One Good Earl Deserves a Lover
Page 16
It seems I’ve a keener understanding of horticulture than humans.
Unfortunately, this is not a surprising discovery.”
The Scientific Journal of Lady Philippa Marbury
March 23, 1831; thirteen days prior to her wedding
Really, Pippa”—Olivia Marbury sighed from the doorway of the Dolby House orangery—“one would think that you would have something better to do than fiddle about with your plants. After all, we’re to be married in twelve days.”
“Thirteen,” Pippa corrected, not looking up from where she cataloged that morning’s floral observations. She knew better than to explain to Olivia that her work on the roses was far more interesting and relevant to science than fiddling about.
Olivia didn’t know science from sailing.
“Today doesn’t count!” The second—or first—bride in what was purported to be “the double wedding of the century” (at least, by their mother) replied, the excitement in her voice impossible to miss. “It’s practically over!”
Pippa resisted the urge to correct her younger sister, supposing that if one were looking forward to the event in question, today would not, in fact, count. But as Pippa remained uncertain and anxious when it came to the event in question, today did indeed count. Very much.
There were fourteen hours and—she looked to a nearby clock—forty-three minutes left of today, March the twenty-third, and Pippa had no intention of relinquishing the twelfth-to-the-last day of her premarital life before she’d used every single minute of it.
Olivia was now on the opposite side of Pippa’s worktable, leaning well over the surface, a wide smile on her pretty face. “Do you notice anything different about me, today?”
Pippa set down her pen and looked at her sister. “You mean, aside from the fact that you’re about to sprawl into a pile of soil?”
Olivia’s perfect nose wrinkled in distaste, and she straightened. “Yes.”
Pippa pushed her spectacles up on her nose, considering her sister’s twinkling eyes, secret smile, and generally lovely appearance. She did not notice anything different. “New coiffe?”
Olivia smirked. “No.”
“New dress?”
The smirk became a smile. “For a scientist, you’re not very observant, you know.” Olivia draped one hand across her collarbone, and Pippa saw it. The enormous, glittering ruby. Her eyes went wide, and Olivia laughed. “Ah-ha! Now you notice!”
She thrust the hand in question toward Pippa, who had to lean back to avoid being hit with the jewel. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Pippa leaned over to assess the jewel. “It is.” She looked up. “It’s enormous.”
Olivia grinned. “My future husband adores me.”
“Your future husband spoils you.”
Olivia waved away the words. “You say that like I don’t deserve to be spoiled.”
Pippa laughed. “Poor Tottenham. He hasn’t any idea what he’s getting himself into.”
Olivia cut her a dry look. “Nonsense. He knows precisely what he’s getting himself into. And he loves it.” She returned her attention. “It’s so beautiful and red.”
Pippa nodded. “That’s the chromium.”
“The what?”
“Chromium. It is an additive in the crystal that turns it red. If it were anything else added . . . it wouldn’t be a ruby. It would be a sapphire.” Olivia blinked, and Pippa continued, “It’s a common misconception that all sapphires are blue, but that’s not the case. They can be any color . . . green or yellow or pink, even. It depends on the additive. But they’re all called sapphires. It’s only if they’re red that they’re called something else. Rubies. Because of the chromium.”
She stopped, recognizing the blank stare on Olivia’s face. It was the same stare that appeared on most people’s faces when Pippa talked too much.
Not everyone’s, though.
Not Mr. Cross’s.
He’d seemed interested in her. Even as he called her mad. Right up until the moment he cast her out of his club. And his life. Without telling her anything she wished to know.
Olivia looked back to the ring. “Well, my ruby is red. And lovely.”
“It is.” Pippa agreed. “When did you receive it?”
A small, private smile flashed across Olivia’s pretty face. “Tottenham gave it to me last night after the theater.”
“And mother didn’t mention it at breakfast? I’m shocked.”
Olivia grinned. “Mother wasn’t there when he did it.”
There was a twinge of something in the words—an awareness that Pippa almost didn’t notice. That she might not have noticed if not for Olivia’s knowing blue gaze. “Where was she?”
“I imagine she was looking for me.” There was a long pause, in which Pippa knew she should draw meaning. “She was not with us.”
Pippa leaned in, across the table. “Where were you?”
Olivia grinned. “I shouldn’t tell.”
“Were you alone?” Pippa gasped, “With the viscount?”
Olivia’s laugh was bright and airy. “Really, Pippa . . . you needn’t sound like a shocked chaperone.” She lowered her voice. “I was . . . not for long. Just long enough for him to give me the ring . . . and for me to thank him.”
“Thank him how?”
Olivia smiled. “You can imagine.”
“I really can’t.” The truth.
