Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton

Eleven

Walking up the stairs to enter Lady Darwimple’s ballroom meant Myles and Philippa had to pause every few steps to wait for those ahead of them to move. Before the war, Myles had only attended one event that could be called a crush, but this was so much worse than that local assembly ball had been.

Despite the cool weather outside the massive townhouse, Myles already felt perspiration forming at the back of his neck, beneath the white silk cravat his wife had bought for him the day before when they had gone to the tailor’s.

Philippa bounced on her toes and stretched her neck to peer upward. Her enthusiasm made him forget, at least for a moment, how much he despised crowds.

“I thought arriving a half hour late would mean avoiding the rush on the staircase.” Philippa looked over her shoulder, down toward the entry hall. “I haven’t seen Adam and Elaine arrive yet. Perhaps we all ought to have ridden together.”

“Your sister-in-law urged you to go on ahead,” Myles reminded her in a low voice. Elaine Gillensford had finished readying herself at the same time as his new bride, but then her infant had woken and cried with such urgency that the nurse had felt obliged to inform the parents of the child’s upset.

Philippa chewed her bottom lip as she nodded, a sight he found almost distracting enough to make him forget his growing headache. She stood on her toes again, this time peering upward, and the swell of music in the ballroom rushed down to meet them both.

The people around them on the stairs raised their voices over the music, and the mounting din momentarily sounded as the shouts of soldiers on the battlefield. The perfume stunk of ash and sweat, and the hot taste of iron filled his mouth.

Like a sudden and welcome breeze against his skin, Philippa’s concerned whisper broke through the haze of memory. “Myles?”

He opened his one good eye, not having realized he had closed it. First he saw several empty steps ahead of them, and then the frown of his young and beautiful wife. She gripped his arm with surprising strength. Her fingers shifted, and he focused on the pressure releasing from her touch.

He forced a smile that likely looked more like a grimace. “I beg your pardon, my dear. I was lost in thought.” He spoke more for the people behind him than the woman at his side. She raised her eyebrows, her only response, and he took her forward up the steps.

They gained the upper floor at last and found Lady Darwimple waiting a few steps inside the ballroom, an ostrich-feather fan in her white gloved grip. She waved them in languidly, as though the room didn’t maintain an almost intolerable temperature.

“Ah, Lady Philippa. You have arrived at last. I wished particularly to greet you this evening.” Lady Darwimple raised her time-softened chin to direct her diamond-hard gaze at Myles. “I am terribly sorry. I have already forgotten your married name. Though I believe I met your husband somewhere before.”

Myles didn’t need the upbringing of a titled man to recognize the snub, though he acted the part of a gentleman by ignoring it. He forced himself to chuckle as he looked to Philippa to provide a proper introduction.

His wife’s expression surprised him. Philippa held her head in such a way as to look down her nose at the countess. Her eyes had gone hard, too, and her expression smoothed with what he would deem affront. “You are not mistaken, my lady. I believe you met Mr. Cobbett at the charity ball a fortnight before. Indeed, you glimpsed us shortly after a rather lovely interlude in the gardens that evening.”

“Ah yes, of course. I had no thought on that night that we would soon learn of your engagement, let alone a wedding. Special license, was it?”

That comment had yet another barbed insult beneath her ladyship’s feigned curiosity. Myles hadn’t any hope of obtaining a special license, given that one had to hold either a high rank or more than a passing acquaintance with the archbishop.

Philippa proved perfectly adept at handling the countess’s smug comments. “Oh, goodness, no. I have always thought that special licenses show a certain amount of vulgarity, given that one not only disturbs the archbishop’s more holy work, but it also is such a mark of impatience. No. We had a lovely wedding at one of the oldest churches in England. The charm of marrying in a medieval church quite delighted me.” She batted her eyelashes up at Myles, and he couldn’t resist smiling at her in return.

His wife waged battle on Society’s fields quite well. It made him wonder, yet again, why marriage to him had been the best answer she’d had to combat the rumors that had started to erode her reputation.

Lady Darwimple felt the sting. Her nose lowered, and her eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” She cut her gaze toward Myles. “My felicitations to you both, Mr. Cobbett. Lady Philippa Cobbett.” She folded her fan and pointedly turned to the person next in the receiving line.

Myles led his wife away, down one long wall behind the growing crowd. Her hand flexed against his, and her shoulders dropped such a slight amount that he almost missed the movement.

“Can you believe her?” Philippa bit the words out, and he watched her jaw stiffen so she spoke her next words through her teeth. “For her to offer such insult at an event to which she invited me!”

