Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton
Twelve
Myles dreamed of the ball with Philippa. A vivid, gentle dream in which he danced with her. Men never danced with their wives. But perhaps there, in that time and space, they were unmarried. A hundred bodies surrounded them in the ballroom. As he went through the familiar steps, the room grew louder. People jostled him. Shoulders first brushed and then shoved heavily against his. His wife looked at him with concern puckering her brow. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him a question.
Then Philippa’s hand slipped away, and when Myles turned to find her—instead, he found a battlefield strewn with soldiers. His ears thundered with cannon fire. Screams. Myles had to wake up. Knew he must. And then he flew sideways as he had before—
He sat up in bed with a roar, clutching at the coverlet, the fabric bunched up in his hands. All he could smell was the memory of smoke. His body slick with sweat, he stumbled out of the bed and knelt beside it. He found the empty chamber pot beneath it and drug it out, retching. His blood thrummed in his ears, drowning out anything outside of himself.
It felt like ages before he could sit back, tipping his head against the bed to stare upward at the dark ceiling. Gradually, his pulse slowed. He felt the cold of the floor where his heels rested against it.
The house remained dark and quiet.
No one had heard him.
His shame remained his own. He hadn’t had a night terror such as that in a long time. And he knew, should he sleep again that night, his mind would present it to him again. That was always the way with the worst of his dreams. When he went to bed, Myles prayed for dreamless nights. Those were the only good nights.
He pushed himself up from the floor, and the room spun. He went to the basin of water, cold now from his evening ablutions, and splashed his face with water. Fumbling about in the dark, he managed to light candles and stir the fire to life before collapsing in a chair.
The mirror above his dresser had tilted with his frenzied movement, and from where he sat he could clearly see the spectacle he’d become. He wore only a long white shirt, loose from his throat to halfway down his chest. His eyepatch waited for him on the mantel, leaving the scarred seal of his other eye to reflect back at him through the shadows.
Not all soldiers who lived through battle thought themselves fortunate. He had heard more than one man refer to himself as “cursed” long after the sounds of war had faded. And it was true. Here he sat, surrounded by more finery than he had any right to enjoy, still plagued by the dark memories of the killing fields.
With a shudder, Myles looked away from his scarred reflection to the fire. “I must get hold of myself.” Speaking the words aloud gave them the feel of a vow or a prayer. “I cannot shame my wife or her family. Or the men depending on that hospital.”
When sunrise came, it found him already dressed. He needed his routine back. Marriage or not. He’d found the best way to cope was to go through the same motions, every day. Wake. Dress. Read. Walk. Eat breakfast. Go to a club. Spar. Take tea.
He rehearsed to himself all the things he had done before Philippa came into his life. He couldn’t do it all. Not the same way. But maybe he could build a new order.
He went out the front door and into the world, determined to order his thoughts and regain control of his mind. The first important thing on his list was to find a place with a simple breakfast. Along the way to make that discovery, Myles acquired a newspaper. Each step upon the pavement of London streets returned a measure of strength to him. In the finer neighborhoods in which he walked, there were not yet many people out to enjoy the morning light. The lack of walls, of crowds, let him take his first deep breath in what felt like ages.
Once he sorted out his breakfast, Myles went to Boodle’s. His father had held membership there for a short time, when he took a small political role in London during his youth. That fact, and Myles’s military career, had gained him notice. His willingness to engage other gentlemen in informal fisticuff lessons had cemented his membership.
No one treated him any differently when he walked into one of the many club rooms filled with books, chairs, and tables. He selected a quiet spot in the corner and sat, content to read his paper in peace.
A shadow fell upon the newssheets as someone stepped between Myles and the window. He looked up, lifting his eyebrows and preparing to return a greeting. But the man who stood over him was a stranger to Myles.
“Mr. Cobbett.”
Myles did not flicker an eyelash at the address. “And you are?”
