Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton

Seventeen

The day of the picnic started with overcast skies and a drizzle of rain, and Myles found himself in the unenviable position of reassuring all the ladies of the house. Including his wife. He had just left his mother in the sitting room, where she vented her worries upon the pianoforte in the next room, and entered the study where his wife attempted to wear a track into the carpet.

“It must stop soon,” Pippa said, marching away from the window to where Myles sat in a chair. “Your poor mother. She worked so hard to invite everyone. I hate to think of her being disappointed.”

Myles gave his wife a measured look, narrowing his eye at her. “She is only worried of displeasing you, Pippa.”

“I told her she needn’t worry.” Pippa chewed on her bottom lip, looking through the doorway Myles had come through. “Should I tell her again?”

The music in the other room had grown into a crescendo as his mother tried to drown out the sound of the rain.

“It won’t do any good.” Myles rubbed at his temple. “The rain will clear. You can tell by how bright it remains outside.”

“Will people still come?” She wrung her hands and went back to the window, staring up at the sky. “Or will they worry over the damp grass?”

“Country folk are made of a sturdier metal than that, Pippa.” Myles came out of his chair to stand beside her, close enough that the sweet scent of her honeysuckle perfume teased him.

Sleeping next to her the last three nights, pretending he didn’t lay awake wishing he knew how to tell her what he felt, had left him tired and mellow. He wanted very much to take her into his arms to soothe away her worries. But they had barely touched more than hands since their arrival at Ambleside. Unless Myles counted the way his wife tucked her feet up against him every night.

He smiled to himself at that thought, and Pippa turned in time to catch the expression upon his face. “Why are you smiling?” she asked, aghast. “Your mother is playing out her frustration in the next room, and you are smiling? Horrid man.”

That only made his smile wider. “Pippa, my darling, the rain will stop. I have no doubt of it.”

She continued glaring at him, the expression more endearing than threatening. It took a great deal of self-control to keep from leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. Instead, he contented himself with tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

Pippa’s eyes widened, and she tipped her chin up the better to search his gaze. “You seem…pensive.”

Myles shrugged. “I am at ease, that is all.” All he would permit himself to say.

“More at ease than I’ve ever seen you.” She raised her hand, hesitated, then brushed lightly at his shoulder with her fingertips.

That certainly isn’t what she meant to do. Had she been about to touch his cheek?

She sighed and lowered her gaze to his cravat, which made her frown. “You need a valet, Myles.” Now both her hands came toward him, and suddenly his wife was smoothing and tucking at his neckcloth. Her fingertips brushing the skin beneath his chin, the weight of one palm pressing against his chest.

Myles gulped and took hold of both her wrists, stilling her hands. “You needn’t trouble yourself,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. He released her gently. She didn’t lower her hands back to her sides, though. Instead, she rested both of them on the lapels of his coat. She frowned up at him.

“Are you catching a cold?” Then she did touch him, purposefully, placing her bare palm against his forehead. Then one of his cheeks. The one with the scarring. She didn’t even seem to notice the oddity of that touch. Instead, she scrutinized him as carefully as any doctor would a prospective patient.

He leaned toward her. “I’ve caught something,” he murmured. Her eyebrows raised in alarm, and her hand still rested on his cheek. Her lips parted, and Myles’s gaze dropped there. She swayed toward him as her eyes drifted closed. As though she knew—and welcomed the fact—that he wanted to kiss her.

An alarming trumpeting sound made them both leap away from each other. Winston came clattering into the room, a child upon his back and another hanging on to his arm. “And so the mighty elephant parades through the jungles of India,” he said in a booming voice.

Myles wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank or strangle his brother. He’d been close to kissing his wife—to making a fool of himself and laying his feelings before her while he was half-asleep. The results of such a thing would be disastrous this early in their relationship. Even if they had spent the last several days in one another’s company.

“Papa, look! It’s stopped raining,” the child on Winston’s neck shouted, pointing at the window behind Pippa and Myles.

Pippa spun around to look out the window, too. “It has stopped,” she said, bouncing on her toes. “Oh, this is wonderful. I must tell your mother.” The playing of the pianoforte in the room across the hall hadn’t stopped, though Myles had somehow tuned out his mother’s private concert.

“I told you,” Myles said softly, admiring his wife’s figure as she stood before the window. When she turned, eyes aglow with happiness, he sighed like a lovesick fool. “Better hurry and let her know, before she begins playing Beethoven. Austrian composers are a sure sign of melancholy in this household.”

With a quick smile cast up at him, Pippa nodded and hurried from the room, darting around Winston and the children now calling for him to be a bear rather than an elephant.

