Page 36 of The Spinster's Stolen Hear
“Do you think we were always so shallow?”
He glanced at her sharply. “Shallow?”
Pippa flushed but held her ground. “Indeed, shallow. It seems that all we care about are the things that are superficial – money, beauty, a title. Breeding, although more and more these days people are willing to overlook anything if one only hasmoney.”
Lord Whitmore considered this and nodded slowly.
“I am obliged to agree with you, Miss Randall. We are concerned only with superficial frivolities. However, Society itself is built on superficial nonsense. Think of it – if you were to host a party, you could not simply invite your friends. Youmayinvite your friends, if they are sufficiently well-known, well-bred, or rich enough. However, the vast majority of your guestsmustbe comprised of people you do not know well and do not particularly like. And if you omit an important name from your guest list, well. Heaven help you. You shan’t be forgiven.”
She shuddered. “Yes, I know what you mean. I’m frankly quite glad not to have to host a party of that magnitude. But Cousin Henry and his wife Eleanor have organised this party, and noteverybodyis here.”
“True,” Lord Whitmore conceded. “But Henry is only a second son, and Eleanor was never a leader of Society. They shall never be patrons of Almack’s, to be sure, but the rules are perhaps less stringent for them.”
Pippa considered this. “I haven’t been to Almack’s yet.”
“Count your blessings. I have, and it’s something of a bore. Still, a fashionable person must have a subscription. Perhaps next year?”
Pippa went very still. “I won’t be here next year, Lord Whitmore. If I am married, mayhap I’ll be here with a husband. If not, my mother will probably take me home in disgrace.”
Again, she had said too much. Biting the inside of her cheek, Pippa glanced up at Lord Whitmore. He was looking down at her with a faint frown between his brows.
“You have a rather dark view of your future, Miss Randall,” he said at last.
She shrugged, a most unladylike gesture which would have earned her a rap about the shoulders from her mother if she had seen.
“A realistic one, I’m afraid. The time has come to put aside my nonsense and childishness and set about being practical.”
The silence lasted longer this time.
“And who told you that, I wonder?” Lord Whitmore said, his voice so soft she could not decide who he was talking to, her or himself. She glanced up at him and opened her mouth to reply.
At that moment, with impeccable timing, a movement over his shoulder caught her attention. Pippa glanced over, and her heart sank.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured.
Lord Whitmore twisted to look behind him and gave out a sigh.
“Lord Barwick approaches, I see. What a surprise.”
They hadn’t even reached the roses yet. Bridget stood beside the table, craning her neck, watching them. Lord Barwick was striding across the grass, abandoning the paths in favour of a more direct route. There was determination on his face.
“Miss Randall!” he called, when he was still a fair distance away. “It has just occurred to me, Miss Randall, that if we are to conduct our game of chess, we had better start now.”
She felt vaguely sick. Lord Whitmore glanced down at her.
“I didn’t know you were fond of chess, Miss Randall.”
She clenched her jaw. “I am not. I can barely move the pieces, let alone play. My father tried to teach me, but neither of us had the patience for it.”
Lord Barwick reached them, offering a cursory and almost accusatory bow to Lord Whitmore. He was faintly out of breath, a testament to how quickly he’d walked to catch up with them.
Pippa breathed in, trying to pretend she was as forthright as Katherine, and as brave as Lavinia.
“We have just begun our walk, Lord Barwick. Perhaps another time.”
Annoyance darkened his brow, hastily swept away and replaced with a false smile.
“I believe your mother requests of your presence, Miss Randall. You are to go inside, and we can play the game there. This sun is most injurious to your complexion.”
