Page 39 of The Best Marquess

Terror and anger churned his gut, but Finn managed to glare at the man. “As you well know, my father decides who is and isn’t summoned, sir. And if anyone again bars Lady Pinehurst from her husband’s chamber, their services will no longer be required by this family. Is that understood?”

A chorus of assent sounded, and the nausea became so bad, he coughed against his fist. There was a reason they were all being so polite. So deferential. None of them believed his father would recover. They were changing their allegiance as the clock ticked, hoping to gain favor with the man who would be the next Marquess of Pinehurst.

Fucking vultures.

“Would you like to discuss the next course of treatment, my lord?” asked the physician tentatively.

“Just one moment,” Finn replied. “I shall return with Lady Pinehurst.”

He walked to the door then near-sprinted for his own room, barely making it to the chamber pot before falling to his knees and purging his insides in three violent retches.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

This could not be fucking happening.

His wretched, awful father could not be dying.

Limbs shaking, perspiration trickling from his temples, Finn somehow hauled himself to his feet and splashed his face with cool water from the basin. Then he stumbled to his desk and poured a brandy to get the awful taste from his mouth.

Pull yourself together, man. Your mother needs you. Besides, the spiteful old weasel could still prove them all wrong…please God, let him prove them all wrong…I don’t want to be marquess. I’m not ready to be marquess…oh Pippa, I need you…

Finn smoothed his hair and clothing. By sheer luck, he’d managed to keep it clean. Then he took several deep breaths, before sauntering to his mother’s chamber as though all was well. As though he would be Lord Knighton for some time to come.

If he wished hard enough, perhaps it could be true.

She couldn’t take much more of her family.

Pippa rested her forehead against the bedchamber window, welcoming the cool press of the glass. Grandmother swayed between frigid silence and biting comments about everything from the way she walked to the shape of her hair pins. Father appeared only for meals, spending the rest of the time barricaded in his library to avoid all the unpleasantness. Georgiana was moping because her gentleman had reacted coolly to her informing him that they couldn’t indulge in one of their illicit, pleasure-for-him meetings for a while. And, as per usual, Xavier had disappeared for destinations unknown. Although, with the current tensions in the household, she couldn’t really blame him.

Packing a satchel and leaving London on the next stagecoach to anywhere sounded like an excellent idea. Especially as Finn had forgotten to escort her to the Bliss premises as his note had promised. He knew how much she wanted to go there and examine the toys and accessories. How could he dangle such a treat and then snatch it away?

Pippa scowled and slumped back onto her window seat. In the past, every single time she’d been sad or angry or frustrated beyond measure, Finn had been her source of comfort. More recently he’d been her source of pleasure; the only real-life respite from the theatrics and other related nonsense at Kingsford House. And now she had plummeted back to earth with a resounding crash, for it seemed Pippa Pearl wasn’t permitted respite.

A harsh knock at the door made her yelp. Seconds later, Xavier burst in looking more haphazard than usual, his claret-colored jacket rumpled, the lace at the cuffs of his linen shirt torn and dirt-stained, and his knuckles scratched and dotted with blood.

“Good. You’re dressed,” he said abruptly. “Brush your hair and pinch your cheeks or whatever it is you do to get ready.”

She stared at him in shocked confusion. “Have you been in a fight?”

“Never mind about that. You need to go to Knighton. Now.”

Pippa straightened her shoulders as irritation flared. She was finished with this family and their damned secrets. Finished. “I do not. And if you were in this house longer than five bloody minutes at a time, you’d know why.”

“Counter argument: if you looked out the window across the square rather than this one, you would see the large collection of carriages outside the Pinehurst townhouse.”

Fright jolted her up onto her feet. “Finn isn’t…he isn’t hurt?”

Xavier patted her shoulder, his gaze softening. “A reliable source informs me that Lord Pinehurst is dying. I have no doubt that poor Knighton is being bombarded from all sides and desperately needs someone who cares about him, not what he is about to inherit.”

“Oh no,” Pippa whispered, horrified. “Finn…”

“Run.”

After giving her twin a quick, hard hug for informing her of such news when no one else had bothered, Pippa stumbled over to her dressing table. First, she dragged the hairbrush through her hair and coiled it into a simple knot, secured with ribbon and several pins. Thankfully Ruby had convinced her to get dressed earlier, so she wore a practical primrose yellow-striped calico gown, the color chosen to try and improve her mood. Then she pulled on woolen stockings, kidskin half-boots, and her bonnet, snatched up her reticule, and ran to the door.

The sound of her heels thumping on the stairs was jarringly loud, and Pippa clung to the banister so she didn’t tumble headfirst to the bottom. Bloody damned stairs. A true heroine would have flung some knotted sheets out the window and slid to the ground.

“Pippa! What on earth are you doing?”