“Bears hibernate,” Winston explained, falling onto a couch. “And then they eat anyone foolish enough to wake them before winter’s end.” He growled impressively, making the children squeal and run from the room, proclaiming that a bear was going to eat them. Winston chuckled and looked up at Myles. The amusement turned to surprise. “You looked perturbed, brother. Is something wrong?”

Myles shook his head and turned away, crossing his arms as he stared out the window. Nothing was wrong. He’d nearly kissed his wife. She’d seemed perfectly happy with the idea, too. Until an Indian elephant interrupted them. Perhaps that was for the best. Because kissing, though he imagined it to be a rather heavenly pursuit, wouldn’t be nearly enough with Pippa.

Winston clapped a hand on Myles’s shoulder, surprising him enough that he ducked and turned, pulling Winston’s wrist behind his back and holding it there. “How did you move from the couch without making a sound?” Myles asked, holding Winston still.

“I made plenty of noise.” Winston grunted. “You are simply too besotted by your own wife to pay heed to anything else.”

That was likely true. Too besotted and lacking in sleep. Myles released his brother. “A clergyman ought not sneak up on people.”

“And a former soldier ought to be brave enough to tell a woman he loves her.” Winston narrowed his eyes at Myles, daring his younger brother to deny the supposition. “She hasn’t any idea how you feel, does she? As pleasant as you two are to each other in front of the rest of the family, there is enough delicacy in how you two act when you think no one is looking for me to guess—”

“Winston.” Myles had to cut him off. He looked to the still-open doorway. “This isn’t any of your affair.” He rubbed at his temple. “Please. Leave it alone.”

Winston folded his arms and affected a superior expression. “I am right, aren’t I? Heavens, man. If your wife doesn’t know that you love her, how did you ever convince someone of her status and wealth to marry you in the first place?”

It wasn’t his brother’s business. No one needed to know the circumstances that tied Myles and Pippa together in matrimony. The few who knew where back in London. “It doesn’t matter,” Myles muttered, turning away.

“I think it must.” Winston didn’t need to put a hand on him to stop Myles from leaving the room. Not when he said, “Because you matter, Myles. To all of us.”

Myles glared through the open doorway, then closed the door. With his back still to his brother, Myles said quietly, “I am well enough, Winnie. You needn’t concern yourself with me.”

“You aren’t getting out of this by using that old nickname. I’m a vicar now. Such things don’t bother me. What about the nightmares? Do you still have them?” Winston’s voice grew nearer. “Or the episodes—the waking memories of war?”

A shudder passed through Myles. “Sometimes,” he murmured. “But that has nothing to do with Pippa—Lady Philippa.”

“It does. Because I have seen you broken before, Myles.” Winston stood directly behind Myles. “If you love your wife, and she doesn’t feel the same, I am fearful of what that will do to you. I have already seen you lose more of yourself to war and loss than anyone can bear.” Winston fell blessedly silent, but it was only for a moment before he asked, “Why did you bring her here, Myles?”

With reluctance, Myles turned around. He leaned against the closed door and rubbed at his good eye. “We are here to meet the family. And to get away from London for a time. The situation there isn’t ideal for one of my… delicate constitution.” He wrinkled his nose and lifted his gaze to his brother.

Winston snorted. “You’re no more delicate than a donkey.” But the concern in his eyes was genuine. “What aren’t you telling us about this marriage, Myles? And why can’t your wife know how you feel?”

“Leave it alone, Winnie.” Myles moved away from the door, back toward the window. The sun broke through the clouds for one glittering moment. “Know that my marriage to Lady Philippa is of significant benefit to our family. I intend to add to our sisters’ dowries. Our parents needn’t worry about them securing suitable matches.”

“The dowries? This isn’t a mercenary match for you, is it?” The disapproval in Winston’s voice smote Myles’s conscience harder than his concern did.

“No.” And that was all the answer Winston would get.

Winston stayed silent for so long that Myles wondered if his brother had left the room without him knowing. He turned around, only to find Winston still there. Staring at him.

“Loving your wife is a good thing, Myles. So long as she feels the same.” Winston’s shoulders drooped with his concern. “But you had better find out soon. Before you’ve given away so much of your heart that you cannot live without it.”

Myles could not think of a response to that. Part of the reason he hadn’t tried to tell Pippa, hadn’t even planned on it, was their contract. He’d agreed to give her complete freedom. The other part, though, had more to do with Winston’s concern. If she didn’t feel the same, Myles didn’t know how he could survive the heartbreak that would bring.

A knock on the door broke the silent tension in the room. Laurel called from the other side. “Winston? Are you in there? I need your help preparing the children for the picnic.”

