Delighted as she was for Kitty and Mr Chubb, she could not help wondering whether Mama had also intended her ploy to bring Pippa and Lord Selworth together. If so, it was a dismal failure. He had not even waited to discover the outcome of his friend’s proposal to her. Obviously he did not care in the least whom she married.
His noble gesture in relinquishing his political prospects to save her from disgrace was not a sign of his feelings for her but purely impersonal gallantry. For just a moment, when Millie told her he had revealed his alter ego at Almack’s, she had fancied he must have done it for love.
Sheer folly, she sighed, dipping her pen and returning to the list of names and addresses, only to find her attention wandering again a moment later. Would he give up his speech, robbing her of those precious hours together?
Came a tap on the door, and Mrs Lisle, seated at the large table, called, “Come in.”
Lord Selworth entered, looking distinctly harassed. “Mrs Lisle, Miss Lisle.” He bowed slightly. “Will you excuse me, ma’am, if I beg Miss Lisle to give me her assistance at once? Time grows short.”
“Of course, Lord Selworth,” Mrs Lisle said cordially, with a smile. “Just allow me to thank you for your promptness in disabusing the Ton of their mistaken apprehensions.”
“It was nothing, ma’am. Honour demanded it. A gentleman could do no less.”
Not even a generous gesture, Pippa thought. Merely a moral obligation.
“Still, we are vastly grateful,” her mother maintained. “Pippa, you had best give me your list. I have nearly finished mine.”
“I have not got very far,” Pippa said guiltily.
“No matter, my love. You have more important things to do.”
With the smile that turned Pippa to jelly, Lord Selworth took her list from her hand and passed it to her mother. Taking some papers from his pocket, he set them before her on the writing table.
Anxious to avoid talking about anything remotely personal, Pippa said eagerly, “Your Yorkshire notes? You mean to proceed with the speech?”
“Yes. I’ve decided anything I can do to alleviate the lot of those miserable children is worth a try. At worst, no one will come to listen, or only those who come to scoff.”
“They may go to scoff, but surely when they hear the horrors you have to tell, they will stay to weep?” Seeing his doubts in his face, Pippa hurried on. “I shall study your notes later. Tell me what you learnt from the Stricklands.”
“It seems they were visiting neighbours when a tiny boy, about four years old, came crashing down the chimney and was seriously bruised. They took him home, the master sweep being glad to rid himself of a bungling encumbrance. When he was cleaned up, he turned out to be a handsome little fellow—I met him, by the way, and can vouch for his looks. Whether the Stricklands would have taken such an interest in an ill-favoured child I cannot tell.”
“Perhaps not,” Pippa said soberly, “but let us allow them the benefit of the doubt. What is his name?”
“Henry. He’s well-spoken, too, clearly from a prosperous family, as the Stricklands guessed when he saw a silver fork and cried out in delight that his papa had such forks. Other things also were ‘just like Papa’s.’ He knows the Lord’s Prayer and will not get into bed without repeating it, but unfortunately he is too young to know his surname—or was when he was stolen away.”
“He was abducted, then?”
Lord Selworth nodded. “The Stricklands pieced the story together. His mother died and his father went abroad, ‘across the sea,’ leaving him with his uncle, of whom he was very fond. He was picking flowers in Uncle George’s garden one day. A woman came by, asked if he liked riding, took him up on her horse, and carried him off.”
Pippa shuddered. “So easily! Enough to give any parent nightmares. And the House of Lords is made up of parents. The Stricklands could not find his family?”
“He comes from southern England, to judge by his accent. He says he and the woman sailed to Yorkshire by ship.”
“I daresay he thought he was going to join his papa.”
“Very likely,” Lord Selworth agreed. “According to the master sweep, it was in Yorkshire that the woman sold him the child. The Stricklands advertised in southern newspapers, without success.”
“I am very sorry for the poor little boy, but, you know, from the point of view of your speech, it is better that he will never see his family again. Or rather, that they will never see him. Too happy an ending would lessen the impact on all those noble fathers and grandfathers. What is to become of Henry?”
“A friend of the Stricklands will adopt him and educate him,” said Lord Selworth with satisfaction.
