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  “As long as he does not start to brood at her like John Ruddock,” said Pippa tartly. “Heavens, look at the time. I must change for dinner.”

  On her way upstairs, she reflected with consternation on how easy she found it to talk to Lord Selworth. She was indeed fortunate that he was not residing with his sister! So much propinquity would certainly have led her into indiscretion.

  Yet she could not deny that it would have been pleasant to spend some time with him other than over the Prometheus business.

  Pippa sighed.

  Chapter 7

  Pippa giggled, then hastily glanced around the sitting room to make certain she was still alone.

  The original image was striking: the Government as a castle on a hill, impressively dominant from a distance, a dangerous ruin close to. What had possessed Lord Selworth to elaborate his metaphor?

  The common people figured as ghosts rattling their chains in the castle’s dank dungeons while their rulers held a ghostly banquet among tottering towers above. The noble peers would die of laughter. How fortunate that the viscount recognized his own limitations and had turned to Prometheus.

  Lord Selworth must read the same Gothic romances Pippa borrowed from the subscription library in High Wycombe, she thought.

  She read on, approving the sentiments and a few of the minor embellishments, chuckling over the wilder flights of fancy. The style reminded her of one particular author. She liked Valentine Dred’s novels because there was always an undertone of amusement beneath the horrors of headless horsemen and mad monks. One smiled even as one shuddered. They must be Lord Selworth’s favourites, too, to have so influenced him.

  It was something else she and his lordship had in common. Something else she must take care not to reveal, for Mr Dred’s stories were not only thrilling and funny, they were distinctly bawdy. Not at all proper reading for an unmarried young lady!

  Besides, a serious aspiring politician was bound to be distressed if informed that his style resembled that of a writer of racy fiction.

  “Pippa!” Kitty came in, a spring in her step. Pippa quickly covered the manuscript with a large blotter, before she realized her sister was alone. “Still poring over those mouldy old papers?”

  “Neither old nor mouldy,” Pippa said with a smile, “and I find them interesting. And come to think of it, I don’t need to hide them yet since Lord Selworth asked me to read them. It is an automatic reaction! You are back early.”

  “Not at all. It is nearly one o’clock.”

  “Heavens, is it really?”

  The speech was taking longer to read than she had supposed. How long ought a maiden speech in the House of Lords to last? According to Papa, for maximum impact a speech should be neither long enough to send listeners to sleep, nor so short it was easily overlooked among scores of others.

  But at first reading Pippa was not sure whether Lord Selworth’s was actually too long. She had paused to ponder phrases and paragraphs. It had taken a while to learn to decipher his large, sprawling hand, so different from Papa’s, and from her own neat, small writing—which also made the number of pages misleading.

  “You have not heard a word I’ve said!” Kitty protested.

  “You have been to hundreds of shops, each one more splendid than the one before. Yet somehow you are still full of energy!”

  “It was such fun. Dozens, not hundreds—at least a score—and all much larger and finer than anything at home. Mama has decided which we are to patronize, so this afternoon you are not excused. You must come to choose which materials you like so that Mama and I can begin to make up our gowns.”

  “I am perfectly willing to trust your judgment, Kitty. Well, yours and Mama’s! I must finish reading this. Lord Selworth wishes me to decide which version to ‘send to Prometheus.’“

  “But you don’t have to send it anywhere,” Kitty pointed out, “so there is no hurry.”

  “Sshh!” Pippa glanced at the door. “Remember we are not at home. Anyone might come in.”

  “There is no hurry,” Kitty repeated in an exaggerated whisper.

  Pippa frowned. “I forgot to ask Lord Selworth when he expects to give the speech. I wonder whether the date is set?”

  “It cannot be soon, or he would have asked Prometheus to make haste. Darling Pippa, Mama says you must come, and I am sure Lord Selworth would not encourage you to disobey her for his sake.”

  Outside the sitting-room door, Wynn paused with his hand raised to knock. Miss Lisle to disobey her mother for his sake? What on earth was the girl talking about? Anyone would think he had tried to persuade her to elope!