“You routed her well enough.” It was a husband’s place to offer such words, surely. “She retreated with speed.”

His wife stopped her angry march along the wall, allowing him to pause, too. She looked up at him, a twinkle of mischief appearing in her eyes. “I did, didn’t I? I recalled at the last moment that Lady Darwimple married by special license herself. My mother has many theories as to why and discusses them still with great relish.” Philippa’s smile faded, and she slowly shook her head. “Perhaps that was less than kind of me. Elaine wouldn’t approve.”

“I heartily do, if that counts for anything.” Myles chuckled. “But then, I was trained to use every means I have against the enemy. And Lady Darwimple set herself as your enemy this evening.”

“I certainly didn’t expect such an attack, to use your war-like vocabulary.” She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. “She is a friend to my mother. One would think she would be a little more respectful, at least to our faces.”

Myles didn’t exactly care, except in regard to how her ladyship’s barbs might have hurt Philippa. Since she had regained her good humor, he could easily forget the moment. In truth, it had proven a distraction from his inward disquiet. “I doubt you will have any further difficulty. Lady Darwimple’s rank gave her the courage to speak in such a manner. Come. Enjoy your first ball as a married woman. Without chaperone. You may wander as you wish, dance as you wish, and converse with whomever you wish to converse.”

Her expression brightened, and her gloved fingers gave his arm a gentle squeeze before she released him. “I did see a friend a few steps in. Will you be all right?”

He took up her hand only to release it, as one might cast off a line to set a boat adrift. “I have faced things far less dangerous than a ballroom, my dear. Enjoy your evening. Look for me if there is anything I might do for you.”

She took one step backward, her eyes still upon him. “I will not dance the supper dance, so we may go in together.”

What did it say about their relationship, that he had not expected that offer? “I look forward to the time in your company.” He bowed, the movement too slight for most to notice, but she granted him one last grateful smile before she turned and entered the crowd. He watched her go, keeping sight of her by the spray of white roses in her hair.

A snake emerged from the crowd, dressed in fine velvet and a white silk cravat. Lord Walter. The brazen fool met Myles’s gaze with a smirk.

“Ah. If it isn’t the fortunate bridegroom.” Lord Walter approached with confidence, and Myles stiffened in response. His perceived rival didn’t have the air of one defeated. Instead, the man had the audacity to position himself on Myles’s blind side.

“Lord Walter.” Myles snapped out the title without any enthusiasm in the greeting, grudging the respect he must show merely because the man was the son of a marquess.

“Mr. Cobbett. Congratulations on your nuptials.” Lord Walter’s overly smug tone made Myles grind his teeth. He couldn’t abide officers who lorded their position over the men they ought to command with a sense of responsibility rather than one of entitlement. Lord Walter was the same sort of man as they.

Myles acknowledged the comment with a nod.

“It’s quite interesting, isn’t it?” The lordling didn’t sound any less sure of himself as he spoke, amusement in his voice. “One would think when a woman’s name appears alongside one man in the paper that she wouldn’t even consider legally attaching herself to another. Especially when she is as notable a woman as Lady Philippa.”

The music had increased in volume again, and the conversation in the ballroom matched. A faint buzz began in Myles’s ears. “We are married, Lord Walter. Your business with my wife, though you never truly had any, is over. You needn’t concern yourself with Lady Philippa’s decisions.”

“Yet as a friend of the family, I feel I am obligated to warn you.” Now the serpent sounded positively giddy. “Lady Fredericka is on the other side of the room, along with her son the earl, and they are far from pleased with your inclusion in the family. In fact, I should not be surprised if their mood is infecting other guests.”

That Lady Philippa’s mother meant to punish her came as something of a surprise. Once Philippa and Myles exchanged wedding vows, and confronted her snarling eldest brother, things ought to have calmed. Whatever the upper echelons of Society thought about the matches made by its children, families always pulled together to save face and quell rumors. At least, that’s what they had always done before.

Though he had a suspicion he played into the enemy’s hand, Myles’s good eye swept the room in search of his wife. She might have need of him yet. “If you will excuse me, Lord Walter. I find I grow—” Hang being polite. “—irritated by your conversation. Good evening.” Myles offered the barest bow, barely more than a tip of his head, and walked forward into the throng of people, watching the dancers and gossiping behind their fans.