The man’s expression turned to an arrogant smirk. “Havenbrough. My wife is an acquaintance of Lady Philippa’s.” He crossed his arms and settled back on his heels as though intending to remain in the stance for some time. “I told her you were a member at my club, though I cannot think how, given what little recommended you. Prior to your marriage to a peeress, of course.”
It took a moment for Myles to remember the man’s wife. She had been one of the three spiteful women at the ball, eager to simper and offer words of false sweetness to Philippa. Given the way Havenbrough stood before him, Myles anticipated more of the same. “It does seem as though the club will let anyone who can pay the fee join.” Myles feigned a disappointed sigh.
Mr. Havenbrough’s jaw visibly tightened. “I understand you’re something of a pugilist, Mr. Cobbett.”
Myles raised his eyebrows at the change in tactics. Surely the man wasn’t about to issue a challenge of some sort. Not that Myles was an expert at boxing, but he held his own and had even gone a few rounds with scrappers of professional capability. “I would not classify myself as such, Mr. Havenbrough. I enjoy the sport for the camaraderie and exercise it provides.”
The frustration that had begun to layer itself within him made the temptation to engage in fisticuffs stir. Yet just looking at Havenbrough, Myles sensed the man would post little to no challenge. The part of him that rose like a wolf scenting the wind hunkered down again, more discontent than before.
“It seems the rumors I’ve heard are not far from the truth.” Havenbrough smirked again. “Though how someone of Lord Montecliff’s respectability could permit his younger sister to marry a common scrapper, I can’t understand. Unless there wasn’t much of a choice.” The man had a tone that suggested an impolite amount of relish for the subject. “Perhaps no one else could handle the young woman. I understand she can be—”
“Careful how you finish that sentence.” Myles didn’t speak so much as growl the warning. “Pugilist or not, I take exception to a man who knows nothing of my wife speaking of her with less than absolute respect.”
Rather than appear chastened, Havenbrough’s teeth flashed in a less than friendly grin. “Sensitive, are you? I must have struck a chord you did not care for.”
“Or perhaps he merely has better manners than you,” a new voice said, and Moreton appeared beside Myles’s chair. “I cannot say I know many who make it a habit to speak of ladies in a gentleman’s club. Perhaps you are not acquainted with that unspoken rule.”
Havenbrough bowed the barest amount. “Forgive me for intruding, Mr. Cobbett. I will leave you to your business.”
Myles and Moreton both watched the man withdraw to a group of others sitting in a ring of chairs, all of them watching his approach with interest. Finally, Moreton sat down in the chair nearest Myles.
“I didn’t expect to see you here so early in the morning.” Moreton glanced at the news sheet Myles had wrinkled in his grip. “I thought you had a luxurious sitting room, or perhaps a well-laden breakfast table where you read your paper these days.”
Myles shifted somewhat guiltily and forced himself to relax his grip on the paper. “How can I explain?” Myles tipped his head in the direction of Havenbrough’s retreat. “I missed the joy of fending off rude strangers.”
Moreton chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Emily received your lady’s invitation to dinner tomorrow evening.”
Philippa had invited his friends to dinner? “I hope you both accepted. The Gillensfords employ an excellent cook.”
“Which makes me again question why you are here when you could be in a comfortable townhouse enjoying a breakfast prepared by said cook.” Moreton wore his solicitor’s expression—one which meant he had found a scent of deception and meant to follow it to its source. “We no longer run in the same circles, Myles, but I cannot help wondering if Havenbrough’s rudeness is mild compared to what else is being said.”
The conversation at the ball flashed through his mind, and Myles turned his attention to a nearby window. “Nothing of a sensational nature has overcome the news of Lady Philippa marrying a nobody. Though one would think that would be less interesting than the gossip previous.”
When Moreton only stared at him in silence, a disapproving squint to his eyes, Myles dropped the paper on a table and bent toward his friend. “What do you want me to say? I have spent the last several days hardly stirring from that house. And while it is a house with great luxuries, there is also little for me to do. Except be measured by tailors, dress for parties, and appear perfectly content whenever I am in the same room as someone else.”