  He knocked. A pause ensued before Miss Lisle called, “Come in.”

  “Good morning, Miss Lisle, Miss Kitty.”

  “Oh, it is you,” said Miss Lisle with relief. “I just shoved your papers into the drawer in case....” She stopped, her cheeks tinged with pink, and fished the manuscript out of the desk drawer.

  Wynn pulled a face. “Is it so awful that I shall be utterly mortified should anyone else read it?”

  “Not at all!” she disclaimed, then bit her lip, her changeable hazel eyes dancing.

  She had most expressive eyes, Wynn noted, even as he said with a rueful shake of his head, “I see my rough draught amuses you.”

  “I am sorry,” she said guiltily.

  “Don’t apologize! Chubb’s reaction was exactly the same.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Miss Kitty put in, “but if you two mean to discuss the speech, I shall leave you to it. Remember, Pippa, Mama expects you to go with us this afternoon.” She tripped out, closing the door behind her.

  Wynn hesitated, undecided whether to open the door again for propriety’s sake. Everyone knew he and Miss Lisle had business together; everyone knew there was no more intimate association between them; and it would look so pointed. He left the door closed, pulled up a chair, and sat down beside the writing table.

  “I’m afraid I have kept you from some outing this morning.”

  “One I gladly missed, but I must go with Mama and Kitty to the shops after luncheon, to buy dress materials. It will not delay things much, though I have not quite finished reading.”

  “My dear Miss Lisle, I realize the Season is far more important to you than my affairs can possibly be.” He paused, with an enquiring look, as she opened her mouth. However, she closed it again firmly, rather tight-lipped. “Believe me, I intend no irony. I am eternally grateful for your help.”

  Sensitive lips relaxed in a quirk. “You too! Bina tries to make me believe we are doing her a favour, when it must be plain to the meanest intelligence how deeply indebted to her we are.”

  “I’m sure she will be as relieved as I if you will agree to cry quits! My bargain with Prometheus requires that you enjoy a Season, and believe me I don’t wish to deprive you of any of its pleasures, shopping included. Besides, there’s no knowing when I may be able to give the speech,” he added with a smile.

  She looked down, long, dark lashes veiling her eyes in apparent discomposure, to Wynn’s puzzlement. In another female he might suspect coyness, but Miss Lisle seemed a stranger to the art of coquetry.

  “No date has been set?” she said. “I forgot to ask.”

  “I haven’t yet approached Lord Eldon, the Lord Chancellor, not being sure when I shall be prepared. So you may tell Prometheus I am in no great haste, though I hope this session of Parliament will be possible.”

  “With Mr Cobbett gone to America, there will be no articles to write. Though other matters may intervene,” she added hurriedly. “There should be plenty of time before the end of this session, but I can give you no assurances as to how long it will take.”

  “It depends upon how busy Prometheus is, of course, and upon how much work there is to do.” Wynn gestured at the pile of papers and made a show of bracing himself. “Be honest, is it truly dreadful?”

  “By no means. Your points are well-ordered and well-argued—insofar as I may presume to judge.”
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br />   “It’s the embellishments, isn’t it? Meretricious metaphors and fanciful figures of speech, that’s where my troubles lie. So you will send Prometheus the unadorned version, to be ornamented with genuine pearls in place of my artificial roses.”

  Deliberately sought, her laugh delighted him. “Your roses are not all artificial. Rather, they are rose-bushes, sadly in need of pruning. I am sure Prometheus will agree, it will be much better to take your bushes as a starting point and keep what blooms can be saved.”

  “Watered with my tears! I own I should be glad to preserve a few.”

  “I daresay you will deliver the speech with more conviction if at least some of the imagery is your own. Papa said he could always tell in the House when a man had had his words written for him. The spark of enthusiasm would be missing.”

  “A fate I wish to avoid! Pray use your influence with Prometheus.” Wynn observed her closely as he spoke, hoping for a hint as to how much influence she expected to have.

  Again she lowered her lashes, and her porcelain-pale skin flooded with a rosy blush as she nodded.