The noise swirled around him, as did the scents of bodies and fabrics, and heady perfumes that repelled rather than refreshed him with their scents. He spied the white rosebuds woven through his wife’s dark curls and focused only on getting to her. The narrowing of his thoughts sharpened his ears, and he picked out conversation he otherwise would not have heard as he angled through the press of bodies. His only thought was to provide reinforcement to whatever battle Philippa may find herself facing.

But what he heard made him scowl as he went.

“—married a commoner. There he is, there. Horrid—”

“Wouldn’t want to wake to that—”

“Do you suppose she does? I would sleep in another wing—”

“—no reading of the banns. Do you suppose—?”

“Her mother must be ashamed.”

“How dare they show their faces here?”

A snide giggle, then, “Especially his face.”

Myles doubted storming up to his wife would quell any of the lashing tongues. He slowed his pace as he neared her and forced his expression into one of neutrality. His wife stood among women near her own age, and they formed a semi-circle before her. There were four of them, all dressed in fine clothing and dripping with pearls and amber.

Philippa wore the same face he had seen her put on before Lady Darwimple. Her battle mask, he dubbed it then. She caught sight of him from the corner of one eye and startled, as though surprised, then her lips curled into a smile as she turned to welcome him.

“My friends,” she said, voice raised and light. “Allow me to introduce my husband. Perhaps this will ease your concern on my behalf. Mr. Cobbett, a servant to the crown and our country. Husband, these ladies came out the same year I made my debut. Of course, they married with greater haste than I did.” He couldn’t tell if that was another well-aimed thrust of her spear, but Myles stood next to his wife at attention. She gestured to each lady in turn. “Lady Bannfield, Lady Ian Crawford, and Mrs. Anthony Havenbrough.”

* * *

The women standingbefore Philippa had once invited her to their drawings rooms and salons to take tea. They had stood gossiping with her along crowded balconies, looking down into ballrooms like Lady Darwimple’s. All three had laughed with her about her mother’s ill-timed matchmaking efforts. But now, their eyes held a different sort of amusement.

They were laughing at Philippa rather than with her.

Philippa had no inclination of letting them win. After Myles bowed to the little group, she slid her arm through his and tipped her chin upward. Proudly. Her husband, though untitled and without large coffers of his own, had served king and country with honor. He had wed her with nothing but the best of intentions. Which was more than she could likely say for the spouses of the women before her.

“We have heard so much about you, Mr. Cobbett,” Lady Bannfield said, her green eyes snapping and her golden hair blazing like a flame. Her striking beauty had won her an earl for a husband. “Your acquaintance must now be exceedingly sought after, given your marriage into the earl’s family. Quite a boon for anyone, I should say.”

Given that the opposite had been on display for everyone in the ballroom that evening, Pippa felt the barb in those words keenly. Myles, however, kept a pleasantly reserved expression upon his face.

“As you say, my lady.”

Mrs. Havenbrough tittered behind her fan, though what she found amusing, Pippa could not have said. She spoke with a cloying sweetness that did nothing to mask her disdain. “I confess, I imagined a different sort of man for our Lady Philippa. You do not mind me saying, sir, but I thought she might marry a degree or two nearer gentility than a former officer. You have married up in the world.”

A slap in the face might have been a better compliment. But while Pippa felt her cheeks grow warm, Myles actually smiled. A tight, strained smile. Still, his fortitude impressed her as he said, “I must agree. Her loveliness and kind disposition are beyond compare. I cannot say I have ever met a woman who is composed of both wit and angelic beauty.” He looked pointedly down into Pippa’s gaze, causing her heart to lift hopefully. Not that she needed him to defend their union, rather that she enjoyed he would choose to do so with such ease.

“Dear me, you sound as though you quite adore her.” Lady Ian Crawford’s eyes narrowed, as though she searched for a weakness in a fellow combatant. “Given the most distressing reports we heard on the matter of our dear Lady Philippa’s situation prior to your wedding—when was your wedding, dear?—it is something of a relief to find her tucked so securely in your protection, Mr. Cobbett.”

Only Pippa saw the way his jaw clenched, the way he fisted his hand slightly behind his back. Myles hadn’t seemed to mind when the ladies remarked upon his reputation. Had they pushed too far by bringing up the rumors about hers? She needed to get him away from the spiteful hens.

“Any and all who know my wife, madame, could never doubt that one of the most remarkable things about her is the propriety and integrity she displays in her behavior. For someone to think any less of my lady….” He sighed after letting the sentence trail away, then his expression turning as calculating as Pippa had ever seen it. “Well. Let us only say that such people are so lacking in compassion and intelligence that we must pity them rather than expect better.”

