Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton
Ten
Two days after Myles became a husband, he sat in the same room he had entered to proclaim himself an advocate for the Gillensfords’ hospital. He wore his second-best clothes, a tea service waited at his elbow should he need it, and he held the newspaper open before him. For the first time in the house, he wasn’t wearing gloves, either. Leaving his left hand, and its missing fingers, bare to the world.
Thus far, he’d tried to avoid entering rooms already occupied by members of the family. Mr. Gillensford still regarded him with a cautionary cordiality that led Myles to believe that his wife’s elder brother still questioned the wisdom of their arrangement. Mrs. Gillensford, on the other hand, treated him with such exceeding kindness that he grew uncomfortable by her desire to see to his every need.
Then there was his wife. Lady Philippa. She had spent a day closeted with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, drafting newspaper announcements and letters of both personal and legal importance, and had retired to bed early with a headache, leaving Myles to make his own way in the house.
As a fully grown gentleman, it ought to have been easy. Instead, Myles found himself avoiding situations in which he might be alone with another member of the family. And he had very nearly left the house that morning to walk all the way to the little cafe where he used to take his breakfast every day.
Except he recognized the absurdity of eating in that dingy little place when he had access to a fine cook and comfortable house for his morning meal. Only—the interruption in what he was used to had given him a strange feeling. It was as though a bur had entered his mind, prickling him and distracting him. He would grow used to his new circumstances in time, of course. Yet he couldn’t get comfortable on the couch, or either of the chairs he had tried sitting in. He’d had the same issue with his bed, soft and fine as it was, and hadn’t slept well.
The door to the sitting room opened just as he stood in preparation of moving across the room to another chair, and he froze.
Nancy, the adopted daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Gillensford, poked her head around the edge of the door. Her eyebrows raised when she saw him there. He waited for her reaction to finding him alone, as they hadn’t seen each other except at tea with the family.
“Good morning,” he greeted her in as gentle a voice as possible, bowing as he would to a lady. Though she hadn’t shied away from him yet, Myles could only imagine that his visage—unpleasant to adults—would outright frighten a little girl.
She smiled and slipped inside the room, then curtsied prettily to him. “Good morning, Uncle Cobbett.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise. Yes, he supposed he was an uncle to her now. “How do you do today, Miss Nancy?”
She came further into the room, her eyes on the pastries stacked atop one another near his teapot. “I am quite well. I’ve been searching for Mother. Have you seen her?”
Myles picked up a plate of pastries and held it toward her, a silent invitation for her to partake. “I cannot say that I have.”
With the nimbleness of youth, she came forward to snatch a large strawberry pastry from the plate before skipping over to the window to look out over the garden. “Hm. I did not think she meant to leave the house today.” She turned around and met Myles’s gaze again, fixing him with a curious stare. “Do you know where Aunt Pippa is?” She punctuated the question with a large bite of her tart.
Myles slowly lowered himself into the seat he had meant to vacate before. “I am afraid I have not seen her this morning, either.”
“Oh.” The little girl came closer to sit in a chair near his own. “Do you like being married, so far?” She pushed herself backward on the chair until her feet hung freely in the air, then she swung them while she chewed her food.
Though his experience with young children was markedly limited, Myles couldn’t help being amused by the openness of the little girl’s questions. “I suppose so. With two days of experience, I am not certain I am ready to judge such a thing.”
“I suppose that is true.” She finished the tart in another bite and looked at the plate again. Myles dutifully held it out to her. “Thank you.” She took a biscuit this time. “Why did you get married to Aunt Pippa anyway? My mother and father married because they fell in love, but Mama says that isn’t true for everyone.”
Myles shifted with discomfort again. What was the correct response to give? He wasn’t in a position to tell her the question was inappropriate, surely. And he had detested having questions adults wouldn’t answer when he was young. He considered her a moment, watching her nibble at her biscuit.
“It isn’t true for everyone. I married your Aunt Pippa because—well—we can help one another best by being married.”
“Yes, I heard Papa say you’d keep her out of trouble with Grandmama. But then he said you might cause more trouble, too.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt, thankfully missing his likely stunned expression. “Did you know that I’m adopted?”
The sudden change in topic took a moment for him to think of what to say to that. “I think I heard something about that, yes. You have an older brother, adopted, too?”
