No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(27)

Her future husband.

It was not difficult to find him among the throngs of people. Even dressed in the same handsome black frock coat and trousers that the rest of the peerage preferred, the Earl of Castleton seemed to stand out, something about him less graceful than a normal aristocrat.

He was at one side of the ballroom, leaning low as his mother whispered in his ear. Pippa had never noticed it before, but the ear in question also stood out at a rather unfortunate angle.

“You could still beg off,” Penelope said quietly. “No one would blame you.”

“The ball?”

“The marriage.”

Pippa did not reply. She could. She could say any number of things ranging from amusing to acerbic, and Penny would never judge her for them. Indeed, it would very likely make her sister happy to hear that Pippa had an opinion one way or another about her betrothed.

But Pippa had committed herself to the earl, and she would not be disloyal. He did not deserve it. He was a nice man, with a kind heart. And that was more than could be said about most.

Dishonesty by omission remains dishonest.

The words echoed through her, a memory of two days earlier, of the man who had questioned her commitment to truth.

The world is full of liars. Liars and cheats.

It wasn’t true, of course. Pippa wasn’t a liar. Pippa didn’t cheat.

Trotula sighed and leaned against her mistress’s thigh. Pippa idly stroked the dog’s ears. “I made a promise.”

“I know you did, Pippa. But sometimes promises . . .” Penelope trailed off.

Pippa watched Castleton for a long moment. “I dislike balls.”

“I know.”

“And ballrooms.”

“Yes.”

“He’s kind, Penny. And he asked.”

Penelope’s gaze turned soft. “It’s fine for you to wish for more than that, you know.”

She didn’t. Did she?

Pippa fidgeted inside her tightly laced corset. “And ball gowns.”

Penelope allowed the change in topic. “It is a nice gown, nonetheless.”

Pippa’s gown—selected with near-fanatical excitement by Lady Needham—was a beautiful pale green gauze over white satin. Cut low and off the shoulder, the gown followed her shape through the bodice and waist before flaring into lush, full skirts that rustled when she moved. On anyone else, it would look lovely.

But on her . . . the gown made her look thinner, longer, more reedy. “It makes me look like the Ardea cinerea.”

Penelope blinked.

“A heron.”

“Nonsense. You are beautiful.”

Pippa ran her palms over the perfectly worked fabric. “Then I think it’s best I stay here and keep that illusion intact.”

Penelope chuckled. “You are postponing the inevitable.”

It was the truth.

And because it was the truth, Pippa allowed her sister to lead them down the narrow stairs to the back entrance of the ballroom, where they released Trotula onto the Dolby House grounds before inserting themselves, unnoticed, into the throngs of well-wishers, as though they’d been present for the entire time.

Her future mother-in-law found them within moments. “Philippa, my dear!” she effused, waving a fan of peacock feathers madly about her face. “Your mother said it would be just a little fête! And what a fête it is! A fête to fête my young Robert and his soon-to-be-bride!”

Pippa smiled. “And do not forget Lady Tottenham’s young James and his soon-to-be-bride.”

For a moment, it seemed that Countess of Castleton did not follow. Pippa waited. Understanding dawned, and her future mother-in-law laughed, loud and high-pitched. “Oh, of course! Your sister is lovely! As are you! Isn’t she, Robert?” She swatted the earl on his arm. “Isn’t she lovely!”

He leapt to agree. “She is! Er—you are, Lady Philippa! You are! Lovely!”

Pippa smiled. “Thank you.”

Her mother bore down upon them, the Marchioness of Needham and Dolby eager to compete for the most-excited-mother award. “Lady Castleton! Are they not the most handsome of couples!”

“So very handsome!” Lady Castleton agreed, maneuvering her son to stand close to Pippa. “You simply must dance! Everyone is desperate to see you dance!”

Pippa was virtually certain that there were only two people in the room with any interest whatsoever in watching them dance. In fact, anyone who had ever seen Pippa dance knew not to expect much in the way of grace or skill, and her experience with Castleton indicated similar failings on his part. But, unfortunately, the two in question were mothers. And unavoidable.

And, dancing would limit the number of exclamations in her proximity by a good amount.

She smiled up at her fiancé. “It seems we are required to dance, my lord.”

“Right! Right!” Castleton leapt to attention, clicking his heels together and giving her a small bow. “Would you afford me the very great honor of a dance, my lady?”

Pippa resisted the urge to laugh at the formality of the question and instead took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the dance.

It was a disaster.

They all but stumbled across the floor, creating a devastating spectacle of themselves. When they were together, they trod on each other’s toes and tripped over each other’s feet—at one point, he actually clutched her to him, having lost his balance. And when they were apart, they tripped over their own feet.