prodded.
Pippa snapped back to the conversation. What had they been discussing? Bourne . “Well, I don’t know why he would come,” Pippa pointed out. “No one expects him to stand on ceremony for society.”
“I expect him to do so,” Penelope said simply, as if that were all that mattered.
And apparently, it was. “Really, Penny. Leave the poor man alone.”
“Poor man,” Penny scoffed. “Bourne gets everything he wants, whenever he wants it.”
“It’s not as though he doesn’t pay a price,” Pippa retorted. “He must love you fiercely if he is coming. If I could avoid tonight, I would.”
“You are doing an excellent job of it as it is, and you cannot avoid tonight.”
Penny was right, of course. Half of London was below, and at least one of them was waiting for her to show her face.
Her future husband.
It was not difficult to find him among the throngs of people. Even dressed in the same handsome black frock coat and trousers that the rest of the peerage preferred, the Earl of Castleton seemed to stand out, something about him less graceful than a normal aristocrat.
He was at one side of the ballroom, leaning low as his mother whispered in his ear. Pippa had never noticed it before, but the ear in question also stood out at a rather unfortunate angle.
“You could still beg off,” Penelope said quietly. “No one would blame you.”
“The ball?”
“The marriage.”
Pippa did not reply. She could. She could say any number of things ranging from amusing to acerbic, and Penny would never judge her for them. Indeed, it would very likely make her sister happy to hear that Pippa had an opinion one way or another about her betrothed.
But Pippa had committed herself to the earl, and she would not be disloyal. He did not deserve it. He was a nice man, with a kind heart. And that was more than could be said about most.
Dishonesty by omission remains dishonest.
The words echoed through her, a memory of two days earlier, of the man who had questioned her commitment to truth.
The world is full of liars. Liars and cheats.
It wasn’t true, of course. Pippa wasn’t a liar. Pippa didn’t cheat.
Trotula sighed and leaned against her mistress’s thigh. Pippa idly stroked the dog’s ears. “I made a promise.”
“I know you did, Pippa. But sometimes promises . . .” Penelope trailed off.
Pippa watched Castleton for a long moment. “I dislike balls.”
“I know.”
“And ballrooms.”
“Yes.”
“He’s kind, Penny. And he asked.”
Penelope’s gaze turned soft. “It’s fine for you to wish for more than that, you know.”
She didn’t. Did she?
Pippa fidgeted inside her tightly laced corset. “And ball gowns. ”
Penelope allowed the change in topic. “It is a nice gown, nonetheless.”
Pippa’s gown—selected with near-fanatical excitement by Lady Needham—was a beautiful pale green gauze over white satin. Cut low and off the shoulder, the gown followed her shape through the bodice and waist before flaring into lush, full skirts that rustled when she moved. On anyone else, it would look lovely.
But on her . . . the gown made her look thinner, longer, more reedy. “It makes me look like the Ardea cinerea. ”
Penelope blinked.
“A heron.”
“Nonsense. You are beautiful.”
Pippa ran her palms over the perfectly worked fabric. “Then I think it’s best I stay here and keep that illusion intact.”
Penelope chuckled. “You are postponing the inevitable.”
It was the truth.
And because it was the truth, Pippa allowed her sister to lead them down the narrow stairs to the back entrance of the ballroom, where they released Trotula onto the Dolby House grounds before inserting themselves, unnoticed, into the throngs of well-wishers, as though they’d been present for the entire time.
Her future mother-in-law found them within moments. “Philippa, my dear!” she effused, waving a fan of peacock feathers madly about her face. “Your mother said it would
Pippa snapped back to the conversation. What had they been discussing? Bourne . “Well, I don’t know why he would come,” Pippa pointed out. “No one expects him to stand on ceremony for society.”
“I expect him to do so,” Penelope said simply, as if that were all that mattered.
And apparently, it was. “Really, Penny. Leave the poor man alone.”
“Poor man,” Penny scoffed. “Bourne gets everything he wants, whenever he wants it.”
“It’s not as though he doesn’t pay a price,” Pippa retorted. “He must love you fiercely if he is coming. If I could avoid tonight, I would.”
“You are doing an excellent job of it as it is, and you cannot avoid tonight.”
Penny was right, of course. Half of London was below, and at least one of them was waiting for her to show her face.
Her future husband.
It was not difficult to find him among the throngs of people. Even dressed in the same handsome black frock coat and trousers that the rest of the peerage preferred, the Earl of Castleton seemed to stand out, something about him less graceful than a normal aristocrat.
He was at one side of the ballroom, leaning low as his mother whispered in his ear. Pippa had never noticed it before, but the ear in question also stood out at a rather unfortunate angle.
“You could still beg off,” Penelope said quietly. “No one would blame you.”
“The ball?”
“The marriage.”
Pippa did not reply. She could. She could say any number of things ranging from amusing to acerbic, and Penny would never judge her for them. Indeed, it would very likely make her sister happy to hear that Pippa had an opinion one way or another about her betrothed.
But Pippa had committed herself to the earl, and she would not be disloyal. He did not deserve it. He was a nice man, with a kind heart. And that was more than could be said about most.
Dishonesty by omission remains dishonest.
The words echoed through her, a memory of two days earlier, of the man who had questioned her commitment to truth.
The world is full of liars. Liars and cheats.
It wasn’t true, of course. Pippa wasn’t a liar. Pippa didn’t cheat.
Trotula sighed and leaned against her mistress’s thigh. Pippa idly stroked the dog’s ears. “I made a promise.”
“I know you did, Pippa. But sometimes promises . . .” Penelope trailed off.
Pippa watched Castleton for a long moment. “I dislike balls.”
“I know.”
“And ballrooms.”
“Yes.”
“He’s kind, Penny. And he asked.”
Penelope’s gaze turned soft. “It’s fine for you to wish for more than that, you know.”
She didn’t. Did she?
Pippa fidgeted inside her tightly laced corset. “And ball gowns. ”
Penelope allowed the change in topic. “It is a nice gown, nonetheless.”
Pippa’s gown—selected with near-fanatical excitement by Lady Needham—was a beautiful pale green gauze over white satin. Cut low and off the shoulder, the gown followed her shape through the bodice and waist before flaring into lush, full skirts that rustled when she moved. On anyone else, it would look lovely.
But on her . . . the gown made her look thinner, longer, more reedy. “It makes me look like the Ardea cinerea. ”
Penelope blinked.
“A heron.”
“Nonsense. You are beautiful.”
Pippa ran her palms over the perfectly worked fabric. “Then I think it’s best I stay here and keep that illusion intact.”
Penelope chuckled. “You are postponing the inevitable.”
It was the truth.
And because it was the truth, Pippa allowed her sister to lead them down the narrow stairs to the back entrance of the ballroom, where they released Trotula onto the Dolby House grounds before inserting themselves, unnoticed, into the throngs of well-wishers, as though they’d been present for the entire time.
Her future mother-in-law found them within moments. “Philippa, my dear!” she effused, waving a fan of peacock feathers madly about her face. “Your mother said it would
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