Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton

Sixteen

As an early riser, Myles had the good fortune to wake before his lady wife. When he woke, his awareness of his surroundings came slowly. The early hour meant the room was still in shades of blue and gray. Philippa’s soft, slow breathing pulled his gaze to her, but as he turned his head to admire her peaceful slumber, he realized she had moved closer to him in the night.

Philippa pressed one bare foot against his calf. He felt the contact, from the tip of her toes to the soft curve of her heel. She slept with her back to him, leaving him a glimpse of her profile to admire.

Of course, recollecting how he had wound up in bed next to his wife made him wince. She’d woken him from a nightmare. Then insisted he not sleep another moment in the uncomfortable chair and the cold room.

He had given in to her demands. But at what cost?

Gathering himself to sneak out from beneath the bedcovers, Myles took in a deep breath. And inhaled the soft scent of his wife. She smelled of cotton warmed in the sun and honeysuckle blooming on the vine. Everything about her was soft and beautiful.

So much the opposite of what he was. Half blind. Scarred. Hardened, and brittle enough to break.

That realization gave him the strength to leave the room. Without disturbing Philippa.

True, his cravat was crooked. And he wore clothing more suitable to rambling about the countryside than sitting in his mother’s garden, where he soon found himself, but at least he had clothed himself decently enough to make his escape.

Why did he always feel the need to run away from his wife?

Myles marched down a dirt path, through a low gate covered in ivy, and into a stand of trees. There weren’t many trees, of course. They acted more as a break in the view from the house than as any sort of wood. But they were sturdy. They provided ample shade, and two branches bore swings in their branches.

The quiet didn’t last long.

A tromping of feet from the direction of the house surprised Myles. He hadn’t thought anyone else would be awake, much less capable of following him. He peered through the trees to the dirt path and spotted Winston.

And a few of Winston’s children trotting along beside him.

“There he is,” shouted the eldest, Winston’s eleven-year-old daughter. “We found Uncle Myles.”

“I thought it would be harder,” the nine-year-old son declared. “Uncle Myles, were you even trying to hide?”

“Papa said he was,” the six-year-old boy said smartly.

Winston had always been far too perceptive. That trait that made it impossible to keep secrets from him likely aided him as a clergyman.

They were close enough now that Myles could see the grin on his brother’s face. “Mind your manners, or it’s back to the nursery with all of you.”

“I want to swing first!” shouted his daughter. The three children raced to the two swings, their interest in Myles given up in favor of something more diverting. Winston shook his head at them, then settled next to Myles on the old iron bench.

Myles eyed his brother with amusement. “Though I suppose a vicar might keep early hours, I didn’t think you’d pass up an opportunity to stay in bed at Ambleside.”

“I could say the same thing about soldiers and their early hours,” Winston muttered, tilting his head back and crossing his legs at the ankle. He closed his eyes. “Especially newlywed soldiers.”

Myles faced away from his brother. “I left Philippa sleeping.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Winston cracked one eye open to look at Myles. “What did she make of the family last night? I was curious, given how early she retired for the evening. I hope we didn’t make her uncomfortable. Mary does have the tendency to say whatever is on her mind—”

“She was only tired. She was asleep before I even entered the room.” Myles had to smile at that. His wife had pretended to be asleep when he came in the night before. “I think she enjoyed meeting everyone. Philippa’s family isn’t like ours, though. They are…distant to one another. I think she only gets along with one of her brothers.”

“The one opening up that hospital?” Winston asked, and when Myles raised his eyebrows, his older brother grinned. “Mother read your letter out loud to everyone when it came.”

“Of course she did. Yes. The brother opening the hospital.” Myles led the conversation in that direction for a time. It was easier to speak about the Gillensford hospital than his wife, or his marriage. And Winston showed genuine interest in the endeavor. He’d been an essential part of Myles’s early recovery from war. And he’d counseled many returned soldiers as a vicar.

Before too long, Myles felt comfortable again. At his childhood home, listening to one of his nieces and two nephews playing, and speaking with his brother, he could forget about himself. It was easier to enjoy the present moment.

“Here they are,” a new voice sang through the trees. “I knew we’d find them out of doors.” Mary and Winston’s wife, Laurel, had arrived. A small gaggle of children came with them. And behind the mothers and children, walking arm in arm, was Myles’s father and Philippa.

