Propelled by the threatening heat behind her eyes, she fled.
8
“My dear Pippa, how tired you look.” The Dowager Countess of Longmere took a tiny sip of the Darjeeling and, with a slight grimace, set it aside. “Are you not sleeping well?”
Pippa kept her polite smile fixed in place. She’d had plenty of practice when it came to her mama-in-law. Five minutes into the monthly visit, the dowager had already found fault with the temperature of Pippa’s parlor, firmness of the divan cushions, and texture of the biscuits.
“Thank you for your concern, Mama,” Pippa replied. “My sleep has been undisturbed.”
Unless one counted the dreams she’d been having about Cull. The ones where she woke up, dazed and damp with perspiration, the sheets twisted around her legs. The taste and smell of him filled her senses as she lay there, heart pounding and unmentionable parts aching. On several nights, matters had gotten so desperate that she’d had to resort to an improper relief.
The brief remedy she found for her bodily tension did not assuage her mental turmoil. Thoughts of Cull consumed her. How good he’d made her feel…and how wretched.
She was reminded all too keenly of the early stages with Edwin. The giddiness and passion. While not as flowery and effusive as her dead spouse, Cull’s seemingly honest professions had made her thrum with a familiar longing. And his touch…she’d never experienced such pleasure with Edwin. Cull had weakened her defenses, even though she knew full well the dangers of getting involved with him.
He was a fellow who could not be trusted. Who specialized in secrets. She was still licking the wounds inflicted by her marriage; the last thing she needed was another man in her life.
Even if that man looked after urchins who clearly adored him. Even if he had come to her aid. Even if he looked at her with soulful yearning and his touch made her come alive with desire.
Gah.
“You needn’t hide your feelings.” The dowager shook her head, which was covered in a severe black turban. Her rail-thin figure was draped in a matching shade that seemed to suck the light from the room. “We are family, after all. I know how hard it must be for you with dear Edwin gone. You must wonder what the point is in continuing.”
Of all the things Pippa had been contemplating, not continuing hadn’t been one of them. Not wanting to disappoint her mama-in-law, she said, “He has been greatly missed.”
“He was the light of our lives, not to mention a luminary in the world of art.” The dowager dabbed at her eyes with a black silk handkerchief. “To lose him and his genius in one fell swoop…how could Fate be so cruel?”
Pippa didn’t have an answer for that. But seeing as the dowager asked the same question at every visit, she knew one wasn’t expected.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she murmured.
Her mama-in-law’s snort could have been construed as blasphemous. “True grief—that of a mother for her only child—cannot be consoled by platitudes. Now, speaking of Edwin’s art, I do not see his crowning achievement. Why has hispièce de resistancebeen moved from its place of honor?”
The dowagerwouldnotice. A few days ago, Pippa had movedPortrait of a Lady Dreamingfrom above the parlor mantel, replacing it with another of Edwin’s paintings. Having the portrait of the woman with the red-gold hair and sad turquoise eyes on public display had felt too painful. It symbolized Pippa’s mistakes, including the secret she’d kept that had led to Edwin’s death.
“You did not sell the piece, did you, Pippa?”
“Of course not, Mama,” she said hastily. “It is in my sitting room.”
She didn’t mention that she had left it on the ground, the canvas facing the wall.
“Where no one will see it?” Outrage amplified the shrillness of the dowager’s voice. “Why would you dishonor my son’s genius in such a fashion?”
“I thought it might be nice to rotate his paintings. The study of the fruit bowl looks quite charming above the mantel, don’t you think?” Pippa said lamely.
If the fruits had been real, they would have spoiled beneath the heat of the dowager’s glare.
“Need I remind you thatPortrait of a Lady Dreamingwas chosen to be exhibited by the Royal Society? That painting was Edwin’s grandest achievement. I cannot think of a single reason why it should not be showcased in a place of honor, can you?”
Because that painting is a fraud. Because every time I see it, I want to cry. Or scream.
Pippa held her tongue; it wasn’t for nothing that she’d earned the moniker of Patient Pippa. What people didn’t realize was that she wasn’t necessarily more patient than the next person. She was just better at curbing her words. Her thoughts, however, were a different matter.
As trying as she found these visits, Pippa would never hurt her husband’s mother. The lady had lost her only child, and even though she thought Pippa wasn’t good enough for her son—and Pippa knew this because she’d overheard the dowager say repeatedly to Edwin,“That gel is not good enough for you, my darling boy”—the lady had few close relatives. Even fewer friends.
Thus, it was Pippa’s duty to look after the dowager.
“I shall have the portrait reinstalled above the mantel, if you wish,” she said.
