She’d set out to find him. But now that she had, Pippa was fairly certain she was going to cry and never be able to stop.
JASON WILLIAM ALEXANDER YORK, Earl of St. Austell, Viscount Colebrooke, and Baron York of St. Austell; succeeded his father Matthew, the late earl, Mar. 15, 1792; born Nov. 20, 1785.
He’d toyed with her. Made sport of her. Made a fool of her.
A tear dropped onto the page just as the candle went out, leaving her in darkness. She closed the book, pushed it from her lap, and fell against her pillows. More tears trickled down her cheeks and onto her neck before trailing all the way to her counterpane.
Memory after memory replayed in her mind. Meeting him in Hyde Park. His offer to dispense with himself! Viscount Colebrooke’s newly-made calling card. Each kiss, each caress. That blasted bet in that blasted book in that blasted gentleman’s club.
Oh he must have laughed at her expense. He must have thought her the biggest fool ever born. And perhaps she was. Perhaps she had been. But not anymore. And not ever again. If only she could wipe the memory of his kiss from her mind…
She wasn’t certain how long she lay in her bed, but eventually sunlight peaked through the windows, then bathed her chamber fully in warmness. But Pippa didn’t feel it. She could toss herself into a blazing grate and she doubted the coldness of her bones, of her soul, would ever warm again.
A knock sounded at her door, but Pippa ignored it. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone.
“Pip,” Harry called through the door. “Davis says you haven’t rung for Mary this morning. Don’t you need her to get you ready for services?”
Services? Because proper, innocent girls went to services, didn’t they? Well, Pippa wasn’t in the mood. She might not ever be again. “I’m not feeling well, Harry. Go without me.”
“Not feeling well?” Harry echoed. “You didn’t get foxed again, did you?”
A mirthless laugh escaped Pippa. She wished she could forget last night as easily as she’d forgotten the Heathfields’ ball. She wished she could wipe Jason William Alexander York, Earl of St. Austell from her mind, from her heart, completely.
Her door handle rattled. “Let me in, Pippa.” He had a determination to his voice, and she knew he wouldn’t go away until he got his way.
Pippa tossed her legs over the side of the bed and found them a little shaky as she rose to her feet. She crossed the floor, turned the key in her lock and opened her door.
“This is the second time this week.” Harry gaped at her. “Do you like sleeping in your clothes?”
Pippa shook her head. “I never went to sleep.”
“Well, that explains the circles under your eyes then.” He gently brushed his hand across her cheek. “Berks read you the riot act, did he? I am sorry. If I’d been here…”
Pippa shrugged. None of this was Berks’s fault. She was the fool, not their brother. “I just don’t think I’m cut out for London. I think Mary should pack my things and I should return to Warwickshire post haste.”
Harry frowned as though trying to sort her out. “But you were so excited for your first Season.”
“And now I’m not. Will you talk to Berks for me? I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
“Did something happen?” Harry’s frown darkened.
But she couldn’t tell Harry. She couldn’t tell anyone about what an enormous fool she was. And she couldn’t stay in London. What if she saw Jas…St. Austell somewhere about Town? It would be like a dagger to her heart. She couldn’t bear it. “I just can’t stay here any longer.”
Harry’s jaw clenched, but he nodded his head. “You know you can tell me anything?”
But not this. Still she forced a smile to her face. “I know.”
Harry heaved a sigh. “In the very least, ring for Mary. Wash, put on new clothes and I’ll see what I can do.”
I couldn’t have lived knowing she was married to another man, that she would have shared another man’s bed, borne some other man’s children.
Jason glared into his empty coffee cup and cursed Heathfield with every breath he took. Those same damned words had echoed in his mind ever since his friend had muttered them last night. What an awful thought to put into his mind.
“Coffee!” he barked, smacking the table with his palm. “I want some goddamned coffee!”
A moment later, a footman, coffee pot in hand, bustled into the breakfast room. “Coffee, milord?”
