by Stacy Reid
Pippa breathed raggedly. “One day I shall forgive you for the weakness displayed in your character, but it will not be today.” Then she withdrew her arm from Miranda and hurried to her chamber. Over the years she’d had to rely on her resilience, she mastered herself and her emotions until she reached upstairs to her room. But once there she crumbled, sinking against the door, sliding down until she sat on the ground with her back to the door and cried.
Chapter 16
Three days after the dreadful confrontation with Christopher, Pippa released her breath as Mr. Bell finished reading her latest article.
His portly face was scrunched into a frown. “Let us be clear, you wish me to run this in tomorrow’s paper?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes.” After spending one day in bed, crying as if her heart would not be mended, she had arrived at an irrevocable truth. She had done Christopher a disservice with her words, even if she had believed Miranda at the time. They had been thoughtless and uncaring of his honor and reputation, and he deserved a public apology.
She’d also realized he wouldn’t walk away from her. Not this man who’d wanted to speak to her mother because of a kiss. His honor…and the love he had for her would not see him abandon her. He was not her father, nor was he a cad like Nigel Williamsfield. And that, she wanted to say to his face. Before she slapped him and then kissed him. The tearing hurt of the last few days could have been avoided, but perhaps it had been necessary. For now, they would learn how to navigate their relationship better. “Yes, I am certain I wish it to be published,” she said.
Miss Tilby and Mr. Bell shared a speaking glance.
“Lady W…Miss Beaver…all of London will be out to view this…this…”
She smiled grimly. “Spectacle?”
Miss Tilby stepped closer to her. “Yes. Your identity as Lady W will be made public.”
Pippa nodded. “I’m quite aware what I am sacrificing, Mr. Bell. Will you run it?”
Glee lit in his eyes. “With all pleasure.”
Pippa turned and walked away, a lump forming in her throat. Christopher might see the article and just toss it in the fire, but she dearly hoped he would forgive her. She hoped in showing him that she was willing to step from behind the anonymity of Lady W, that she too was willing to sacrifice and that she was not a coward. He’d accused her of hating scandal and gossip but had happily aired his laundry for the public consumption. Guilt ravaged her though she had not been the one to make the decision to publish the dreadful post. And pain destroyed her heart that this chasm still lingered between them.
Christopher had departed London five days ago for his estate in Derbyshire. He poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into the large, comfortable wingback chair, and for the hundredth time wondered what the hell was he doing there. He’d left London as if dogs had chased him, traveled for two days, not sleeping or eating, wanting air to breathe and to think. His townhouse was perfumed with Pippa’s scent, and the memories of their time there had already started eating through his soul, so he’d fled.
I simply forgot. You do not trust me either.
Softly spoken refrains which had been haunting him.
Could the explanation indeed be that simple? And was he too undeserving of her trust to so readily believe the worst of her? He heaved a frustrated sigh and raked a hand through his hair. Everything had been too chaotic, and he had not been able to speak with her mother. Their marriage would start on a rocky foundation, and if he wanted the forever type of love he dreamed with her, they would have to work on trusting each other more.
It still gutted him when he recalled she had not answered him. Did she honestly believe he was as unprincipled as her father and that bastard Nigel? How could they even go ahead with a marriage with such uncertainty between them? Questions he wondered at every day and night, haunting the halls of the mansion like a damn specter because he had been unable to sleep.
Christopher pushed to his feet and strolled to the windows overlooking the vast lawns of his estate. They would have to find a way to press forward. He had taken her virtue, debauched her thoroughly several times, forgetting to protect her against pregnancy. And had walked away from her despite the pain and confusion he’d seen in her eyes.
It left a bitter flavor in his mouth, and he couldn't help thinking he had let her down as well, broken the tentative trust she’d placed in him by walking away. He would marry her, and nothing could dissuade him from that promise. He hoped they would be able to mend the hurt of their thoughtless words and actions, and not allow it to fester in their heart and marriage. The last thing he wanted was a cold union devoid of mutual trust and respect like many he witnessed within the haut monde.
He had been a damn fool in racing from London as if he fled from demons.
A knock sounded, and he glanced around as Selina sailed inside, a forced bright smile on her face.
“Darling, this is where you had run off to! Licking your wounds in private? How droll?” her eyes laughed at him, but he could see the concern.
“I’ve been here only a few days, Selina. What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“To be honest, Percy and I headed this way, and well, my instincts urged me to stop here before we headed down to our estate. I daresay it is a good thing I did!”
Conveniently explained, but no doubt she suspected he would come here and decided to be her usual meddlesome self. She sat in a high wing-back chair and contemplated him. He turned his back to her, pensively staring out the window. She had intruded upon his privacy, and he was not in the mood to pretend polite chit-chat was now acceptable.
“It has always seemed to me you were forever the duke. So rigid and proper even before you walked on the wild side with that gypsy girl,” she said softly. "Have I ever told you I was glad you fell in love with her?" There was a long pause then she continued, "Truly I did. Afterward, you became so very reserved and cold with your passions. I always sensed another layer to your character, but you’ve kept it hidden until these past weeks. I credit the shift in your reaction to Miss Cavanaugh, and I suspect you have fallen in love with her. I am not sure what happened. Did she cry off because of the article?"
