Page 8 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

Pippa twisted around, looking back over her shoulder at Lord Whitmore. He was watching her , a realisation which sent shivers down her spine.

She’d seen a good many handsome men in her time, and many of them were here tonight. But there was something different about Lord Whitmore. He had an ordinary enough face, to be sure, but something lit him up from within. There was an animation in his eyes which she hadn’t seen in the others, something that drew her gaze like a magnet.

Is this it? she thought, her heartbeat speeding up. Is this how it starts? Was this what it was like for Mama?

She exhaled shakily, biting back a smile. He had seemed drawn to her , too. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking? Where had the rush of anxiety come from?

Suddenly, she realised that her mother was speaking to her.

“In future,” Bridget was saying, “you’ll stay by my side, or with female friends. It’s not proper for a lady to wander across a ballroom without any sort of escort of company. This is my fault; you weren’t to know. London Society is much different from what you are used to in the country, and the rules are much more stringent. This is serious . Pippa, are you listening?”

“Of course,” she responded mechanically. “I am enjoying myself, Mama.”

Bridget threw a quick, fond glance over her shoulder. “Well, I’m glad,” she muttered. It was the first kind look and word Pippa had received from her mother since before they’d left home to visit their relatives, and the shock of it jolted her out of her reverie and almost drove the picture of Lord Whitmore from her mind.

“However,” Bridget continued, ruining the moment, “parties like this and the Season are not for enjoying . We have work to do, and connections to make. Now. Let’s introduce you to Lord Barwick, and quickly. Supper will be called at any moment.”

Pippa bit back a sigh.

Abruptly, they were there, in a spacious little corner with Lord Barwick and his mother staring down at Pippa like eagles inspecting a rabbit.

“Lord Barwick, Lady Barwick, it’s an honour,” Bridget fluted, making a neat curtsey which Pippa nearly forgot to copy. “This is my daughter, Miss Pippa Randall.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Lord Barwick murmured, gaze raking her up and down appreciatively. Lady Henrietta Barwick seemed less impressed.

“Rather thin,” she remarked, half to herself and half to her son. “Do you not feed her, Lady Randall?”

“I think Miss Randall is a very pretty sort of girl, Mother,” Lord Barwick said, shooting Pippa a benevolent smile. “Very pretty indeed.”

Lady Henrietta pursed her lips in obvious disagreement. “Well, Miss Randall, tell us all about yourself. Do you play the pianoforte? What a silly question, of course you do. And watercolours, do you…”

“I do play a little the piano,” Pippa interrupted, suddenly desperate not to have her meagre accomplishments trotted out for inspection beneath the Barwicks bead little eyes. “But I prefer to play the violin.”

There was a brief silence, during which Lady Henrietta’s disapproving gaze grew heavier.

“Violin? Not a very ladylike instrument, in my opinion,” she said, as if her opinion was the only one that mattered. “I daresay you did not have opportunity to learn the harp, which is a much more appropriate stringed instrument. But then, I suppose allowances must be made, considering what sort of education your father must have been able to give you. Rather poor, I imagine.”

Pippa felt herself bristling. “My father gave me the best education I could wish for,” she said sharply, tugging away her arm when Bridget tried to take her wrist. “I could have learned the harp, if I wished it, but I didn’t. I wanted to learn the violin, with my Papa, and so I did.”

There was a brief silence after this. Lady Henrietta was stone-faced, but her son appeared to be holding back laughter.

“You give your opinion very decidedly,” Lady Henrietta said at last, voice hard. “I am not sure I can approve of that.”

Pippa lifted her chin. “I am not sure I requested your approval, Lady Barwick.”

The woman’s expression turned thunderous, but before she could say another word, or before Pippa could say something else to destroy her reputation further, supper was announced, and the guests began to end their conversations and file out into the hall, and from there to the dining room.

Bridget made a perfunctory curtsey, snatched up her daughter’s arm, and marched her away.

“That,” she hissed, “was not very funny, Pippa.”

“I was not trying to be funny, Mama. Lady Barwick was very rude.”

“Nonsense. She is a grown woman, a dowager – like me – and she is looking upon you as a potential daughter-in-law. Of course, she is strict and serious about the matter. But now, didn’t you think that Lord Barwick was handsome?”

Pippa’s heart sank. “He is not ugly or plain, Mama, but I do not feel drawn to him.”

Bridget sighed in exasperation. “Goodness, as if that matters in the least. And here I thought you would be pleased at having such a handsome man show interest in you. I chose him carefully, you know. He’s only a little older than you, and very good looking.”

“Perhaps you should marry him, then, Mama, if you think that he’s so handsome,” Pippa muttered, and received an elbow in her ribs.

“Enough of that insolence,” Bridget muttered tartly. “Now, you will be sitting next to Lord Barwick at the table, so be sure to be on your best behaviour, and bring out your finest manners. Don’t eat too much, but don’t sit there with an empty plate – it’ll look odd. Be sure to ask him lots of questions about himself, and be very interested in the answers.”

Pippa sighed. “What if his answers are boring, Mama?”

“It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is your reaction to them.”