She nodded, a serious little frown upon her lips. “I thought you should know. In case you aren’t feeling like part of the family yet. My mama—Elaine—raised me as long as I can remember, and I always thought of her as my mama. But I didn’t even know I could call her that until she married Papa. Anyway. You should know that just because you haven’t always been part of the family doesn’t mean anything. If you married Aunt Pippa, we’ll all love you now. Even if she doesn’t yet.” The child delivered each word with a solemnity more appropriate to a vicar, staring at him all the while, giving them even more weight.
Myles’s heart stirred. Nancy rose before he said anything and made her way to the door. “I’m going to keep looking for my mother. If I see Aunt Pippa, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”
That made him start and come to his feet. “But I’m not looking for—”
The door opened just before Nancy reached it, and there stood Lady Philippa in a light-blue morning gown that made her eyes seem brighter still. “Nancy, here you are. Your mother is in the dining room, and she needs your help to write invitations for your birthday tea.”
“Oh, the dining room.” Nancy aimed a grin over her shoulder at Myles. “I didn’t look there. Aunt Pippa, Uncle Cobbett was looking for you.” She skipped out the door without another word, tugging it closed behind her.
Myles remained standing, staring at the woman he’d wed and yet only seen less than a handful of mealtimes since their exchange of vows. Philippa came toward him with a curious tilt of her head, and a fondness in her expression.
“Nancy is such a dear, isn’t she?” Ah. So the fondness wasn’t for him. Of course not. Silly of him to think it could be, really.
“I enjoy her straightforward conversation,” he admitted. “She seems a kind child.” Then he looked about for something to distract him from his wife’s lovely smile. “Would you care for some tea or a pastry?”
“No, thank you. Were you really looking for me?” She glanced pointedly at the folded newspaper on the arm of his chair.
The honest answer won out. “Not at the moment. Though I mentioned to Nancy that I hadn’t seen you today.”
Philippa hummed thoughtfully and went to the couch, lowering herself with the same grace with which she did everything. Perhaps earl’s daughters received special lessons in comportment, wherein they were taught how to walk as though they floated.
“I have been terribly remiss in seeing to your comfort.” She spoke as she would to any house guest, which made a wave of disappointment surprise Myles when it struck his mind. He tried to ignore the offensive feeling as he returned to his chair. “Now that Mr. Tuttle-Kirk and I have things settled, I cannot think of any more demands on my time. Which is why I have accepted an invitation to a ball for tomorrow evening. It was sent to Adam, Elaine, and myself, but you, of course, must be included. The invitation came before anyone could have known of our marriage.”
“A ball?” The only ball he’d been to in more than a year was the one where they had met, and he had ended the evening with a headache that pounded in his skull like a loose cannonball. “Are you certain you want my company? Many a married man sends his wife to such events alone.”
The cheerful expression she had worn faltered. “It is the first since our marriage. Appearing together in public is important to my reputation—and to how our marriage is perceived by Society.”
“No one even knows me.” He tried to sound indifferent. He didn’t enjoy balls. Yet if she asked it of him, he would go. Because the whole reason they had entered into a marriage was for her ability to move about in Society with freedom and without a scandalous reputation. Somehow, he had thought little on the fact that he must appear with her at such events. At least, not so soon.
“That is the point.” Her smile returned, looking less natural than before. Her dark lashes fluttered prettily at him, and he suddenly had a vision of a much younger Lady Philippa getting her way with that clear-eyed, sweetened expression. “People must come to know you, especially given your newly elevated status. A ball such as this one is just the thing. It is one of my mother’s friends, Lady Darwimple, hostessing the event.”
“Ah. One of the suspected sources of the gossip surrounding you and Lord W.” Myles considered another moment before he nodded. “Strategically, this is an important occasion. Very well. Tomorrow night, you say?” He looked down at his left hand on the arm of the chair. Had she noticed it yet?
“Yes. There won’t be time for you to have a new suit of clothes made,” she continued brightly, oblivious to the wince he couldn’t hold back. “What you wore before should do well enough. In the meantime, I thought you and I might go shopping today. Adam’s tailor is quite excellent, and he will certainly expedite anything you order since Adam has been such a faithful patron for many years.”
Though Myles could readily admit to enjoying the luxury of new clothing in the past, an ache started in his temples as he contemplated the necessity of going out. Yet one glance at Philippa’s hopeful smile meant quelling his misgivings.
“If you wish, we can undertake that mission.” He curled his left hand into a fist, and for the first time she glanced at his marred hand. Her body went still and rigid, her eyes first narrowing as she likely tried to puzzle out what she saw, then widened with realization.