“Surely, you’ve had a reason or two to thank Castleton.”
Unfortunately, this is not a surprising discovery.”
The Scientific Journal of Lady Philippa Marbury
March 23, 1831; thirteen days prior to her wedding
Really, Pippa”—Olivia Marbury sighed from the doorway of the Dolby House orangery—“one would think that you would have something better to do than fiddle about with your plants. After all, we’re to be married in twelve days.”
“Thirteen,” Pippa corrected, not looking up from where she cataloged that morning’s floral observations. She knew better than to explain to Olivia that her work on the roses was far more interesting and relevant to science than fiddling about.
Olivia didn’t know science from sailing.
“Today doesn’t count!” The second—or first—bride in what was purported to be “the double wedding of the century” (at least, by their mother) replied, the excitement in her voice impossible to miss. “It’s practically over!”
Pippa resisted the urge to correct her younger sister, supposing that if one were looking forward to the event in question, today would not, in fact, count. But as Pippa remained uncertain and anxious when it came to the event in question, today did indeed count. Very much.
There were fourteen hours and—she looked to a nearby clock—forty-three minutes left of today, March the twenty-third, and Pippa had no intention of relinquishing the twelfth-to-the-last day of her premarital life before she’d used every single minute of it.
Olivia was now on the opposite side of Pippa’s worktable, leaning well over the surface, a wide smile on her pretty face. “Do you notice anything different about me, today?”
Pippa set down her pen and looked at her sister. “You mean, aside from the fact that you’re about to sprawl into a pile of soil?”
Olivia’s perfect nose wrinkled in distaste, and she straightened. “Yes.”
Pippa pushed her spectacles up on her nose, considering her sister’s twinkling eyes, secret smile, and generally lovely appearance. She did not notice anything different. “New coiffe?”
Olivia smirked. “No.”
“New dress?”
The smirk became a smile. “For a scientist, you’re not very observant, you know.” Olivia draped one hand across her collarbone, and Pippa saw it. The enormous, glittering ruby. Her eyes went wide, and Olivia laughed. “Ah-ha! Now you notice!”
She thrust the hand in question toward Pippa, who had to lean back to avoid being hit with the jewel. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Pippa leaned over to assess the jewel. “It is.” She looked up. “It’s enormous.”
Olivia grinned. “My future husband adores me.”
“Your future husband spoils you.”
Olivia waved away the words. “You say that like I don’t deserve to be spoiled.”
Pippa laughed. “Poor Tottenham. He hasn’t any idea what he’s getting himself into.”
Olivia cut her a dry look. “Nonsense. He knows precisely what he’s getting himself into. And he loves it.” She returned her attention. “It’s so beautiful and red.”
Pippa nodded. “That’s the chromium.”
“The what?”
“Chromium. It is an additive in the crystal that turns it red. If it were anything else added . . . it wouldn’t be a ruby. It would be a sapphire.” Olivia blinked, and Pippa continued, “It’s a common misconception that all sapphires are blue, but that’s not the case. They can be any color . . . green or yellow or pink, even. It depends on the additive. But they’re all called sapphires. It’s only if they’re red that they’re called something else. Rubies. Because of the chromium.”
She stopped, recognizing the blank stare on Olivia’s face. It was the same stare that appeared on most people’s faces when Pippa talked too much.
Not everyone’s, though.
Not Mr. Cross’s.
He’d seemed interested in her. Even as he called her mad. Right up until the moment he cast her out of his club. And his life. Without telling her anything she wished to know.
Olivia looked back to the ring. “Well, my ruby is red. And lovely.”
“It is.” Pippa agreed. “When did you receive it?”
A small, private smile flashed across Olivia’s pretty face. “Tottenham gave it to me last night after the theater.”
“And mother didn’t mention it at breakfast? I’m shocked.”
Olivia grinned. “Mother wasn’t there when he did it.”
There was a twinge of something in the words—an awareness that Pippa almost didn’t notice. That she might not have noticed if not for Olivia’s knowing blue gaze. “Where was she?”
“I imagine she was looking for me.” There was a long pause, in which Pippa knew she should draw meaning. “She was not with us.”
Pippa leaned in, across the table. “Where were you?”
Olivia grinned. “I shouldn’t tell.”
“Were you alone?” Pippa gasped, “With the viscount?”
Olivia’s laugh was bright and airy. “Really, Pippa . . . you needn’t sound like a shocked chaperone.” She lowered her voice. “I was . . . not for long. Just long enough for him to give me the ring . . . and for me to thank him.”
“Thank him how?”
Olivia smiled. “You can imagine.”
“I really can’t.” The truth.
“Surely, you’ve had a reason or two to thank Castleton.”