Bridget fell silent as they entered the supper-room, a space bigger than the entire shop and rooms they’d occupied back home, with a long table set in the middle. Neat little cards indicated where each guest was meant to sit, and people were rounding the table, eyes peeled for their name on the little cards.

Lord Barwick and his mother had gotten ahead of them, somehow, and were standing by the table with thunderous expressions. Bridget hurried over to them, and Pippa was obliged to trail along in her wake.

“There’s been some mistake, I think,” Lady Henrietta said at once, flashing a tight-lipped smile. “Miss Randall’s place is here, but mine and my son’s place is across the table.”

Bridget stared down at the place settings. “But that can’t be right. I arranged this!”

Pippa didn’t bother to ask just what her mother had arranged. She was too busy staring at her own name, written neatly on thick, creamy card. And, of course, she was looking at the name beside it.

Lord Nathan Whitmore.

I’m sitting next to Lord Whitmore, she thought, unable to hold back a shiver of pleasure.

Somebody cleared their throat, and they all turned to see Lord Whitmore himself standing there, a faint smile on his face. Beside Lord Barwick’s glittering finery, Lord Whitmore seemed a little duller, a little more drab, like a grey stone next to a vibrant gem.

But the comparison was not a bad one, in Pippa’s opinion. He made Lord Barwick seem too showy, like a gawky young man dressed up in gilt and paste jewels.

“I believe this is my seat, Lord Barwick,” Lord Whitmore said, smiling innocently.

Lord Barwick narrowed his eyes briefly, as if thinking of something to say. There was nothing to say, however. Most of the other guests had taken their seats, and of course now was not the time for an altercation. Lord Barwick gave a brief, wordless bow, and slid away through the crowds, followed by his mother. Bridget muttered something under her breath and disappeared in search of her seat.

That left Pippa and Lord Whitmore alone.

Well, not exactly alone , not in a supper-room full of people, but it almost felt like they were alone.

“You moved the place cards, didn’t you?” she said, not entirely sure where the words were coming from.

Lord Whitmore grimaced. “That rather depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you’re pleased at sitting next to me or not.”

She had to laugh at that. “I am pleased.”

“Then indeed, I did move them. Not personally, of course, but I knew that a little shuffling was going on.”

A slow smile spread across his face, a warm expression that made Pippa want to smile back.

They took their seats, being one of the last people to sit, and the first course began to be served. Soup, of course.

“It’ll be odd eating a meal with more than two courses,” Pippa found herself saying, even though Bridget had expressly forbidden her from referring even obliquely to their poverty. “We’ve been eating very simple meals since before Papa died.”

“Frankly, I believe that is a more practical way of dining,” Lord Whitmore conceded. “This food looks delicious, to be sure, and I happen to know that our hostess does not let anything go to waste. But in many homes, the wasted food is quite shocking. When at home, with one’s family, why should we need four or five courses, when one or two is more than sufficient?”

She nodded. “I think the world would be a better place if more people were as practical as you, Lord Whitmore.”

He smiled wryly over at her. “I believe that the world might also be a less genteel place. I don’t much care for traditions and how things ought to be done.”

She found herself smiling back, her soup cooling in her bowl. “I must agree. All of this,” she paused, gesturing to the fine supper-room and the food, “is very nice, but rather stressful, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

There was a brief silence while they enjoyed their soups, but Pippa found her gaze drawn sideways more often than she would have liked. Once or twice, Lord Whitmore was already gazing her way, and he flushed when their eyes met.

He likes me, she thought wonderingly. My first real outing into Society, and I found a man I like.

How lucky I am!

Almost immediately, anxiety swept in.

What if I make a mistake? What if he gets tired of me? Or mayhap these are just Society manners, and he is simply being kind, and I have misinterpreted it? Oh, heavens.

Or what if he is simply a flirt? I know that some gentlemen do that, and toy with ladies’ hearts. Would I be foolish enough to fall for such a trick?

“Tell me, Miss Randall, do you like music?”

“Hm?” she blinked, feeling a little dazed. “I am terribly sorry, I was not paying attention.”

He only laughed, not seeming offended at all. “I was speaking of music, Miss Randall. It’s a very proper subject for a dinner party, you see.”

She gave a huff. “Well, I told Lady Henrietta Barwick that I played the violin, and she deemed it an unladylike instrument, and thought that I should have learned the pianoforte or the harp instead.”

“Oh, dear. Well, the Dowager Lady Barwick is known for her sternness and strict opinions. I think that the violin is a wonderful instrument, and a difficult one to learn. I hope I have the opportunity to hear you play sometime.”

Warmth spread through Pippa’s chest.

“I… I should love to play for you. My father loved to hear me play. He loved music and played several instruments himself.”

Lord Whitmore nodded, glancing her way. Their eyes met, and he held her gaze.

“He sounds like a most interesting man. I should like to hear more about him.”

A lump formed in Pippa’s throat. When was the last time I could talk about Papa?

“Really?” she found herself saying.

Lord Whitmore nodded again, a shy smile spreading across his face.

“Yes. I should like it very much, Miss Randall.”

