Page 2 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

Present Day

Pippa spotted a small hole in the sleeve of her gown, about halfway up the forearm. She bit back a sigh of resignation.

There was a travelling sewing kit in her bag, of course, but the ramshackle old carriage was jolting around too much to allow her to try and fix it as they travelled. She would arrive at their destination, then, with a hole in her gown.

In case they didn’t already believe that we were poor, miserable relations, we will make it clearer still, Pippa thought miserably.

The carriage was a hired one, and Bridget had haggled down the price until it was something they could afford. They had walked a good deal of the way, and taken a stagecoach another part of the way, but Bridget was insistent that they could not turn up at their destination looking like peasants. At least this way they could stretch out, just the two of them in the carriage, instead of jostling elbows against shouting fishwives and stinking butchers.

Frankly, Pippa thought it would be better for their case if they did. They were coming for charity, after all.

“Sit up straight, Pippa,” Bridget snapped. “And don’t look so miserable. You could be a pretty girl, if you only used your advantages better. I won’t have them thinking we’re gawping countryfolk.”

But we are gawping countryfolk.

Pippa kept her mouth closed and straightened up.

“Do you think they’ll be happy to see us?” she said at last, after a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence. Her backside was horribly sore from being jolted about on the hard carriage seat, and she was desperate to have something to take her mind off it. “My cousins, I mean.”

There was a long pause before her mother responded.

“I don’t know,” Bridget answered simply. “William, the oldest, is the Duke of Dunleigh now. He was always such a serious boy and reminded me so much of his father. If he’s a copy of the old duke, my brother, then we’re in a great deal of trouble, my girl.”

Pippa didn’t need to ask what sort of trouble they would be in.

The months after Phillip’s death had passed in a daze of grief and privations. The next Viscount and his wife had come to take their dues and had reluctantly turned Pippa and Bridget out of the house. It was no longer their house, after all. It belonged to the Viscount Randall, whoever he was. Bridget’s widow’s jointure was thin, and the new viscount did not offer to supplement it. A distant cousin, it wasn’t really his responsibility to care for them, even though he did let them stay for a few weeks in the house. He brought a fortune of his own, it turned out, so the new Viscount Randall would not have to scrimp and save. He kept on Joan, the maid-of-all-work, and took on new servants.

Bridget and Pippa had taken a cottage a little way away from the Randall estate, and then a smaller cottage, and then finally a set of rooms above a shop in the town. Their income barely covered the rent and their food.

After six or eight months of this, Bridget had swallowed her pride and written to her brother, the Duke of Dunleigh, explaining the situation and asking for help.

She received a terse, negative letter in response. No help was forthcoming, and their last hope was gone.

And then news trickled to the countryside that the Duke of Dunleigh was dead. Some sort of riding accident, it seemed.

Bridget was exultant, sure that her nephews and niece would do something for them now. They had missed the funeral, which was a shame, but she was so sure that help would come.

Months ticked by. News came that Katherine had married, and then the three boys in quick succession, and the Willenshire family thrived. No help came.

When their credit was finally turned down at the grocer’s, Pippa came home and told her mother that something needed to be done. They agonized over sending a letter, which might be ignored, and finally, finally, came to a decision.

There’d be no letter, no warning. They would simply go to London and confront the Willenshires at their home.

The closer they got, however, the more Pippa began to worry. They were poor relations, and there was no real love between them and the family. She remembered spending some time with Katherine when they were children, but would Katherine remember? What if they were brushed aside like leaves in the wind?

Lifting her hand to her lips, Pippa began to bite her nails.

“Stop that,” Bridget snapped. She was leaning up against the seat opposite, eyes closed, and Pippa wasn’t entirely sure how her mother knew that she was biting her nails.

She returned her hand to her lap. “Sorry, Mama. I’m just nervous.”

“So am I. But we’ll be there before nightfall, so calm down and try and compose yourself. We don’t want to seem too desperate.” She opened her eyes, sweeping a calculating look over her daughter from head to foot. “Tidy up your hair, can’t you? And when we get closer, pinch your cheeks a little to put some colour into them. You’re white as a sheet, and you don’t want to look like a spinster. You want to look marriageable .”

Pippa bit back a sigh, obediently running her hands over her hair.

She was proud of her hair, which was thick and wavy, coming to her waist, and had a rich chestnut shade. However, it was a lot of hair to manage, especially with no maid or anybody to help her put it up beyond her mother.

At twenty-three years old, Pippa had no more marital prospects than she’d had two years ago, before her father died. The memory of him still made her chest clench. Not a day went by without her thinking of his last words, his last request, and how she’d failed already.

“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.”

I’m trying, Papa. I swear, I’m trying, it’s just so hard .

Pippa was pretty enough, but not in a particularly eye-catching way. At the moment, society loved unusual beauties, and women who stood out ethereal blondes, sleek, raven-haired ladies, women with red-gold hair like goddesses.

With brown hair and blue eyes, Pippa was not exactly remarkable . She was of average height, with a decently featured face, and an ordinary sort of figure. Besides, there hadn’t been much Society for them now that they were plain old Miss Randall and the Dowager Viscountess. At times, it felt as though they were still in mourning, going nowhere and seeing no one.

Stop wallowing in self-pity, she scolded herself. Papa wouldn’t want it.

“Your cousin William might give us an allowance,” Bridget murmured, half to herself. “He can certainly afford it. Ideally, they might even take you out into Society for a Season. Sponsor you, you know. If so, you must resolutely apply yourself and approach the matter with due seriousness. Cast aside any fanciful notions of romance, my dear. It would be prudent to select a gentleman of considerable means and enter into matrimony for reasons of practicality rather than sentiment.”

Pippa pressed her lips together. “Papa wanted me to find love.”