Jason gestured to his empty cup. “And I don’t want it to go empty. From now on, you’ll stand right there and you’ll to refill it before it can go dry. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, milord,” the man mumbled, pouring the coffee into the cup and splashing extra into the saucer for good measure.
Jason narrowed his eyes on the servant who sucked in an anguished breath.
“Beg your pardon, milord.”
Jason waved him away. I couldn’t have lived knowing she was married to another man, that she would have shared another man’s bed, borne some other man’s children.
Damn, damn, damn.
Damn it to hell.
Pippa wasn’t about to marry some other man. No one else was courting her, were they? Other than that oaf Potsdon, anyway. Potsdon. Just the image of the man made Jason grind his teeth. Potsdon. What a fool. As though she would want to be known as Pippa Potsdon all of her life. Utterly ridiculous.
But what if it wasn’t ridiculous?
What if…
Well, eventually she would marry someone. Maybe not this Season, perhaps not the next. But eventually she would. And then what…?
And then she’d want to know everything about some other fellow. Some other man would get to kiss her. Some other man would get to make love to her. Some other man would get to bask in her sweetness.
Jason remembered the feel of her skin against his lips, of the way her heart beat faster at his touch, the way her sweet rosewater scent had enveloped him. Had Heath not stumbled upon them when he did, Jason might very well have succeeded in seducing her.
How would you tell her that she’ll be Lady St. Austell and not Lady Colebrooke?
How indeed?
Damn Heathfield straight to hell for planting such ideas in Jason’s mind. Marriage, for God’s sakes.
Jason scowled. Was he seriously entertaining thoughts of offering for her? Him? Jason York, the wicked, debauched Earl of St. Austell?
When she learned who he was, she’d never speak to him again, not if her panic in Hyde Park was any indication. And he couldn’t marry her as Colebrooke and tell her the whole truth later. No clergyman would go along with that plan. Besides, both the Marquess of Berkswell and Lord Harrison Casemore did know who Jason really was. They weren’t likely to keep their mouths closed, let alone agree to such a union.
But…
Gretna. The answer came to him in a flash.
What if he convinced her to run away with him to Gretna? He could marry her as Jason York. She wouldn’t have to learn the truth about him until after she loved him…
But then she’d hate him and she’d never forgive him.
No, no. It was best not to consider marriage at all. There was no easy way around it.
I couldn’t have lived knowing she was married to another man, that she would have shared another man’s bed, borne some other man’s children.
“Damn you!” Jason growled.
“I am sorry, sir,” the footman said hastily.
Jason glanced at the servant. “Not you. Go away.”
“But you said…” The man gestured to Jason’s coffee cup.
“I said ‘go away’.”
The footman scrambled from the room at the exact moment Jason realized his future was doomed.
Pippa stared at the handkerchief in her hand. The “B” she’d worked on so diligently was now a jumbled mess of thread that looked more like an unruly “O” than anything else.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Great-Aunt Eunice said as she hobbled over the
threshold.
Pippa lifted the handkerchief up for a brief inspection then tossed it back to her lap. “I don’t think I can do anything right these days.”
Her old maiden aunt nodded as though in agreement. “A handkerchief for Berkswell is nothing to get worked up about.”
No. The cursed thing was just more evidence of Pippa’s ineptitude. “You don’t mind forgoing the rest of the Season and returning home with me, do you, Aunt?” she asked as the old woman settled into her favorite high back chair.
“I’ve always been wherever you children needed—”
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, and Pippa looked up to find Davis regarding her kindly. “You have a visitor, my lady.”
She shook her head. “I’m not receiving visitors today, Davis.”
The butler smiled tightly. “Yes, Lord Colebrooke has been turned away. Twice. But Lady Heathfield seems most adamant.”
Twice. Had Jason come to see her twice? Why, so he could continue to make a mockery of her? Pippa’s blood began to boil anew. The unscrupulous, disingenuous blackguard. Of course, he didn’t know she was on to his little game, did he? Well, he could go hang for all she cared.
Davis cleared his throat again, drawing Pippa’s attention back to him. “About Lady Heathfield, my lady?”
