Corseting The Earl

by Killarney Sheffield

  “Pressing business matters have kept me busy. And you?” Heath asked just to be polite.

  “Oh, well, I thought I might have met the one this week but, alas a friend whispered in my ear of her fallen state, so it was not to be. I suppose not everyone can be as lucky as you to have snared the woman of the season, or so I hear rumor.”

  Heath shrugged. “That may, or may not be, ’tis not been announced as of yet. Some young swain my sway her heart before then.” He suddenly didn’t care whether he married the incomparable Lady Spencer or not. “Pray tell, who was this fallen woman who took your fancy? I must watch she does not bewitch me as well, you know.”

  The viscount waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Just some country maid putting on airs. It was mere luck a squire from her village mentioned her intent to pawn her unborn babe off on a man of means, or I might have gotten myself led down the altar, you know.”

  “Yes…lucky.” Heath tried not to scowl. So it was the squire’s son who told of Pippa’s condition. “If you will excuse me, I see another I am in need of a conversation with.”

  “You never stop working, eh, Sedgewick?” The viscount smiled, envy shining in his dull grey eyes.

  “It would seem,” Heath murmured, and then moved away.

  With a casual air he approached Lord Waxland. “Good eve, Waxland, how do you fair?”

  The elder lord in question bowed out of his conversation with another and greeted Heath. “As well as can be imagined, Sedgewick.”

  Heath nodded picking up on the earl’s stiff undertone. He was not happy with Heath’s failed mission, it seemed. “Did you get my letter?”

  “Yes.” Lord Waxland’s gaze scanned the room in a way which made him appear off-the-cuff, but Heath didn’t fail to miss his shrewd calculated reckoning of those closest in proximity. “It is bloody hot in here, do you not agree? Perhaps you care to join me for a cooling down on the veranda?”

  By the intense look given, Heath sensed it was a command, rather than an invitation. “That sounds like a brilliant idea.”

  They strolled to the double doors marking the veranda, greeting those they knew on the way. As they stepped through them Heath glanced back over his shoulder. The viscount was watching him with a cloaked expression. It was a shame he had lost his valuable partner, Pippa. He doubted he would have any other chance to glean information from the young man now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pippa sneezed at the dust floating in the thin shaft of sunlight filtering in through the dirty stockroom window. The trip home, all sixteen hours of it, had been spent in almost complete silence. Upon arriving back home, her father had simply looked at her with great sadness in his expression, sighed and hobbled away. Six days she had been home and not even the cook and housekeeper said anything to her beyond announcing when meals were served. She sank down on a crate with a heavy sigh. It seemed she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in shunned silence.

  Through the open stockroom door she could see the back of the account’s desk and beyond it the display window. The costly gowns Heath had purchased for her made an attractive presentation. The teal silk, which had been her favorite day dress, had already sold. Her mother had seized the lovely wardrobe from London saying she did not deserve so fine a collection, and promptly put them for sale. She brushed a smudge of dirt from her sturdy cotton cleaning frock. It was silly to mourn the clothing, she realized, when her expanding stomach would soon make wearing them impossible anyway. Still, she couldn’t help the melancholy that settled over her at their removal. Her dreams of being a great lady were just that, silly school girl whims.

  “Pippa,” her father called. “Mrs. Baglo would like to see the new box of Saint Lucien lace.”

  Dreading facing a busybody such as Mrs. Baglo, Pippa rose, located the newly arrived box and headed to the shop front with it.

  Mrs. Baglo scowled at her. Her husband’s military bearing lent a false air of commanding power to the old grey haired wench that no one dared contradict. “I see the prodigal daughter has returned home, and breeding too, I hear tell.”

  Biting her tongue instead of telling the old bat what she thought of her, Pippa set the box on the counter. “Here is the lace, Papa.”

  Without acknowledging her he took the box and opened it.

  “You must be so disappointed, Mr. Nickle.” Mrs. Baglo tut-tutted. “Your only daughter, un-wed and loose of virtue. You poor, poor man.”