Myles rose to his feet the moment he laid eyes upon her. She looked beautiful, wearing a simple ivory gown with her dark hair piled loosely atop her head. Ringlets of curls framed her lovely face, and her rose-colored lips pulled back in a joyful smile.

Winston slowly came to his feet, too. He must’ve read the admiration Myles held for his wife quite clearly, given the amused warning that followed. “Steady there, Myles. Remember. There are children present.” He chuckled, then stepped forward to intercept Laurel. “We haven’t been missing long, surely.”

“Long enough that the breakfast table is laid and waiting.” Laurel stepped into her husband’s embrace, and their two youngest children immediately ran to petition for their own turns on the swings.

Myles’s father was speaking quietly to Philippa, teasing a laugh from her. And Myles wished very much he could perform such a trick. Maybe he could try.

Philippa’s gaze landed upon him, and somehow her expression brightened still more.

His father spoke first. “Myles, your wife is a delight. Thank you for bringing her to us.” He patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “I’ve just found out that the two of you have never danced together. I told Pippa we would be certain to remedy that while you visit.”

“Did you?” Myles raised his eyebrows at his wife. “Though we have never been partners, we have stood up for the same dance. And we even joined hands a time or two.”

“That isn’t the same thing,” his father insisted. “Perhaps we can hold an informal party for the two of you. A congratulatory evening, of sorts, with entertainment and dancing. What say you, Pippa? Are you game?”

“It is a very kind suggestion, Father Cobbett.” Her smile softened as she turned it to Myles. “But I think the two of us are hoping for more quiet after the gaiety of London Society. The last ball we attended left both of us exhausted.”

“Yes, but our Ambleside parties are not so large affairs as those in London. Only our nearest neighbors need come.” His father appeared thoughtful a moment. “Perhaps five and twenty couples. Enough to make our rooms feel crowded while still leaving room to dance.”

“Good heavens.” Philippa laughed and shook her head, setting her curls to bouncing. “That is far too many people for me to meet all at once. Especially in one evening. You know, I think I would much prefer something out of doors. London is terribly crowded, and I have missed the country air.”

Like a bolt from heaven, the realization struck Myles that his wife was attempting to steer his father into an avenue of entertainment that would be less likely to make Myles uncomfortable. A lack of crowds. Fresh air. Less stiff formality.

His heart crossed the last threshold from admiration into love. In that very moment. Without Myles thinking on it. With him unable to do more than stare at her in awe and adoration.

Somehow, in a slow and quiet way, he had fallen in love with his wife.

His father had already responded to her, and they were both now looking at Myles. Waiting for him to say something. His father with eyebrows raised and a crooked smile. Philippa with a curious narrowing of her eyes.

Despite his sudden realization, he had to act as unaffected as possible. “I beg your pardon. What did you ask me?”

Philippa released his father’s arm to come to Myles’s side, her eyes searching his. “Your father asked if we might like a celebratory picnic held in our honor, this Sunday after church.” Then her fingertips touched his wrist. His palm. And he threaded his fingers with hers. “Though I am concerned about the number of people I must then be expected to identify as friends.” She had given him a way to escape yet again.

Myles squeezed her hand gently. “I think a picnic would be perfect. I will be there with you.” He could handle a picnic. Especially with Pippa by his side. His lovely, kind-hearted wife, who had left London to see to his comfort rather than her own. Then pretended to have a difficult time with crowds when the reality was that she thrived in the midst of them.

Guilt stung his heart. She had left London for his sake. He knew it now. The gossips were an excuse. For some reason, Pippa had decided to look after him. When he felt it ought always to be the other way around.

The baron clapped his hands together, startling Myles out of his admiration of his wife. “That’s settled then. Let’s all go to breakfast and plan things out properly with your mother.” He winked at Pippa. “She has hoped for a reason to show you off to the neighborhood, my dear.”

Pippa laughed, and another piece of Myles’s heart belonged to her.

Without warning, their marriage of convenience had turned into something much more precious to him.

* * *

After breakfast,Pippa and Myles were practically pushed out the door by his parents. “Show your wife all the best places for a picnic,” her new mother-in-law insisted. “Pippa must choose where we hold our afternoon gathering.”

