Page 1 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

Two Years Previously

The man’s rasping coughs echoed through the too-small room.

“More water, Papa?” Pippa asked, keeping her voice soft and calm. The physician had already told them that the end was near, and that loud voices and sharp words would only distress him.

Phillip Randall nodded eagerly at the prospect of water, and Pippa carefully allowed him to take small sips from the glass beside his bed. As she did so, she noticed a film of dust on the bedside table. The chores weren’t being done. Their last remaining housemaid had reluctantly given her notice only a few weeks ago, and now only a maid-of-all-work remained. And that poor maid was also owed back wages.

Back wages which they couldn’t afford to pay. The last of their savings had gone to pay the physician.

The poor girl worked harder than ever now. Before Mr. Randall’s sudden illness, Pippa had helped the maid with the cleaning and cooking, but now she was required to act as a nurse, and poor Joan had all the work to do herself.

Turning pointedly away from the dust, Pippa glanced over at her father.

Phillip had never been a strong man. Tall, thin, dark-haired and blue-eyed like his daughter, he had always been content to live a quiet life in his little country estate. The three of them had led a pleasant and simple little life for as long as Pippa could remember. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment that things had begun to change, when the scrimping and saving had begun to start.

Now, of course, they were used to it – turning up cuffs, carefully hemming and darning and patching, doing their own dusting and eating simple, one-course meals. Even then, Pippa hadn’t minded. Why would she need a London Season or new gowns? All she needed were her books, her peace, and her family.

My family is fractured, my peace is gone. How long will the rest of it last?

She put these selfish thoughts from her mind and concentrated on her father.

“How about some food, Papa? Some porridge, perhaps?”

Phillip shook his head dizzily. “Need… I need to talk to you. To you both.”

Pippa glanced over her shoulder at where her mother paced up and down the room. A fire was blazing in the grate, heaped high. It was too hot for the warm spring day, but Phillip felt the cold so keenly now.

Lady Bridget Randall, Viscountess, had her face set in its habitual expression of mulishness. There was something else in her face now, something Pippa was trying her best not to think about.

Grief.

Pippa was no fool. She knew that her parents had had their grievances over the years, and plenty of arguments into the bargain. And yet they loved each other, which was rare enough in the world. Bridget had not spoken of how she felt about losing her husband, and Pippa didn’t dare bring up the subject because of the question which would invariably follow.

What will we do next?

Phillip pushed himself up onto his elbows, clammy sweat standing out on his forehead.

“When I die, my title will pass from me and our family,” he said insistently. “As will the estate. You’ll get a widow’s settlement, Bridget, but it’s not much. And there’s nothing for you, Pippa. No dowry.”

“Pippa is barely twenty-one,” Bridget spoke up. It was the first time she’d spoken aloud since the physician left, taking any hope with him. “She can marry well.”

Pippa said nothing. She’d been doing that a great deal lately. Keeping the peace was harder and harder with each passing day and mostly involved keeping her mouth shut and her opinions to herself.

Phillip winced in pain, closing his eyes and lowering himself back onto the pillows.

“But if she doesn’t…”

“She will,” Bridget snapped, shooting a sharp glance at her only daughter. “You have spoiled her terribly, Phillip, but now it’s time for her to grow up and make some sensible decisions. I’ll see to that.”

Pippa bit into her lower lip until it hurt.

Don’t start an argument. Don’t make Papa’s last hours full of strife and anger. You can argue with Mama later.

“If she doesn’t,” Phillip persisted, “then something else must be done. Bridget, you must go to your brother.”

Bridget stiffened, and the air seemed to rush out of the room. “My brother? The illustrious Duke of Dunleigh? I’m not a Willenshire anymore, Phillip. My brother turned his back on me when I married you. He said I’d demeaned myself. I daresay he and his whey-faced wife will laugh about it when they find out I’m widowed. Them and their pack of sons.”

“And their daughter,” Pippa found herself saying. “Katherine. Her name is Katherine.”