  Pippa’s face burned and, when she would have slunk back into the storage room, her mother entered and pointed to the candle display table. “Pippa, tidy that mess.”

  “Yes Mama.” She crossed to the table.

  “Dear Mrs. Nickle, how are you holding up?” the older woman crooned. “So terribly sad for you.”

  Pippa’s mother looked startled for a moment and then offered a weak smile. “I am fine, Mrs. Baglo, thank you for asking. Very tired, is all, ’twas a long trip to London and back, what with my worry over Mr. Nickle’s leg.”

  Mrs. Baglo nodded. “Yes, yes, the poor man left here to fend for himself, broken and suffering while you had to go chasing after such a wanton, disobedient girl.” She tut-tutted again and shook her head.

  Pippa snatched up a handful of candles, jamming them in the display rack harder than need be in frustration.

  Mrs. Baglo continued, “Why, in my day children did not disobey their parents, let alone run off to go roll in the hay with some vulgar boy. I mean the scandal of it all! And brought on our wonderful little village, too.”

  Hands shaking and tears welling up in her eyes, Pippa kept unseeingly stuffing candles in the slots.

  “Why, our pious mayor must be horrified by it all. And his darling boy, I cannot see his plans of wedding that lovely heiress will go at all smoothly. I mean, she would not want to live in a town filled with wanton petticoats now would she?”

  Candles scattered to the floor in the wake of Pippa’s fury and humiliation.

  Still Mrs. Baglo carried on, “All town is abuzz, wondering who the wicked boy is. Peggy Marsh claims it is the cobbler’s lad.” She swung a formidable gaze on Pippa. “Was it he then? Of course it was—”

  Pippa tossed the last candle to the floor. “Oh will you just stubble your flapping, sagging jowls, you ugly, old beast?”

  A shriek of outrage fled Mrs. Baglo’s mouth as her jaw dropped open and her eyes grew big as copper coins. “Oooh!”

  “Pippa! Apologize this instant!” Pippa’s father shouted.

  Pippa’s mother clutched her chest in dismay. “Philippa, I am appalled at your behavior!”

  Tears of fury and humiliation rolled down Pippa’s checks that she did not bother to wipe away, as she stared them down with fists clenched at her sides. “I will not! The old witch talks as if I am not even here. I am sorry I made such a noddy mistake believing the boy I gave myself to loved me.” She jabbed a finger at Mrs. Baglo. “But you are the last one to be pointing the finger of blame, you old hag.”

  Mrs. Baglo’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “I am sure I do not know what you are talking about. How dare the likes of you insult my good character.”

  “Really? I suppose your good character is what made you hide your daughter’s condition?” Pippa marched forward to stand face to face with the vile woman. “Or did you not know she was carrying the squire’s son’s child before she disappeared?”

  “How dare you cast such ugly rumors on my dear departed, Mary!” Mrs. Baglo wobbled and then clutched the counter as if feeling faint.

  “Rumors? Oh it is no rumor. I got it from the squire’s son myself. It seems the ones you look up to as pillars in our great community are the ones soiling it.”

  “Philippa Clare Nickle! Still your insolent tongue,” her papa exploded, his face red and more thunderous than she had ever seen it.

  She glared at him. “Are you speaking to me now, Papa? I was just starting to get used to being treated as if I were a ghost. You and Mama have been so busy casting jud
gment on me, yet you have not once cursed the boy who also played a part in my downfall.” Pippa fled the room. Through blurred vision she ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door.

  Great sobs heaved her chest as she leaned back against the door. What had she done? Why had she let the old witch get to her? Raised voices drifted from below, her father’s deep baritone and Mrs. Baglo’s shrill squawk. In utter despair she flung herself face down on the bed and sobbed into her pillow.

  “Pippa?”

  She turned her head to the wall and sniffled at her mother’s soft enquiry. “Oh Mama, I am so sorry, I did not mean for it to happen.”

  Footfalls crossed the room and then the bed dipped under her mother’s added weight. “Oh darling, I know you are.”

  The gentle hand which stroked Pippa’s hair renewed her tears. “I have made a rat’s nest out of everything, and shamed you and Papa at the same time.”