Pippa barely had time to slip on a bonnet and gloves, and Myles only popped on an old tricorn hat that had seen better days before leading her out into the countryside behind their house. A few of his nephews had tried to accompany them, but somehow Uncle Winston had bribed them away with the promise of a fishing expedition, leaving Pippa and Myles alone on their ramble through the trees and then a meadow.

“I hope you do not mind my family’s eagerness too much,” Myles said, his hands tucked behind his back. She walked alongside him, plucking up a wildflower here and there as they went. “They want you to like it here, so you will come back, towing me with you.”

“They certainly needn’t expend too much effort on my account,” Pippa said, lifting a daisy to her nose. “I am charmed by all of them, Myles. By all of this.” She gestured with the flower to their peaceful surroundings. Butterflies fluttered alongside them, going from flower to flower. The sound of the grass rustling in the breeze and the hum of bees were far better sounds than clattering wheels on cobblestone streets. “I spent much of my childhood wandering about the estate where Adam and Elaine live when they are not in London. I spent all of last summer riding Bunny about, free as the wind.” She smiled wistfully at the thought of her mare. A horse she feared she would lose to her brother’s spite. Best not to dwell on something that hadn’t occurred yet. “I quite enjoy the country.”

Myles cocked his head to the side, his dark brown eye singly focused on her, his brow creased in puzzlement.

She tapped his sleeve with her flower. “You thought I preferred London to everything else, didn’t you?”

He shrugged and turned his face away, allowing her to admire his profile. “I know your life in London is important to you. The freedom you wanted to enjoy is all there—not in a place like this.” He waved at the meadow and trees.

Pippa raised her eyes to the clouds above her, picking out snatches of blue between the gray and white of an English summer sky. “That is the point of freedom, isn’t it? That you can come and go as you please, whether it is to and from the theater or a fishpond.”

“The company is likely better at the fishpond,” Myles muttered, and Pippa allowed herself to giggle. An amused smile turned his lips upward. “My apologies. Comparing people to fish isn’t kind.”

“Yes. The fish might take offense.”

Myles’s laugh seemed to surprise him as much as it did her, and the richness of his voice made her shiver with pleasure. He didn’t laugh enough. Though she certainly saw more of his smile of late than she had in London. How had he ever agreed to marry her, knowing she would drag him from one despised event to another?

He’d wanted to rescue her, of course. And provide for his younger sisters. Sisters who had, that very morning, plotted carefully which bachelors in the neighborhood they wished to invite to the picnic. Did they know yet that Myles intended to enlarge their dowries?

Pippa cradled her wildflowers closer. Had there ever been that same giddiness of feeling when she had considered suitors? She couldn’t remember such excitement when she thought of one man over another. And she had quickly decided not to bother with courtship and marriage at all. Not after she saw how miserable her siblings were in their matches. All except Adam and Elaine.

She peered up at Myles from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Did you enjoy growing up at Ambleside?”

He slowed to a stop, then swept the surrounding countryside with his gaze. “I think my childhood as close to perfect as it could come.” He led them up a small hill. “The years I spent running across hills and climbing trees with my brothers and sisters didn’t prepare me for the life of a soldier—but my father’s lessons of honor and duty made the more difficult days bearable. My mother’s example of compassion kept me from focusing inward, where I likely would have spiraled into the same darkness and despair I sometimes see in the eyes of other men who spent their youth making war.”

Was that the secret to his character? Good parents. A gentle childhood. Having seen where he grew up, she could appreciate all that was beautiful about it. Yet the Cobbett family, despite his father’s title, wasn’t wealthy. Not when compared to her own family’s coffers. What was it that made their family so happy?

When Pippa didn’t respond, Myles stopped walking and looked down at her. “My apologies, Pippa. We are supposed to find a place for a picnic. It should be a diverting task, and I’ve grown morose.”

“I am not at all offended by your conversation, Myles. If anything, I am intrigued. Your character puzzles me at times.”

His eyebrows rose. “In what way? I cannot think myself too mysterious. Though the eyepatch, I am told, lends me a certain air of peculiarity.”

She giggled, like a flirtatious maiden rather than a sophisticated woman of Society. Then she cleared her throat. “Your eyepatch, sir, is absolutely charming. I would say it hints at a roguish quality. But anyone expecting to meet with a scoundrel will be terribly disappointed. You are an excellent product of your parents—honorable and good.”

