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.
She hiccupped a laugh. “One day I’ll learn the art of pretty crying,” she murmured huskily.
Powerful emotions darkened his eyes. “Please, do not. There is nothing I would change about you, Pippa. Nothing.” Then he closed his eyes. “Forgive me for being an ass. I should have stayed. Ignored the pride and hurt and stayed. I will never walk away again when we have a disagreement. I want our marriage to be based on trust, honesty, and communication.”
She smiled. “Mayhap I should have chased you just a little bit. You are worth everything.”
“Marry me, Pippa,” he said. “Be my duchess, my lover, and my friend. I love you.”
It felt as if sunshine burst in her heart. “Yes.”
Epilogue
Pippa and Christopher were married late August at St. George’s Square to the delight of the ton. Many were able to witness the joining of what had been declared the most scandalous match of the decade. Almost everyone had remarked that only the grandest of romances would have taken the duke to the altar. And that it could have only been a woman of such strong resolutions, and a kind heart as Miss Pippa Cavanaugh who could have done it.
Pippa had delayed traveling to see her father and had sent a letter on to him instead. Miss Calvert had replied with good news, and it had made Pippa happy to know that he had recovered nicely, though she took some pleasure in not responding to the last two letters he sent begging for a visit. She did write to him and told him she forgave him, and one day perhaps she would visit New York and meet her siblings, but not at his convenience or insistence. Before doing some traveling with her beloved husband, she would direct her attention on restoring her mother’s standing in society, and the estate her father had abandoned.
They planned to visit Europe, before traveling to New York, and then onto Boston.