Crossed Quills

by Carola Dunn

  “It is only a slight attachment,” Pippa strove to convince herself as much as Mama. “I shall be quite content to be his friend, truly. But I should hate to lose his friendship, and I doubt my ability to conceal the truth once I cannot avoid the subject of politics altogether.”

  “I suppose there is no chance...No, your papa was one in a million, and you being his daughter he had cause for pride in your intellectual achievements. You will just have to do your best to keep Lord Selworth in the dark, my love.”

  Pippa summoned up a smile. “So it is fortunate that I am not wildly enamoured,” she said wryly. “To be forced to withhold one’s complete confidence from one’s beloved cannot be considered desirable.”

  * * * *

  “The quality of mercy is not strain’d,” quoth Portia. “It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: it blesseth him that gives and him that receives.”

  Lord Selworth leant forward to whispered in Pippa’s ear, “Would that I might lift this speech entire!”

  “Hush!” Pippa was entranced by The Merchant of Venice, often read, never before seen on the stage. Edmund Kean made Shylock come alive, no bogle but a tormented man struggling for his rights in an unsympathetic society.

  Jews ought to have the vote, she thought, as well as Catholics, Nonconformists, and the property-less masses. Not to mention women. Had not Portia faced a court full of men and out-argued them all? Three hundred years ago, with the example of his accomplished queen before him, Shakespeare had recognized the talents of women. Pippa was not unique in her abilities, merely rare in being encouraged to develop them.

  Music brought her attention back to the stage. She had always found the final scene clever and amusing; now, with Lord Selworth close behind her, its bawdy innuendos made her blush. She fanned her face, glad that the heat of a thousand bodies and as many candles in the theatre was reason enough for pink cheeks.

  The curtain descended for the last time. In the noise and bustle of departure, Pippa found it no easier than before or during the play to speak privately with Lord Selworth.

  As he handed her into the Debenhams’ carriage, she said, “I must talk to you. Are you free tomorrow morning?”

  His face lit up. “You have heard from....” Glancing over his shoulder at the crush of playgoers close behind him, waiting for their carriages, he lowered his voice. “News from my mentor? Splendid! Will eleven be too early?”

  “No, I shall expect you then.” Sadly Pippa took her seat in the carriage. His delight at the conclusion he had so quickly jumped to, when she asked him to call, confirmed that his only interest in her was the connection to Prometheus.

  As the carriage rolled towards Charles Street, Bina interrupted Millicent’s interminable review of the play. “Poor Shylock, losing his only daughter. It has made me realize how much I miss my boys. Mrs Lisle, I have a great favour to beg of you. Now that you have met a great many people, would you mind chaperoning Pippa and the girls alone for a few days while I go down to Kent?”

  “Not a bit, my dear,” said Mrs Lisle cheerfully. “You will return in good time for Almack’s on Wednesday, no doubt, and we do not entertain formally before then, do we? For the rest, just make sure I know what invitations we have accepted each day, and I shall make your excuses to our hostesses.”

  “No dinner parties, as I recall, so my absence will not upset anyone’s numbers.”

  “May I hope you can spare me also, ma’am?” George Debenham asked Mrs Lisle. “There are one or two matters of business on which I should like to consult my father in person. If you don’t care to be without male protection, I daresay Selworth will agree to stand in for me.”

  “I cannot think we shall need protection,” Pippa protested. If Lord Selworth were to move into the house, she would be unable to work on his speech without fear of his catching her at it.

  “We have had large numbers of gentlemen callers recently,” Bina pointed out, “though I hardly fancy any of them are likely to trouble you.”

  “There is safety in numbers.” Pippa did not want Wynn Selworth constantly at hand, disturbing her peace of mind.

  “Besides,” said Kitty, a laugh in her voice, “I have noticed that Mr Debenham takes great care to leave for his club well before our swarms of beaux begin to arrive. Whereas Lord Selworth or Mr Chubb or both almost always turn up. I am sure we can rely upon Mr Chubb as much as Lord Selworth if Lieutenant Pendrell starts to wave his sword or Lord Fenimore’s invitations to a masked ball at the Pantheon become too pressing.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Lisle, “has he asked you again, Kitty? Still, a butler and three stout footmen are surely sufficient to eject him should it become advisable!”

