Page 18 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

It was the perfect day for a picnic, really. The sun shone, but not hot enough to make direct light unbearable, and there was just enough of a gentle breeze to cool them without blowing grass over the picnic spread.

The whole family had come out, even Aunt Mary. William did not seem particularly pleased to be kneeling on a picnic blanket at the top of the scenic Lark Hill, but neither did he complain. Even Bridget had kept her remarks to herself, mostly.

“I can’t remember the last time we had a picnic,” Pippa found herself saying, leaning back on her elbows. The food had mostly been eaten, and it was traditional picnic fare – cold chicken and meat, bread, cheese, good butter, jam, fruit, pies, and more, with a huge strawberry tart. Frankly, Pippa felt full to bursting.

“Oh, I remember,” Bridget spoke up, licking her finger to pick up the last of the tart crumbs from her plate. “It was quite a few years ago, before your father fell sick. It was meant to be a fine day, and we carried blankets and hampers up to the top of Reading Hill, right under that old oak… do you recall?”

A smile spread over Pippa’s face. “Yes, indeed, I do! It rained just as we’d gotten everything set out!”

Bridget let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “And the rain came down heavily . Everything was soaked, including us. We practically slid all the way down the hill.”

“Papa couldn’t stop laughing,” Pippa murmured. “He saved quite a bit of the food, and we ate it at home in front of the fire, while we dried off.”

“That seems like a very pleasant family memory,” Katherine remarked gently. “I wish I’d known my uncle. He seemed to be a kind, good man.”

“He was,” Bridget said, her voice a little shaky. “He was the best.”

Pippa eyed her mother, nibbling her lower lip.

She and her mother had not spoken much over the past few days. There had been a wedding only a few days earlier, between a woman that Pippa did not know and a man who was apparently Lord Whitmore’s friend. Understandably, then, Lord Whitmore had not been at any of the balls over the past few days.

That didn’t stop Pippa looking for him in every room she walked into. It didn’t stop her mother from keeping her close beside her at all times.

Sometimes, it felt as though she were in prison, with her own mother as a jailer.

But every now and then, there’d be moments like this, when they were mother and daughter again.

Bridget glanced her way, perhaps feeling eyes on her, and smiled faintly at Pippa. Pippa smiled back.

“Well, I hope that your first picnic in heaven only knows how many years is a pleasant one,” Lavinia remarked, leaning forward to help herself to another slice of strawberry tart.

“It is, I can assure you,” Pippa answered, smiling. “And the soiree you’re hosting on Friday seems most exciting! I am looking forward to it.”

“I’m glad,” Lavinia responded. “And you’ll play your violin?”

“Of course,” Pippa answered, before she could stop herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the smile drop off her mother’s face like a stone.

Before any words could be exchanged, however, a shadow fell across the picnic blanket. All of them twisted to look up at the newcomer, and Pippa’s heart sank into her stomach.

“Well, hello,” Lord Barwick drawled, grinning lazily. He plunged his hands into his pockets. “You all seem to be having a good amount of fun.”

“Lord Barwick, what a fine surprise!” Bridget chirped, in a way that convinced them all that her mother had organized the meeting. “It is lovely to see you.”

“Quite, quite,” Lord Barwick answered equably. “I came by merely to speak with Miss Randall, however. Can I tempt you to a turn around the park, Miss Randall?”

No. Heavens, no, Pippa wanted to say, but of course there wasn’t time.

“She would love to, I’m sure,” Bridget answered at once, shooting a stare at Pippa which dared her to argue. Pippa flashed a tight-lipped smile.

“Of course,” Pippa responded mechanically, as if there was anything else to say.

She got to her feet, brushing crumbs off her skirt. She could feel Katherine’s eyes on her, and carefully did not look at her cousin. It would do no good.

With a triumphant smile, Lord Barwick offered her his arm. She had no choice but to accept, and they strode away from the little gathering.

*

It felt as though the warmth had departed from the day. As they strolled—without any particular destination, for it appeared that Lord Barwick's intent was solely to engage in conversation with Pippa, rather than to walk anywhere or behold anything of note—the gentleman spoke. Relentlessly.

He talked about his hunting habits, about new purchases, about various men and women in Society, and so on. Occasionally, Pippa tried to weigh in on these conversations, but he either interrupted her or kept mulish silence until she had finished, whereupon he would pick up the thread of what he had just been discussing.