Myles uncurled his thumb and remaining two fingers slowly. He looked down at his hand to avoid her gaze. “I normally stuff the fingers of my gloves.” The quiet words laid between them for several long seconds. In a culture that valued physical beauty and noble blood, with Myles possessing neither, he had learned to keep as much of himself hidden as possible. There wasn’t much to do about his face, except avoid humanity entirely. His bare hand, however, left him feeling vulnerable.
“Oh, Myles. How awful.” Philippa didn’t stir from where she sat, and when she spoke he wasn’t certain what she meant. Awful that he was disfigured? For whom? For her, to be stuck with him?
His heart clenched, and his chest tightened along with it. “I’ve learned to live with it. Some men were less fortunate. Losing entire limbs. Or their very lives.” He cleared his throat when his voice came out rougher than he meant.
“I cannot understand what it must be like,” she said quietly, and Myles looked up at last when he heard the gentleness in her words. Her expression had softened, her eyebrows drawn together, and she leaned toward him as she spoke. “Your eye, your hand. You gave up so much as a soldier. I am sorry for it.”
She meant well, he knew, so he gave her a smile he hoped wasn’t tinted with too much bitterness. “There are the things people can see, like the eyepatch and the scars.” He gestured to the left side of his face as he spoke. “Yet there is more that no one will ever see. For some, their bodies are whole, but their minds and hearts are wounded. For others, both body and soul are forever changed. That is why I went to the ball that evening, my lady. In hopes that people like your brother and sister can make a difference and convince others to do the same.”
For the barest moment, he thought he saw her eyes gleam with unshed tears. But then she blinked rapidly and stood. “Adam and Elaine are quite single-minded when it comes to their hospital. With your help, I am certain they will be a success. Now, if you will excuse me, I will prepare for our outing. Will you be ready to leave in a quarter of an hour?”
Myles rose slowly. “Of course, my lady.”
She made an impatient gesture with her hand, shaking her head at the same time. “Myles, do call me Philippa. We are married, after all.” Then she hurried from the room without looking back.
Standing where she left him, Myles put a hand to his forehead in an attempt to massage away the pain that threatening to bridge across it. Did he disgust her? Was that why she had rushed away? She had seemed kind. Nothing in her voice or expression had given away more of her emotions than her surprise and her sorrow. But then, what did it matter how she felt? One could have pity for someone and still have a friendship. Even a marriage.
But he hoped it wasn’t pity she felt. Because for the first time in ages, he had begun to imagine a life other than the one into which he’d settled. The upheaval might be uncomfortable, at first, but if Philippa and he could come to some kind of understanding…
Myles picked up his paper and looked at the pastry tray, untouched by anyone except Nancy. His stomach turned over at the idea of eating anything. So he left it for the servants to clean up and went in search of a footman to help him dress for an outing with his wife.
* * *
As Philippa left her room,a thrill of excitement raced through her. For the first time in her life, she would leave the house without a maid or chaperone in attendance. Instead, her husband would accompany her, and she might stay out as long as she wished. True, she meant to spend her time accomplishing much-needed tasks. Myles simply must have clothing more suited to his new status as a well-connected husband and gentleman.
She started down the steps, pulling her wrist-length gloves into place as she did. As she wriggled the fingers of her hand to get the best fit, she paused and looked down, turning her hand palm-up. It had jolted her to see that her husband lacked two full fingers. Though she had suspected an injury, she hadn’t realized the seriousness of it.
An eye, his fingers, scars on one side of his face—where else might the war have touched his body?
Her cheeks warmed and she hurried to shake loose that most inappropriate thought. It wasn’t her business. Despite their marriage. And she wasn’t about to ask to inspect the horrible marks made by an awful wartime injury. How awful for her to even think such a thing! Doubtless, Myles wanted his privacy when it came to that subject. He certainly hadn’t ventured any explanations, and she didn’t need them to know that he conducted himself with honor and integrity.
Shaking her head at herself, Philippa continued down the stairs. She had nearly gained the ground floor when the front door opened with a slam. Philippa froze, and a footman hurried from the next room where he remained stationed to let guests into the home.
“Adam,” her brother Richard shouted, his voice bellowing through the house like an angry roll of thunder. Then his eyes caught sight of her, and Philippa very nearly turned to run back the way she had come.
“Phillipa.” The anger glazing in her brother’s eyes assaulted her, freezing her in place. He snarled as he strode forward, and the anxious footman shut the door to the street.
Despite the quaking in her knees, Philippa lifted her chin. “Richard. How good of you to call.”