***

Supper flew over. Pippa had expected the endless courses to drag on, while she smothered yawns and tried to feign interest. What a change from her expectations! Instead, she and Lord Whitmore talked incessantly about everything and nothing. Conversation was so easy with him. Pippa found herself noticing how his eyes lit up when he talked, and the way his brows waggled when he told a story that was most endearing.

I like him, she thought, hiding a smile. I like him very much, and I am well on my way to caring for him more and more.

Her thoughts, of course, ran straight to love. Naturally, it was far too early to think of such a thing. She was still unsure whether he did like her, or whether their conversation had simply been a friendly one.

But there was hope, wasn’t there? There was something to explore.

When Katherine got to her feet and announced that the ladies would withdraw to the drawing room, Pippa felt more disappointed than she could possibly have known. She rose reluctantly to her feet, and the gentlemen all rose too. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced across the table to find Lord Barwick staring at her.

“I suppose I shall see you later, then,” Lord Whitmore said, smiling hopefully. “When the gentlemen join the ladies in the drawing room, that is. I believe there’s talk of a billiards game, but I shall try to get out of it.”

He wants to talk more with me, she realised, with a jolt of excitement. That’s promising, isn’t it?

“I shall look forward to it,” she heard herself say, then hurried to join the queue of ladies filing out of the supper room.

Out in the cool, dark hallway, Pippa was still blinking and trying to adjust her eyes to the gloom when somebody snatched up her arm.

It was, of course, Bridget.

“Oh, Mama, you made me jump.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Bridget muttered. “Supper did not go as planned. Lady Henrietta is offended, but Lord Barwick is still interested. It may still be salvaged.”

Pippa nodded faintly, chewing her lip. “Mama, do you think it’s possible to fall in love at first sight?”

Bridget shot her a sharp look. “Love at first sight?”

She cleared her throat. “Not love , exactly, I know that love takes time to build up. I mean, I suppose, interest . Not just finding someone handsome but finding them appealing in other ways. Their conversation, their interests, that sort of thing. Feeling as if you just fit together.”

She risked a glance at her mother and found that Bridget was smiling faintly.

“Yes,” she said at last, sighing. “It is possible. When I met your papa for the first time, it felt as though all of the air had fled from the room. It was thrilling. He’d be glad to know that you feel that, too. And Lord Barwick is such an eligible match. I’m glad you like him, darling.”

Pippa cleared her throat. “I wasn’t talking of Lord Barwick, Mama. I meant Lord Whitmore.”

Bridget stopped dead. Her hand, resting on Pippa’s forearm, suddenly tightened.

“Lord Whitmore is not being presented to you as a suitor,” she hissed, glaring into her daughter’s eyes.

A few other guests walked past them, heading to the drawing room, and shot curious glances their way.

“Why not?” Pippa whispered back. “Is he betrothed elsewhere? Is he a confirmed bachelor?”

“No, nothing like that. But Pippa, you need to marry well. The Whitmores are hardly an old family, and while they do have money, money is only one element of what is needed for us to retake our place in Society. You need a title, my girl, and the only way to get that is to marry a man with one.”

“Lord Whitmore has a title,” Pippa said, bewildered. “He’s a lord.”

“He’s a viscount. And I told you that you need at least a marquess,” Bridget sighed angrily, shaking her head. “I should have kept a closer eye on you. I do not give my permission for this nonsense with Lord Whitmore, as he is not suitable for you. You’ll court Lord Barwick, or somebody better, if you can find them.”

“You can’t stop me from talking to Lord Whitmore.”

Pippa wasn’t sure where the words had come from but immediately regretted them. Bridget’s head shot up, eyes narrowing.

“Why would Lord Whitmore want to marry a girl from a disgraced, fallen family, with no money and nothing but her mother’s maiden name to recommend her?” she enquired, voice icy. “Don’t be a fool. If Lord Whitmore has any sense – and he’s said to be a very clever man – he will marry a woman with better breeding than himself, or at the very least a large dowry. You, my girl, have neither.”

“But what if he falls in love with me?”

Bridget gave an exasperated sigh. “Pippa, you poor foolish girl, love is not something these people think about. You think that because I threw away everything for your father, many others do the same. It is a rarity. Love is something talked about a great deal in Society, but it is not factored into practical decisions. And here is another practical matter for you to consider. What will we do when your cousins’ charity runs out?”

Pippa flinched backwards. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that, at the moment, they are very much enjoying playing the benevolent relative. But suppose you or I offend them in some way, or they get tired of hosting us? It can get expensive, having another pair of mouths to feed. When that occurs, mark my words, we shall both find ourselves turned out with no place to take refuge. No, our only hope is for you to marry and marry well. And that will not be achieved by dancing around Lord Whitmore. Heavens, the man probably only felt sorry for you, on account of you acting like a gawping country girl!”

Every word seemed to hit Pippa like a slap in the face. She wilted more and more, until by the end of her mother’s speech tears began to prick her eyes.

Am I a fool?

“Come, do not contort your visage like a petulant child,” Bridget chided. “We ought to proceed to the drawing room with the others. They shall surely wonder at our delay.”