  “I shall direct my butler to station two footmen within earshot whenever Lord Fenimore is admitted,” George Debenham promised dryly.

  * * * *

  Next morning, the Debenhams departed for Kent shortly before Lord Selworth arrived. Pippa had advised her mother of her appointment with the viscount. Mrs Lisle and Kitty had no difficulty enticing Millicent out to the shops to look for matching ribbons and buttons and such fal-lals. Nor was Millie surprised that Pippa stayed at home. Her lack of interest in fashions and fripperies had long since ceased to arouse comment.

  Millicent had been told originally that her brother had business with a friend of the Lisles. The nature of the business was kept from her, in view of her lack of discretion, and she appeared to have forgotten all about it. Everyone agreed that the longer she could be kept in ignorance the better.

  So Pippa awaited Lord Selworth alone in the ladies’ sitting room. She ruffled through the sheets of manuscript, noting with dismay the proliferation of red ink.

  Had she made too many changes? He might be offended by such lavish criticism, or so discouraged he decided to give up.

  Through the open window came the chime of church clocks striking eleven. Though she expected him and had left the door ajar, Lord Selworth’s knock made Pippa start.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Lisle.” He stood on the threshold, a trim figure in a blue morning coat, fawn Unmentionables, blue and grey striped waistcoat, and neatly tied cravat. Only the unmanageable fly-away hair had not been spruced up since their first meeting. Pippa was glad he had not taken to pomading it into submission. “I did not mean to startle you,” he continued. “I ought to have sent a footman to announce me, perhaps. I have grown accustomed to treating my sister’s house as my own, but she has gone off to Kent, I am told, and in her absence—”

  “Oh no, Lord Selworth, I am sure Mama would not wish you to feel less at home because Bina is away. Do come in and be seated. It was idiotish of me to be taken by surprise when you arrived exactly on time.”

  He moved a chair alongside the desk and sat down. “Your thoughts were far away. I fear you were wondering how to convey Prometheus’s verdict without driving me to despair.”

  His guess was too close to the truth. Mutely Pippa pushed the pile of papers across to him.

  Ruffling through the sheets as she had just done, Lord Selworth groaned. “A sea of red ink! I daresay I ought to be grateful it isn’t the red ink of debts. Have you read his comments, Miss Lisle? Can you tell me if it is salvageable, or shall I take up agriculture instead of politics? Has Prometheus pruned, as you suggested, or has he uprooted my roses and consigned them to the bonfire?”

  “By no means. Your rootstock is sound. That is, Prometheus has no quarrel with what you wish to say, only it might be put more persuasively. At least....” Pippa hesitated.

  “Pray let me know the worst. “

  “I...Prometheus is inclined to believe you are attempting to cover too many disparate subjects in a single speech. It might be more effective if you concentrate on a few closely related topics rather than putting all your convictions in one basket.”

  Lord Selworth looked much struck. “That is precisely what I was doing,” he admitted with a rueful grimace. “Now I come to think of it,
I suppose I tried to include the whole batch for fear of never having the opportunity to make a second speech!”

  “But if the first is good enough, you will make many more,” Pippa encouraged him. “I am not sure how long a maiden speech in the House of Lords is expected to last, but Papa used to say if your listeners are bored by the end they will forget the beginning.”

  “And everything in between, no doubt. So Prometheus says it is too long, as well as too complex and too verbose?”

  “It is hard to tell without reading it aloud.”

  “Which would be a waste of time until it is whipped roughly into shape. I had best take this home to study.” He tapped the manuscript on the writing table to straighten the sheets. “Then, when I comprehend what Prometheus approves and what he condemns, I shall make a fresh start. Miss Lisle, may I ask a very great favour of you?”

  “Of course,” Pippa said cautiously.