It took more control than Pippa possessed to hide her smile at that. Myles had effectively called into question the characters and understanding of the women standing before them. That they all reacted with some shock to his words meant they felt the sting of his words. Pippa, however, felt quite proud of her husband’s quick wit. Though the poor man did appear more tense and pained than before. He had grown pale, too.

“Such a pleasure to see you all. If you will excuse us, I must introduce Myles elsewhere.” She curtsied and led her husband away. Thankfully, Myles fell into step beside her quite naturally. She brought him to stand near an open window. Myles put a shaky hand through his hair.

From the cornerof her eye, Philippa noticed the color come back into her husband’s face. She stood on his blind side on purpose, keeping her own gaze trained on any who might approach them. But this meant she couldn’t see much of his expression, could not tell if his good eye was open or closed as he took in slow, deep breaths of the night air.

“I did not anticipate this evening presenting such a trial to us both,” she murmured from behind her fan, waving it languidly as though she hadn’t any reason toward agitation.

“You are too patient with me, I think.” Myles tipped his chin upward and turned just enough for her to see his good eye studying her. “I apologize, my lady.”

“Whatever for? You aren’t the one acting without common decency.” Philippa glanced again at her former friends, only to find they had dispersed. She spotted two of them at once, speaking into the ears of other women of rank. They played with her reputation as cats with a butterfly—without care for how their claws shred her wings so long as it amused them.

Myles leaned toward her, and the fabric of his coat brushed the bare skin of her arm between her sleeve and glove. “My presence isn’t helping as you hoped. Perhaps I should leave. I will send the carriage back for you, of course.”

Though she opened her mouth to deny such a thing was necessary, she swallowed the remark in the face of his fatigue. The light in his eye had dimmed, the corners of his mouth turned down, and his shoulders had lost some of their proud bearing. Surely the comments of a few spiteful women had not done so much to her soldierly husband. Perspiration dotted his brow below his hairline.

“Are you unwell?” she asked, resisting the urge to strip off her glove and touch his forehead.

He hesitated, then turned away, giving her his scarred profile as he answered. “I am sometimes discomfited in crowds. The noise. The smells.” He shook his head. “I will be well enough. The fresh air is already helping.”

“I do not know that London air can ever be called such a thing,” she said, trying to make light of the moment. He did not appear to have heard her, so still he remained. Philippa chewed her bottom lip, then swept the ballroom again with her gaze. “I have yet to see Adam and Elaine arrive. I am concerned something has gone wrong at the house. Perhaps we should both return and look in upon them.”

He didn’t accept the excuse as readily as she hoped. “You needn’t end your evening for my sake.”

“For your sake?” Philippa snapped her fan closed and tapped him on the arm to punctuate each word. “Mr. Cobbett, we are for home.” She looked into the crowd again and met the satisfied smirk of her eldest brother from across the room. Let him gloat. She had no intention of remaining at the ball if it meant acting as a target for ridicule. “I find I have lost all interest in this company.”

“If you insist, my lady.” He offered her his arm.

She took it. “I do.” Then she put her nose in the air. “You are familiar with the concept of a strategic retreat?”

At last, he smiled, though it was with little humor, and when he spoke, he sounded weary. “Indeed. We will regroup and form a new plan of attack.”

Her new husband didn’t thrive in crowds. Yet he had agreed to escort her to a ball. Had withstood insults given directly to his face. Out of duty.

Perhaps Philippa had miscalculated when she could show her face again in public. But that hardly mattered. It would just take a little more time than she expected for gossip to die down. She still had what she wanted. A marriage of her own making, her fortune coming into her hands very soon, and greater independence than she had enjoyed thus far in her life.

After they returned to the Gillensford townhouse, the butler informed them that the youngest child had a fever that had kept her parents home.

Philippa stood in all her finery with her heart going cold. “Has anyone sent for the doctor?” Myles stood behind her, and when she spoke, his hand went to the small of her back as though to support her.

Thankfully, her fear hardly had the chance to form. “He has come and gone, my lady.” Hopkins bowed politely. “He believes the little one is teething. The child is resting now, with both parents in the nursery.” The butler’s eyes twinkled, and were he not so well trained, Philippa knew he would smile with his amusement. The new parents doted on their infant, but there was always an undertone of bewilderment when Isabelle cried without obvious reason.

