CHAPTERONE
Tonight’s outing is a matter of revenge.
“Perhaps it is a little more,” Lady Phillipa Carlisle—Pippa to her friends and family, whispered, though it was unlikely anyone would overhear her words in this magnificent crush in Lady Cringleford’s grand ballroom.
Tonight was also about owning a part of her heart that was whimsical and unafraid to dream. A few years ago, everyone had called her painfully shy, some even said she was a wilting wallflower, others said quiet and reserved, while deep inside Pippa’s heart, wild dreams of a grand romance and experiencing life to the fullest had beat like an incessant drum. She had not dared to show that side of herself to anyone for fear of rebuke or being seen as unladylike or improper.
The last couple of years had not molded Pippa to be a different person; nay, she had simply learned to embrace her true self without any fear of condemnation. Now, exposing her true heart to the world and her family without fear of rebuke at times felt daunting…yet also perfectly thrilling.
Lady Theodosia, the Duchess of Hartford, might be disappointed that Pippa also hoped for the chance of revenge, given that the duchess had repeatedly mentioned tonight was a celebration of leaving the past where it belonged…in the past. Stepping out this evening was a triumph that Pippa had not let fear and doubt cripple her lively nature and that she had even emerged with a plan for her future happiness.
“Are you nervous?” Prudence, the Countess of Wycliffe murmured, her green eyes warm with patience and compassion. “You have not been to a ball in quite some time.”
It hovered on Pippa’s lips to deflect the question because she loathed appearing the wilting flower, but these ladies were her friends.More than friends. She loved them all dearly, especially Harriet and Agatha, two ladies who had proven to be her companions. Everyone felt like a large, high-spirited, rollicking fun-and-loving family she could not imagine being absent from her life. The secret ladies’ club at 48 Berkeley Square was where Pippa had learned her confidence to freely express her opinions, even if they were silly, without any fear of reproach.
There was no one there to force her to comply to ridiculous expectations of what they deemed ladylike conduct and perfection. Most importantly, 48 Berkeley Square was where she had learned it was quite permissible to defend oneself by any means necessary against libertines and blackguards disguised as gentlemen of honor.
As if to mock her hard-fought courage and determination, the very man she thought about so darkly appeared on the stairs leading to the ballroom—Viscount James Shuttleworth. Her breath hitched and nerves shivered through her. Pippa thought she had been prepared to meet him again without any sort of anxiety. As if he felt her direct regard, his head lifted, and he did a quick search of the crowded ballroom.
It seemed improbable that he could recognize her in the crush; however, their gazes collided over the heads of several dancing couples. His eyes widened with recognition, and then the charming snake swept his eyes over her body in a quick but thorough appraisal. Pippa looked away from him, recalling a time she had been thrilled when he stared at her in such a manner. As if he were enamored with her when in truth, it was her dowry and inheritance he had wanted.
“How long has it been since you saw the viscount last?” Prue gently asked, steering Pippa away.
“Almost two years,” Pippa replied with a small wrinkle of her nose. “Since that night…I have tried my best to avoid his presence and succeeded.”
“Which meant avoiding most of those seasons’ events,” Prue said sympathetically.
“Yes.” Pippa smoothed her gloved palm down over the front of her rose-colored gown with its rustled sleeves and pearl-seeded hem. Tonight she had dressed far more daringly than she had done a few seasons ago when the only hope in her heart as a debutante was to find a husband who cherished her. “Is the viscount still looking at me?”
Prue sounded as if she smothered a gasp. “Yes. I do believe he is outrageous enough to approach us. The utter gall of this blackguard! Come let us make the rounds and greet our friends.”
Pippa took a deep breath, hating how her heart quivered inside her chest. She had known it would be difficult to again face the man who had accosted her, all with the ill-intent to steal her fortune through a most vicious scheme. The memory of his bruising kisses and forceful nature had stayed with her for months, and the fear that should she inform her father of the entire debacle, he would insist she marry the viscount.
“I am not afraid should he approach me,” Pippa said with a reassuring smile at Prue. “Perhaps it is what I need to fully relinquish the discomfort I still feel upon occasion.”
Prue gave her an encouraging smile, her green eyes twinkling. “I agree, but you do not need to push yourself. Let’s dance and make merry for the night, and we will ignore that rat-brained blackguard.”
A horrified laugh slipped from Pippa, and looping her hand with Prue’s, they melted through the crowd, meeting and chatting with several ladies. No one overtly commented on Pippa’s absence for last season though speculation was rife in many gazes. Though she chatted gaily with a few ladies, no gentleman asked her to the dance floor. Prue’s husband, the Earl of Wycliffe, generously stood up with Pippa, and she danced two glorious sets with him. No one else approached her, and she did not yearn to be asked by any of the handsome bucks strolling about. Her marriage plans did not include any one suitor singling her out and lavishing her with their empty flattery and insincere hearts.
“Pippa!” Miss Harriet Thompson cried, hurrying over and holding out her gloved hands in greeting. “I am so happy you came!”
Pippa laughed and squeezed her friend’s fingers. Harriet appeared most ravishing in a pale lilac gown with a crown of flowers around her dark blonde hair. Her dark brown eyes glittered with mischief, and her mouth, as usual, had a cheery smile that perfectly matched her amiable disposition. Phillipa had never met anyone as sweetly charming and good-natured as her friend.
“I did inform you, Harriet, that I am more than ready to find mybeauthis season.”
Her friend gave her an approving wink. “Are you still quite determined that you will only select a gentleman of whom you approve?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I shall not consider anyone else’s opinion but my own when it comes to my marriage.”
Harriet looped her hand through Pippa’s.
“I implore you to consider Lord Chayton,” Harriet said with a far too appreciative sigh. “He is astonishingly handsome and not too old or stodgy. He does not need your wealth, so you would not need to worry about that deceit entering your life.”
“Who is Lord Chayton?”
Harriet discreetly lifted her chin toward a gentleman who danced with a fair lady garbed in a golden gown. They made a lovely couple, and he was indeed handsome with his sandy brown hair, decided chin, and a strong yet stubbornly slanted jawline. Lord Chayton had a ready smile for his partner and moved her with graceful confidence about the dance floor.
“You sound as if you admire him, Harriet,” Pippa said with a teasing smile.