He stared at her in silence, his lips curving upward softly. “You are too kind in your assessment.”

Before she could return compliment for compliment, he bent and plucked a bright purple flower—a wild sweet pea bloom. But rather than add to the collection in her hand, he tucked the stem carefully behind her ear. His fingers brushed her skin. Realizing how close he stood, Pippa momentarily forgot how to breathe.

His lips no more than a hand’s breadth from hers, Myles murmured, “When you put roses in your hair, I always wonder why a woman would wear any other ornament. You need none at all, given your beauty, but the flowers….” His voice trailed away, and he dropped his hand limply to his side. Then he cleared his throat. “Forgive me. This time, I’ve wandered into a topic I know nothing about.” He stepped back before he gave her a little bow and stalked away, leaving Pippa to watch after him in confusion. Her heart dropped as she let out a disappointed sigh.

Though she wasn’t entirely certain why she ought to be discontent, she felt it keenly.

She followed after her husband, cresting the hill, to find he had stopped on the other side. He watched two riders approach them. A man and a woman.

“Do you know them?” Pippa asked, looking from her husband to the couple.

“Not that I’m aware. But I think we are about to make introductions.”

Pippa looked up again as the gentleman called from atop his horse. “Good day to you both. Might you be familiar with this neighborhood?”

Myles stood strong and handsome at her side, posture perfect and confident. “Indeed. My father is Lord Greenwood. I am Myles Cobbett. This is my wife, Lady Philippa Cobbett.” He sounded proud to present her as his own, and Pippa glanced at him from the corner of her eye while her cheeks grew warm for no reason at all.

The man dismounted and bowed. “A pleasure to meet you both, Mr. Cobbett. Lady Philippa.” He went around to the woman and helped her down, one hand lifted up to take hers as she slid down from her horse. “Allow me to introduce myself and my wife. I am Sir Isaac Fox, and this is Lady Fox. We are from Aldersy, the west coast of Suffolk.”

It was as he released his lady’s hand, allowing her to perform a curtsy, that Pippa realized he had pinned up the left sleeve of his coat, as he had no arm to fill it. Her mouth popped open in some surprise, but she hastily covered her rudeness. “I hope we have not interrupted your ride, Lady Fox.”

“Not at all,” the woman said, her smile subdued. “We are glad to have found you both, actually, as I think we are rather lost. We meant to ride out to Huntington Park, but I have the feeling we are wandering in circles. Progressively larger circles, to be sure.”

“My fault,” the baronet said with a chagrined smile. “We could’ve stayed right where we were, but I learned that friends of ours are staying at Huntington Park, and we wished to surprise them with a visit.”

“You are not too far off.” Myles wore a gracious smile, an expression Pippa had not seen often. It wasn’t his polite smile for a London gathering. This was more genuine. More comfortable. “Huntington is a mile east of here. If you go that way”—he pointed north— “you’ll find a track through those trees. Follow it east, and you’ll come through Huntington Park’s plum orchard.”

“Ah.” Sir Isaac looked northward. “Thank you for the guidance. I think we will walk that direction, to avoid losing our hats to the trees.”

“Are you in need of any other assistance?” Pippa asked, looking directly at Lady Fox. The woman wore a dark blue riding habit and a black beaver hat, with a bluebell tucked in the ribbon around its brim. Curls of her hair, a shocking shade of red that reminded Pippa of Elaine’s copper tresses, peeked out from beneath the hat’s brim.

“Not presently.” She fiddled with the horse’s leads in her hand, looking to her husband a moment before asking a question of her own. “Tell me, do the two of you live nearby?”

“No,” Myles and Pippa answered together, then he smiled down at her. “We are newlywed, visiting my family.”

“Ah, congratulations to you both.” Sir Isaac tucked his horse’s lead between what remained of his left arm and his side, then offered his right arm to his wife. She took it, her horse’s lead in her other hand. “We were married not so long ago ourselves.”

Given that his wife looked to him with undisguised adoration, Pippa easily guessed that theirs was a love match. How wonderful. For them. And Elaine and Adam. She darted another covert glance at her husband, and for the first time, she wondered. Wondered if he had hoped for such a thing before the war stole his eye and left him scarred, without occupation.

“We are on our way to visit my brother-in-law and sister. They are guests of Mr. Lockheed. Lord and Lady Inglewood. Have you met them?”