"No," he said, and would not offer any more explanation for Selina would tell Amelia, who would tell their mother and after that, he could not account for how this conversation would leak.
“But you do love her?”
“Desperately,” he said with frankness. And I am a damn fool. He shouldn’t have buried his head in the sand here, working out his damn feelings by himself. Trust started with communication, and from the beginning, he should have allowed his anger to cool and returned to her immediately. Instead, he had been holed up in Derbyshire for almost a damn week.
“Good. I’m not sure if you’ve seen this?”
A crinkle of paper had him turning around. "Not another damn scandal sheet," he all but snarled.
“This one I think you’ll want to see,” she said with amusement.
He strolled over to her and took the paper.
Dear Duke of C and the public,
This author passionately declares that the Duke of C is no cad, or libertine, or an unlovable cretin. This author knows this…because I am irrevocably in love with him and know the kind, wonderful, and steadfast heart of his character. He is a man to be admired and emulated, and he has my dearest love.
Duke of C…I am sorry, and I hope you will forgive me. I wrote that letter when I thought you were a libertine. How wrong every placed word was and I am not ashamed to confess my change of heart. Since I've met you, I have known love…joy…happiness and hope for a different future. I love you, I trust you, and if your sentiments remain the same, meet me at the south-east corner of the Serpentine River in Hyde Park at noon this Sunday. I will be in a bright yellow gown and hat.
P.S.: I will not hide my declaration and apology behind a pseudonym.
Yours forever.
Miss Pippa Cavanaugh writing as Lady W.
> His heart almost burst from his chest when his gaze narrowed in on the date. “This was printed two days ago,” he said gruffly. Worse. “It is tomorrow she will be at Hyde Park.”
Selina smiled, her eyes watchful. “I wondered after such a terribly romantic declaration if you would ignore her. Society is terribly titillated, and I daresay everyone will be coming to meet you as well. Just to observe the spectacle. Mamma is of course beside herself, but I do find it…simply wonderful.”
Making it to London by tomorrow afternoon was impossible. The idea of her sitting there, waiting for him to show, and believing he had ignored her apologies and sentiment almost pulled a cry of denial from his lips.
“I must leave now,” he said, dropping the paper, rushing from the room, and calling for his fastest horse.
Chapter 17
Pippa’s nerves felt stretched to the breaking point. Would he come? She had bared herself to him…to society and the ton would show up at the meeting point as if they attended a play at Vauxhall. Society would confirm that Miss Pippa Cavanaugh was indeed Lady W…and they would know she was desperately in love with the Duke of Carlyle.
What did you think…say when you saw my words of love? Did you scoff, laugh?
And amid those doubts, she recalled the tender emotions that had been in his eyes the night he took her on their greatest adventure.
Pippa reached a bench in the park and sat. Several ladies stared at her, their expression ranging from shock to admiration. She did not pay them any attention. Instead she opened the final chapters of Oliver Twist. If she did not read and divert her mind from it all, she would expire from the anxiety coursing through her.
What if he did not come…what if he loved her no longer. She recalled his words when she’d expressed her fear of loving him. Let it not be a fear because you own my heart, Pippa. Let me own yours too. And she smiled, pushing aside the doubts.
Almost an hour after the time Pippa had stipulated the duke had not shown. The fashionable people walking along the paths had increased significantly, for they did not move on. But seemingly waiting as well to see if the duke showed.
Many chattered behind their hands, and a few laughed. Others seemed sorry. To Pippa, their reaction did not matter, only that Christopher had not shown. She tried to be brave, keeping her head up, and the tears suppressed.
But inside, she died slowly and painfully.
The crowd dispersed long before Pippa gave up.
She went through an agony of indecision. Should I stay or leave? But in the end, that tiny hope that Christopher loved her as she adored him, was enough to keep her there for another two hours. It was the slight drizzle which forced her to secure her book, stand, and make her way home, her heart and reputation so broken and torn she doubted they would ever be mended.
Christopher made it to London and southeast corner of the Serpentine River in Hyde Park five hours after the allotted time. The few benches dotting the landscape were empty, and he spied no young lady in a bright yellow gown. His senses remained dormant, and he knew Pippa was no longer there. The fact he had reached even a minute after the time would have gutted her. And it destroyed him, for he didn’t want her to believe, even for a second, that he had not cared enough to come.
A few ladies and gents strolling by sent him appalled looks, for his appearance was decidedly disheveled—his top hat had been lost sometime during his mad dash, his boots were splattered with mud, and his clothes were wrinkled. He had driven his horse at a hard pace, and still, he'd missed Pippa. The rains and the mud-clogged roads had been a hindrance, but he’d pushed. Only pausing to switch horses at an Inn.
And I’ve missed you.
