Page 8 of Forever Her Bachelor

Pippa sipped her tea as the two men spoke as if neither she nor her aunt were in the room. Her gaze observed the duke overthe rim of the teacup, fighting down the slight nausea she felt at the sight of him. The single black armband was the only proof that he should be in mourning. His young wife, Augusta, had died less than a month ago in childbirth. The babe died shortly after Augusta, leaving the duke without an heir once again. If Pippa’s calculations were correct, she believed he had lost three wives and four children in total.

Pippa had known Augusta before she married Summerset. The woman had been young, funny, and vibrant until her nuptials with the duke to save her family from financial ruin.

Ignoring the likeness between her and the late duchess’s situation, Pippa tried to focus on her present circumstance.

Dread swarmed in her abdomen as she recalled the various rumors surrounding his wives’ deaths. Some suggested he’d killed them all, although two had died in childbirth, which surely was not his fault. Another belief was that any woman who married Summerset was cursed, along with the dukedom. None of it mattered to Pippa. Thetonwould often escalate hearsay to their liking, no matter whose life they ruined.

The one thing that concerned her was the utter repulsion she was feeling in his presence. How would she be able to marry a man that caused her such disdain? Pippa did not know if it were possible, even for the sake of her beloved aunt who was the only family she had left.

Summerset surveyed her, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Yes, one month. I have no time or any inclination for propriety?—”

“But surely there will be gossip.” Pippa prayed her reasoning with him would delay the inevitable. She knew firsthand that a duke cared about society’s opinions more than anything else. She had learned this cruel lesson unambiguously as a girl.

Her uncle crossed one leg over his knee, his enormous stomach protruding out. “Let them gossip.” He shrugged hismeaty shoulder. “Soon they will find a new topic. Besides, you will leave London after the wedding?—”

“Leave London?” Her head swiveled between her uncle and Summerset, panic rising at the realization of what leaving London meant. “I cannot leave London. I have orders and responsibilities. My aunt needs me here.”

Summerset ignored her, looking over at Sir Wayford as if Pippa was not in the room. “What orders?” He said the wordordersas if it were a contagious disease.

Her uncle waved one chubby hand in the air. “It’s nothing but a frivolous hobby. It will not interfere with her wifely duties.”

“I can speak for myself, Lord Wayford.” Pippa stood abruptly. She had heard enough. No man, especially her uncle, would speak on her behalf. Nor would she tolerate the duke ignoring her. Pippa was a grown woman and could use her own mind and tongue freely. Nothing would change that.

“I assure you both that my research or business is not frivolous.” She crossed her arms, staring at the duke. “I have customers and orders to fulfill?—”

“What do you mean by customers?” He spat the question at her, his glare unmoving.

Pippa only had one customer, Mr. Lewis, but because of him, she could reach many more. She had obligations in London that she surely would need time to settle before she suddenly left for the country to be his broodmare.

“I have a thriving scent business. I have orders to fulfill with Mr. Edward Lewis. He owns his own tailor shop in Cheapshead?—”

“That is not acceptable. No wife of mine will have a business.” He stood abruptly. “We will be married at the end of the month. I expect all your scientific endeavors to be over by then.”

An onslaught of emotions assaulted her as she stood stoically, unable to breathe. Tears stung her eyes as anger slid upher spine. How dare he try to take the one thing she had left of her parents?

“Your Grace, that is not possible. My work is a part of me. I won’t give it up.” The words came spilling out between clenched teeth, tears threatening to fall.

She hated showing emotion in front of the two men. They would surely find it a weakness, and Pippa could tell by the gleam in Summerset’s eye that she should never show him weakness.

“That is more than enough,” her uncle’s booming voice rang out. Pippa saw her aunt stiffen from the sound, and she instantly hated the effect he had on her. “You heard the duke; you have a month. I expect your laboratory to be packed and dispersed.”

Pippa couldn’t move; she couldn’t breathe. There was nothing to do but stand there and wish the words would come pouring out.

“Wayford… a word,” Summerset called out to her uncle, his gaze sweeping over her once more.

Her body was cemented in place. She couldn’t find her voice, as if there was a large boulder stuck in her throat. The two gentlemen maneuvered around her without sparing her a glance or a goodbye.

Pippa heard their frustrated voices as they walked through the long hall of her home. Summerset was not happy to learn of her work, and she could hear her uncle reassure him it was nothing.

Nothing?

Wrapping her arms around herself, Pippa fought the urge to crawl into a ball and disappear. Her uncle’s creditors had begun circling since his return from France. Sir Wayford owed a great deal of money to numerous establishments, including the dwelling where he stayed with his mistress in Paris. The first time he had abruptly abandoned the family, her aunt had soldher jewelry to pay off his debts. Now, she was in fear of losing her home, a place where she had raised Pippa and her own daughter, a home that had been given to her by Pippa’s grandfather.

Pippa naively thought that deciding to marry Summerset would not affect her work in any capacity. Of course, she now realized how wrong she was. He wanted her to give up everything. Chemistry had been ingrained in Pippa since she was a child, passing her father ingredients from her treasured seat beside him. It was a part of her, a part of her parents. They had spent many days together in his laboratory, creating and researching. Her mother would assist them. Sometimes she would just stay in the laboratory with them, reading quietly in the corner.

“Pippa.” Her aunt came to her side, placing a gentle hand on Pippa’s shoulder. The small touch caused her to jerk her head to the kind woman. “You will do your experiments. You always have.”

Margaret Wayford was a plump, soft-spoken beauty with graying blonde hair. The sparkle in her eye never dulled no matter what circumstances life brought her. Pippa wished that she could have a portion of her aunt’s optimism.