“I am so glad, but I believe we shall leave his fate up in the air. Let us hope his story helps to alleviate the lot of all those other unhappy mites. It will fit perfectly into what I have already prepared.”
“You have contrived to work on my speech in spite of...your recent difficulties?”
“Oh yes,” Pippa said dryly, “I have had all the time in the world with no parties to go to, scarcely daring to leave the house for fear of being snubbed. It is not a pleasant sensation.” She shivered. “I must confess, grateful as I am to Bina, I positively dread tomorrow’s soirée.”
Chapter 18
Pippa dressed with the utmost care next evening. She wore her emerald-green crape, remade to open down the front over a white satin underdress, the set-on ivy leaves replaced with white silk roses. Instead of the fashionably brief pale green bodice, it now had a white one with a rather higher neckline, trimmed with emerald ribbons. For tonight, modesty was the watchword, but it must not be so blatant it became an obvious attempt to belie the immodesty attributed to her.
Fastening her locket about her neck, Pippa prayed that all the efforts to restore her to favour would not be in vain. The stitchery; the writing of invitations and running of footmen to deliver them; the magnificent refreshments provided by Gunter’s at a moment’s notice; George Debenham’s noble sacrifice of the best wines in his cellar; all would go for naught if the Ton refused to accept her innocence.
Mama and Kitty would be devastated. Perhaps Lord Chubb would make his son break off the engagement. The Lisles would have to retreat to the country to lick their wounds in obscurity, leaving the Debenhams no choice but to repudiate their guests in order to regain their own position.
As Pippa descended the stairs with Kitty and Millicent, Lord Selworth and Mr Chubb were admitted to the house. Mr Chubb had flowers for Kitty, the viscount two nosegays, for Pippa and his younger sister.
“You look particularly lovely this evening,” he said to Pippa, presenting a posy of white rose-buds.
She scarcely heard him. Her looks were irrelevant tonight. “Thank you,” she said automatically, then voiced the only thought her mind was at present capable of accommodating: “What if no one comes?”
But everyone came. Had everyone come at once, Mrs George Debenham’s party would have been not a “dreadful squeeze,” an accolade, but an unbearable crush. However, most people had prior engagements, so they came before, or after, or in between.
Those who apologised for giving credence to false rumour could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Some, like Mrs Drummond Burrell, brazened it out as if they had never given the Lisles the cut direct. Some, like the Pendrells, were shamefaced and would not quite meet Pippa’s eye. Some, like Lady Stanborough, were over-effusive when they complimented Mrs Lisle on her younger daughter’s splendid match.
To Pippa’s relief, though few guests were so embarrassed as to avoid her altogether, Kitty was the focus of attention. Less satisfactory was the attention Lord Selworth received.
He stayed near her all evening, ready to spring to her defence if necessary, so she could not but notice the way the gentlemen chaffed him about his books. In spite of his prophecies of disaster, she had hoped he might still be taken seriously as a politician. Dismayed, she realized it was now highly unlikely his unconventional views would receive a respectful hearing.
As he said, all they could do was to make his speech as brilliant as possible, regardless of the probable outcome.
* * * *
Delighted as he was to see his love no longer an outcast, Wynn wished her sister’s disappointed suitors would leave her alone. Whether they wanted to make reparation for having snubbed the family, or, no longer blinded by Kitty’s more obvious attractions, they had discovered Pippa’s quiet charm, they flocked about her.
“She was engaged in advance for every single dance last night,” Wynn grumbled to Gil one morning.
“Eh? What’s that?” Gil went around in a revoltingly blissful daze these days.
“I said, Miss Lisle didn’t stand up with me even once last night.”
“You should ask her the day before. Or better still, pop the question. There’s nothing like it, old chap, simply nothing like it. You can dance with her all night and no one gets in a pother.”
Wynn grunted. He was not ready yet to propose. In fact, though he loved her more each day, he was less ready than ever, in spite of his jealousy of her new admirers.
They were part of the problem. Whereas before he had at least been able to tell himself that he had little competition, now he had a lot. This one was richer than Wynn, that one handsomer, one of higher rank, another the very image of elegance, another the height of
savoir-faire
.
