Page 35 of The Spinster's Stolen Hear
Chapter Eleven
Pippa could feel her mother’s anger mounting. During the carriage ride here, Bridget had made it abundantly clear that today was intended for Pippa and Lord Barwick to spend time together. Already, she had convinced Eleanor to place the three of them together – with Lady Henrietta beside her son, naturally – and from there, it was expected that Pippa would stay where she was or at least allow herself to be moved around under her mother’s direction.
A perfect opportunity. That was what Bridget had described it as. An opportunity for Society to watch the courtship progress, and for Lord Barwick to convince himself that Pippa really was the perfect woman for him.
She highly doubted that he cared to find aperfect woman. In fact, Pippa was not entirely sure what had made Lord Barwick pursue her at all. She had nothing to offer, not even a dowry. What had he to gain? Not love, that was for sure.
So the party had dragged by, painfully slowly, and Pippa had grown more and more miserable. Nobody came to save her – why would they? All they could see was a young woman sticking very properly by her mother’s side, as she should, sitting by an eligible bachelor. They would consider themselves doing her a disservice if they had interrupted.
And then along came Lord Whitmore.
Pippa had to admit that her chest tightened at the sight of him. In a good way, of course.Wasthere a good way for all of the breath to be squeezed out of one’s lungs? Mayhap. She had sensed her mother inflating with outrage when he asked her to walk with him, and spoke up before things could get out of hand.
In short, before her mother could dismiss Lord Whitmore and insult him too badly for him to try to speak to Pippa again.
Pippa very much did not want that to happen.
She tried to ignore Bridget’s glare as she got to her feet, shaking out her skirts.
“It’ll be quite proper, Mama,” Pippa said, as if that were the concern. “We shan’t be out of sight at all.”
Bridget had gone a funny shade of purple and glanced over at Lord Barwick. He smiled lazily.
“I shall accompany you, then.”
“Oh, no, Lord Barwick, there’s no need for that,” Pippa said, the words exiting her mouth before she could realise what she was saying. “Mother and you were having such a lovely conversation. I should hate to interrupt it. You must stay here, I insist.”
Not giving him a chance to respond, she stepped away from the table, taking Lord Whitmore’s outstretched arm, and the two of them hurried off.
***
The smooth paving stones beneath their feet gave way to rough gravel, interspersed with scrubby grass. They didn’t even seem to be heading anywhere in particularly, aside fromawayfrom the terrace and towards the roses. Pippa and Lord Whitmore did not speak for a few minutes. She was tempted to twist around to look behind them and discover whether they were being pursued or not.
She didn’t hear running footsteps or her mother’s squeal of anger, so it seemed that they were safe. For now, at least. Pippa breathed out a sigh of relief.
“I… I hope I didn’t interrupt,” Lord Whitmore ventured at last. “But you really did look as though you needed rescuing. You looked rather… if I could be so bold, you looked a littlebored.”
Pippa winced. “I’m afraid I was bored. Lord Barwick seems to talk over my head at all times. He seems to have a passing respect for my mother, at least, which I suppose is a good thing, but he is barely interested in me.”
She immediately wondered whether she had said the wrong thing. Was that too blunt?
But then, Cousin Katherine said that my blunt manners were considered rather charming by theton. For now, at least.
She tried not to think about what might happen if thetongrew tired of her or decided that her manners were not as charming as they had originally decided. Society was notoriously changeable, everybody knew that. You got what you could while it still liked you and prayed to be well clear when their minds changed.
Or so her father had said, at least. Privately, Pippa wondered whether the world her father had left, years ago, was the same one she was in now. Was it different?
She gave herself a little shake, glancing up at Lord Whitmore to see if he’d noticed her sudden silence. It occurred to her that he did not seem to be eager to fill the silence with small talk. That was something she had learned very quickly – silence in Society was to be avoided at all costs. One always had to be saying something or listening to somebody saying something. Words must always be in the air. Silence was dangerous, and not to be tolerated.
So far, she’d seen countless men and women inwardly writhing at an extended, awkward period of silence, and then all of them would speak at once to dispel it. She’d watched debutantes cringe at their own poor conversation skills, when uncomfortable pauses lengthened during a stilted conversation.
What was wrong with a little quiet?
“How are you enjoying Society, Miss Randall?” Lord Whitmore asked, after a moment or two.
She sighed. “Well enough. Everybody is very kind – well, almost everybody – and I am invited to a great many parties and such. However, I think our invitations are a courtesy to our family, the Willenshires, instead of to us.”
Lord Whitmore winced. “Yes, I know the feeling. My mother is a much-loved and much-respected woman of Society, and often I am invited to places as a favour to her. Or worse, simply because I am the Viscount Whitmore. They aren’t inviting me, they are inviting my title. It wouldn’t matter who held the title.”