Moreton laced his fingers together and adopted a professional tone. “All in all, not an unpleasant existence. Especially as you have a lovely wife to keep you company from time to time.”
“My wife has other occupations. She is enjoying her freedom for the first time since she made her debut in Society.” And Myles didn’t begrudge her that freedom in the slightest. After meetings with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, she had gone shopping, attended committee meetings with her sister-in-law, and today would have her first at-home day as a married woman, sharing the morning room with Elaine to great her guests.
She didn’t need her tired and frustrated husband anywhere near her to dampen her enthusiasm or intimidate her visitors. Assuming she had any visitors.
“Ah, there. A flinch. What were you thinking, just then?” Moreton moved to the edge of his seat.
“How do you do that?” Myles glared at his friend. “I said nothing.”
“Let a man sit in silence long enough, and if his speech won’t tell you something is wrong, his mannerisms will. You flinched.”
Though his exasperation was well-tempered with relief, Myles explained—in quiet tones—what had happened the night of the ball. Moreton nodded now and again, but otherwise said nothing until Myles finished the telling. Then, his friend spoke.
“What is the strategy going forward, since marriage alone hasn’t made your lady more acceptable to her peers?”
“A strategic retreat,” Myles admitted. “Attending functions without as much social distinction. For which I’m grateful. That ball was more crowded than a battlefield and stunk nearly as much.”
“Ah-ha,” Moreton murmured, a sad lift to his lips appearing. “This is coming more to the point of what is wrong with you.”
Myles picked up his paper, ready to hold it up as a barrier should his friend prod too much further. “I am merely frustrated that I am uncertain how to help the situation. That is all.”
“I can see the tension in your shoulders, Cobbett.” Moreton lowered his voice still more as he spoke. “And that weariness in your eyes. Are you sleeping well?”
“Well enough.” Myles opened the paper. “What are you doing at the club, anyway? I almost never see you here.”
“I had a meeting with a client.” Moreton let the silence hang between them again, but this time Myles kept his lips pressed shut. Finally, his friend sighed and came to his feet. “I need to return to my office. I suppose I will see you at dinner tomorrow evening.”
“I look forward to that. Good to see you, Moreton.”
The solicitor nodded once. “And you, Cobbett. Good day.” His friend took his leave. Myles waiting another quarter of an hour before doing the same. The club had not been a place of refuge as he had hoped.
* * *
Elaine’s friendsleft a quarter of an hour before two o’clock. Across London, women of the finest families and households closed the doors to their elegant houses, whether they had returned home from visits or showed out a final caller. Now, it was time to prepare for an outing to Hyde Park, or tea and a nap to fortify themselves for evening engagements.
But Philippa remained sitting in the same chair she had occupied all afternoon, staring across the room at a landscape depiction of gloriously green hills dotted with perfectly white sheep. Hardly a realistic rendering, but the artwork had a certain cheerfulness to it. Yet Philippa’s stare had little to do with the painting and more to do with her discontentedness.
She heard Elaine’s last caller, a banker’s wife and donor to the hospital, at the head of the stairway.
“Is your sister-in-law well?” the banker’s wife asked, sotto vocé.
Elaine answered with her usual cheer, though Philippa could well guess “I believe so. You know how it is so soon after marriage. There are a lot of changes to a young lady’s life.”
A hesitant quiet followed, and then, “You have heard what people are saying?”
“Yes, but it troubles me not at all. My sister-in-law’s only misfortune is counting the wrong people her friends, Mrs. Claridge. No one who knows Lady Philippa could credit rumors that paint her as anything other than an intelligent and compassionate woman.”
Though Philippa’s heart warmed while listening to Elaine’s defense, her stomach sunk with dread. This explained the lack of visitors coming specifically to see her. Perhaps Lady Fredericka and the earl had decided to punish Philippa’s independence by encouraging whatever the gossips had to say about her hasty marriage. And about her husband’s humble origins.
For the second day in a row, Myles had left the townhouse early in the morning. Without anyone aware of his plans. The day before, he had returned in time for dinner. She supposed it would be the same today. Considering she had invited his friends to dine with the family, she did not think he would be late.