It was pretty clear that he didn’t want to hear from her and had no interest in her opinions. After about ten minutes of silence on Pippa’s part, he paused, glancing down at her.

“I say, you are a good little listener, aren’t you? So many females these days are terrible chatterboxes, talking and talking until a man can’t get a word in edgeways. They’re all lovely to look at, but quite a strain on the ears.” He laughed at his own joke. Pippa did not smile but he did not notice.

“Anyway,” he continued, “as I said, that’s a virtue of yours that I’ve noticed. You may not compete with the beauties of Society, but you’ve got manners to rival them all.”

Pippa was now seething. She clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead, praying they would start returning to the picnic soon.

No such luck.

“I always thought I’d want a quiet, modest sort of girl for my wife,” Lord Barwick mused. “The sort who wouldn’t nag or make demands of me, and would be mild and doting and whatnot, the way a wife should be. Someone who I can come home to, who won’t harangue me about how late it is,” he said laughing.

Well, this was too much. Pippa pulled her hand out of the crook of his elbow, turning to face him.

“And what makes you think,” she said smoothly, “that I am such a woman?”

He didn’t seem to notice the icy fury in her tone. Lord Barwick chuckled, reaching out to pinch her chin.

“What a sweet, modest thing you are. I’m quite fond of you, Miss Randall, and your mama likes me terribly. I think perhaps I should call on you and your mama, sooner rather than later, and we might talk about our futures. Ah, now, don’t let your maiden modesty frighten you, all shall be well!”

Pippa thought that the flush of ‘maiden modesty’ which he’d seen in her cheeks was in fact a rush of red-hot anger to her face. She breathed in deeply, steeling herself.

“I think I shall return to my mother now, Lord Barwick,” she said, voice tight.

Once again, he was oblivious to her tone and merely chuckled benevolently.

“Of course, of course. Shall we?”

He offered his arm again, but this time Pippa turned her back, ignoring him, and set off striding back by herself. It was the only expression of chagrin she’d seen on his face so far.

***

“What did he say, then?”

Pippa had had her eyes closed, head leaning back against the jolting carriage seat. It had been quite an ordeal, the family all fitting themselves into their respective carriages, along with the blankets and boxes and hampers and whatnot. In the end, Pippa and her mother had gotten into the last carriage, along with the picnic supplies. There was really not very much room.

She opened her eyes at her mother’s question.

“What do you mean?”

Bridget gave an impatient sigh. “Don’t be a fool. I know Lord Barwick means to make you an offer, although of course he’ll make his intentions formally known to me, first. We arranged that he should speak to you today.”

Pippa clenched her jaw. “You planned that ‘accidental’ meeting, then?”

Bridget sniffed. “Well, yes, of course I did. One can’t leave such things to chance.”

“No, of course not.”

There was a silence, during which Bridget regarded her stonily.

“I do not like this attitude of yours, Pippa. Not one bit. Tell me what Lord Barwick said to you, at once.”

Pippa breathed out slowly, trying to calm her impatient nerves.

“It was a lot of nonsense, Mama. He talked about the sort of wife he’d want – quiet, modest, never nagging or complaining, sweet, and so on. And then he seemed to think that I embodied those qualities. Me!”

Bridget gave a satisfied smile, leaning back in the seat.

“Well, yes. We’ve worked hard to make sure he sees the ladylike, wifely qualities in you. It seems we’ve succeeded.”

“But Mama, I’m not like that. I’m not! Why should I pretend to be somebody that I am not? It’s deceitful. I don’t want to be a quiet, meek little wife. I shan’t ever be that person! You certainly were not.”

“Enough,” Bridget snapped, the smile dropping from her face. “You are not to use my marriage to your father as an example. Your marriage will not be like that, Pippa. You must understand that now.”

Pippa groaned aloud, knuckling her eyes. “Why can’t it be that way? If I could only find a man to love and respect, then…”

“You will love and respect whoever you marry. Marriage comes first, then respect, then love. In that order. And don’t you dare try to say that my marriage was not like that, because as I said, you are not to consider our marriage as ordinary . Life is not like that. Anyway, we sacrificed wealth and position to marry, whereas wealth and position are your priorities here. Now, we…”

“Your priorities,” Pippa corrected, before she could stop herself.