“Thank you, Hopkins.” Myles removed his hand from where he had touched her, and Philippa looked up at him with a sheepish smile. “I suppose I worry nearly as much as they do about the children.”

“A common enough thing, when you care about someone.” The corners of his eye crinkled a little. “Do you intend to go up and check on things?”

“And risk waking up an ornery babe? Not to mention a grumpy Adam.” Philippa gestured to the nearest door, leading to the sitting room. “I thought I might take some tea and read a book. It is still quite early for those of us keeping London hours.”

“I suppose so.” His gaze flicked from the door to the stairway.

“You needn’t linger with me,” Philippa said quickly, though a twinge of disappointment accompanied the words. “I know you are tired.”

But her husband gestured to the doorway. “Tea and a book are my favorite things to combat a headache.”

“Truly? I cannot read when I am even the slightest bit ill. It always makes things worse.” She led the way to the doors, opening them herself. During the day, a footman stood in each corridor, ready to help family members with even the smallest of tasks. But with evening upon them, and the family mostly abed, the servants had sought their own rest or other duties.

“Sometimes it is the same for me, but I am willing to risk it this evening.” Myles followed her inside the room and sat down in a chair near the fire. He took off his right glove, then the left, and put them on a table next to him.

Philippa went to a small set of shelves in the corner. More books were in other parts of the house, but there was always a selection at hand in this room for anyone looking to pass the time. She took up a novel she hadn’t read in years. She then looked over her shoulder at her husband’s bowed head.

“I could read to you, so you can rest your eyes—” She pressed her lips together tightly over the last word, but not soon enough to cut off the plural S.

Myles didn’t so much as twitch. “That is a kind offer. If it wouldn’t trouble you, I think I might enjoy being read to. I cannot remember the last time anyone read something to me.”

She relaxed. It seemed she hadn’t offended him with her small slip. “And here I read aloud nearly every day.” She came around the couch at the same moment the door opened, a maid coming into the room. Philippa gave instructions for tea, then settled in the chair on the other side of the hearth from Myles.

“Who do you read to?” Myles asked, and she realized he’d closed his good eye and leaned against the back of the couch.

“I used to read to my mother. She had headaches all the time. Or, at least, she says she does.” Philippa chuckled and opened the book. “Since Elaine married into the family, we often read together. One of us sews or paints, the other reads. Sometimes I read with Nancy, too. I cannot think of a better way to enjoy a book than with another person.”

“I look forward to giving the exercise a try, then.” Myles folded his arms across his chest, and she saw him tuck his left hand away. From habit? Or to hide it?

As she read aloud from The Eve of St. Marco, she glanced up at him more than once. He breathed evenly, his eye remained closed, and she couldn’t be sure he was awake. When the tea came, her husband opened his eye without any sign of disorientation or sleepiness. He poured out, so she could continue reading.

For half an hour, she read to him. She sipped at her tea when her voice grew weary, then came to the close of a chapter. It felt like the right place to stop. Especially as she couldn’t tell if her husband truly enjoyed the reading or if he only humored her. As soon as she closed the book’s cover, his eye came open and he appeared as alert as ever. Then they talked quietly of the book, with her mindful of his headache, before he suggested they both turn in for the evening.

They went upstairs together, and Philippa noted that most of the lights were out. The corridors were dark and quiet. When they stopped before her door, she looked up at her husband with curiosity. He held a candle between them.

“Do you need the light?”

She shook her head. “My maid keeps a lamp for me when I am out. Does your valet not do that for you?”

Her husband appeared thoughtful. “I haven’t employed a valet yet. I had not even entertained the idea of obtaining one. There is a footman who has been helping, when I require it.”

Philippa’s mouth popped open in her surprise. “Myles, you must have a valet.”

His eye wrinkled at the corner again. “As you say, my lady.” He bowed, then made to walk away. And Philippa raised her hand to stop him, then hastily tucked it behind her back, hoping he hadn’t noticed. What reason did she have to ask him to linger there, in the darkness?

She slipped into her room, where a small fire glowed in the hearth and a lamp waited for her beside her bed. The cozy, inviting room had been hers for weeks now. Yet as she finally slipped beneath her blankets, Philippa didn’t feel as content as she had before. Perhaps because she reflected on the ball. The failure there settled in her heart. As did the disappointment of finding no one willing to speak to her, unless they wished to hint that her marriage was a scandal. Though quiet, her subsequent evening with Myles had been a gentle balm for that hurt.

Maybe she needed to wait another week before going to important societal functions.

People would surely forget about her hasty marriage eventually.