Page 59 of The Spinster's Stolen Hear
I suppose if Lord Barwick is not here, it does not matter who I talk to. Everybody knows I’m promised to him, it seems,she thought bitterly. There had been enough veiled comments from others to make her understand that her upcoming betrothal was well talked-of. It seemed that Lord Barwick had been most open about talking about his intentions, and apparently his wretched mother had shared her critiques on Pippa to just about every widow and matron in the country.
“You shall have to work hard to please your mother-in-law once you are engaged, Miss Randall,” one be-feathered widow in black satin had advised, throwing her an indulgent smile. “She adores that son of hers.”
Pippa had stiffened, looking the woman dead in the eye.
“To whom do you refer, Mrs. Hattan?”
Mrs. Hattan had only smiled and looked meaningfully, stopping just short of tapping the side of her nose.
“Weknow, Miss Randall, but you are right. Let us not say names until the announcement is out. It’s a good match, you know. A very good match indeed. That mother of yours is a genius. I wish I could have gotten her advice formygirls.”
Pippa had been forced to leave the conversation a little abruptly, anger pricking at her insides.
I can’t marry him. I won’t.
But then, what would become of her? Where would she go, if Bridget turned her back and disowned her own daughter? Only a few months ago, Pippa would have confidently said that her mother, for all her flaws, would never do such a thing.
Now, she was not sure.
I could stay with Cousin Katherine, or with William.
That was a glimmer of hope in the darkness, but hardly a guiding light. After all, despite their growing intimacy, Pippa did not really know her cousins very well at all. If there was a scandalous breach between mother and daughter, perhaps they would wash their hands of both, and then Pippa really would be in a difficult situation.
But I can’t marry Lord Barwick. I can’t, and I won’t.
The only solution seemed to be avoiding his company and preventing him from making a proposal. How she was to do that, Pippa did not know.
A flourish of music summoned the guests to the other end of the ballroom, where a pianoforte and a harp had been placed in front of several semicircular rows of chairs. There was to be a musical element of the evening, and several ladies and even a few gentlemen were supposed to be exhibiting their talents.
Including Pippa, of course. Her violin lay on top of the pianoforte, waiting.
Bridget hadn’t tried to convince her to play something moreladylike, at least.
Lavinia moved to the front of the room as the guests took their seats, beaming around at them.
“To begin, I am most proud to present my dear cousin, Miss Pippa Randall, playing a piece of her own composition on the violin!”
There was polite applause. There was always polite applause before a person began to play, the rapturous applause being reserved for the end of the performance,ifit met with the standards of the audience.
Smiling faintly, nerves thrumming inside her, Pippa got to her feet. This was the largest crowd she’d even performed in front of.
Not every lady’s performance was well-received. The gentlemen, of course, were not expected to exhibit musical talents, so the ones who chose to do so were extremely confident in their abilities.
Pippa had cringed through more than once inexpert renditions ofFur EliseorCanon in D. Her own pianoforte playing was less than lustrous, which was one reason why she preferred the violin.
There was silence while Pippa climbed the platform. She passed Lavinia on the way, who nodded and smiled encouragingly at her. Pippa did her best to smile back.
Whispers had started up by the time she picked up her violin, turning to face the crowds. Nerves jumped in Pippa’s veins. She took a breath, scanning the crowd.
The first face she noticed was her mother’s, stony and grim, unsmiling. Pippa hastily looked away. She spotted Miss O’Hare next, a round-faced, homely girl with a friendly disposition, who had played several wrong notes during her performance at the last musicale and received belated and stiffly polite applause at the end of it, retreating red-faced.
And then Pippa saw Lord Whitmore.
He sat on the end of a row, beside his mother. His gaze was fixed on her, a look in his eyes that she could not interpret. He was dressed impeccably, of course, a garnet cravat pin glimmering at his throat. Pippa realised with a rush that he was the most handsome man in the room.
Or at least,shethought that he was the most handsome man in the room. Their gazes met, locking together as if by magnetism, and her breath caught in her throat. He gave a tiny, tentative smile, and a nod of encouragement, and Pippa was forced to bite back a smile.
How could I ever have believed that I could make myself love Lord Barwick? It was a childish thought, the ramblings of a woman who does not know herself and does not know the world around her.
