Even the roses that had given her so much pleasure had been selected by her husband for their color. Yellow. Like the sun.
Sunshine.
The memory of the Duke of Northwich calling her by the diminutive he had given her returned. A whisper.
She forced herself to move, to tamp down the sudden yearning, unfurling like a bud within.
“I do not know if the roses have bloomed yet,” she said lightly. “Will you take tea or stay for dinner?”
“No thank you,” Tilly said as they made their way through the doors leading to the parterre and veranda. “I have just come from the annual meeting of the Lady’s Suffrage Society, and I am too filled with excitement for tea. I am also promised to return to Adrian for dinner.”
The mentioning of Tilly’s new husband, yet another victim of George’s machinations, set Pippa on edge. Her body, already wound as tightly as a spool of thread, tensed more as they halted by a stone bench overlooking the rose bushes.
They were not yet in bloom. She felt a strange hollowness when she looked upon them. Maybe they could be torn out. Perhaps someone else could find use for them.
“You are happy with Mr. Hastings?” she asked her friend, turning her attention to Tilly once more.
“I am happier than I ever could have hoped.” Tilly frowned. “However, I am worried about your welfare, dearest friend.”
“You need not fret over me. I am quite well.” She summoned a bright smile to her lips that felt as forced as it was. “Tell me about the annual meeting of the Lady’s Suffrage Society.”
George had been a vocal opponent of women gaining parliamentary franchise. It had been the only point on which they had disagreed, and quite vehemently. He had not wanted Pippa to participate in the society or its paper.
The sudden urge to rush back into the hall and tear the damask from the walls rose, stronger than before.
“We had the largest attendance we have had yet,” Tilly said softly. “I do so wish you would join us. In all the upheaval of Adrian returning, I was remiss in my duties, but we do have more than three hundred members of parliament favorable to our cause now.”
“That is wonderful.” This time, at least, Pippa’s smile was genuine. “I would be happy to join the society and help with your endeavors. It is a worthy cause.”
George had not thought so.
To the devil with his opinions. He had also proven himself a heartless, conscienceless scoundrel. He had lied to her. And now, he was the reason Charlotte was in danger.
“I do think it would be a welcome distraction for you.” Tilly placed a hand on Pippa’s arm. “Dearest friend, I am concerned despite your attempts to tell me I should not be.”
“Distraction is always welcome, particularly when it is for an excellent reason.” Once more, she mustered a smile, though she knew this attempt was sad. Likely grim at best.
“The discoveries we have made about George are shocking enough, but then what happened two nights ago, some criminal trespassing and going about the study, knocking you down… I am outraged for you, Pippa. Heaven knows what that man was capable of.”
Ah.
Her friend’s unexpected appearance and solemnity made sense now.
“Northwich has told you.” It was more statement than question. Indeed, she did not need to ask.
The truth was as plain as the nose on her face.
Tilly gave her arm a pat. “Yes, of course he has, but only just this afternoon. I wish it would have come from you directly.”
“I would have gone to you the evening it occurred,” she admitted. “Indeed, I had done so, but your lights were down, and for some foolish reason, I thought to seek out the Duke of Northwich instead. I can see it now for the folly it was.”
Following their interview with the Chief Inspector, Northwich had blustered on about marriage and the need to protect her. He had offered her his continued hospitality at his townhome. Pippa had declined. As Chief Inspector Stone had recommended, she would likely seek a respite in the country. Unfortunately, her only recourse was her brother.
And since Worthington had perhaps been embroiled in George’s affairs, she could not say that visiting her brother and his wife gave her any sense of peace or calm. If anything, it left her more confused. She had written to Worthington the day before.
Asking for answers.
Demanding the truth.
