Page 90 of A Sight to Behold
“But she’s your daughter!” Nick protested. “She’s precious, smart, intelligent, and there is such goodness in her, you’ll never find it again in the whole world!”
“I never want to findheragain in the world!” her father blurted out, bending over more deeply and gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. “All I want is to be rid of her,” he groaned.
“You want someone to take her off your hands then?” the earl asked calmly.
“Yes,” her father forced the words as if it weren’t vomit but all of his evil bubbling under his surface, fighting to come out.
“That’s good enough,” the archbishop said. He turned to Nick and Pippa and reached his hand out.
His hands were cool, and his touch was gentle. A large seal ring bore a crest that Nick had seen before—the same one he’d seen carved into the staircase at Silver Crest…oh boy!
“Dr. Folsham, you have my blessing and permission to marry Lady Philippa Pemberton.” The archbishop gave him a warm smile. Then he turned to the earl. “Is that all?” But Pippa hurried to him and surprised him—and Nick—by kissing his cheek.
“Thank you, Uncle Peter.”
“My pleasure. There’s nothing better in my line of work than paving the way for true love. And these two,” he gestured to Pippa and then Nick, then rubbed his chin, “when they’ll kiss, angels will grow wings.”
“He just wants her money!” Pippa’s father growled.
“That brings me to the third point.” The Earl of Langley retrieved a second document from the drawer and put it on the table. The archbishop left with a satisfied smile on his face.
“This is a special license, Dr. Folsham. Consider it a personal token of appreciation for everything you’ve done for me.”
Nick took the scroll and blinked at it.
“And this is a contract you need to sign.” The Earl handed him a fountain pen.
“You don’t have to,” Pippa said quietly. “Not on my behalf.”
“I do,” Nick said. “On mine.” Nick turned to the fifth page where a line was drawn next to his name, printed in bold letters. The preceding four pages listed Pippa’s many holdings. His head spun just from looking at the list of her fortune; he couldn’t wrap his mind around it, nor did he want to infringe upon her inheritance.
“What’s the boy talking about?” Pippa’s father asked.
“The ‘boy’ is the best eye surgeon in the country, did you know that?” The earl lost his cool demeanor.
“Didhecurse Pippa with the spectacles?” her father mumbled.
“No, he diagnosed me with farsightedness.” Pippa wrapped herself around Nick’s left arm once he’d signed the last paper and handed it back to the earl. “He cured me of clumsiness and now of the mean, diminutive nickname you used about me.”
“If you were a far-sighted, clumsy goose, you wouldn’t sign your wealth over to a doctor. He’ll spend it all.”
“No, Father. He just signed a document that will become effective upon the moment of our marriage, and everything will be in my name—and the names of our future children.”
“That’s farsighted!” The earl said cockily. “My work is done then.”
Pippa’s father gulped, belched, and heaved.
“Oh dear,” Pippa called out.
But Nick had found the wastepaper basket and dropped it at the feet of his future father-in-law. Then they left him alone in the library.
Chapter Forty-One
If Pippa thoughtshe could make an elegant escape from the ball, she’d been mistaken. Society’s scorn awaited her among the splendor of Violet’s ball. In fact, immediately upon entering the ballroom on Nick’s arm Pippa lifted her eyes to the ceiling, where a grand chandelier hung, its golden branches holding up the drip trays with crystal flutes shielding the gas lamps. Made up of symmetrically arranged branches, each was hung with chains of crystals sending beams in all directions and illuminating the drama playing out below. It would all have been rather spectacularly beautiful if she didn’t dread entering the large room filled with so many members of the Ton who knew her as “the clumsy goose.” Then again, that had been in the past.
The elaborate dance of rococo flair and its intricate designs reminiscent of the flamboyant and ornate style of the late Baroque period clashed with the atmosphere, thick with tension so intense that it made the chandelier quiver slightly. The room was filled with people who shot sharp glances at each other, their hostility causing the air to throb. Balls such as these were worse than exams at finishing school; they tested a person beyond what had been prepared.
Bea, Lance, Isabel, and Carolyn stood in the middle of the dance floor, positioned directly underneath the largest chandelier overhead and even the ceiling molding converged in a rosette over their heads, as if a thunderstorm brewed directly above them.