And she didn’t begrudge him his freedom. Not when she had so newly attained her own. Though she did wonder where he went.
When Elaine returned to the room with a tired smile, Philippa rose from her chair. “Thank you for allowing me to entertain with you today, even though none of your visitors came expecting to see me.” In truth, several had seemed surprised to find Philippa in the sitting room.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself. You were quieter than usual.” Elaine smoothed a cushion on one chair, then found a shawl she had discarded earlier in the day and wrapped it around her shoulders again.
“And had less visitors than I expected.” There wasn’t any point to avoiding the topic. “No one came to see me, Elaine. Not my married friends, not my unmarried friends with their maids or mothers.”
“Not everyone knew it was your at home day, especially given the newness of your marriage.” Elaine never told falsehoods, but her hopeful attitude faltered as she spoke. “Perhaps it is because you still share my address. That may have caused some confusion.”
“Mother and Richard are doing their best to show public disapproval of my choices.” Philippa absently wandered to the tea service and traced the rim of her teacup. “I expect I will receive a note from one or the other soon enough, gloating over my lack of friends now that I have removed myself from their protection.”
“There are good people in Society, Pippa. They will show themselves soon.”
“What if they do not? How many people have already expressed to you their wariness to support the hospital, because you have a woman with a smudged reputation living under your roof?”
For the first time, Elaine hesitated to answer. Pippa’s shoulders fell. “Elaine—how many?”
“No one has withdrawn their support yet,” Elaine insisted, but the way that yet was spoken made Pippa’s guilt grow. Something of that emotion must’ve shown on her face, as Elaine hastened forward to put her hands upon Pippa’s shoulders. “Oh, do not look that way. We both know things will work out. Your mother didn’t like my marriage to Adam at all, and we still have friends aplenty and more invitations than I can possibly accept.”
“Because you had no scandal tied to your name, and you entered Society as a mature woman with children and a fortune behind you.” Philippa shook her head and gently backed out of Elaine’s hold. “The circumstances are quite different. Everyone bandied my name about with Lord Walter’s, thinking we had snuck off into the shadows to paw at one another.” She shuddered and went to the window, glaring out at the world. “And then I leave my titled brother’s protection, marry someone my mother loudly disapproves of, and here we are.”
Elaine approached, her chin tilted upward. “People will eventually lose interest, Pippa.”
“What would you do, in my situation?” Pippa folded her hands before her, arching an eyebrow at the lovely former seamstress. “If you gave me your most honest counsel, what would you recommend?”
“Are you sure you want to hear it?” Elaine smiled despite her question. “Because my advice is likely not at all what you expect.”
“Then I positively insist you say what you have to say.” Pippa couldn’t resist smiling back. “I am ready to try just about anything.”
With a slow nod, Elaine looked away from Philippa and down into the street. “I would leave London entirely.” When Philippa gasped, Elaine spoke with firmness. “I would, Pippa. While you are here, everyone may purposefully ignore you. They will all speculate about you. If you left for the country, being out of sight would also put you out of their thoughts. The gossip would die a faster death. Beyond that happy event, though—you would have an opportunity to know better the man you have married.”
Philippa drew back a step. “I can come to know Myles right here in London. In this house.”
“Where it is safe?” Elaine added with a suggestive tilt to her head. “Philippa. I don’t know if you have realized it or not—but your husband is as out of his element as I was when I inherited Tertium Park.”
“We have an agreement,” Pippa murmured, looking away from her sister-in-law. “An understanding. He has his freedom, and I have mine.”
“That isn’t a marriage, darling.” Elaine lowered her voice to a near whisper. “It’s barely a partnership. Beyond that reasoning, the two of you must present a more united front to Society if you wish to be accepted into its fold again. Despite what I achieved in our small country circle, I would have been a complete failure in London without Adam.”
