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As if realizing how absurd the idea was, Minerva laughed, shaking her head. “You are correct, my dear. That gentleman has no plans to marry anytime soon.”
They chatted for a few minutes, and Pippa tried to not feel the heavy ache of…sadness upon her chest, or that her mother watched her with a slight frown and too much conjecture in her gaze.
* * *
“Lady Phillipa, come quick,”the strident voice of a servant called. Lowering the book, she’d been attempting to read, Pippa frowned. Hurrying to her feet, she set her copy ofThe Castle of Otrantoon the table and made her way from the library. Once in the hallway she noted the drawing room door was ajar and whispers came from inside. She entered, drawing to an alarmed stop to see the most extravagant and beautiful bouquet of flowers on the walnut table. She must have made a sound, for the two servants who stood admiring it glanced around.
“These came for you, milady,” Agnes said, beaming.
“For me?” Pippa asked, shaking her head. No gentleman had ever sent her flowers. Pippa was grateful that her mother was taking breakfast in bed, for she would not be able to suffer her excitement. Four other gentlemen had asked her to dance last night after the marquess departed. They had all seemed attentive; she recalled that her last partner for the evening, Lord Clayborne had been very amiable, even going as far as to express regret that he was only just making her acquaintance.
The bouquet was certainly a statement and must have cost a pretty penny
“Well,” her mother said from behind of her. “What is this?”
Pippa silently groaned. “Mama, I thought you were taking breakfast in your bed. What brought you down?”
“Sally informed me of some spectacular bouquet, and not just any flowers, but spring flowers in June?”
Those words settled inside her, and she strolled over to the flowers, noting with shock they were her favorites—sweet-smelling narcissus and tulips. Pippa preferred spring flowers which in summer would be exorbitantly expensive as they would have to be carefully forced in glass houses. She sniffed the flowers which lifted her heart; they were so beautiful.
“Who sent them?” her mother asked behind her.
Pippa cleared her throat. “Lord Trent.”
A small silence fell.
“You did not look at the note,” the countess said.
Her nose still in the flowers, Pippa closed her eyes. “I mentioned once in passing that they were my favorite flowers.” When they had been on their way back to Hartford Hall from the cottage. The conversation had felt light and mostly filled with her chattering, yet it was clear he had keenly listened to her every word. A lump of emotion formed in her throat.
“What does he mean by this,” her mother mused.
I do not know.“The marquess is merely being polite, mama.”
“Polite?”
How skeptical the countess sounded? Not wanting to indulge her heart with false hope, Pippa turned to the maid. “Please, can you have them put in water in the public rooms. I think the weather is going to be hotter than I expected; I will fetch my parasol from my bedroom before Harriet arrives to go shopping with me.”
Pippa needed to gather her composure away from the watchful eyes of her mother. Especially to read his note which she had discreetly taken up.
“Harriet is back from Derbyshire?”
“Yes, mama, and Agatha as well. I received her note this morning.”
Her mother made a non-committal sound, still staring at the bouquet of flowers. Pippa hurriedly excused herself and dashed from the drawing room. Once alone in her bedchamber, she teased open the crisp envelope, gently easing the seal open. A seal which showed the arms of the Marquess of Trent, and which resembled the seal ring he wore on one of his elegant fingers. She blushed, thinking about all the delicious things those beautiful fingers had done to her. Were the flowers meant as an apology? She unfolded the slip of paper she found inside its enclosure. Not a formal card, but a few words.
I miss you,
William
What enigmatic words and her heart leapt and missed a beat reading them. “What are you thinking, William?”
How she wished she knew him well enough to read what his words had not said. Worse, she dreadfully missed him in return. Pippa grabbed her parasol and walked back downstairs where she heard Harriet being greeted by their butler. As her boot had been carefully cut off by William, she had wrapped the damaged boot in brown paper and tucked it in a large reticule. It was her intention to deliver it to her bootmakers, in the hope that they could replace the stitches so her boots could be used again. They had been her favorite boots and it seemed overly extravagant to just order another pair. And perhaps while there, she might pick up a new pair of dancing slippers to match the dress Pippa planned to wear to the dinner and informal dance that evening. She was determined to spend the day being busy and not thinking about a certain marquess at all. Pippa prayed her heart and soul would listen.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Pippa came down to breakfast the following day, to find that a letter had been delivered. It was addressed in William’s now familiar handwriting. When the footman had poured her chocolate and stepped back, she risked opening it before eating her breakfast.