“No, but we only arrived yesterday,” Myles said. “That name is familiar. I think Lord Inglewood must’ve visited this neighborhood before. He is a member of the House of Lords, is he not? A more progressive member, if I am not mistaken.”

Sir Isaac chuckled. “Indeed, you are not. He’s likely in this part of the country to find like-minded men from the House of Commons.” He shrugged and addressed his next comment to Pippa. “The man detests London, so he always escapes at the first chance to do his politicking in the free air of the country.”

“How long will you be visiting the neighborhood?” Pippa asked, a sudden idea coming to her.

Lady Fox answered cheerily, “Another week. We are staying with Doctor and Mrs. Johnson, of the Clock House.”

Pippa blinked. “The Clock House?”

Her husband grinned down at her when she gave him a questioning look. “We will be certain to visit so you can see why it bears that name.” Then he shared a more friendly smile with Sir Isaac, tinged with curiosity. “Doctor Johnson and I are good friends. I suggested the Clock House to him when he married. I’m pleased he took up the lease.”

“It is a charming location.” Lady Fox tilted her head to the side. “Do tell me, how do you know Mr. Johnson? He is from Suffolk, near our home. I always wondered what brought him so far from there.”

“We served in the army together. He was the doctor attached to my regiment for a time,” Myles answered, and gestured to the eye patch he wore. “He saved my life.”

Sir Isaac and his wife exchanged a look of wonder. Then the baronet appeared quite excited. “Doctor Johnson was my doctor. Acting the part of surgeon, of course. He took my arm off to save my life.” He gestured to the empty left sleeve of his coat. “In Toulouse, after the first surrender of the French Empire.”

While the significance of that statement meant nothing to Pippa, she saw that Myles appeared impressed. And sounded it, too, when he said, “Wellington’s last battle at Toulouse. I was at Quatre Bras. Attacked just before dawn by cannon fire.”

“Ah. I suppose a cannonball didn’t take your eye?” Sir Isaac stood relaxed, his expression almost jocular.

Myles’s tone matched, as though the aspect of losing limbs and vital organs was an everyday occurrence. She’d never seen him appear at ease when discussing his injuries. “A tree took the cannonball, the tree’s shrapnel took the eye.”

Alarmed, Pippa looked to Lady Fox, who only smiled and shrugged.

“I have no wish to keep you from visiting your friends,” Myles said, his expression amiable. “Though I would be interested in speaking with you, and Dr. Johnson, more. We are having a picnic in two days’ time. May we include you—and your friends, Lord and Lady Inglewood—in the invitation?”

“If my lady has no objections.” Sir Isaac looked to his wife for confirmation.

“I do enjoy picnics.” Her smile curved upward, and something of significance passed between the two of them, something Pippa thought looked suspiciously like a joke.

“Then it is settled.” Sir Isaac’s horse nudged him at the same moment he spoke, leading the man to cast a glare over his shoulder at the beast. “And we will be on our way. I look forward to that picnic.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” Lady Fox curtsied, and after they took their leave, both couples parted as though they had met on a street in London rather than in the middle of a meadow.

Pippa looked over her shoulder one last time, seeing the couple vanish beneath the trees. “They seemed a fine couple.”

“Indeed.” Myles sounded in good humor. “I hope they found us the same.” Then he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. Pippa met his gaze, finding a warmth there that made her heart jump. She looked away. Then saw the perfect place for a picnic.

“There.” Pippa nodded, unable to point with one hand secured by her husband and the other holding a bouquet of flowers. “Those trees, and the little pond. We should have our picnic there.”

Myles grinned and gave a short nod of agreement. “As you wish, my lady.”

His smile, the beauty of the afternoon, and the heady scent of the meadow and wildflowers, all made her head spin. Something between them had altered, and it had happened as slowly as spring turning to summer. She felt it. Though she could not name it.

On their return walk to Ambleside, Pippa purposefully kept the conversation focused on the weather, the picnic, and what she had heard—in passing—about Lord and Lady Inglewood. Myles let her ramble. In fact, he even seemed to enjoy her sudden enthusiasm.

It wasn’t until much later that evening, when Pippa feigned sleep as Myles slipped into his side of their shared bed, that she wished she had been braver. Brave enough to ask if he had sensed the change between them. And if he knew what it might mean.