“Your Papa was not practical,” Bridget shot back coldly. “If he had been, he would have left you a dowry and me a larger widow’s settlement.”

A flash of anger went through Pippa. “That’s not fair, Mama. You loved him, I know you did. You and Papa married for love.”

“Indeed, we did,” Bridget conceded. “And now I darn my own dresses.”

There was a taut silence after that. Pippa swallowed hard, trying to calm herself down. She’d found herself all but raging at her mother more times than she could count over the past two years. Living in such close quarters was always a recipe for disaster, and Bridget seemed to have become colder and sharper since the death of her husband.

She’s the only family I have left, Pippa reminded herself. We have to stick together.

She leaned forward, clearing her throat. “Mama, what will we do if Cousin William won’t see us? What if they won’t help us?”

Bridget’s face tightened, and Pippa guessed that her mother had considered this possibility many times over the past few days.

“I don’t know,” she answered bluntly. “This is our last hope.”

Pippa sat back, a shiver of fear going through her. The plain fact of the matter was that they had no home to go back to. Their rented rooms with its hired furniture would not be waiting for them back home. They could not afford to travel to London and pay for their rooms. Doubtless their landlord had already ushered in some hapless new family.

Not that Pippa had been reluctant to leave. The rented rooms had never felt like home, and their rapid fall had been noticed and catalogued by the town. The rector’s wife occasionally brought charity-baskets around for Pippa and her mother, and that was almost too humiliating to bear. They saw the new Viscount and his family in church, and relations between them were strained. The townsfolk made it clear that they thought the new Viscount ought to do something for Pippa and her mother, and the new Viscount had made it equally clear that he disagreed. He had become mulish and resentful under the social pressure and did not bother to hide his annoyance.

No, there was nothing for them back home. Home, as it was, had disappeared entirely.

I wish I could believe that London would be any better, Pippa thought tiredly. If only…

She did not get to finish this thought, because at that instant, there was a resounding crack and the carriage lurched sideways throwing Pippa and her mother hard against the door.

“What in heaven’s name…?” Bridget squawked. “Pippa, do step outside and ascertain what is amiss. Are we perhaps ensconced in a ditch? Inquire of that insufferable coachman what he believes he is about. At this pace, he shall jolt us all into a state of utter disarray.”

There was nothing to do but obey. Pippa climbed awkwardly out of the carriage and discovered that they were indeed in a ditch. The carriage stood at an angle, the front left-side axle dug into the dirt. She saw the problem at once.

“The wheel’s broken,” she said aloud.

The coachman had come down from his perch and was standing on top of the ditch, staring down at the crippled carriage in resignation. He shot her an annoyed look.

“I can see that, Miss,” he responded. “Are you hurt?”

“No, we’re not hurt. But how long will this delay us?”

The coachman sighed, glancing up at the darkening sky. “I doubt help will come anytime soon, and we won’t be setting off again until morning.”

Pippa’s heart sank. “What? You mean we have to stay in the carriage all night?”

The driver shrugged. “I’d suggest you stay in an inn. There’s one just over yonder. Unless, of course, you can walk to your destination.”

“Walk?” Bridget chipped in, climbing ungracefully out of the carriage. “We’re not walking up to my relative’s house like a couple of paupers, our bags on our backs. You’ll take us there, as we agreed.”

The coachman shrugged again. “As you like. But then you’ll need to find somewhere to spend the night.”

Pippa turned to her mother, dropping her voice. “Can we afford an inn?”

Bridget’s face tightened. “Just about.”

“We could walk.”

“No.”

The word was uttered with finality. Bridget turned to face her daughter fully.

“Appearances are everything, and first impressions are crucial. We shall commence our journey as we intend to continue, arriving in a manner befitting proper ladies.” She turned to the coachman. “Will you bring our boxes up to the inn?”

He grunted an affirmation, and Bridget turned away with a sigh.

“Come along, then. Let us make haste before all their lodgings for the night are taken. And for heaven’s sake, repair that tear in your sleeve. You appear quite dishevelled.”

***

It was not a particularly nice inn. The innkeeper looked them both up and down, pursed her lips, and bluntly requested payment upfront. Pippa saw the way her mother clenched her jaw against the obvious insult, and carefully counted out their precious coins to pay. She felt like stepping forward and slamming her fist against the counter.

Don’t you know that my cousin is the Duke of Dunleigh? She would shout. My father was the Viscount Randall. We’re ladies.

She didn’t bother, of course. Calling on the names of rich relations wouldn’t make more money appear in their purses, and the innkeeper probably wouldn’t believe them anyway.

They were shown to a small, dusty room with cobwebs in the corner and a gritty, unswept floor. There was one bed for them both to share, and it creaked ominously when Pippa sat on it. She bit back a sigh and turned her attention to the hole in her sleeve.

“This might serve us better, now I think about it,” Bridget murmured, pacing up and down. “We can arrive in the middle of the morning, as if we were paying a call, rather than at the end of the day like a pair of supplicants.”

“That’s what we are, though, isn’t it?” Pippa remarked. “Supplicants. Poor relations.”

She’d made a mistake. Bridget rounded on her.

“I will not have you spouting such nonsense,” she hissed. “I am a Viscountess, and you are a viscount’s daughter. My brother was a duke, and a rich one. I was a rich woman. When you marry – and you’ll marry well, I shall make sure of it – all will be righted again. We are coming to take our rightful place in Society, and don’t you forget it.”

Pippa avoided her mother’s eye, bending over her sewing.

“I liked our old place in Society,” she muttered.

Bridget pretended not to hear her.

“We shall go to bed early, I think,” she said, half to herself. “And start fresh in the morning. Our fates rest upon the morrow, and all must be executed to perfection.”