As conversation stilled in the small parlour, crowded with afternoon callers, Pippa looked round in surprise. Selworth? His lordship must be related to Albinia—which did not explain his presence here in this out of the way Buckinghamshire village. Yes, that fly-away flaxen hair was the image of Bina’s. A close relative, then, perhaps the elder brother she used to talk about in such worshipful tones. She had mentioned a title in a distant part of the family. The two must have somehow come together.
Lord Selworth was slim, and not much above middling height, shorter than his companion, who was tall and lanky, with an incongruously round face. Both wore riding dress, with mud-splashed boots. Mr Chubb, after a quick, nervous glance about the room, appeared to find a peculiar fascination in the toes of those boots.
Bashful, poor fellow, Pippa diagnosed. Prematurely thinning hair doubtless added to his diffidence.
While these thoughts sped through her mind, her mother had risen to greet the unexpected visitors with her usual placid friendliness.
“Forgive our intrusion, ma’am,” Lord Selworth responded with an attractive smile, “and our dirt. We happened to be passing nearby and I was commissioned by my sister, Mrs Debenham, to carry a letter to your daughter. Miss Lisle is a friend of long standing, I collect.”
“Yes, indeed. Pippa, my love.”
Passing nearby? Whence and whither, Pippa wondered as she rose to make her curtsy. The village was well off any beaten track, lost in beech woods at the back of beyond. And she had received a letter from Bina only a fortnight since, she recalled.
“And this is our vicar, Mr Postlethwaite, Lord Selworth,” Mrs Lisle continued, then turned away to say, “Mr Chubb, do let me make you known to my younger daughter, Kitty.”
Lord Selworth bowed to Pippa and exchanged bows with Mr Postlethwaite. The vicar looked decidedly discomposed. A perennial suitor of Pippa’s, he was a pleasant, worthy gentleman she occasionally considered accepting. Never for long, though. He would be shocked to the core should she ever dare reveal her unorthodox views on the Established Church.
However, he clearly looked upon Lord Selworth as a rival. Ridiculous, when Pippa had so far exchanged no more than a how-do-you-do with Bina’s brother, who would doubtless be on his way after a polite five minutes, never to be seen again.
A pity, she thought wistfully. While not precisely handsome, at close quarters his lordship’s smile was simply devastating.
Pippa could not help returning it. “You have a letter for me, Lord Selworth?”
“Oh, yes.” He felt in the pocket of his dark brown riding coat—on the verge of fraying at the cuffs, she noted. His title must have descended to him without a fortune. “Dash it, where did I put the thing?” He felt in the opposite pocket, then in the inside breast pocket. “Ah, here it is.”
Taking the folded missive, Pippa set it aside for later perusal. Odd that he should have had to fumble for it, when it was his sole reason for calling. “Mrs Debenham is well, I trust, sir?” she said.
“In fine fettle, Miss Lisle. She is looking forward to the coming Season.”
“She is to bring out your sister, is she not? She mentioned Miss Millicent Warren’s come-out in her last letter. Has she gone up to London already?”
How awkward it was to make polite conversation standing up in the cramped parlour! Pippa’s eyes were on a level with his chin—a strong, determined chin—and she was too close to glance up without appearing arch. On the other hand, not raising her gaze must make her look timidly demure, equally at odds with her character. She wished she might invite him to sit down, but the vicar clung tenaciously to her side and there were not seats enough for all.
Ah, the Misses Bradshaw were half-reluctantly taking their leave. The news of Lord Selworth’s visit would be all over the village within the half hour.
“Excuse me, my lord, I must see Miss Bradshaw and Miss Dorothy out.” Pippa did not want the old dears to feel slighted by her paying more attention to a nobleman, a fleeting acquaintance, than to her neighbours. Daughters of the previous vicar, they lived in greatly reduced circumstances.
Several minutes passed in the presentation of a jar of strawberry jam and effusive thanks therefor. Returning from the front door across the tiny hall, Pippa paused on the parlour’s threshold.
His lordship and his friend had taken the Miss Bradshaws’ chairs. The speechless Mr Chubb sat next to Kitty. She was being kind to him in between making arrangements with her friend Mary, Squire Ruddock’s daughter, to visit the Hall to play duets upon the new pianoforte.
