Free Crossed Quills by Carola Dunn Page A

hope. She could never be contented with a husband who did not respect and appreciate her talents, nor with one who did not share her beliefs. Where was she to find another paragon like Papa?
     Lord Selworth—no. Though his political philosophy was in harmony with hers, she had every reason to assume he shared the world’s view of clever females. That one of the Lisle ladies might be Prometheus had not so much as crossed his mind, because the sole purpose for the existence of females was to look decorative.
     And to bear children, whispered a small voice in Pippa’s head. Feeling a warmth stealing up her cheeks, she turned her face to the window.
     Country-born and -bred, Pippa was not entirely ignorant of the significance of the marriage bed. Would the intimacies which seemed so distasteful when considered in connection with Mr Postlethwaite appear less so with respect to Lord Selworth?
     Pippa put her hands to her hot cheeks. That was a subject she ought not—must not—did not wish to pursue.
     Fortunately, her leisure for reflection was at an end, their journey nearly so. Kitty had a thousand questions as the the carriage passed the Tyburn turnpike and continued along Oxford Street. She gazed all agog at the busy shops, their lamp-lit windows displaying china, silks, watches, fans, pyramids of fruit or crystal flasks of different coloured spirits. Pedestrians thronged the broad, flagged pavements; along the centre of the street stood a row of carriages which yet left space enough for two coaches to pass on either side.
     “Is it not splendid?” cried Kitty. “Shall we shop here, Mama?”
     “Sometimes, I expect. It is less expensive than Bond Street or Pall Mall. The cheapest places are further east, however. We shall have no shillings to waste.”
     Kitty’s face fell. “No, I know, but I may visit these shops, just to look?”
     “Of course, my love. And you need not fear that lower cost necessarily means lower quality. Shops in fashionable districts charge more because their customers can afford it and do not mind paying for the convenience.”
     “And because their rents are higher,” Pippa pointed out, to be fair. As the carriage turned right into Davies Street, she continued, “Now this is Mayfair, is it not, Mama?”
     Kitty once more glued her nose to the window. “The houses are quite smart,” she said doubtfully, “and tall, but so very narrow. I cannot see how Mrs Debenham will fit us all in.”
     “Let us hope the Debenhams’ is one of the larger houses,” Mrs Lisle said, “though if we have to sleep in the garrets, I, for one, shall not complain.”
     “Nor I,” said Pippa, “but the servants may if they are driven out of their beds to lie on the kitchen floor.”
     The carriage rolled on down the south-west side of Berkley Square, where the houses were grand enough to impress Kitty. At the bottom of the square they turned right into Charles Street, and pulled up before the largest house on the north side.
     Kitty breathed an ecstatic sigh and exclaimed, “Oh, splendid! I should not mind sleeping on the kitchen floor, I vow! Their kitchen must be grander than my bedchamber at home.”
     Pippa smiled, but absently. The elegance of pillars and pilasters, pediments and cornices, elaborate fanlight and ornate wrought iron, dismayed her. Though aware that her friend had married well, she had continued to think of her in the setting where she had known her.
     Albinia’s letters, full of the dry, yet gently tolerant humour which had attracted Pippa to her, had not reflected her altered circumstances. She had become a wealthy, fashionable wife and mother, whereas Pippa remained an impecunious, unimportant spinster, now verging on old-maidship.
     Bina must surely have changed to suit her new position. The easy friendship between them was in the past, and Pippa could only resolve sadly not to presume upon it.
     

Chapter 6
     
     The starchy butler, pink and black