“How dare you.” He came all the way to the steps before she realized he held a letter in his hand. He shoved it toward her, making her catch it. “This is a letter from your solicitor.” He then swore most colorfully about Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s nature before continuing in only a slightly less frenzied tone. “You are coming with me, at once. The madman says you are married—”
“She is married.” The voice came from behind Philippa, but she didn’t dare turn her back to her brother. Even though she very much would have liked to see Myles descending the stairs, if only to determine how shaken he was by the earl’s anger. His firm tone and deep voice rippled across her like a gentle wave. “To me, in fact.”
“You? Who the devil are you? Cobbett—a nobody, and a cripple?” The venom in Richard’s words made Philippa shrink where she stood.
“My lord.” Myles sounded nearer now, and then she felt him descend to stand next to her. “There are better ways to vent your spleen than to shout in the face of my wife.”
“A farce,” Richard snapped, then glared at Philippa. “You married this cur rather than Lord Walter?” He jerked his head toward Myles. “Tell me it can be undone, Philippa. Now.”
Though she went cold at her brother’s tone, Philippa stiffened her resolve. Myles stood beside her, ready to support her. “No, Richard. It cannot.”
“Of all the stupid things to do, you ungrateful chit—making an alliance with a nobody when you could’ve inherited a duchy.” Richard threw his hands in the air. “Lord Walter’s brother has nothing but daughters, has lost his wife—”
Though the news surprised her, Richard’s determination to marry her off to a toad like Lord Walter suddenly made a great deal more sense. “I have no desire to be a duchess, nor to go about gloating because a man lost his wife.”
Richard’s hands balled into fists. “You selfish child. What that union would’ve done for our family—”
“You mean what it would do for you and your greed and arrogance! I won’t sacrifice myself for you, Richard. Give me what is mine and leave me be.”
He lunged forward, but what he meant to do she never learned. Because Myles was suddenly between them, his hand snatching up Richard’s wrist and twisting it deftly behind his back, turning the earl about at the same moment. Myles shoved the earl forward while the lord gasped out an oath that made Philippa’s mouth drop open.
“You will not threaten my wife,” Myles said as he propelled Richard toward the door. The footman who had been hovering before now opened it, his face ashen. “Nor will you appear before her again until you have learned to keep hold of yourself. Good day, my lord.” Myles gave one last push at the center of Richard’s back, causing the earl to take a stumbling step outside. Then Myles gave a quick nod to the footman, who hastily slammed the large door behind the nobleman, then slid the bolt in place.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” the footman asked, still pale but wearing an expression of awe.
“That will be all for now.” Myles waved a hand dismissively, and the servant bowed before hurrying away, likely making his way below stairs to spread news of the scene he had been privy to.
Myles stood still, his back to her. His shoulders were square and tense, and at that moment, Philippa’s trembling knees gave way. She sat on the steps and dropped her face into her hands. “I am sorry, Myles.”
“Sorry?” He sounded incredulous.
Philippa’s eyes prickled with tears as she spoke to the floor. “Richard is dreadful when he loses his temper, but he has never acted quite like that before.”
“Philippa.” A scuff on the floor told her of Myles’s approach, and then his fingers grazed her shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But how he acted—what he said about you—” Philippa raised her head to look up at him. But the moment their eyes connected, Myles went down on one knee before her and made a handkerchief appear from his coat pocket. “Thank you.” She sniffled as she took the linen from him, then managed a weak smile. “This is the second time I have ruined one of your handkerchiefs.”
He shrugged, then released a deep sigh. “What your brother says or does is no reflection on you, my dear. It is best you put him from your mind and let Mr. Tuttle-Kirk handle the details of your inheritance. For today, do you still wish to go out into the world on a shopping expedition?”
Philippa gave a hesitant nod. “If you are still willing, then yes. Perhaps after we visit the tailor, we could go to Gunter’s for ices?” She felt a bit like a small child, looking to Myles as she did for comfort.
“I am completely at your command. First the tailor’s, then ices.” He stood and held his gloved hand out to her, which she took. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then tucked it through his arm. “We will push past the unpleasant things and enjoy our day.”
She leaned into him for a moment as they stood upon the top step in front of the house, but with no sign of the earl, she relaxed and smiled up at her husband. His gaze still swept the street, and she could feel the tense muscles in his forearm. She needn’t fear any danger with Myles at her side. The comfort that thought gave surprised her, and as he handed her into Adam’s waiting carriage, Philippa wondered how many benefits to her marriage she had yet to see.