He did not tarry long, once more mounting the tired horse and trotting through the busy streets to Russell Square. Upon arriving, he saw Lady Cavanaugh hurrying down the steps with a small valise in her hands. Footmen were strapping portmanteaux to the carriage. Christopher dismounted and indicated to one of the countess's footmen to take the horse to the mews for oats, water, and a rubdown.
Lady Cavanaugh had turned at his voice, and she gasped upon recognizing him. He made his way over to her, and her eyes widened at his appearance. Regret punched through him to see that she had been crying. A quick scan inside the carriage did not reveal Pippa.
“Lady Cavanaugh,” he began gruffly. “I rode through the night and the rain to make it but was not in time.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she stepped closer to him. "I've never seen my darling Pippa so heartbroken. She believes…" the baroness cleared her throat. "She believes she has lost your love and her reputation."
He sent a searching glance at the townhouse. “Where is she?”
“I fear we’ve overstayed our welcome here, and I cannot blame the countess. It seems Pippa’s revelation as Lady W is a scandal too much for them to bear.”
"I will fix it," he promised. "As my duchess, everyone will clamor to be accepted by her. Not the other way around."
The baroness closed her eyes briefly. “You love her then?”
“With every emotion in my heart.”
“She has left with a lady’s maid to Mr. Radley’s Hotel in Ranelagh Gardens in Liverpool. Tomorrow she will board a ship to see her father. I do not think she plans to return anytime soon.”
His heart in his throat, he bowed, and turned around. Christopher made his way home, had a bath, and made himself presentable. Then he called for his carriage. First, he would make his way to her publisher, then he would head to Liverpool and find his love.
Pippa stood at Canning dock at Liverpool, awaiting instructions to board her ship to New York. Her ticket had already been checked along with Molly’s, the maid the countess had allowed to accompany Pippa on her journey. Their two valises had already been collected and stocked to be carried on board by a porter, and now she waited with the other passengers in the waiting room, anticipating boarding any minute now.
Mamma had insisted she would be fine amidst the rumors exploding through society. Pippa felt like a coward running away, but everything was too painful for her to stay. She needed the time away to heal, though she doubted any measure of peace would be found in New York.
Mamma was returning to Hertfordshire Crandleforth having cashed the draft of the thousand pounds, which had been sent in the letter by Miss Calvert. Mamma hadn’t allowed a puffed-up sense of pride to prevent her from using the money. In truth, she had muttered the lady owed them far more than the thousand pounds. Still, it would go a far way in helping with the burden of managing the estate.
Pippa sighed, hoping that in the two-week long journey to New York from Liverpool, this awful agony inside her heart would ease. She lowered herself onto one of the chairs, and the well-dressed lady beside her shifted, the newspaper crinkling between her fingers.
It was then Pippa caught a mention of the duke. Her heart twisting, she looked away, but then she was compelled to return her regard to the article. She frowned at some of the words her eyes detected.
Love you…
My heart…
She gasped when she saw Pippa.
“Pardon me,” she said, leaning toward the lady. “Might I borrow your newssheet for a few minutes.”
The lady smiled and handed over the sheet. Pippa gripped each end of the paper shocked to see it was an article from Mr. Bell’s publication.
Dear Miss Pippa Cavanaugh.
I got your invitation to meet you along the Serpentine. I confess I was in Derbyshire when I got the news, and I traveled immediately to town, but I missed you, a thing I regret most keenly, for I wanted nothing more in this world than to see you there. For you see, I must declare to you and the world, I love you with every part of me, and with every emotion in my heart. You are a lady unlike any I've ever had the privilege to know. You are fearless with your desires, bold and witty in your thinking, kind and loyal, and I know it is me you love, Christopher Worth. Be my duchess, my wife, and my friend, Miss Cavanaugh. I urge you to complete my heart,
for, without you, I am but a shadow.
Please meet me at the southeast corner of the Serpentine. Our bench awaits.
Sincerely,
Christopher Worth, the Duke of Carlyle.
Pippa read it twice before she burst into tears, shocking the other passengers. A handkerchief was quickly offered which she used to dab her cheeks. Handing over the newssheet, she scrambled to her feet and made her way from the room. Molly hurried after her, having the good sense not to ask any questions even though she did shout about the luggage once.
Just over an hour after seeing the article, Pippa along with her maid, was aboard a train, steaming its way to London. She couldn’t stop crying and laughing, and she was certain everyone might think she was destined for Bedlam. A few hours later she embarked at Euston, and a hack was hailed to take her to the park.
Pippa's nerves jangled with excitement and such hope that by the time she arrived at the southeast section of the park she was a wreck. Her eyes widened to see several members of the ton avidly gathered. But her eyes were for the man who stood staring across the river, his back to her. Every sense within her came alive, and her heart thundered.
The applause and cheers that broke out at her arrival had Christopher spinning around. His palm pressed over his heart and the profound relief in his gaze was mirrored in hers. A sudden bout of shyness attacked her, and her steps faltered. He made his walk over to her in long strides and drew her into a fierce, scandalizing hug. He did not seem to care that the entire haut monde was present.
She returned his embrace, fiercely, before stepping away from him.
“How utterly ugly you look,” he murmured, tenderly brushing a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.
