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“Please, mama, Theo meant well, and the marquess was very kind and considerate of me. If not for him, I might have died trying to navigate my way back to Hartford Hall alone. Most of the pathways were impassable with flooding.” She cleared her throat. “And he did try to act with honor. He is not a scoundrel.”
Her mother’s shoulders had stiffened with Pippa’s defense.
“What do you mean he tried to act with honor?”
“Lord Trent tried conventionally to insist that we must marry and that his honor insisted on it.”
Shock widened her mother’s gaze. “Lord Trent offered tomarryyou?”
“Yes. I rejected him of course,” Pippa said, rushing to explain further. “Mama, please do not berate me. He does not love me nor did he speak of any tender affections. How could I marry him when marriage if for a lifetime?”
She made no mention of the times she’d muttered a list of opprobrium to herself denigrating William. Most of which would have horrified her mother that she knew such words and the least awful was that he was a beguiling, degenerate rake. Her anger had merged with the realization that, somehow, she had fallen in love with him and that those passionate hours they had spent together would be treasured by her heart for the rest of her life.
Now the only thing Pippa could do would be to act as if her heart was still whole.
“Are you and the marquess close enough where love might have even been a consideration in his offer?” her mother quietly asked.
That awful feeling clawed up inside of Pippa’s throat. “No, mama, there was not.”
Thankfully the carriage halted, ending their conversation. The steps were knocked down and a footman assisted them from the equipage. Pippa queued for the receiving line, smiling, and nodding at a few acquaintances. She would not see Harriet or Agatha at tonight’s ball since they had remained in Derbyshire to enjoy a longer stay at Hartford Hall and to keep Theo’s company.
Once inside the ballroom, Pippa stayed by her mother’s side. She saw a few ladies she had conversed with in her first season, but most were now married and accompanied by their husbands. Her mother made the rounds, and Pippa attended her, wishing she was at home curled up with a book or at 48 Berkeley Square.
“Lady Phillipa,” Lady Minerva said, coming up to her. “I’ve not seen you in an age. How have you been doing?”
Pippa smiled. Lady Minerva had always been amiable and good-natured toward her when they’d debuted together.
“I am belated with my congratulations,” Pippa said with a smile. “I heard that you have married Viscount Brewster. Congratulations.”
Minerva flushed and her hazel eyes glittered. Her fan uncurled and she moved it about with lazy sensuality. “I am indeed happy with the viscount. Are you aiming to make a match this season? I’ve not noticed you being taken to the dance floor since your arrival.”
She saw no spite in the viscountess’s eyes, yet a ripple of unease coursed over Pippa. She could feel her mother staring at her, and it might very well be her imagination, but Pippa felt as if the small circle of ladies gathered close by were attentively listening for her answer.
“I—”
“Oh, my, he is coming this way,” someone whispered on a titter of excitement.
“Hush now, do not be so obvious, Sarah!”
This drew Minerva’s attention, and she glanced around. “It’s Lord Trent!”
Pippa’s belly dipped and her mother’s gaze sharpened. Pippa tried her best to ignore the thrill of excitement and the agony of nerves going through her veins. What was William doing? He approached with their hostess, who appeared like a cat who stole a roomful of buttered cream. They stopped before her mother, and Lady Pinault made the appropriate introductions.
The marquess bowed charmingly before turning to her mother who tried to mask her astonishment. “Lady Beauford, how charming to make your acquaintance. Lady Phillipa, may I have the honor of the next dance?”
Beating back the mess of emotions stirring in her heart and aware of the curious eyes upon them, she said, “Yes, my lord.”
Pippa dipped into a curtsy, placed her gloved hand on his arm, and allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor. How she hated that nerves once more quaked through her, or that she missed how he smelled. Pippa wondered if he could tell at a glance that since she had last seen him, she had dreamed nightly of their time in the cottage and even scandalously touched herself to the memory.
A flush swept over her body, and she simply wanted to vanish. The bows of the orchestra leaped to life, and the exquisite music of the waltz filled the room. He swept her into his arms with grace and elegance, and Pippa clasped his shoulder and followed seamlessly. This was the second time she had danced with the marquess, but somehow it felt different, far more perilous and intimate. She searched his expression, wondering at his thoughts and intention, but he was carefully inscrutable.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze inside her chest.Is this how it will be between us…a polite bow and curtsy, a dance perhaps, and then mild pleasantries?A part of her wanted to tell William she would marry him even if he did not love her, even if it was for something as cold as honor, but her stubborn, reckless pride that wanted a beautiful love made her remain silent. Knowing she might come to regret it, Pippa allowed him to clutch her even scandalously closer, as they swirled to the waltz, the eyes of society upon them for the Marquess of Trent had never danced with the same lady twice in one season.
Of course, she knew it was because he did not want to give anyone false expectations. “Why did you ask me to dance?” she murmured, peering up at him.
His gaze touched on her face, and she wondered if she imagined the tenderness in his golden eyes.
“Have your menses arrived, Pippa?”