Lady Heathfield? Pippa did owe that particular lady an apology. Mortifying as it would be to give it, she supposed she’d better get the thing over with. She nodded once. “Very well, Davis.”
Pippa glanced over at Great-Aunt Eunice to find her more alert than normal. “What do you suppose she wants?”
“An apology for my behavior at her ball,” Pippa grumbled. “And she is owed it.”
“I do hope she isn’t as fearsome as her grandfather.” Her aunt shuddered.
Her grandfather? Aunt Eunice knew Lady Heathfield’s grandfather?
A moment later, Viscountess Heathfield stepped into the parlor, her auburn hair pulled back in a simple chignon. “Good afternoon, Lady Philippa, Miss Mills.”
Pippa smiled tightly and gestured to the spot beside her. “Good afternoon, my lady.”
A genuine smile lit the viscountess’s face as she crossed the room and settled onto the settee next to Pippa. “Thank you for seeing me. I gathered from your butler that you weren’t receiving callers today, but—”
“But I owe you an apology,” Pippa said softly.
Lady Heathfield’s mouth fell open. “Why would you owe me an apology?”
“I’m afraid my behavior was abominable at your ball. I’m certain I should apologize for specific things, but since I don’t actually recall that particular evening—”
“You don’t recall my ball?” The viscountess’s brow furrowed.
Pippa shook her head. “It’s rather long story actually.” And not one she wanted to tell. Her reputation had been blackened enough. She certainly didn’t want to admit to drinking opium-laced brandy. Whatever was left of her good name would vanish.
“I see.” Lady Heathfield sat her tallest. She shifted uncomfortably on the settee as though sitting still was an impossible chore. Then she focused her hazel eyes on Pippa. “My husband said Lord Colebrooke has been courting you.”
Pippa’s heart tightened just a bit at the sound of his name, but the truth of the circumstances made her blood burn through her veins. Lady Heathfield knew the truth. She could see it in the viscountess’s eyes. All of London must think her the biggest fool ever born. “You mean Lord St. Austell, don’t you?” she replied waspishly.
“Oh.” Lady Heathfield’s hand fluttered to her chest. “I…er…Heath...my husband was under the impression you believed him to be Colenbrooke.”
So everyone was in on Jason’s little game? “Did you? And were you all laughing at my foolishness too?”
Lady Heathfield sucked in a breath.
“Philippa!” Great Aunt Eunice chastised. “What’s all this about?”
Perfect. Her aunt chose now to be fully awake. Pippa shook her head. “Nothing, Aunt.”
“I hardly think this is nothing. Tell me now.”
Pippa glanced across the parlor at the old woman and found her cloudy eyes focused as best they could on her, concern etched across her ancient brow. Aunt Eunice was certainly not in with the faction of society who was laughing at her. Aunt Eunice would always be on her side. Thank heavens. “Lord Colebrooke duped me into believing he was an upstanding gentleman, but he’s nothing more than that blackguard St. Austell. And apparently everyone was in on his game.”
Lady Heathfield reached across the settee and captured Pippa’s hand. “Nothing could be further from the truth. When Heath told me what he’d discovered last night, I spent all morning fretting over how to tell you.”
Pippa frowned at the viscountess. “You came to tell me?”
“Is this,” Aunt Eunice said, her voice clearer than it often was, “the reason you decided we should scurry back to Warwickshire?”
Lady Heathfield’s grasp tightened on Pippa’s hand. “Certainly you’re not leaving. You can’t.”
Well, she certainly couldn’t stay. “I can’t see him. I…” She let her voice trail off, unable to say the words aloud. I love him. What a fool Lady Heathfield and Aunt Eunice would think her then after everything. What a fool she’d think of herself. No, those words were better left unsaid.
“But Lady Philippa,” the viscountess protested. “After that unfortunate bet, if you were to leave Town now, people would think…”
People would think that Jason had bedded her and that Berks had shuffled her off to the country. Her name would be ruined. Pippa felt as though icy water had just been splash over her. Why had she not considered that possibility? “But I can’t stay,” she muttered so softly, she barely heard herself.