  Damn! he thought, she does love him. But as to whether she fancied Prometheus returned her love, Wynn was none the wiser.

  * * * *

  “Prometheus has had a first consultation with Lord Selworth, I hear,” said Mrs Lisle, as the Debenhams’ landau rolled along Charles Street. “How did it go?”

  The landau’s hoods were up against a fine rain, so the Lisles were able to talk freely without fear of the coachman overhearing. Mrs Lisle had refused to take a footman, who would draw too much attention in the districts they were bound for.

  “I rubbed through unscathed,” Pippa said doubtfully, “I think.”

  “Was he troublesome? I should not have expected it of him. Still, gentlemen become amazingly defensive when their competence is called into question, even when they have already admitted to being in difficulties.”

  “No, he took criticism like a lamb. And I trust he still has no notion that I am Prometheus.”

  Yet he had studied her face when he mentioned her influence with Prometheus, and she had felt her cheeks grow stupidly hot. With luck he would put the blush down to his scrutiny—especially as she had still more stupidly flushed when he smiled. But no doubt he was accustomed to young ladies swooning when he smiled, she told herself tartly. She must hope to grow sufficiently accustomed to his smile for it to cease to ruffle her.

  “Pippa, he did not attempt any familiarities? It was unwise of Kitty to leave you alone together!”

  “He did not even try to flirt, Mama. I am quite sure my only attraction for him is as his conduit to Prometheus. At my age, I have no need of a chaperon when we are discussing business in his sister’s house.” Nor at any other time or place, she thought, a trifle wistful.

  “Let us have no more of this nonsense about your age, my love. No man of sense thinks the worse of a woman for being beyond the first foolishness of youth.”

  “Do you mean that I am foolish, Mama,” Kitty cried, laughing, “and must marry a fool? I shall defy you and marry a man of genius.”

  Mrs Lisle smiled. “You are a sensible girl for your age, Kitty, but remember that a fool is sometimes easier to deal with than a man of genius. Not that I wish you to choose your husband by his intellectual attainments. However, when you fall in love, as no doubt you will, ask yourself whether you can imagine the gentleman in question as a friend as well as a lover.”

  Pippa recalled receiving the same advice before her first Season. It had undoubtedly prevented her making a cake of herself over more than one beau of handsome face or insinuating charm. She had been quite unable to picture them taking a vigorous country walk with her, or talking politics at the breakfast table.

  * * * *

  The longest, most vigorous of country walks would have exhausted her less than their afternoon of shopping. Muslins and shawls from Waithman’s at Ludgate Hill; Irish linen from Newton’s in Leicester Square; poplins from Layton and Shear at Bedford House; all these and the silk-merchants and haberdashers of Cheapside blurred in Pippa’s mind.

  “Thank heaven for Bina’s carriage,” she said, leaving the shelter of a shop-assistant’s umbrella to climb into the landau for what she hoped was the last time today. “If we had had to traipse about in hackneys, I doubt I should have survived.

  “Cranbourne Alley next, for bonnets,” Kitty proposed, lively as ever, “now that we have the colours to be matched.”

  Pippa groaned.

  “Not now,” said her mother, to her relief. “Ladies do not frequent Cranbourne Alley so late in the day, and after we inspect our purchases this evening we shall have a better idea of what we need. As much as possible we must make one bonnet do for several gowns.”

  “I like trimming hats,” said Kitty. “One or two plain bonnets and a variety of trimmings will be plenty.”

  “But consider, my love, when you change your dress you will not have time to be altering the trimmings of your bonnets.”

  They continued to discuss hats, while Pippa’s mind drifted. Why did ladies only frequent Cranbourne Alley in the morning? Since Mama gave no reason, it was probably not a proper subject for young ladies. Unmarried young ladies, at least. Bina might know. Why were unmarried young ladies supposed to be kept in ignorance of so much that was going on in the world? Surely the more they knew the better they could deal with life.

  If women were properly educated, they would want to run their own lives. Men would have to give up their authority—which was the answer to her question. They set the rules, and in their determination to keep hold of the reins, they dictated what respectable young ladies should or should not know.

