Chapter Six

L ord and Lady Canton from Oxfordshire had come for dinner and Pippa recognized them as soon as she entered the dining room as usual at seven o'clock. The candelabras twinkled, but the chandelier had been left unlit in favor of the ambiance for dinner. Pippa never liked to eat in half-darkness, which didn't add much to the atmosphere for her, either. Come to think of it, dim light truly affected her vision. Could the handsome doctor have diagnosed what she'd struggled with for years in just a matter of minutes?

Or was it as evident to everyone as it had been to him, and only she was blind to her own perspective?

She heard the clanking of spoons on plates and a low slurping sound coming from Lord Canton, one of the bald guests. Nobody had waited for her to start eating, which showed Pippa that she didn't matter to them. And yet, this was her home; the house technically belonged to her because her father only held it in trust for her.

And still, she didn't feel welcome.

The audible sounds of Wife Six 's lip smacking and messy dining reached her ears. Truly, her etiquette at the table was akin to that of a farmyard pig. Meanwhile, Father sat at the head of the table, the guests on his right and Bea on the left, next to the empty chair reserved for Pippa.

"Oh, Penelope, look at how you've grown!" The kind voice of the elderly Lady Canton came from the left. Pippa squinted in the dim light. The guest sat next to her husband, and from Pippa's vantage point, her dress was such a dark red that it blended in with her husband's black, or possibly blue coat. "Come and give me a kiss, darling. I haven't seen you since your mother died. Poor thing." Pippa followed the voice, but when she had just reached the elderly couple, found Lady Canton's hands. Soft and wrinkled with manicured nails, the older woman patted Pippa's left hand which was sandwiched between hers and tugged her gown. Pippa dutifully curtsied and bowed to receive a grandmotherly kiss from Lady Canton, but instead, her face brushed against a large, smooth, somewhat greasy ball. It was a little hairy, too. Revolting…

Oh no!

"What are you doing kissing his lordship's head for?" Her father thundered and banged on the table. Then he mumbled another insult under his breath.

She froze.

"D—darling girl," the old duchess stuttered. "What's wrong with her? Is she tetched?" Her head was turned away from her. Pippa only just realized it by the scent of the woman's pomade, and she jerked back.

"She's unwell," Wife Six said and then slurped the soup.

"An embarrassment. A clumsy goose," Father said. "Wine?"

"I beg your pardon, but this is… it's—" But before his lordship could finish his sentence, Pippa had stormed out of the room and began heading up the stairs. Tears of embarrassment and anger rose in her eyes. Her useless, deficient eyes.

"Stop!" Bea's voice came from the bottom of the staircase. "Pippa!"

"Leave me alone!" She continued to climb.

"It was an accident!"

"Of course, it was an accident! What would I go about kissing the bald head of disgusting old lords?" Pippa fought not to shriek. She lifted her skirts and began to run up the stairs with Bea on her heels.

Downstairs, an uproar and protest continued to emanate from the dining room. Pippa squeezed her eyes shut. In her embarrassment, she'd forgotten that they could hear. She'd stumbled over Lady Canton, kissed her husband's bald head, and then called him disgusting. Clumsy goose, indeed.

Pippa finally reached her room, heaving for air and dignity. An accident happened once or twice. This, however, was a curse.

Life had played an awful joke on her, testing her resolve to survive even the most meager appearances with human beings that confirmed—every single time—that her father could be right: she was an embarrassment. She should know better now, but the disappointment in herself surprised her anew, every day. Wasn't there a cure for that ?

Somehow, she forgot her clumsiness when she moved about her typical day. Even in the orangery, she had no trouble finding her way around and caring for her plants. She got flustered only when something was out of place, and that's when she made stupid mistakes.

Like the colossal one of… oh, she wouldn't allow herself to think of it. What a disaster. She grimaced, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

If she weren't embarrassing herself in front of members of the Ton, she was bumping into handsome doctors and smearing custard and cream all over them.

Her heart skipped a beat and she admitted to herself that she didn't mind the young doctor, nor did she mind besmearing him with whipped cream, though the context of doing so by accident in her favorite pastry shop posed the problem. Would she have the courage to return? And if she did—would she meet him again?

