Page 53 of The Spinster's Stolen Hear
Pippa eyed her mother, nibbling her lower lip.
She and her mother had not spoken much over the past few days. There had been a wedding only a few days earlier, between a woman that Pippa did not know and a man who was apparently Lord Whitmore’s friend. Understandably, then, Lord Whitmore had not been at any of the balls over the past few days.
That didn’t stop Pippa looking for him in every room she walked into. It didn’t stop her mother from keeping her close beside her at all times.
Sometimes, it felt as though she were in prison, with her own mother as a jailer.
But every now and then, there’d be moments like this, when they were mother and daughter again.
Bridget glanced her way, perhaps feeling eyes on her, and smiled faintly at Pippa. Pippa smiled back.
“Well, I hope that your first picnic in heaven only knows how many years is a pleasant one,” Lavinia remarked, leaning forward to help herself to another slice of strawberry tart.
“It is, I can assure you,” Pippa answered, smiling. “And the soiree you’re hosting on Friday seems most exciting! I am looking forward to it.”
“I’m glad,” Lavinia responded. “And you’ll play your violin?”
“Of course,” Pippa answered, before she could stop herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the smile drop off her mother’s face like a stone.
Before any words could be exchanged, however, a shadow fell across the picnic blanket. All of them twisted to look up at the newcomer, and Pippa’s heart sank into her stomach.
“Well, hello,” Lord Barwick drawled, grinning lazily. He plunged his hands into his pockets. “You all seem to be having a good amount of fun.”
“Lord Barwick, what a fine surprise!” Bridget chirped, in a way that convinced them all that her mother had organized the meeting. “It is lovely to see you.”
“Quite, quite,” Lord Barwick answered equably. “I came by merely to speak with Miss Randall, however. Can I tempt you to a turn around the park, Miss Randall?”
No. Heavens, no,Pippa wanted to say, but of course there wasn’t time.
“She would love to, I’m sure,” Bridget answered at once, shooting a stare at Pippa which dared her to argue. Pippa flashed a tight-lipped smile.
“Of course,” Pippa responded mechanically, as if there was anything else to say.
She got to her feet, brushing crumbs off her skirt. She could feel Katherine’s eyes on her, and carefully did not look at her cousin. It would do no good.
With a triumphant smile, Lord Barwick offered her his arm. She had no choice but to accept, and they strode away from the little gathering.
*
It felt as though the warmth had departed from the day. As they strolled—without any particular destination, for it appeared that Lord Barwick's intent was solely to engage in conversation with Pippa, rather than to walk anywhere or behold anything of note—the gentleman spoke. Relentlessly.
He talked about his hunting habits, about new purchases, about various men and women in Society, and so on. Occasionally, Pippa tried to weigh in on these conversations, but he either interrupted her or kept mulish silence until she had finished, whereupon he would pick up the thread of what he had just been discussing.
It was pretty clear that he didn’t want to hear from her and had no interest in her opinions. After about ten minutes of silence on Pippa’s part, he paused, glancing down at her.
“I say, you are a good little listener, aren’t you? So many females these days are terrible chatterboxes, talking and talking until a man can’t get a word in edgeways. They’re all lovely to look at, but quite a strain on the ears.” He laughed at his own joke. Pippa did not smile but he did not notice.
“Anyway,” he continued, “as I said, that’s a virtue of yours that I’ve noticed. You may not compete with the beauties of Society, but you’ve got manners to rival them all.”
Pippa was now seething. She clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead, praying they would start returning to the picnic soon.
No such luck.
“I always thought I’d want a quiet, modest sort of girl for my wife,” Lord Barwick mused. “The sort who wouldn’t nag or make demands of me, and would be mild and doting and whatnot, the way a wife should be. Someone who I can come home to, who won’t harangue me about how late it is,” he said laughing.
Well, this was too much. Pippa pulled her hand out of the crook of his elbow, turning to face him.
“And what makes you think,” she said smoothly, “thatIam such a woman?”
