzle of the season had been beyond incredible. Tonight’s ball was hosted in a grand ballroom at the base of a wide gold railed staircase, which allowed the viewing of all the guests entering, who were dressed in the height of fashion displaying their wealth with their elegant and elaborate jeweled accessories. Several golden chandeliers descended from the ceiling covered in a mural depicting the sky with a multitude of hues aesthetically blended together. Footmen moved through the crush bearing endless refreshments, there was laughter, chittering, and dancing. Merriment all about. This was indeed a welcomed change from the dull, yet peaceful, Crandleforth.
“Oh Pippa, I am distressed no one has asked you to dance,” a hushed voice whispered to her left. “You are one of the prettiest girls here tonight! I’ve had six dances, and my feet are begging for relief, and you've had no requests. Why I truly cannot credit.”
Lady Miranda, a dear childhood friend, stepped to her side and looped her hand through Pippa’s. Her friend did not mean it unkindly, it was a simple observation. And Pippa expected Miranda’s dance card to always be filled. She was slender and graceful with her golden hair piled high in a riot of fashionable curls, quite beautiful, and much coveted by the young bucks. She’d already received three offers this season. All had been rejected for the family had higher hopes for their daughter.
“I do not mind. I see no one worth the honor.” And Pippa was anticipating a very particular gentleman making a sort of declaration tonight. That was why she had been so keen on attending, despite her dismal reception at another ball three days ago, and a musicale only yesterday.
Vibrant green eyes peered down at Pippa’s much shorter frame.
“Oh, I do feel so wretched, Pippa, to be having so much fun when you are only observing.”
“I take joy in watching the dances, you know I have two left feet. I am sure to stomp on toes,” she teased.
Miranda rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion, which if her mother the Countess Leighton had seen, would have incited vapors and sharp corrections. It was a wonder the countess who expected perfection from her daughter, allowed her such friendship with the imperfect Pippa. Though she knew it was because of the more than decade-long friendship between the countess and her mother. Several summers as a child, Pippa had traveled to the countess's country home in Lincolnshire, and it was there the treasured friendship had grown with Miranda. Pippa was happy the countess hadn’t turned away from them when the scandal had broke. She had remained mamma’s true and dearest friend.
Miranda squeezed her arm. “There is a buzz about the room that the Duke of Carlyle would be in attendance tonight, and that is quite a coup for Lady Peregrine. But I've yet to see him, and oh I do so want to!"
“Miranda do behave! And what shall you do if you see the duke?”
Pippa’s friend smiled mischievously, tucking a ringlet of hair behind her ear. “Why flirt shamelessly with him, of course. I've met him previously, and I declare we would be a perfect fit! He is so dashing and handsome! Mamma would be quite pleased with me if I snagged his attention. Imagine me, a duchess! How lovely it would be.”
Pippa had a particular weakness for scandal sheets, and those pages spent an inordinate amount of time on the wickedly handsome but very boring Christopher Worth, the Duke of Carlyle. A man Miranda seemed determined to set her cap at, and the only thing that seemed to recommend him to the position was his title.
Pippa wondered if she should caution her friend to be circumspect in her admiration for a man the scandal sheet lamented might never marry. It seemed he could not find a lady as tedious, exacting, and proper as himself. The tattle sheets had never reported anything remotely scandalous on the man, yet they seemed compelled to mention his very private activities weekly. Why, only last week they spoke of his visit to a circulating library. Pippa was still uncertain as to why that was newsworthy, though she guiltily admitted she had devoured the article.
Miranda craned her elegant neck, peering at someone in the crowded ballroom. “I see Lady Shelly. I must confer with her. Would you like to accompany me?”
“I dare not,” Pippa said. “I am a trifle overheated and may slip onto the terrace.”
Miranda nodded and made her way through the crowd, heading toward the bobbing purple turban by the refreshment table. With a sigh, Pippa glanced around, searching for the particular gentleman she had attended solely for tonight—Mr. Nigel James Williamsfield. Tonight all would be well, and everyone would see that she and her mother had recovered quite nicely from the disaster—the name the polite world, the newspapers, and scandal sheets had dubbed the pain that had torn through their family with such terrible, rending teeth.