Pippa sternly reminded herself not to get carried away by fanciful dreams. Yet, her imagination paid no heed, painting vivid images of captivating moments. The warm smiles gave way to strolls in the moonlight, intense discussions, stolen kisses beneath the twinkling stars, and even—Pippa's cheeks reddened at the thought—a wedding ceremony. Could she really envision herself saying, "I do" to the charming doctor with a heartwarming smile? Nonsense.

Despite her numerous attempts to suppress these absurd thoughts, Pippa finally surrendered. As ludicrous as they were, at least these fantasies were hers alone, hidden from prying eyes and safe from clumsy accidents. No soul need ever find them out. And though the chances of crossing paths with the handsome doctor again were slim, her heart still clung onto this unlikely possibility.

She could see herself playfully smearing a dollop of whipped cream on the doctor's cheek, the corner of his mouth curving into a surprised smile. The image of herself leaning in to lick it off, her lips trailing warm kisses along his jawline, was scandalous enough to make her heart flutter wildly.

She tried to dismiss the thought, shaking her head as if physically attempting to dislodge the dream from her mind. But the picture only grew more vivid, the doctor's surprised laughter ringing in her ears, the taste of sweet cream and warmer skin on her tongue. It was an image that was both exciting and terrifying, a tantalizing blend of sweet innocence and delicious impropriety.

"Stop it, Pippa," she scolded herself, but her imagination, now unleashed, was relentless. The fantasy was hers alone, hidden away in the deepest corners of her heart. And no matter how scandalous, it was a secret thrill she found herself unwilling to let go.

And why did her mind continually find its way back to him? So what if he was extremely handsome, with an angled jawline that she'd imagined kissing, along with the contour of his neck and chest? She'd fallen in his lap, her hand had brushed over his pecs, and he was hard, solid, strong. Pippa's tummy did that whirlwind thing again; it was most unsettling.

She had to stop the woolgathering and control her fantasies. Nobody would want the clumsy goose. Nobody wanted her.

"You have no idea what it feels like when everybody mocks you and your own father hates you!" Pippa's voice wobbled as she cried and threw herself on her bed. There was that chain around the heart again. It made it hard to fill her lungs when she inhaled, and it was impossible to let go of the hurt when she exhaled.

"He doesn't hate you, Pippa!" Bea shut the door and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

"Of course, he does. It's plain to see!"

"I have no idea what it is you think you see. A father can never hate his own child."

"Mine does. Every time I enter the breakfast room, his mien darkens. I'm a walking and talking disappointment for him, and since we live together, I'm also a constant reminder of the failure I am. When he looks at me, I can tell there's nothing left but a pit of sorrow that I'm still around."

"It can't be that bad."

"It is now. Since Mother—" Pippa winced. She still couldn't speak of her in the past tense. There was such finality to her departure, making her death too real. She'd learned so much from her mother, and she always carried her in her heart. How could she speak of her as if she were gone if she was a constant presence in Pippa's mind?

"Pippa, he's grieving. Or perhaps unwell."

"If he were grieving, he wouldn't be on wife number six now. And he's well enough to poke fun at me."

"I cannot believe that your words have any truth. He must love you; you're his only child, and he is happy to have you here."

"Oh please, Bea! It is not so, and you know it. If I married someone, I'd be out of his sight. He'd be relieved to get me as far away as the moon."

"Have you ever considered the possibility that fathers wish their daughters looked after rather than married off? It's why my parents didn't take me on their diplomatic travels; they want to keep me safe."

"If I were more like you, pretty and popular, he'd have a reason to love me!" Pippa inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh. Poor Bea was so pretty; she didn't even know how lucky she was. She wasn't a clumsy goose like Pippa. "Or if I had married a well-connected earl as Violet did with Henry, father would have a reason to be proud of me."

"And what makes you think he's not proud of you now? Perhaps he can't show it. You're the sweetest person I know and probably one of the smartest. You grew a pineapple tree from kitchen scraps!"

"It was a pineapple crown. You're meant to plant them so they can grow into a new plant."

"You know that because you're brilliant, Pippa. It's kitchen scraps for everyone else. You even know it's called a crown. Who knows these things but geniuses?"

"Readers of Ellington's Illustrated Compendium on Botany ."

"My point exactly. It's not a book for normal people; it's a treatise. I couldn't understand it even if I tried."

She brushed this assertion aside as inconsequential. Bea didn't give herself enough credit. But she, herself, was a different story. "I don't do anything smart; I knock over platters of sandwiches and take my leave from coat stands instead of hosts."

