She had the makings of a business: customers who wanted her creations and funds. Pippa wasn’t an heiress, but since she’d begun selling her scents, she had saved a few pounds. Now, she had to leave everything she had established behind to marry a man old enough to be her father.
Mixing the small beaker of citrus in a decanter filled with distilled lavender, Pippa watched as it fused together, its combined fragrance strong and divine. Inhaling deeply, she tried not to think about her upcoming visit with her intended, the Duke of Summerset.
The door to the laboratory slammed open, causing it to creak on its hinges and reverberate throughout the small space. Pippa started, looking up to find her uncle, Sir Wayford, with his beady eyes and short, round frame, marching in as if he were royalty. Her skin bristled, body stiffened. She wished that he never had returned from France where rumors circulated about him entertaining a mistress and garnering an obscene amount of debt. If he had stayed gone, Pippa would still be her own person and her aunt would not be facing ruin.
Her uncle shifted forward to lean his enormous form against her worktable. She continued to work, ignoring him. Her shaking hands distracted her from his presence in her sanctuary.
“Summerset is here to complete the details,” her uncle said in a bored tone. “Come,” he demanded, not giving her an opportunity to say anything.
It was time.
Closing her eyes, Pippa took a deep breath in and then exhaled. She had made the choice days ago. It was done. Deciding to marry, she was determined to fulfill her duty to her aunt. She owed the woman so much after all; surely she could do this one thing to appease her uncle. Without another word or thought, Pippa cleaned her work area and put away her glass beakers, cylinders, glass tubes, and her father’s old thermometer.
Refusing to rush, she wiped down her tools, folded her notebook, and turned to inspect that everything was in the correct place before she removed her stained apron and walked from behind the worktable.
“Hurry. You should run to Summerset, happy that he would take you with no dowry and no family connections.” He chuckled darkly, walking behind her. “Finally snagged a duke after all.”
The taunt stung, but she ignored him. Taking the familiar route back to her aunt’s home, she dismissed her uncle’s heavy frame behind her, deciding to focus on the few moments of freedom she had left. As she entered the dwelling she’d lived in since she was orphaned, a slow smile spread across her face as she recalled the little girl who had first arrived, scared and alone.
She had never been to London before, and arriving with a woman that was the exact replica of her mother had jarred Pippa’s nine-year-old self. She had only met her mother’s twin once before, the meeting brief.
Being in London had been vastly different from her life with her parents in the quiet village of Boscastle, one that Pippa was sure she would not have acclimated to without the help of a boy with eyes the color of melted chocolate.
Entering the busy kitchen, Pippa was surrounded by the scent of freshly baked bread. For as long as she could remember, Mrs. Smith had been an excellent baker. It was one of the first things that had reminded Pippa of her own home.
Stopping right outside the parlor, Pippa allowed her uncle to pass by her, needing a moment to herself. Her uncle pierced her with a threatening gaze full of meaning, but she ignored him.
Although it was ultimately her decision to marry Summerset, a part of her still felt forced. But it was the one thing Pippa could do to repay her aunt. Margaret Wayford had taken in her sister’s only child with nothing but love and kindness despite her husband’s contempt.
Taking one final deep breath, Pippa crossed the threshold to the parlor to face a future she didn’t want.
Stepping into her aunt’s pale blue parlor, she wished she were anywhere but there. The cold, lifeless gray eyes of the Duke of Summerset bore into her, making her skin crawl in revulsion.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long, Your Grace,” Pippa commented as she dipped a small curtsey.
The Duke of Summerset sat stoic and stiff in an upholstered armchair, eyeing her with contempt before he stood slowly. Pippa had the distinct impression that he did not think her worthy of decorum.
Pippa wasn’t unfamiliar with the duke, of course. They had met frequently, both being a part of theton; however, she had never afforded the older man her attention.
Standing face to face, she scrutinized his features. He was of middling height and thin with a copious number of wrinkles on his weathered face. His short, white, thinning hair almost blended perfectly with his pale skin.
“No, it wasn’t long, though tardiness will not be permitted when you are my wife.” Ice-blue eyes surveyed her from head to toe as if she was being inspected for purchase.
This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d agreed to become her uncle’s bargaining tool.
“Permitted?” She spat out the offensive word, not believing that someone would say such a thing to another human being. She despised him on principle. Pippa was a grown woman who took care of herself and her aunt. There was no permission needed.
“You will find Miss Price a dutiful and prompt wife,” Sir Wayford responded from his place in an armchair in the center of the room.
The sight of him was sickening. She wished he had stayed in Paris, whoring and spending every shilling of her aunt’s inheritance. Instead, he returned with nothing, ready to wreak havoc on their lives.
“Good. The wedding will happen in a month’s time.” His voice was casual as he waited on Pippa to take her seat. “It will give the gossipers less to speak of regarding my mourning period.”
“A month?” The question came gasping out of Pippa, and suddenly the severity of her situation became abundantly clear to her.
It wasn’t as if she had not thought about the monumental decision she had made when her uncle returned and announced she would marry the Duke of Summerset or everything that her aunt owned would go to her uncle’s debtors. She hadn’t hesitated to agree. Her aunt was the one person alive whom she loved, and Pippa would not allow her to be ruined by a careless husband.
Thirty days.In that short span, she’d be married to the Duke of Summerset, a man she barely knew—who projected an air of cruelty.