  Hence the need to keep the identity of Prometheus secret. However much men admired “his” articles, if they discovered a woman wrote them they would somehow convince themselves they were unworthy of serious consideration.

  If Lord Selworth found out, he might believe himself justified in reneging on his agreement with Prometheus. The secret must be kept, or Kitty’s Season would be ruined.

  “It is a great pity styles have become so elaborate,” Mrs Lisle bemoaned. “Silks are more expensive than muslins, to start with. Then the wider skirts take more material, and there is endless trimming to be done.”

  A trifle enviously, Kitty asked, “Have you seen Millie’s Presentation gown, Mama? The train alone uses yards and yards of lace, and the bodice is embroidered with seed pearls. And hoops are still de rigueur at Court, just like in the old days, so the skirt is enormous, and the petticoat also.” She giggled. “I should feel such a figure of fun wearing hoops!”

  “I am glad, dearest, because I cannot manage such an expense, though if it were possible I daresay Mrs Debenham would be kind enough to present you.”

  “In any case,” Pippa flared up, “it would go against all Papa’s principles to make obeisance to the monarchy.”

  “In any case,” Kitty pointed out pacifically, “the poor Queen is not well and Millie’s Court dress may very well go to waste!”

  “In any case,” said Mrs Lisle, “we shall be hard pressed to make all the gowns we really need. I hope you will have time to help with the sewing, Pippa.”

  Pippa groaned again. “Pray do not expect me cut out, Mama. You know I am terrified of making expensive mistakes. Give me the simplest seams and hems, and I shall contrive to do my part.”

  “We shall see. I do not wish you to tire your eyes with stitchery if you have a great deal of reading and writing to do.”

  “Think how tired the eyes of seamstresses must get.”

  “And they have not even the pleasure of sewing for themselves,” Kitty agreed.

  “They are paid for their labour,” Mrs Lisle said, “when many would be glad of any work.”

  “How lucky I am,” cried Kitty, “not to have to work for my living, thanks to my dear family.”

  “And how lucky I am,” said Pippa, “to be paid to do what I should very likely choose to do eve
n without pay! It is a pity, though, that Mr Cobbett has gone abroad. We shall have less money than you expected, Mama, and I have less excuse to avoid sewing.”

  The landau turned into Charles Street, passed the Running Footman public house at the corner of Hay’s Mews, and stopped in front of the Debenhams’ house. A boy ran up to hold the horses’ heads while the coachman clambered down from his perch to come and let down the step.

  Kitty glanced around and said, “We shall have to make several trips to carry in all these parcels.”

  “The footmen will fetch them,” Mrs Lisle told her. “It will never do for the Debenhams’ guests to be seen trotting up the front steps laden with packages. We have done very nicely, girls, and there is more yet to be sent round by the shops.” With satisfaction she shook her purse, which jingled. “Stuffed full when we started out but not empty yet—very nicely indeed!”

  Pippa was shocked to realize how much they had bought. Why, Mama must have spent enough to keep a poor family for years! Papa’s principles had fallen by the wayside without a word of protest from his elder daughter.

  Yet she had had her Season, for all the good it did her, and it was not for her to spoil Kitty’s. She said nothing now, but resolved to ask Mama later how Papa had felt about the expenditure on the earlier foray into the marriage market.

  As they entered the hall, the butler informed them stiffly that Mrs Debenham and Miss Warren were entertaining callers in the drawing room.

  “We shall not disturb them,” said Mrs Lisle, smiling slightly at the butler’s involuntary look of relief. “Have our purchases taken up to the little sitting room, if you please.”

  “At once, madam.”

  On the way upstairs, Mrs Lisle observed complacently, “We are most fortunate that Mr and Mrs Debenham senior entertain a good deal at their country home. Although Mrs George Debenham has visited Town only briefly since her marriage, she is already acquainted with a great many people, I collect.”

  “I believe so,” Pippa agreed.

  “For the present we shall concentrate on making up morning gowns and walking dresses so as to be able to join in morning calls. Time enough for evening gowns when we have met hostesses who are likely to invite us to evening parties.”