Bridget glared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“They are your priorities, Mama. Not mine. I don’t care about position, and as for money, I only want enough to live upon.”

Her mother stared at her for a long moment, and Pippa forced herself to stare back.

“And this is why I am here,” Bridget said at last, her voice deceptively calm. “To deal with such nonsensical ideas. Now, let’s discuss more important matters. When Lord Barwick proposes, you…”

“I shall refuse him.”

There. It was said. Pippa let out a slow breath, a crushing weight seeming to lift off her shoulders. She would not marry him. Of course, she would not. How could she ever have thought otherwise? Perhaps she ought to have been more firm with his attentions, but it wasn’t as if she’d had much choice.

Now, I find that I want him to propose quickly, so I can turn him down and get it over with.

Abruptly, Bridget leaned forward, clamping a hand around Pippa’s wrist.

“Repeat that,” she said, her voice low and cold.

“Ow, Mama, you are hurting me. Your nails are digging in…” Pippa tried in vain to pull away, but her mother’s grip was deceptively strong.

“Repeat what you just said to me.”

“I said that I would refuse Lord Barwick if he made an offer for me, and I will.”

Pippa met her mother’s eyes, tilting up her chin. The grip on her wrist increased, until pain shot up her forearm.

“You listen to me, you spoiled woman,” Bridget said, her voice icy. “I have worked hard to engineer this match for you. It is the best match you could have hoped for. You will be a Marchioness, safely married and firmly positioned in Society. Lord Barwick is a handsome man, and young, and there is no reason why you should not come to love him. As for his proposal, you will accept. You will accept it. I am your mother, and I command it.”

Pippa swallowed thickly. Her mother’s eyes were flat and cold, unblinking. She found it harder and harder to meet her stare, but persevered. Katherine’s words came back to mind.

“You cannot force me to accept him,” she said, her voice trembling.

Bridget’s lip curled. “No, I cannot. But let me tell you this, Pippa. If you refuse Lord Barwick, you are dead to me.”

Pippa sucked in a breath. “You cannot mean that.”

“No? You think not? If you end this Season unmarried, Pippa, you shall be worthless, both in the eyes of Society and in mine. Why must I be saddled with such a disappointment? Heaven only knows what value your father saw in you. You are spoiled, ungrateful, and entirely too naive to understand what is good for you. I will never forgive you if you ruin this for us, Pippa.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling as though she were underwater. Pippa had never heard such venom from her own mother before, not even at their worst moments.

“Don’t you love me at all, Mama?” she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word.

Bridget released her wrist at last. Pippa cradled her bruised arm, trying not to look at the red crescent-marks in her skin.

“I am a practical woman,” she said, voice clipped. “I always was. I married for love and look how we suffered for it. I shan’t let you make the same mistake. Lord Barwick is the man you want, mark my words. I will make this request of you once and only once more. If Lord Barwick makes you an offer – and I believe he will – you are to gratefully accept it at once. At once . He’s not a man who likes to be trifled with. Once you are a Marchioness, you will be set for life. You’ll be safe , Pippa, can you not see that? And believe me, it is safer not to be in love. Love is pain, and there’s no avoiding it. But a nice, clean relationship built only on mutual respect and a cool distance, well, that is the thing entirely.” Bridget punctuated her words with a nod, as if energetic nodding might convince her daughter.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Pippa could hear her heart thumping in her ears. She felt sick, and there could be any number of causes. The hot sun, the movement of the carriage, or perhaps the realisation that her own mother would cease to love her if she did not marry a marquess.

“If Papa could see you now,” Pippa heard herself say, her voice expressionless, “he’d weep.”

White-hot anger flared in Bridget’s face. She stiffened, leaning forward, arm pulled back as if she meant to deliver a slap.

Pippa stared at her hand. “Go on, then, Mama. Hit me. I shan’t hit you back.”

Bridget controlled herself with an effort, dropping her hand to her lap.

“Insolent girl,” she hissed, lips tight. “But I have said what I have said. If you wish to continue being considered as my daughter, you’ll marry the man I have picked out for you. You’ll thank me in time.”

Pippa said nothing. It didn’t seem to matter.