What Wynn had hoped to offer Pippa was the opportunity to support and share in a political career devoted to the principles they held in common. He might as well ask her to buy a goldmine in Peru as beg her to enter upon a betrothal without knowing whether he had a career before him or not.
Suppose no one came to hear him? Or suppose the peers were kind enough to attend despite his notoriety as a trifling creator of frivolous fictions—and he made a mull of her brilliant speech?
In spite of her new popularity, Pippa found time to work hard with him on the speech, and that it was brilliant he had no doubt. She played every note of pathos, every sharp of terror, every flat of despair, with a sure ear, never overornamenting the tune as he was still wont to do.
If Wynn did it justice, the House of Lords ought to end up weeping bucketfuls. He was just afraid that, while they might howl into their handkerchiefs, it would be with laughter, not tears.
He pushed away his breakfast half finished and turned once more to conning his speech.
The day after tomorrow....
* * * *
The petition to abolish the employment of climbing boys was presented to the House of Commons that afternoon. Despite its thousands of signatures, it aroused little interest among gentlemen more concerned with putting down the uprisings of desperate men across the country. The harvest promised well, but would it be enough to make up for last year’s deficit? Would the mills start rolling again in time to prevent revolution?
The torment of several hundred, even thousands, of small boys was of little importance in comparison with the torment of a nation.
The Commons found time, however, to crowd into the Upper House that evening to listen to the maiden speech of a new member of that august body. Viscount Selworth was an author of novels; more, an author of Gothic romances which were ribald as well as funny and thrilling, said those who had read them. His speech should be worth hearing.
The noble lords were apparently of the same opinion, for every seat on the red leather benches was filled. To Wynn, rising to his feet upon the invitation of the Lord Chancellor, the room was a sea of heads, an ocean of pale faces all agog.
He took a deep breath and launched his words, Pippa’s words, upon that sea, fragile lifeboats to save yet more fragile children from drowning in misery.
“My lords, gentlemen,...”
Thanks to Pippa, he had no need to resort to his notes, yet he had not studied so much as to render the matter stale. He spoke with fire and passion, the horrors of a climbing boy’s life vivid in his mind as the periods rolled from his tongue. Lords and Commons alike, they hung upon his words. A collective gasp went up when he spoke of little Henry, torn from the wealthy family he would see no more.
Not so short as to seem unimportant, not so long as to bore the audience—and then, closing with a final plea to end the unnecessary suffering, it was over. With a slight bow, Wynn dropped exhausted to his seat.
The Whig lords crowded round, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, congratulating him, lauding his eloquence. As they eventually began to drift away, some of the Tory lords took their place. Even the Prime Minister and the Lord High Chancellor approached Wynn to present their stiff, cool compliments.
“How soon can a bill be presented?” Wynn asked eagerly.
“Oh, as to that,” said Liverpool, “the agenda is already overfull, is it not, Eldon?”
The Chancellor agreed. “No knowing when we shall be able to prorogue,” he said testily.
“After all,” put in Lord Lauderdale, “affecting as was your tale of the child Henry, there are only one or two cases of the sort. I for one am not acquainted with anyone who has had a child abducted, are you, my lords?”
The rest of the noble gentlemen nearby shook their heads.
“As for the rest,” Lauderdale continued, “they are guttersnipes who if they were not engaged in an honest trade would be out on the streets a-begging—or picking our pockets!”
Amid laughter, the group broke up.
Furious, Wynn strode out to the lobby. Half an hour had passed since his speech ended, and the Commons had long since returned to their chamber. No doubt by now they had forgotten all about him.
A page boy stopped him. “Lord Selworth? Mr Bennet, m’lord, he told me to beg you to wait awhile till he can have a word with your lordship. The gallery’s that way, my lord, if you was to wish to go up.”
Wynn hesitated. He was in no mood to be polite, nor to lounge about waiting. He wanted to hurry back to Charles Street to acquaint Pippa with his success and his failure. On the other hand, he did not want the Radical Commoners to think him too toplofty to care for their opinions of the speech.