“You must stay,” Lady Heathfield insisted. “You simply must.”
“And you must hold your head high,” Aunt Eunice added. “You mustn’t give the wagging tongues something to wag about.”
Lady Heathfield smiled at Aunt Eunice. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Pippa couldn’t even find words to reply. All of her plans to salvage what was left of her heart had just evaporated into thin air.
“Berkswell has an upstanding name.” The lady squeezed Pippa’s hand. “You have that going for you. And I’ll stand with you.”
What good would that do Pippa? “But your husband is one of Jas… I mean, I know your husband is one of St. Austell’s friends.”
“True.” Lady Heathfield sighed. “But no matter how important Heath thinks he is, or how much I love him for that matter, my grandpapa’s name holds more esteem within society than nearly anyone’s. No one crosses the Duke of Danby.”
“Indeed,” Aunt Eunice agreed.
Danby? Pippa remembered the name from Georgie’s Debrett’s. “One of the oldest dukedoms in the realm.”
Lady Heathfield smiled. “And one of the most powerful too. I lived under his roof most of my life. Being his granddaughter should give me some privileges, like tossing my support behind a deserving young lady should the need arise.”
Pippa suddenly wished she hadn’t been quite so petulant when the viscountess had first arrived. Who knew the lady would be her ally in all of this mess, offering respectability Pippa couldn’t find anywhere else? “You are very kind, and after the scene I must have made at your ball.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. You made my ball the event of the Season.” The viscountess shrugged. “Anyway, I was thinking perhaps we should ride in the Danby landau through the park, this afternoon? See and be seen.”
Pippa gulped. Was she ready to see all of the ton? “Now?” she squeaked.
“As luck would have it, I happen to have traveled here today in that very conveyance.”
Jason was not about to be put off by Berkswell’s uppity butler one more moment. Two times! Two times today, the infernal man had sent Jason packing. What rotten luck. Just as soon as he realized Heath had been right, just as soon as he r
ealized there was something about Pippa Casemore that called to him, just as soon as he realized he’d like to wake up beside her the rest of his mornings, just as soon as everything had become clear, he’d been barred entrance to Pippa’s home.
Pippa, his enchanting innocent. The girl whose face he’d imagined as he’d fallen asleep the night before. The girl he had to make his and his alone.
How was he to propose? How was he to confess his sins and beg for forgiveness if that damned butler wouldn’t let him pass?
Well, not this time. Jason was going to march straight into Berkswell House and he wasn’t about to be denied. He stalked up the steps and before he could knock, the door opened and that imperious servant glared at him.
“Lady Philippa isn’t receiving callers today, my lord.”
“She’ll see me,” Jason growled, pushing his way past the butler and into Berkswell’s entryway. “Where is she?”
The servant clamped his mouth shut, and Jason had the overwhelming urge to permanently close it for him.
Very well, he’d find her without the blasted man’s help. “Pippa!” he called. “Pippa, come here please!”
“Sir!” the butler hissed. “Lady Philippa is—”
“What,” began Pippa’s ancient aunt from the threshold of one of the parlors, “is all this commotion about?”
“The gentleman barged in here—” the butler started.
But Jason didn’t have the patience for the servant to tell his tale. He needed to see Pippa now, this instant. He needed to be sure that what he’d felt wasn’t an aberration. He needed to know that his heart beat for her alone. He rushed towards the old maid. “I need to see Pip…Lady Philippa.”
Miss Mills cast her cloudy eyes in his direction. “Lord Colebrooke, is that you?”
“Yes…er…no,” Jason tried to explain, then decided against elucidation. “Please, Miss Mills, I need to see her.”
“Do you?” boomed the Marquess of Berkswell, poking his head out from what must be his study at the end of the corridor.
Jason winced. He truly did have the worst luck today. Turned away at the door twice, and now he had to deal with Berkswell. He’d really rather speak with Pippa before he had to see either of her brothers. “It won’t take more than a moment,” he said, hoping against hope Berkswell would take pity on him.
The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) Page 6
