Page 22 of The Best Marquess

More like perfect for starting a fire. The gown was itchy, confining, and had a high neckline that seemed to choke her with each intake of breath. She hated it more than any gown ever made, perhaps even more than stays. “I shall keep that in mind.”

Grandmother sent her one of those famous icy glares. “You do understand exactly how special this occasion is, I trust?”

“All your soirees are special, are they not?”

“This one more so. There must be some happy news for Exton and Lilian; poor things are so devastated at having a daughter—”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Of course they are. It stands to reason that as a spinster you fail to understand the importance of the first child being a son. I succeeded with your father. Your mother had Lilian first, which was a dreadful shame, and dear me when you were born…but then came Xavier to secure the title, thankfully.”

Pippa stifled a smirk. That she had been born an entire quarter hour before her twin was a fact she would enjoy forever. Older and wiser, certainly. “Mmmm.”

“I’m not sure why they bothered with Georgiana, but your mother would insist on having her way, and she wished for four children…for heaven’s sake, stop tapping your chin. You’ll give yourself a dimple and Devonshire doesn’t want to see another imperfection alongside your spectacles. Do try and be less bluestocking, Pippa. Tonight shall be your triumph.”

She chewed her lip. Yes, it would be. Earlier, to ensure Lilian and Gabriel weren’t caught by surprise, she’d sent them a note outlining the plan. The only difficulty would be explaining her crying off in a few months’ time when she turned twenty-one, for they both liked Finn. Even pondering that day made her stomach curdle; her pretend betrothed appeared very invested in this deception.

Naturally, he is. You’ve handed over a large sum for his business. You are great friends. And if wrist kissing provokes a full-body jolt, imagine how it might feel to have his mouth somewhere intimate…

Startled at the unruly thought, Pippa almost gasped. But there was no time for that, not when she was about to face down an enemy determined to see her trapped with the Duke of Devonshire in a public courtship of dancing, supper, and familiar touches to the waist. That would be as good as a betrothal for the gossips, who would then expect a large, elaborate wedding at St. George’s in due course.

Really, she needed to stay away from the duke as long as possible. The sooner she and Finn could make their nice, calm, dignified announcement, the better. While she had joked about explosions and doves and a handstand on a horse, they were precisely the last things she wanted. Grand, theatrical displays made her supremely uncomfortable; thankfully Finn understood that.

“Indeed, a triumph over awful,” said Pippa.

Grandmother smiled, always a rather chilling event. “You know, although both you and Lilian will be duchesses, Devonshire is only the sixth duke of his line, while Exton is the fourteenth. I hope you won’t be too envious of her for that; I should hate to see any ill will between sisters. Do not fret, though, simply bear a son first and all will applaud you.”

She gritted her teeth. They were supposedly living in modern times, and yet…this horseshit, as Finn called it, continued.

“I’d best get ready, Grandmother.”

“Yes. You’ll look lovely in that white gown. Pure as a fresh snowfall. I’ll see you downstairs in the receiving line.”

As soon as the elderly woman departed, Ruby hurried over. “I take it there are no circumstances you would wear the white one?”

“You are correct.”

“Which color, then?” asked Ruby, her eyes twinkling.

Pippa smiled angelically. “Scarlet.”

“For God’s sake, sit still, Knighton. You’re making me seasick.”

Finn’s jaw clenched at his father’s sharp words, but he could hardly open the door of the luxurious town carriage and fling himself into Hanover Square to escape.

Pinehurst had rallied somewhat in the past few days, but even in perfectly tailored black evening wear, he looked pale and sunken eyed. Illness hadn’t stopped him accepting Lady Kingsford’s invitation though, for he greatly admired the dowager and often praised her. His one reluctant concession to frailty had been agreeing to take the carriage rather than walking across the square. Really, the man was exceedingly fortunate his heir did not covet the title. Others would have happily let him wander in the frigid night air. Shirtless.

“Now, my lord,” chided Evangeline with a brittle laugh. She might be sitting next to her husband, even look the portrait of a marchioness in an embroidered gold gown with the Pinehurst emeralds at her neck and threaded through her coiffure, but the gulf between them was wider than the English Channel. “Finlay is just excited to see Pippa.”

His father sat forward, a malicious glint in his bloodshot eyes. “I hear Devonshire is attending the soiree. What a coup for Lady Kingsford if not one but two of her granddaughters were duchesses. The dowager has done a fine job in correcting those girls; what with the late mother’s common blood and all. Don’t know what Kingsford was thinking, marrying the likes of her. Oh no, wait, I do. The fool thought himself in love. Now there’s a sentiment entirely unnecessary for marriage. Duty, that’s what is important.”

Finn’s hands nearly curled into fists, especially at his mother’s wince. Instead, he concentrated on drumming his fingers on his knee as though bored with the conversation rather than furious. “As you often say.”

“I say it because it’s true…” his father paused for a coughing fit. “Our family has a proud history. Knighton. Strong, brave warriors who never flinched in offering service to the crown, even when the crown was regrettably worn by a woman. But here you are, wasting your time housing bastards and bedding other men’s wives—”

“Pinehurst, please,” said Evangeline, her cheeks bright red.

“Do not interrupt, madam. You birthed one child when my peers were presented with a half-dozen at least. You’re as much a failure as your son is.”