  “No, no, ’tis my fault, Pippa. I knew how badly you wanted to be a fine lady. I should have insisted your father send you to Aunt Beth’s for a proper season. I am sure you would have wed some nice baron, or some such, and not came back to this village. But your Papa, he was afraid he would lose you just like he has always been afraid he would lose me. He cannot fathom a lowly shop keeper might be enough for a baron’s daughter like myself.”

  Pippa sat up in horror. “Oh Mama, I swore I would not tell. Mitchel said he strangled Mary and threw her in the pond, and that he would do the same to me.”

  A look of dread passed over her mother’s face. “Is it the squire’s son’s babe you carry, Pippa?”

  “Yes,” Pippa whispered.

  Her mother’s face went ashen. “I have heard the rumors. It is said he is a vile boy and tortures cats and hounds alike at his whim. We must not have word get back to the squire of this. He would punish us, and I would fear for your safety if forced to marry that boy.”

  “Oh Mama,” Pippa cried. “I did not know, I swear. I thought him handsome and so sweet. I only realized my mistake after he told me of his intent to marry another. I was so chuckle-headed.”

  “No, you were simply foolish like every young girl and thought yourself in love.” Her mother gathered her close and rocked her against her chest. “We will sort it all out, Pippa, I promise.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pippa straightened her hat and scrutinized her reflection in the mirror of the room she shared with her mother. The blue dress her Papa bought seemed so simple and plain compared to all the gowns she had worn in London. “You should have come to Cousin Marcy’s nuptials without me, Mama. Everyone will whisper.”

  “Nonsense. You are not even showing yet, Pippa, and it is not likely those in your aunt’s circle will have heard of your condition. Anyway, I could not possibly leave you to the stares and catcalls in the village.” She smiled and placed a hand on Pippa’s shoulder. “I think we both needed a little holiday.”

  The grey circles under her eyes betrayed the fact that Pippa’s condition was starting to affect her mother. Sorrow pierced her heart at the thought of the whispers, stares, and open hostility her mother faced each day, because of her.

  Her mother tucked a loose curl behind Pippa’s ear as a door slammed downstairs, followed by light hearted banter. “It sounds as if the service is over. We should head down to the garden for the luncheon.”

  “I still do not understand why I could not attend the ceremony at the church. After all, it is not as if anyone there besides us and Aunt Beth knows I am with child,” Pippa groused, still annoyed she missed seeing her first nobility wedding ceremony.

  With a sigh, her mother towed her away from the mirror. “It would not be right and proper for an unwed mother to set foot in the house of God.”

  Pippa rolled her eyes and exited the room behind her mother. “It is a noddy rule, if you ask me.”

  “Shh, we will speak no more on it. Just try to have a good time this afternoon, dear.”

  By the time they descended the stairs, merry voices filtered in from the veranda and rear gardens. Pippa and her mother made their way along the receiving line to congratulate Marcy and her new husband Sir Trenton Tremane. When her mother was drawn into a circle of chattering ladies, Pippa wandered off along one of the garden paths. Soon she found herself at the gazebo admiring the ivy and pink morning glories winding around each stately pillar.

  “Mmm, what a lovely picture.”

  Pippa turned at the familiar yet, still oddly unfeminine voice. “Heath?” She glanced behind him at a couple strolling arm in arm along the path. “I mean Percephany, what are you doing here?”

  Heath cleared his throat and put a hand to his wig. “Your cousin Marcy invited me.” He stepped closer as the strolling couple moved off down the path. “She thought you could use a friend.”

  Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away with a sad smile. “Oh, how kind of her.”

  “Indeed.” Heath took her by the hand and led her up the steps to sit on the swinging chair within the shade of the structure. “How have you being fairing, Pippa?”

  She shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “That bad, huh?”

  Her lips trembled, but she forced a brave smile to her lips. “Still dressing as a woman I see. Does this mean you have become accustomed to the feel of a corset, my lord?”

