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Pippa nodded. “I’m quite aware what I am sacrificing, Mr. Bell. Will you run it?”
Glee lit in his eyes. “With all pleasure.”
Pippa turned and walked away, a lump forming in her throat. Christopher might see the article and just toss it in the fire, but she dearly hoped he would forgive her. She hoped in showing him that she was willing to step from behind the anonymity of Lady W, that she too was willing to sacrifice and that she was not a coward. He’d accused her of hating scandal and gossip but had happily aired his laundry for the public consumption. Guilt ravaged her though she had not been the one to make the decision to publish the dreadful post. And pain destroyed her heart that this chasm still lingered between them.
Christopher had departed London five days ago for his estate in Derbyshire. He poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into the large, comfortable wingback chair, and for the hundredth time wondered what the hell was he doing there. He’d left London as if dogs had chased him, traveled for two days, not sleeping or eating, wanting air to breathe and to think. His townhouse was perfumed with Pippa’s scent, and the memories of their time there had already started eating through his soul, so he’d fled.
I simply forgot. You do not trust me either.
Softly spoken refrains which had been haunting him.
Could the explanation indeed be that simple? And was he too undeserving of her trust to so readily believe the worst of her? He heaved a frustrated sigh and raked a hand through his hair. Everything had been too chaotic, and he had not been able to speak with her mother. Their marriage would start on a rocky foundation, and if he wanted the forever type of love he dreamed with her, they would have to work on trusting each other more.
It still gutted him when he recalled she had not answered him. Did she honestly believe he was as unprincipled as her father and that bastard Nigel? How could they even go ahead with a marriage with such uncertainty between them? Questions he wondered at every day and night, haunting the halls of the mansion like a damn specter because he had been unable to sleep.
Christopher pushed to his feet and strolled to the windows overlooking the vast lawns of his estate. They would have to find a way to press forward. He had taken her virtue, debauched her thoroughly several times, forgetting to protect her against pregnancy. And had walked away from her despite the pain and confusion he’d seen in her eyes.
It left a bitter flavor in his mouth, and he couldn't help thinking he had let her down as well, broken the tentative trust she’d placed in him by walking away. He would marry her, and nothing could dissuade him from that promise. He hoped they would be able to mend the hurt of their thoughtless words and actions, and not allow it to fester in their heart and marriage. The last thing he wanted was a cold union devoid of mutual trust and respect like many he witnessed within the haut monde.
He had been a damn fool in racing from London as if he fled from demons.
A knock sounded, and he glanced around as Selina sailed inside, a forced bright smile on her face.
“Darling, this is where you had run off to! Licking your wounds in private? How droll?” her eyes laughed at him, but he could see the concern.
“I’ve been here only a few days, Selina. What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“To be honest, Percy and I headed this way, and well, my instincts urged me to stop here before we headed down to our estate. I daresay it is a good thing I did!”
Conveniently explained, but no doubt she suspected he would come here and decided to be her usual meddlesome self. She sat in a high wing-back chair and contemplated him. He turned his back to her, pensively staring out the window. She had intruded upon his privacy, and he was not in the mood to pretend polite chit-chat was now acceptable.
“It has always seemed to me you were forever the duke. So rigid and proper even before you walked on the wild side with that gypsy girl,” she said softly. "Have I ever told you I was glad you fell in love with her?" There was a long pause then she continued, "Truly I did. Afterward, you became so very reserved and cold with your passions. I always sensed another layer to your character, but you’ve kept it hidden until these past weeks. I credit the shift in your reaction to Miss Cavanaugh, and I suspect you have fallen in love with her. I am not sure what happened. Did she cry off because of the article?"
"No," he said, and would not offer any more explanation for Selina would tell Amelia, who would tell their mother and after that, he could not account for how this conversation would leak.
“But you do love her?”
“Desperately,” he said with frankness. And I am a damn fool. He shouldn’t have buried his head in the sand here, working out his damn feelings by himself. Trust started with communication, and from the beginning, he should have allowed his anger to cool and returned to her immediately. Instead, he had been holed up in Derbyshire for almost a damn week.
“Good. I’m not sure if you’ve seen this?”
A crinkle of paper had him turning around. "Not another damn scandal sheet," he all but snarled.
“This one I think you’ll want to see,” she said with amusement.
He strolled over to her and took the paper.
Dear Duke of C and the public,
This author passionately declares that the Duke of C is no cad, or libertine, or an unlovable cretin. This author knows this…because I am irrevocably in love with him and know the kind, wonderful, and steadfast heart of his character. He is a man to be admired and emulated, and he has my dearest love.
Duke of C…I am sorry, and I hope you will forgive me. I wrote that letter when I thought you were a libertine. How wrong every placed word was and I am not ashamed to confess my change of heart. Since I've met you, I have known love…joy…happiness and hope for a different future. I love you, I trust you, and if your sentiments remain the same, meet me at the south-east corner of the Serpentine River in Hyde Park at noon this Sunday. I will be in a bright yellow gown and hat.
P.S.: I will not hide my declaration and apology behind a pseudonym.
Yours forever.
Miss Pippa Cavanaugh writing as Lady W.
