She said not one word of threat, but Beau heard it. The warning from Pip’s maid might have been more impressive, but Beau knew perfectly well that this threat was far more serious.
“I shall do my best,” was all he could think to say.
It must have been enough. The duchess smiled and patted his cheek before walking off, leaving Beau to wonder exactly what he was supposed to achieve.
* * *
Pip was exhausted.It wasn’t just the fact that she hadn’t slept in the last few days. It wasn’t even that she was suddenly and irrevocably married, or that as many people who had sincerely wished her well, an almost equal number were looking forward to some sort of scandal. It was that they didn’t have to look far for the scandal. Perfect Pamela had taken up position just at the edge of Pip’s line of sight. Draped in slithery crimson and moving with the sensual aggression of a python, every so often she made it a point to look on Beau with a secretive smile and then turn to Pip with patently false sympathy.
Whether it was supposed to be for Pip or for Beau’s benefit, Pip couldn’t exactly tell. She suspected it didn’t matter. The point was to get the other guests to watch Pamela’s antics. And they did. With relish. And Pip had to spend much of her time pretending to be oblivious not only to the act going on in the corner, but the heads swiveling back and forth.
Oh, if she could only reveal what she really thought, that Perfect Pamela was positively pathetic. That she might have been Beau’s very public mistress, but her reign was over. Pip had not realized until now quite how possessive a woman she was. Not only would she not allow poaching on her preserves, but she would publicly punish whosoever attempted it.
She made a tactical move to lift her champagne glass for a sip to hide the grin she couldn’t help. Perfect Pamela was also making her positively alliterative. That was crime enough in and of itself.
“Oh dear,” Lizzie said alongside her. “It seems mother is putting the fear of God into your husband.”
Pip carefully turned so her interest wasn’t noted. And she smiled even more. Lizzie was right. The duchess had a hand on Beau’s arm and was smiling in a way any of her children—including Pip—would recognize. And if Beau was smart, he would do whatever it was she wanted him to.
“His aunt could take some lessons from her in persuasion,” Pip admitted to her friend. “Your mother could terrify Wellington.”
Lizzie grinned. “Oh, she has. She has.”
“How delightful,” she heard behind her.
Blast! Pamela had snuck up on them. Lizzie stiffened. It took all her control, but Pip didn’t so much as twitch.
“I congratulate you,” Pamela purred, coming into her line of sight.
“Don’t be silly,” Pip retorted easily. “It is the groom you congratulate. You give the bride best wishes.”
All right, so maybe she was not so controlled, when she gave the wordwifejust a bit more emphasis.
Of course, she was dealing with a professional.
“In that case,” Pamela said with a cat-in-the-cream smile. “I do. Give you best wishes for what you face, knowing that Beau would never have married you unless you’d forced him into it.”
Pip tilted her head a bit. “I’ll ask him later,” she said. “I shall also remind him that I have never grown lax in protecting that which—or whom—I cherish.”
“That is very true,” Lizzie piped up with a bright nod, as if she didn’t hear the undercurrents. “You should have seen her in boarding school when one of the teachers tried to hurt a younger student.” She grinned in reminiscence. “That woman couldn’t walk for a week.”
Pamela made a perfectmoue. “Violence is crass.”
“But effective,” Lizzie and Pip said in unison, just as they had when they chased the teacher from the school grounds.
Pip threaded her arm through Lizzie’s, astonished at Lizzie’s blatant defense. “My brother Alex taught all of the girls in my form how to defend ourselves from...predators.”
Pamela’s laugh was just a mite strained. “How dear. Let me know if the fantasy comforts you.”
Because Pip’s luck had been steadily waning, that was of course the moment Beau strolled up. “Brat, the duchess has just reminded us that it is time to go.”
And blast it if she didn’t blush. He would pay for that later, she swore.
As for Pamela, she just laughed, strolled by Beau with a slow stroke down his arm and murmured, “Brat. How perfect.”
Later no one would be able to say exactly how it happened, but suddenly from one step to the next Pamela shrieked and pitched forward, flat on her face, her dress floating up to betray legs that weren’t as sleek as one would assume, her champagne glass shattering spectacularly on the marble floor.
Everyone stopped to look, of course. Beau spun to glare at Pip until he realized that she had been completely out of reach of the woman. The only person close enough to have tripped La Smythe-Smithe, was Lizzie. Lady Elizabeth Ripton, daughter of the Duchess of Dorchester, who at that moment was watching her daughter walk towards her, seemingly unaware of the havoc she’d left behind.
