“He seemed to understand that I was serious,” Pippa hedged.
Charlie leaned back in her chair. “Do I need to have a parley with him? While the Prince of Larks may be a ruthless and powerful man, I will not countenance him interfering with our work.”
“He won’t,” Pippa said in a rush. “I promise.”If he does, he will answer to me.
“Very well. I will let this go for now. But I wish to be apprised of any further contact by the prince, Pippa. Do I make myself clear?”
Nodding, Pippa said, “If there’s nothing else, I thought I would get some sparring practice in with Mrs. Peabody—”
“About that.” Charlie’s expression was grave. “I think you should take a break.”
Pippa’s pulse skittered with fear. “I do not need a break. I have naught better to do.”
“And that is the trouble. My dear, I brought you on because I thought the work would be a good distraction—”
“It has been. The very best diversion.”The only thing keeping me afloat.
“But your entire life cannot revolve around a diversion.” Rising, Charlie crossed over to Pippa, taking her hands in a gentle yet firm grip. “I have been where you are, my dear, and I won’t lie that investigation gave me purpose and the will to carry on. At the same time, I see signs that the work may be affecting you in less desirable ways.”
Pippa pulled away. “The work is doing me good.”
“It is also feeding a latent recklessness in you. It worries me, my dear. No matter how important a lead may seem, nothing is more important than your well-being. Youmusttake better care. If the mudlarks hadn’t intervened, you might have found yourself in quite the predicament.”
“I was perfectly capable of handling the situation,” Pippa protested.
Charlie lifted her brows. “By handling, do you mean engaging in combat with the target who wasn’t supposed to know that you were there? Or perhaps you meant to do nothing and let him shoot you in the head?”
Pippa’s cheeks flamed.
“In this instance, we owe the Prince of Larks,” Charlie said sternly. “And I do not like to be indebted to anyone, least of all a man with murky motivations.”
“It is not as if I invited him to meddle in my affairs!”
“Be that as it may, if he approaches you again, you will tell me.” Charlie headed to the door, her yellow skirts rustling. “In the interim, get some rest. It will do you good.”
Heart pounding at the thought of the long hours alone in her cottage, Pippa choked out, “How long am I to be barred from participating in the society?”
“This isn’t a punishment, my dear.” Turning, Charlie pursed her lips. “I genuinely believe that a respite would be healthful. Perhaps you could take up a hobby; was painting not a passion of yours?”
Pippa saw the blood dripping from her brush, and a cold droplet slid down her spine.
“How long until I may return?” she repeated.
Sighing, Charlie opened the door. “Take a week, my dear. Then we’ll revisit the matter.”
When Pippa returned to her cottage that afternoon, she was greeted by Whitby, her butler. She had hired her small and loyal staff based on Charlie’s referrals. To Pippa, her servants were a dream: they didn’t gossip or question her comings and goings, nor did they bat an eye when she went out at night in one of her myriad disguises. Balding and built like a teapot, Whitby, especially, was the soul of discretion.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said with a bow. “How was the visit with Lady Fayne?”
Pushing back her despair, Pippa managed a smile. “It was fine.”
“A letter arrived. I left it on your desk.” The butler cleared his throat. “It was delivered in person by Mrs. Hunt.”
A vise clamped around Pippa’s temples. She wasn’t ready to deal with her family. During supper three months ago, Papa had gone on a rant about Edwin’s character. She couldn’t argue with Papa’s points; Edwinhadbeen condescending toward her relations. Yet what point was there in speaking ill of the dead? Moreover, Pippa bore responsibility as well, for she’d made the choice to wed Edwin contrary to parental advice.
She’d sat tight-lipped through course after course, frustration and despair decimating her appetite. Since then, she’d been avoiding her family. She loved them but didn’t know how to mend the rift caused by her marriage. Taking the coward’s way out, she’d kept her distance.
Entering the parlor, Pippa went to her escritoire and picked up the letter. A spasm hit her chest at the sight of her mama’s untidy script. She traced the seal with her index finger but didn’t break it. She knew her mother was worried about her and was likely asking her to visit…or to move home. Despite Pippa’s yearning to return to the vibrant, loving household of her youth, something in her balked.
