Most brides-to-be would not have appreciated the frank reference to the exchange of funds that came with marriage, but Pippa found the concrete items relating to the event to be calming. She nodded once. “I’ve some land in Derbyshire.”
He nodded and came to his feet. “Needham said that. Lots of sheep.”
And four thousand acres of crops, but Pippa doubted Castleton had paid her father much mind.
Silence fell, and he rocked back on his heels, craning to see into the tearoom. After a long moment, he said, “What happens at a ladies’ tea?”
Pippa followed his gaze. “Ladies drink tea.”
He nodded. “Capital.”
Silence again. “There are usually biscuits,” Pippa added.
“Good. Good. Biscuits are good.” He paused. “Cakes?”
She nodded. “Sometimes.”
He nodded. “Smashing.”
It was excruciating.
But he was her fiancé. In one week, he would be her husband. And in no time, he’d be the father of her children. So excruciating wasn’t an acceptable outcome.
He might not be the most compelling of companions, nor was he the kind of man who took an interest in her interests. But there were not many men who did take interest in anatomy. Or horticulture. Or biology. Or physics.
There was one man.
She resisted the thought. Cross might be a man of science, but he was not the kind of man one . . .
She stopped the thought before it could form, forcing her thoughts back to the matter at hand—Castleton. She must work at Castleton. At engaging him. At attracting him. Even if she’d failed before.
With another.
No. She wouldn’t think of Cross. Wouldn’t think of her failed interaction with him. She was a scientist, after all . . . and scientists learned from all experiments. Even failed ones.
She smiled brightly. Possibly too brightly. “My lord, would you like to see if there are any cakes left in the kitchens?”
At reference to the kitchen, Trotula’s tail set off at a remarkable speed, but it took Castleton a moment to understand Pippa’s question. “The kitchens! For cake! With you!”
She smiled. “Indeed.”
“Pippa!” Her mother’s cry came from the doorway of the tearoom, instantly replaced by a surprised, breathless, “Oh! Lord Castleton! I did not know you were here! I shall—” She hesitated, hand on the door, considering her next step.
Most mothers would never dream of allowing their daughters to hover, unaccompanied, in an empty hallway with their fiancés, but most daughters were not the offspring of the Marchioness of Needham and Dolby. Aside from Pippa’s being odd and—as the rest of the family apparently knew—lacking in the basic social experience of a soon-to-be-married lady, the daughters of the house of Needham and Dolby did not receive high marks when it came to actually marrying their betrotheds. Surely the marchioness wouldn’t mind a bit of scandal to ensure that her second youngest made it all the way down the aisle.
“I’ll just pull this door to,” Lady Needham said, offering an exaggerated smile in their direction. “Pippa, you join us when you are free, darling.”
The irony was not lost on Pippa that freedom was associated with a roomful of cloying, gossiping ladies.
Once they were alone once more, Pippa returned her attention to her betrothed. “The kitchens, my lord?”
He nodded his agreement, and they were off, Trotula leading the way.
There were leftover cakes in the kitchens, easily cajoled from the cook and wrapped in cheesecloth for a walk on the Dolby House grounds. Pippa tried not to think too carefully about the direction of their walk, but she could not deny that she was deliberately avoiding the copse of cherry trees where she’d waited for Mr. Cross several evenings earlier, deciding, instead, to head for the river a quarter of a mile down the gently sloping lawns.
Trotula ran out ahead with a series of loud, happy barks, enjoying her freedom on the uncommonly warm March day, circling back now and then to ensure that Pippa and Castleton followed. They walked in silence for several minutes—long enough for Pippa to consider her next action. When they were far enough away from the house not to be seen, she stopped, turning to face the man who would be her husband.
“My lord—” she started.
“Do you—” he said at the same time.
They both smiled. “Please,” he said. “After you.”
She nodded. Tried again. “My lord, it’s been more than a year since you began courting me.”
He tilted his head, thinking. “I suppose it has been.”
“And we are to be married. In seven days.”
He smiled. “That I know! My mother cannot seem to stop speaking of it.”
“Women tend to enjoy weddings.”
He nodded. “I’ve noticed. But you don’t seem to be in as much of a state over it, and it’s your wedding.”
Except she was in a state over it. Just not the kind of state he expected. Not the kind of state anyone noticed.
Anyone except Cross. Who was no help at all.
“Lord Castleton, I think it’s time you kissed me.”
If a hedgehog had toddled up and bit him on the toe, she didn’t think that he could have looked more surprised. There was a long silence, during which Pippa wondered if she’d made an enormous mistake. After all, if he decided she was too free with her favors, he could easily march back to the house, give back the land in Derbyshire, and bid farewell to the house of Needham and Dolby.
Would that be so bad?
Yes. Of course it would.