  “It is perfectly clear to me that you understand and agree with the criticisms Prometheus has written here. Will you be so good as to advise me as I go along, so that I shall not humiliate myself by sending him another thoroughly bungled effort?”

  With what she hoped was a becoming degree of hesitant modesty, Pippa acquiesced. In fact she was delighted. She would be able to express her own opinions openly, without having to constantly filter them through “Prometheus suggests...” and “I believe Prometheus means....”

  She must be careful not to venture far afield from the comments already attributed to her alter ego. Fortunately, she had dissected Lord Selworth’s first effort with ruthless thoroughness. His second was unlikely to present new difficulties unsolvable by the same methods. On the whole, Pippa was inclined to believe she had a good chance of scraping through with her secret preserved.

  * * * *

  Wynn spent the afternoon poring over his annotated speech. On the whole he had to agree with the extensive deletions. What remained was more forceful for being leaner, though it hurt to lose the intricate embellishments he had laboured over so lovingly.

  Perhaps some of the purple prose could be used in his next Gothic novel, he thought. Then he recalled that he must write no more romances. The risk of his authorship coming to light was too great.

  Sighing, he returned to the manuscript. At least the germs of his metaphors had been preserved, thanks to Miss Lisle, no doubt. Here and there, Prometheus had even written in praise of a particularly strong image. There were one or two comments Wynn did not quite understand. Perhaps Miss Lisle would be able to elucidate, so that he did not have to trouble Prometheus about minor details. He did not wish to look more of a sapskull than he need.

  Somehow he didn’t mind Pippa Lisle seeing his blunders. He knew he had her sympathy and her approval of his aims.

  That his speech had too many aims was obvious, now that she—or rather Prometheus—had pointed it out. Like a scatter of birdshot compared to a rifle bullet, he might hit with every ball yet to little effect. Though he had succeeded in weaving his plethora of opinions into a coherent sequence of ideas, the central theme was weak.

  Reading through again, he could not make up his mind where to concentrate his efforts. Prometheus had made no suggestions. Wynn decided to consult Pippa.

  He set about abstracting from his manuscript a list of topics ranging from the Seditious Meetings Bill to the use of spring guns and mantraps against poachers: a regular stew, all excellent ingredients but losing their individual flavours in the mixture.

  What he wanted was roast beef with a few complementary side-dishes. In fact, he was deucedly hungry. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, he saw he had missed tea with the Lisles and escorting them to the Park. It was nearly time to change for dinner.

  He and Gil Chubb had arranged to dine with friends at Boodle’s Club, he remembered with annoyance. They were to meet the Lisles and Millicent at some party afterwards, but that was no time or place to present his list to Miss Lisle and request her advice.

  Was it too much to ask of her? She had not wanted to come to London for the Season, but Wynn had noticed that she seemed to be enjoying herself. It didn’t seem quite fair to expect her to spend her time on politics, a subject she usually tried to avoid, in common with the majority of females. Of course she could have refused to help directly, to air her own opinions as opposed to conveying messages from Prometheus. However, Wynn suspected a sense of duty to her father’s ideals had driven her to give her hesitant consent.

  He was not really sure why he believed she was competent to advise him. Copying Benjamin Lisle’s work was a far cry from producing original work. Still, if consulting her proved profitless, he could always take his minor difficulties directly to Prometheus.

  And meanwhile he had a perfect excuse for spending a great deal of time with Miss Philippa Lisle.

  * * * *

  “I have a confession to make,” Wynn told Miss Lisle on Tuesday morning, laying down his pen and leaning back in his chair. “Promise you won’t take snuff?”

  “How can I?” she retorted. “Until I know what your offence is, I cannot guess whether it will offend me. However, I hope I can safely promise not to hit you on the head with the poker.”

  “You have my permission to haul me over the coals.” He went over to the grate, where flickering sea-coals strove to disperse the chill of the drizzling day, and poked up the fire. “Come and warm your hands, Miss Lisle.”

  “Procrastinating, Lord Selworth?” With a smile, she came over and held out her hands to the flames he had stirred up.