  “Lord no.” He chuckled and then whispered, “I have switched to a man’s girdle, same stomach support, but no help needed to squeeze into it.” His expression sobered. “Besides, it is the only way I could finally get an invite to the viscount’s secret group.”

  The opportunity to forget her problems was too good to resist, and Pippa tipped her head with interest. “Do tell?”

  “It seems, Rylee has a secret club of mostly women. He has convinced them if they help him put Charlotte on the throne, then this liberal government he is proposing will pass a bill granting women the right to vote. I know that is a sham of course, for the secret head of the party is a man and not a woman’s suffrage supporter.”

  “Hum…how interesting.”

  Heath nodded. “I do wish you would have stayed in London. It is much easier for me to navigate in women’s circles with one so easily accepted.” A wry grin rode his full lips. “And much easier to dress.”

  Pippa raised a brow. “How did you manage to dress today, my lord?”

  “I gave my valet the day off and my butler is nothing if not discreet.”

  “I see.”

  Heath settled back on the swing. “How have you been feeling?”

  “I am still ill in the mornings. Mama sent for some ginger root from the apothecary and brews it stronger than my aunt’s cook. That and salt biscuits seem to curb my nausea within an hour, or so of getting out of bed.”

  “And seafood?” He gave her a cheeky grin when she pursed her lips. “I see, well, hopefully there are no fish dishes served today.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I…I have missed you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I have not gone an hour without thinking of you either.”

  She withdrew her hand and settled it in her lap. “How is your fiancée?”

  His jaw flexed. “Lady Spencer is her same old boring self, I suppose. I have not seen much of her of late. I have been far too busy it seems.”

  “Oh.” Though part of Pippa was glad he had not been spending time with his bride-to-be, the rest of her was jealous he still intended to wed her. She cast the thought aside. As if he would be interested in me. I am naught but a fallen woman he has befriended because it suits his purpose, nothing more.

  The dinner gong echoed through the garden. Heath stood and straightened his puce colored skirts. “Well, it seems dinner is served.”

  Pippa followed him from the garden, wishing the gong had not sounded. It would have been far more pleasant to spend more time talking with him. She didn’t have a lot of friends these days to talk to.

  Pippa was pleas
antly surprised when Heath sat next to her in the chair to her left, as her mother sat to her right at the lower table. The courses were forgotten as she shared light banter with him despite the meaningful dark looks from her mother. Her mother’s disapproval, or their dining company, could not dampen Pippa’s high spirits. For the first time in weeks she basked in acceptance and warmth, forgetting cruel words and disgusted looks she had been forced to endure. Her laughter flowed freely at the acrobatic performances designed to charm the wedding guests.

  When she caught Heath’s admiring stare she blushed. “I am sorry to be so boisterous. I am feeling more like my old self today than I have in weeks.”

  He smiled. “Do not apologize, dear. You have a beautiful smile and a laugh that could charm the birds.”

  Her mother elbowed her. “Really, Pippa, your Mrs. Doyle is so uncouth. To flatter another woman and look at her in such a way is rather odd, and in poor taste.”

  Pippa bit her lip to keep from giggling. If only her mother knew it was the esteemed Lord Sedgewick in disguise flattering her. She shot Heath an amused look and then set down her spoon as a footman removed the first course. A gasp slipped from her lips when none other than Mary Baglo, dressed in serving clothes, came to a halt before her and set a plate of pate and wafers before her.

  “Mary? Mary Baglo?”

  The girl looked startled for a moment. “Yes, ’tis me. Can I be of service, miss?”

  “It is I, Pippa Nickle.” Pippa glanced at her mother, relieved to see she was engaged in a lively conversation with the elder woman beside her. “I thought you were dead?”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “Dead? Oh no.” She glanced around and then gave a weak smile. “Enjoy your luncheon, miss.”

  Before Pippa could stop her, she hurried away.

  Heath leaned closer. “That is the missing and presumed murdered, Miss Baglo?”

  Pippa nodded. “Mitchel lied.”

  A soft snort reached her ear. “That is not great surprise, is it?”

  “I suppose not.” Pippa dropped her gaze to her plate. Just what was Mary doing here and what had happened to her?