Pippa took it, feeling astonished to see it addressed from Miss Annmarie Calvert, of a New York address. Pippa guided her mother toward a smaller sitting room for privacy. It upset Pippa to see her mother so clearly rattled by the other woman’s letter. She slit it open delicately with a letter opener.
Dear Miss Pippa Cavanaugh,
It is with regret that I write to you, your father, Lord Cavanaugh has taken ill. Doctors attend him and have given good reports, and I have hope he will recover. It is not at all certain, and he has begged for his wife and daughter to visit him in New York. I suspect your love for him is low, but I beseech you, Miss Cavanaugh, to attend to his bedside. I've enclosed a draft for one thousand pounds—
Unable to carry on reading, she lowered the letter and handed it to her mother. It seemed today was the day for dreadful revelations. Her heart pounded, and her throat was tight with pain and worry. How Pippa loathed that she worried about a man who had turned his back on his family with little regard for the circumstances in which he had left them! And now to demand they drop everything and voyage on a ship, so that he might soothe his conscience?
Oh, papa, you wretched lout! She swiped at the tear that rolled down her cheek. Please do not die. The idea of losing him in such a permanent manner felt unbearable.
“I will not go,” her mother said, her voice rough with pain. “How dare she ask it of me? How dare he ask for me…after…after what he has done. I do not care that he is in a sick bed!”
The memories swirled between them, of watching her father pack his various valises, precious books, and journals from the library, and even a few paintings from the ancestral gallery. It had felt so frightening and permanent. Pippa had sat on the top of the staircase watching as her mother abandoned her dignity as she'd rushed behind him crying and demanding to know what he was doing. Pippa would always recall the petite brunette who had sat in a parked carriage and waited as a husband and father left his family without explanations.
“I do not know if I should go,” she said softly. “What if he should die…what if papa dies?”
Her mother straightened her shoulders. “You should go to him.”
“Mamma?”
"I can see that you want to, and I shall not resent you for it. He's your father. He loves…loved and cared for you for fifteen years. The pain of his leaving cannot replace all those wonderful memories." Her mother took a bracing breath and continued, "It is cruel of me to say this, but if your father dies, I will be free to marry the man I am falling in love with.”
Pippa's hand flew to her throat, and she stared at her mother.
“You…you love the viscount?” she demanded, wholly taken aback.
“I do,” mamma said quietly. “I believe I do and I am not afraid of such sentiments again. We are very discreet for I would never forgive myself if…if I hurt your chances with the Duke of Carlyle."
Pippa could not help smiling, but she said very earnestly, “Mamma, I have no chance with a duke! A man such as Carlyle will marry only for power and connections. I would be silly to lead my heart to hope beyond my expectations. You worry for naught, I assure you. But I will always urge you to be careful with your heart.”
Her mother’s lips set in a stubborn line. “The duke has taken a marked fancy to you, and even the scandal sheets have made mention of it. Our invitations have soared, and not because of my dear friend's patronage. It is because of the attention the duke has shown you. Today flowers were delivered here for you. Several bouquets of roses, and lilies.”
Pippa had seen them, but flowers delivered courtesy of gentleman callers were commonplace at the countess's townhouse. “I…thought they were for Miranda.”
“No,” her mother said triumphantly. “They were all for you, from gentlemen who had hardly taken any notice before. The duke paying attention to you goes a far way to restoring your reputation. There is a reason for the duke's interest, and we must not discount it.”
“Perhaps he wishes me to occupy another position in his life. Like Harriette Wilson for the Duke of Wellington.”
“Pippa!” her mother cried eyes wide with distress. “That is the ghastliest thing to suggest. You are a young lady of good standing and…and…”
"Forgive me, mamma. I did not mean to upset you." She stood, made her way over, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I am overwrought by the news of papa. However, it is no excuse; I should have minded my tongue and been more ladylike in my thoughts."
Her mother nodded graciously, and after a few more minutes of discussing the situation of her papa, Pippa excused herself and retreated to her room. Still, Pippa devoted the better part of the afternoon to the composition of a letter to Miss Calvert after reading the entire letter. Pippa informed her father’s mistress she would visit New York post haste, but Lady Cavanaugh would not be traveling with her. Miss Calvert had already planned for passage, and Pippa was to depart for New York aboard Maiden Anne in two weeks.
There was a return ticket dated almost two months from today. The lady’s action was audacious to assume the length of visit Pippa would be able to commit to. But she did not quibble, for once she saw her father, she would book a return passage immediately. Or perhaps she would stay till the pre-booked date and learn about her siblings.
A pang tore through her heart. She had a brother of five years, a sister of two years. And Miss Calvert was now with child. Three siblings that would have no connection with her mother but who would always be a part of Pippa’s family. What could she possibly say to them? She could not imagine what she would feel upon seeing her father again. Sorrow? Joy? Relief? Anger? Unable to bear thinking of it all anymore, she crawled into her bed, closed her eyes, and let all the uncertainty drift away with the oblivion of sleep.
Chapter 12
A few hours later, Pippa sat before her vanity, disinterested in the masquerade ball which had been heralded by the newspapers as the event of the season. She had daringly decided to dress like a gentleman of leisure and had propositioned Miss Tilby to attain the clothing. Pippa was now garbed in dark trousers which fitted her rounded bottom too well. Knee-high boots encased her calves, she wore a matching dark jacket, a snowy white undershirt, a cravat that had been painful to tie, and a wine-red waistcoat. And she'd topped off her ensemble with a short dark wig and a dark mask which covered her eyes and face. The final touches were the beaver hat perched rakishly atop her head and an ebony cane.
The idea had seemed naughty and adventurous when she’d first conceived it, only now, Pippa did not think she appeared like a boy at all. Her curves were too richly pronounced, her breasts evident beneath the waistcoat. Nor was she thrilled to mingle with the crowd, listening and noting the latest scandals to excite society as Lady W.
She had decided to leave for New York, and in two weeks, she would set sail away from whatever was burgeoning between her and the duke. There it was again, that unfathomable ache whenever she thought of leaving and never understanding all that she felt for Christopher. Though she had decided on a course of action, Pippa’s nerves would not settle. Following the impulses that were beating in her heart for the last hour, she departed the countess's townhouse, and daringly strode through the rapidly darkening streets until she saw a hackney to hail.
Her guise as a young man was successful, for no one accosted her or glanced at her oddly. The journey from Russel Square to Grosvenor street was a blessedly short one. Evidently, her nerves would have deserted her if she had traveled any longer. She felt breathless and uncomfortably hot. Upon exiting the hackney, she took the familiar path through the side gates and made her way around the gardens to the window leading to the library.
Sense and propriety would not convince her to turn away and attend the masquerade ball only a few houses away. Pippa tested the window and smiled to see that it was unlatched. Had he been expecting her? Though she’d been prepared to use her trade tricks once again. She hauled herself up and slipped into the duke’s library. Pippa realized immediately he had anticipated her presence. The chess board rested on the lush blue and silver Aubusson carpet in the center of the room, and all the sofas had been pushed out of the way, creating ample space for them. Several cushions littered the carpet in wild disarray. It was clear he intended for them to play there, sprawled on the rug and pillows. How indecent and quite lovely!