  “Not at all. It isn’t the sort of confession which must be made for fear of being found out. My fingers are cold and cramped from writing, and you have done just as much writing as I have, if not more.”

  “Not this morning. I have been dictating to you. I trust you do not mean to confess to finding me shockingly dictatorial when all you wished for was a few gentle hints?” she asked anxiously.

  “You are the gentlest of dictators. And you have been writing—if I had not watched, I should have guessed by the smudge of ink on your forehead.” Such a broad, clear, intelligent forehead, with beautifully curved brows, set off by two wings of dark, smooth, glossy hair. “Have I ever told you how much I like the way you wear your hair?”

  Blood tinting her pellucid cheeks, Pippa raised a hand to touch the hair at her temple. “Thank you, but I must say I should like to be able to coax it into curls in the evenings.”

  “Oh no, then it would be just like every other young lady’s. You look distinguished, and elegant, and...intelligent. Which brings me back to my confession. When I asked you to help me, I had the gravest doubts of your ability to do so. There, it is said.” Wynn laughed as her expression changed. “May I offer you the poker?”

  “I have done very little.” She bit her lip. “No more than...than giving a few suggestions as to how to set your ideas in order.”

  “You have done quite as much as I ever expected of Prometheus.”

  The colour fled from her cheeks and she shook her head violently. “Impossible!”

  “I mean it. I wager he comes to you for...Good gad!” Wynn struck himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. “How can I have been so blind? You are Prometheus!”

  Miss Lisle swooned.

  Chapter 12

  As the room ceased to whirl about Pippa’s head, she became aware of a frantic voice.

  “Miss Lisle! Pippa! Oh lord!”

  Through clearing mists, she saw Lord Selworth’s appalled face. She was lying on the floor with her head in his lap. “I am...” she faltered and tried to sit up. Nausea rose in her throat.

  “No, you’re not. You’re pale as rice pudding. Lie still, or you will go off again. Good gad, Miss Lisle, you gave me a frightful shock!”

  “Nothing to the...shock I gave myself. Did I...faint?” she asked, eyes closed.

  “Went down like an elm in a gale. I just caught you before you whacked your head on the fender. No,” he mused, “more like a wilting lily.
”

  “You are too kind!”

  “At any rate, I’d say it must have been a swoon, a faint if you prefer. I’ve no experience.”

  “Nor have I,” Pippa said indignantly, opening her eyes, then hastily shutting them again as she met his blue gaze mere inches above her. “I have never fainted before in my life.”

  “I’m afraid it was my fault.” Lord Selworth squeezed her hand, which she had not realized he was clasping. She was still far too weak to withdraw it, she told herself, as he went on, “I gave you the first shock. I should not have accused you so abruptly.”

  Now she recalled in dismay why she had fainted. “It is not true,” she cried, suddenly finding the strength to pull her hand from his and once more trying to sit up.

  “Be still,” he commanded, pressing her back with a hand to her shoulder. “Doing it rather too brown, my girl. Of course it’s true. Why else should you have crumpled like an unstarched neckcloth?”

  “You grow more and more complimentary, I vow! I want to get up.”

  He frowned down at her. “You are still awfully pale.”

  “I am naturally pale.”

  “True, but pearly pale, not pasty. Still, the floor cannot be comfortable.”

  Refusing to admit she was perfectly comfortable, Pippa said, “And suppose someone comes in?”

  Lord Selworth cast an alarmed glance at the door, left ajar as propriety demanded. Without warning, he swept her up in strong arms, and before she had time for more than a gasp of surprise, he deposited her full-length on the nearest sofa.

  She started to swing her feet to the floor.

  “Please, lie still! If you collapse again, I shall have to call your maid since Mrs Lisle is out. We cannot explain what happened, and what she’ll guess doesn’t bear imagining.”

  Pippa blushed, imagining all too clearly that Nan would assume Lord Selworth had attempted improper familiarities. Then, though she had briefly suppressed the awareness, she once again remembered what had in fact caused her to swoon.