Across from them, gazing fixedly at Kitty, Mary’s brother John appeared to be suffering from an acute attack of indigestion. He had recently taken to attempting to ape Lord Byron’s romantically brooding manner, without much success to date. Kitty was worth gazing upon, though, thought her partial sister. The amber shade of her high-waisted kerseymere gown complemented her dark curls beautifully, and her rosy cheeks never looked sallow.
Lord Selworth, seated next to Mrs Lisle, conversed courteously with his hostess and Mrs Stockton, the apothecary’s stout wife. He smiled again at Pippa, hesitating in the doorway. Her heart did a most peculiar flip-flop.
Drat the man, did he realize how disturbing his smile was? Could he not keep a straight face? Still, he would be leaving any minute. He and Mr Chubb had no doubt awaited her return to the parlour to make their farewells, to avoid adding to the crush in the minuscule entry. If Pippa returned to her seat beside the vicar, which she was most unwilling to do, she would only have to pop up again to say good-bye.
But, though the gentlemen rose politely when she failed to sit down at once, Lord Selworth showed no sign of departing. Rather than keep them on their feet, Pippa subsided perforce.
She was forced to listen to a low-voiced soliloquy from Mr Postlethwaite, on the subject of Town Bucks and their extravagant, self-indulgent habits. Never had she had less patience with that good man.
Mary completed her business with Kitty and dragged her brother away to escort her home. Mrs and Miss Welladay and Miss Jane Welladay, wife and daughters of a yeoman farmer, stopped by on their way home from market, to show off some French merino bought at a bargain. Leaving, they bore off Mrs Stockton with them. Lord Selworth and Mr Chubb stayed and stayed. So, determinedly, did the vicar.
Conversation becoming general, the weather for the past three months was discussed in excruciating detail. Pippa was nearly ready to scream when the maidservant from the vicarage arrived with a message from Mrs Postlethwaite, desiring her son’s presence at home.
“I shall be glad to set you in the right way, my lord,” said Mr Postlethwaite in a last ditch effort to outflank his enemy. “The lanes hereabouts are lamentably confusing to the uninitiated.”
“I thank you, sir,” Lord Selworth replied cordially, “but Chubb and I are in no hurry. That is, we don’t object to going a little astray, seeing something more of the fine countryside in this part of the world.”
The vicar left, disgruntled.
Pippa’s suspicions redoubled. To be sure, the country was beautiful—in June. Now, at the end of February, it was a study in sodden, muddy sepias and duns. No flush of green yet tipped the beech trees’ boughs; thorny hedgerows dripped, honeysuckle and dog-rose a distant dream; the bottoms were mired ankle-deep.
Walking abroad was a penance, riding no pleasure. What was Lord Selworth up to?
She soon found out. He turned to her mother and said coaxingly, “Mrs Lisle, I must confess to being here under false pretences. I have come to speak to you about Prometheus.”
Her head whirling, Pippa gripped her hands tightly in her lap. Had the Government sent him? Surely William Cobbett had not given away Prometheus’s true identity. However much trouble he was in, blamed for civil disorders all over the nation, the publisher, editor, and chief contributor to the
Political Register
would not betray his friends.
Cobbett was a true and generous friend, who paid liberally for Prometheus’s articles despite his own financial woes. Without that income, the Lisles would be in sore straits—and the income would cease if the world discovered who had taken over Benjamin Lisle’s pen-name.
Cobbett could not afford to go on publishing articles the world did not take seriously. How much influence would they exert if it became known that the author was a mere female?
And a youthful female, at that!
Chapter 2
“Prometheus?” said Mrs Lisle cautiously. Avoiding Lord Selworth’s eye, she tucked a greying curl under her lilac-ribboned cap.
Pippa regarded her mother with affection. Mama’s calm nature, especially in contrast to Papa’s quicksilver intellect, led some to consider her slow-witted. Not so her elder daughter.
Mr Lisle’s political career had been founded on the bedrock of his wife’s common sense and exceptional ability to hold household. Too principled to accept the perquisites of his seat in the House of Commons, the sinecures and outright bribes offered for his support, he had relied on her to contrive on their small income. She had succeeded to admiration. Their home was a modest but comfortable haven whither he retreated every weekend during the parliamentary sessions.