Tonight, Nigel would declare for her in front of the polite world, and he would do this by just asking for Pippa’s hand in a dance. How utterly simple but so complicated. Across the crowded ballroom, she met the eyes of her mother who winked and lifted her chin toward the upper levels. Pippa gasped when she spied him descending the wide staircase to the ball floor, and she had to prevent herself from pushing through the crowd to go to him. He had taken so long to reach the ball she’d doubted he would attend. Pippa laughed softly and suppressed the urge to twirl with the dizzying excitement rushing through her veins.
It was not that she sought the approval of the ton, but there was a deep part of her heart that wished for everyone to see that she was indeed acceptable. That the scandal did not mean that she was tainted, unlovable, or unmarriable as they had whispered for months. No gentleman required dances of her, asked her to stroll in the park or to accompany them on carriage rides. No bouquets of roses and lilies filled the hallways and parlors for her the morning after a ball. Now, a single dance with Nigel would show everyone that she was indeed marriageable and acceptable to his esteemed family despite the past scandal.
She had met him a few months past, and he had become her dearest friend for several weeks while they had taken long walks in the countryside in Crandleforth. How amiable and accepting he had been, and unflinching in his courtship when he had learned of her impoverished circumstances, and less than ideal reputation.
Her mother who had despaired of her ever securing a match had started to hope. And if Pippa were to be honest, she hadn’t believed marriage a possibility for her though she had
hungered for a family of her own. A husband to love, and children with whom she could share the many stories she had crafted over the years for her entertainment.
Her gaze collided with Nigel, and she couldn’t help smiling widely. It had been over four weeks since they had last communicated, and Pippa had despaired that she should ever travel to London and had told him so in a letter. He’d replied, professing his love and how much he would miss her, and had lamented how droll the balls were without her presence. How thrilled he would be to see that she had managed to travel to town. They’d let their townhouse in Mayfair for the last three years to a merchant family to Mamma’s embarrassment. Mamma had prevailed upon her dear friend Lady Leighton, and they currently stayed with the countess at her townhouse in Russell Square.
Her smile faltered when Nigel stared through her before glancing away. An awful sensation lodged itself in the vicinity of her heart. Surely, she was mistaken as to think he would ignore her presence. Though they hadn’t spoken about it, Pippa had not been led to believe he would ignore her in a public setting.
Lifting her chin, she determined to be patient and not hasten to a conclusion. However, several minutes passed, and that heavy sensation pressing against her chest had spread to encompass her entire body. Her mother appeared stricken as Nigel passed her without acknowledging her even once. He made the rounds, and it was easy to see he was quite a popular gentleman.
It seemed so inconceivable she had been mistaken in his affection and attention. He had declared himself to her several times, and he had made it known to her mother he intended to court her. In fact, her mamma had been despondent in spirits for the last several months, and it had been Nigel’s presence in their lives which had seen her rallying.
Pippa plucked a glass of champagne from a passing footman and took several indelicate sips. Oh! Relief swept through her when she espied him coming her way with his mother, Viscountess Perth. Feeling sorry she had ever doubted him, Pippa lifted her gaze to his and awaited his approach without displaying they had knowledge of each other. A soft gasp escaped her when he passed by so closely, she could have brushed the lapel of his dark evening jacket. He stopped only a few paces from her, bowed to the elegantly charming Miss Elinor Darwhimple, and requested her hand in a dance.
Pippa wanted to die from the humiliation and pain crawling through her but perversely refused to run away. Several minutes passed while she stood on the sidelines, watching her mother attempting the same feat—trying to be brave amidst a sea of confusion and dashed hopes. Pippa startled when a footman approached her and discreetly slipped her a note.
She strolled toward a column and peeked at the note.
Meet me in the conservatory. And there it was, the drawing of a rose as Nigel’s signature, same as in all the letters he had ever sent her. Fury pounded through her veins, the sudden rush burning away all pain and shame she had felt. How dare he!
She scanned the room to see him watching her. With deliberate slowness, she tore the note into small pieces. He glanced away, bowing to the three ladies who approached him. Crumpling the little bits of papers in her hand, hating that her throat burned with unshed tears, she pushed through the crowd needing to escape for a breath of fresh air. Yet she did not hasten to the wide-open terraced doors leading out into the gardens. Instead, she made her way from the ballroom and down the surprisingly empty hallway. Pippa and Miranda had accompanied the countess on a call to Lady Peregrine for tea a couple of weeks ago, so Pippa tried to recall which door had led to the library.