"We all make mistakes and embarrass ourselves sometimes. It happens, but it doesn't mean that we become our mistakes. Just don't dwell on it." Bea waved her hand in the air.

Pippa sat up and wiped the tears off her cheeks with her hands. "There's nothing but dwelling left to do. It's been going on for so long. I don't think he remembers how it was to love me. Every disappointment I brought on him washed away the bedrock of what was a river of love when Mother was alive. It's all eroded away now."

"Stone is harder than water."

"Yes, but rivers shape the rocks. They polish and break them and turn boulders to sand."

"Pippa, this is a lovely metaphor and a token of your intelligence when you speak of it, but you're not making any sense. Love doesn't just wash away."

"Shame can wash love away. Disappointment essentially dissolves it. My father doesn't have any love left for me." Pippa took a deep breath, expecting the tears to roll down her cheeks, but none came. She had no tears left to cry over her father. The break between them had gone so deep that a cleft as wide as a chasm had opened, and there was no bridge to make her feel for him again. He'd done that. Society had done that. Her father had valued the opinion of mere strangers over his daughter's heart. And here she was, a guest in her home, unwelcome even though she was part of the family. The lucky daughter of a duke to outsiders was a sad captive in a gilded cage atop an ivory tower, locked away on a high mountain of grief, disillusionment, and heartbreak. So, it was true that not only lovers but also a parent could break the child's heart, resulting in unbearable pain.

"Consider this." Pippa straightened her back and shook her hair, so it spilled over her shoulders and down her back. "Every time he entertains people, and I do something stupid, he's embarrassed. Over time, he anticipates that I will do something like drink from another guest's glass and tuck the tablecloth in my sleeve instead of a handkerchief, clearing the table when I take my leave. Or he sees a room with a large palm as a threat to my reputation because I'll mistakenly greet the plant instead of the hostess with a feather hat."

Bea pinched her lips but wasn't hiding the whistle for her nose when she suppressed the laugh.

"See? I'm the laughingstock of the Ton. In his world, I cannot compete with someone like Violet." Pippa couldn't fathom how Violet could have become the Countess of Langley even though she'd been at her wedding. Why did the nasty girls get so lucky in life?

It wasn't that Pippa envied her; she truly didn't, but it was a riddle, nonetheless. There had to be a return on investment, a reward for a good nature or hard work. What had Violet ever done to earn such acclaim in society? Couldn't the universe punish the lazy and wicked people and reward the good ones whose hearts were pure?

"But she's mean, and she married someone she didn't even love," Bea spoke Pippa's mind.

"She married an earl in her first season. She's a success. She checked off all the criteria in my father's book of female accomplishments. If she were his daughter, he'd be happy."

"He must be happy with you, Pippa."

"Must be, yes. But he can't." Pippa tried to steady her already frayed nerves. "He can't see who I am. He's long stopped bothering to look." It was true—as soon as anything triggered her father's scorn, he turned his back on her and then was outright mean. He joked about her as if he could distance himself from any embarrassment by mocking Pippa. When he'd only done it at balls and social gatherings, Pippa had had the chance to avoid his jibes by withdrawing into their stately home and tending to her orangery.

However, he even joked in front of the butler, the footmen, and the cook these days. "Don't make a cream pie if we're eating in a carpeted room, or else Pippa will smear it all over, and it's more trouble to clean it up than crumbs from a teacake."

Or, "Don't stand next to the horses when she wants to kiss you good bye."

And Pippa had had enough of it.

"The first chance I have, Bea, I'll move out."

"You'd be ruined."

"If he lets me get ruined, and if I never have a husband, he won't have access to my grandfather's fortune. It's how the will is set up. Grandfather skipped Father because he didn't want to give him more than my mother's dowry."

"He's getting a large stipend from managing your fortune."

"The bankers are managing the fortune based on my grandfather's instructions. The money is tied up in a trust until the day I marry for love, or at his death. And when it is released, I'll be in control."

"If your husband signs it over to you."

"Do you think I could love a man who wouldn't?"

Pippa put her hands on her hips. It was preposterous. Of course, she'd marry for love. If ever. And, of course, she'd marry someone who'd leave her fortune to her. Even though her father had spent her dowry, giving up hope that she'd ever find such a man in polite society.

Pippa shrugged. She should look elsewhere and keep her eyes open for love.

Where might one look for love?

And could she see it if she came close?