She had taught their daughters herself, not only the housewifely arts, but such ladylike accomplishments as music, fine needlework, water-colours, and dancing. It was not Mama’s fault that Pippa had not “taken” during her one scrimped and saved-for London Season.
Skinny and dark when the fashion was for well-rounded blondes, more interested in politics and rhetoric than fashion and gossip, Pippa herself was to blame. For Mama’s sake, she had done her best to conform, and Mama had never reproached her for failing to catch a husband. Papa was pleased, since, escaping with relief back to Sweetbriar Cottage, his daughter resumed the making of fair copies of his speeches and articles.
As his health deteriorated, Pippa had taken more and more responsibility for the content and phrasing of his work. When he went to his reward in the Afterlife in which he disbelieved, what more natural than that she should take on the mantle of Prometheus?
Mama would never give away the secret, neither on purpose nor inadvertently. Nor would Kitty, as practical and commonsensical as their mother in spite of being the prettiest girl in the entire neighbourhood.
Pippa glanced at her young sister. Kitty’s sparkling brown eyes met hers in a look brimming with merriment. At the same time, she continued to tell Mr Chubb quite seriously about the poultry which were her especial care. The bashful young man seemed interested, and even ventured a question. Dear Kitty had quickly set him at his ease.
Lord Selworth, to the contrary, had lost his appearance of ease. Under Mama’s questioning gaze, he ran his hand through his hair with an air of harassed uncertainty. He opened his mouth, but no words issued forth.
“Prometheus?” Mrs Lisle asked again.
“Yes, ma’am. I know your late husband wrote under that name—I must offer my condolences, belated, I fear. A sad loss to the nation!”
“And to his family,” the widow said with quietly sorrowful dignity.
“Of course. I...er...You are aware, I daresay, that someone else is now employing Mr Lisle’s pseudonym?”
“Certainly. The person concerned very properly requested my permission.”
“Then you know who he is?” Lord Selworth enquired eagerly.
“I regret that I am not at liberty to divulge the name.”
His lordship’s face fell, but he rallied. “Perhaps I can change your mind, ma’am, when you hear why I wish to approach the gentleman.”
Mrs Lisle’s mouth twitched, and she cast a quizzical glance at her elder daughter. For an anxious moment, Pippa feared her mother would be unable to repress the chuckle quivering on her lips.
However, with assumed gravity she replied, “I doubt it, Lord Selworth, but you are at liberty to try.”
He smiled at her. “You are laughing at me, I see. I expect more persuasive men than I have badgered you in vain. But perhaps their reasons were less...altruistic. I hope you will consider my aims altruistic.”
“Tell me.”
Once more his lordship ran his hand through his hair, increasing its likeness to an ill-made hayrick. As if suddenly recalling its unfortunate tendency to go its own way, he then hastily smoothed it down, with a rueful sidelong peek at Pippa.
It was her turn to try not to chuckle.
“May I enlist you on my side, Miss Lisle?” he begged.
“It is not my place to enlighten you as to Prometheus’s identity, sir,” she said, adding frankly, “I cannot imagine any circumstances which would change that, but I own I should be glad to hear what you have to say.”
“Very well. First, I must tell you that I have unexpectedly and very recently inherited the viscountcy, from a distant relative with whom my immediate family had lost touch. I had no idea I was so close in line to the succession.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs Lisle sceptically.
“Albinia certainly never knew, Mama. Lord Selworth’s father died many years ago, did he not, sir?”
“Near twenty, ma’am. My eldest half-sister is eighteen. My mother has too large a second family to keep track of her first husband’s relatives, and my stepfather is a rather unworldly clergyman. I knew, of course, that my great-grandfather was titled, but the connection was too distant to be of pressing interest. “
Mrs Lisle was still disbelieving. “You never wondered?”
“Mama, pray do not catechise Lord Selworth!” said Pippa, laughing.
“No, no, Miss Lisle, I have no objection. Convincing you of my credentials must include explaining why I have no inbred sympathy with the landowning classes. To tell the truth, I had little time to fret over my noble relatives, and no inclination to apply to them for assistance.” A flush stained his fair skin. “Since I attained years of discretion I have been busy helping to support my family.”
“Too proud to ask for help, yet ashamed of working for a living,” Mrs Lisle observed dryly.