Bridget shot an annoyed look at her daughter. “What does it matter, Pippa?”

Phillip reached out a trembling hand and laid it on his daughter’s. “Don’t be cruel to Pip once I’m gone, Bridget.”

She folded her arms. “I’m never cruel to her, only realistic . It’s not my fault your daughter has her head in the clouds all the time.”

“ Our daughter,” Phillip corrected. “Pip, darling, could you stoke up the fire? I’m a little chilly.”

Wordlessly, Pippa got up and moved over to the fire. The heat gushed out from it, washing over her skin as she approached. Even so, she dutifully squatted before it and piled on more of their precious firewood. Behind her, she heard the rustle of skirts as her mother approached the bed. She glanced briefly over her shoulder and saw that Bridget had sat down on the stool which Pippa had just vacated. She was leaning forward, resting her cheek on Phillip’s hand, which lay on the top of the eiderdown.

“You can’t do this to me, Phillip,” Bridget said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “You can’t leave me. You promised. It was going to be you and I together, right until the end. I threw away everything for you – friends, family, fortune – and I never regretted it, not for an instant. But once you’re gone, what will I have?”

“I’m sorry, love,” Phillip responded, sounding anguished. “Truly, I am. But I mean what I say about reaching out to your brother. Things are going to be difficult for you and Pip once I’m gone, and I don’t believe you understand just how difficult.”

“I’m no fool,” Bridget answered, voice crisp. “I know my life will change.”

“But so will hers, Bridget. You have to protect her. You have to care for Pippa.”

Over by the fire, Pippa hunched over, staring into the flames. The heat made her face flush and itch, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away. She knew that she wasn’t meant to be hearing this.

A fit of coughing suddenly wracked Phillip’s frail body, fluid rattling in his lungs. Bridget gave a cry, backing away from the bed, hands pressed over her mouth.

“Phillip, no! No ! I can’t, not without you! I just can’t !”

Abandoning the fire, Pippa threw herself across the room, onto her knees by her father’s bed, and grabbed at his hands. His face was waxy, pale as bone. Pale as death. There was a brightness in his eyes which hadn’t been there before, like the sheen on a fevered brow. His breathing was laboured, rattling horribly.

“I love you, Papa,” Pippa whispered, realising for the first time that she was crying, tears streaking hotly down her cheeks.

“I know, my darling girl,” Phillip wheezed. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t stop playing your violin, will you? Even after I’m dead, and you have to leave this house and go somewhere smaller. Even when the hard times come, as I know they will. You have such a talent, and I’ve always had such pleasure in listening to your music.”

“I won’t, Papa, I swear it. I’ll play for you now, right now.”

“No, no, darling, it’s too late,” he lifted a trembling hand, patting her cheek. “I know your mother thinks that her brother – your uncle – won’t help you once I’m gone, but I wish you would try. More than that, Pip, I want you to be happy. I want you to find love. It’s not easy to find, I can testify to that, but it is worth it. I swear to you, it’s worth it.”

Pippa was sobbing now, and she could hear her mother’s stifled sobs behind her.

“I promise, Papa,” she managed. “I swear it.”

“That’s my girl. And, Bridget?” Phillip’s cloudy gaze drifted over Pippa’s head, fixing on his wife.

“I’ll never forgive you for leaving me,” Bridget wept.

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but I want you to know, Bridget, that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. A blessing that I never looked for. You are the love of my life, and I do not regret a single instant that we spent together. Even the bad times were good times, because they were spent with you. And I want you to help our girl find that kind of love.”

Bridget didn’t answer. She was crying too hard.

At the end of this speech, Phillip gave a long, ragged sigh, and his hand slipped back down to the eiderdown, and lay there limply. In between one heartbeat and the next, the light faded out of his eyes.

And just like that, Lord Phillip Randall died, leaving behind a grieving widow and a penniless daughter.

Pippa knew, even as she wailed and grieved for her parent, that her life would never be the same again.