Philippa could admit the truth of that. Adam’s connections and charm had smoothed Elaine’s path. Their marriage hadn’t carried even a whiff of scandal with it. Even those who didn’t know Adam and Elaine loved one another deeply merely assumed he had married her to keep her substantial inheritance in the family—not something anyone in Society would look down upon.
“Try as you might to become better acquainted with your husband in Town, you could better dedicate your efforts to that cause in the country. Where there are fewer distractions.”
“I meant to finish the Season in Town,” Pippa said. “I am not ready to abandon those plans. Besides, Myles agreed to a marriage of convenience. I’m not even certain he would want to leave London.” Though he hadn’t enjoyed that ballroom. By the time they left, he had almost appeared ill.
But that was only one ball. And it had subjected him to the nasty remarks of others. He had chosen to live in London even before meeting her. Why would he wish to leave?
“You asked for my counsel.” Elaine didn’t seem at all annoyed with Pippa’s response. “And that is what I will say. Leave London to relieve the pressure you and he are under. Come to know one another. Return next Season as a unified couple, and take the ton by storm.”
Though Philippa wanted to put her sister-in-law’s advice from her mind, she found herself turning over the merits of the idea for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the dinner hour arrived, and she waited in the drawing room adjacent to the dining room, she had grown rather nervous with thinking Elaine could be right.
Myles appeared, dressed for dinner and as solemn-faced as usual, before anyone else had joined Philippa.
“Any sign of our guests yet?” he asked. His gaze fell upon her only briefly, then quickly tripped across the room to the clock upon the mantel.
“I am certain they will arrive at any moment.” Philippa rose from her chair. “Did you enjoy your day?” She hadn’t seen him until that very moment. A wife did not ask her husband how he spent his time, she well knew. It would be impolite. It wasn’t her place. Especially given their arrangement. She doubted he was off in a gambling den or any other place riddled with inequity. But still. The curiosity remained.
“I did. Thank you. And you? Did you have many visitors?” He crossed the room slowly, taking up a position on the opposite end of the rug from her. As though he did not wish to come too close.
That couldn’t be the case. They had been friendly enough before this moment. During their conversations prior to marriage, and after, they had spoken with an understanding of one another. Hadn’t they? Did it matter?
“Not as many as I expected.” She could admit that much and save face. There was no point in making him worry. Not that he would. Bother. Elaine’s advice had turned Pippa upside down, making her double-think everything. “Elaine thinks it will take more time.”
“Ah.” Myles lowered himself into a chair, keeping the left side of his face turned slightly away from her. “Do you agree with her?”
Pippa started. “I—I suppose I must. To an extent.” Yes, it would take time. But surely she needn’t leave London. Not when her time was finally her own. Yet it didn’t fall to her to make the decision alone, surely. If she asked Myles, and he preferred London, it would certainly settle her mind. And yet—what if he wished to leave? Did that follow that she must abide by his desire, rather than her own? Or compromise?
She had promised to live under the same roof with him for a year as they came to know one another, and as they worked together to build the kind of life they each wanted.
Pippa ought to ask him. She parted her lips to do so when a knock on the door forestalled her. Myles raised his visible eyebrow at her and waited for her to answer the knock. “Enter,” she called, putting aside the question for another time.
In came the butler, introducing their guests for the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Moreton, the only friends she had actually heard her husband mention. Which meant their good opinion mattered to him, and Philippa meant to have it.
Elaine and Adam joined them shortly after, and while the men spoke on one side of the room, the women came to know one another on the other. Mrs. Moreton and Elaine had similar temperaments, though the former seemed far quicker to laugh than the quieter Elaine. By the time dinner was announced, the women were deep in discussion about the coming of summer, and how glad they would be to leave long sleeves behind in the warmer weather.
The dinner hour passed happily, and the after-dinner conversation proved entertaining, too. All the while, Pippa kept an eye on her husband, noting how different he seemed in company with his friends. He was relaxed. He spoke with a dry wit that surprised her. And he smiled more than he had seen him smile the whole of their knowing each other.
And she began to wonder if maybe Elaine had a point. Maybe it would behoove her to come to know Myles better.