“Coming, my heart.” Winston cast his brother one last worried glance. Then he opened the door and disappeared, leaving Myles’s thoughts more convoluted than before. And his feelings for Pippa remained as complicated as ever. He loved her. He wanted to protect her. Honor her. Be the reason she smiled, and laughed, and greeted each day with a vivacity that astounded him.

He wanted to be her reason to wake each day with delight and retire each night with contentment. How was he to accomplish any of that when he could not even convince himself to tell her the truth of his feelings? He hadn’t worried about it that morning when he’d woken next to her. And while they watched the rain, a quarter of an hour ago, he’d nearly kissed his wife without sparing the consequences more than a thought. Perhaps that would’ve ended in disaster, and he should thank Winston for interrupting.

Myles left the room, muttering to himself, “I need more sleep. That’s all.”

* * *

Though Lady Frederickahadn’t been an ideal mother, she had certainly prepared Pippa for one important aspect of being a grown lady—mingling. As the guest of honor at the picnic, Pippa knew her duties well. She stayed near her new mother-in-law so Lady Greenwood might introduce her with motherly pride. When Sir Isaac and Lady Fox arrived, introducing the Earl and Countess of Inglewood, Lady Greenwood was overcome with delight.

After the appropriate introductions and remarks were exchanged, and the foursome walked to one of the trees where a rug and cushions and been left for the comfort of guests, Lady Greenwood leaned in close to Philippa.

“I have never entertained anyone above a baron, my dear. You simply must help to ensure our guests’ enjoyment.”

Pippa found her husband near the pond, teaching a swarm of children how to skip rocks. As she approached, he lowered himself to be eye level with a little girl, no more than five or six years of age, and held a stone up for her to examine.

“You see how smooth and flat this one is? Rather like a dinner plate. But smaller. A dinner plate for a doll.”

The child giggled and nodded her understanding.

“Here. Put it in your hand. Yes. Now turn just so.” He put his hands on the little one’s shoulders and turned her so she stood at an angle to the pond’s edge. “Thumb on one side, as I showed you. Arm back.” The little girl stretched her arm backward, then threw her rock. It skipped three times before sinking.

“I did it! I did it! Did you see, Henry?” She tugged at a boy’s arm—a much taller boy, who grinned down at the girl, then up at Pippa’s husband.

“Thank you for helping, Mr. Cobbett.”

“I want to try,” another child said.

“Everyone go find the perfect stone, then you can try.” The children scattered, some in pairs, but most on their own, searching the ground for rocks. Myles looked up at that moment, his gaze meeting Pippa’s. His smile widened into a grin, and he came slowly to his feet. “My lady. We were having a stone-skipping lesson.”

“So I see.” Pippa looked down at her feet and picked up the first stone she saw—round and flat, like a doll’s dinner plate. She approached with the rock in hand, turning it over in her gloved palm. “Would you be so kind as to give me a lesson?”

“You?” Myles’s grin momentarily faltered, then he spoke with lightness. “And here I imagined you to be proficient in all the skills that mattered.”

Pippa shrugged, affecting a frown. “Alas, I cannot claim to be an expert with this. Won’t you show me how you perform the task, Mr. Cobbett?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and her heart skipped merrily as she neared him. Flirting with her husband seemed a brilliant idea. She liked seeing him happy. And the flustered, crooked grin he wore was reward enough for her silliness.

“Might I inspect your rock, my lady?” He held his hand out, and she placed her stone carefully in his palm. He nodded to her gloves. “It will be easier if you remove them. And less dirty.”

She looked down at the yellow fabric, then brushed away as much dirt as she could with the other hand. Then she removed her gloves. “My rock, sir? Is it the right sort of specimen?”

“A perfect stone for skipping, my lady.” He bowed as he deposited the rock in her hand again. “Now. You must stand at an angle to the water.”

“Like this?” Pippa stood at a right angle.

“No, not quite.” He came up behind her, and then laid his hands gently upon her shoulders. “Turn just so.” He carefully guided her to rotate until she stood correctly. Then his fingers encircled her wrist as he turned her hand the right way. “Here, bend your elbow. Yes. Like that.” Very slowly, he pulled back her arm. “Now, when you throw, think of making the stone hit the water at an angle. When you release, snap your wrist as you would open a fan—in one, quick movement—and let go.”

He stood so close, the buttons of his coat brushed the back of her gown. He guided her throw the motion once, slowly. When he spoke, his voice was a soft murmur in her ear. “Like this, but with speed and force behind it.”

“You make it sound simple,” she said, her voice more breathless than she expected.

He released her, taking a step back. “Go on, Pippa.”

She swallowed, then repositioned herself to skip her stone. Then, trying to return to the earlier mischief she’d felt, she looked over her shoulder. “Like this?” She threw the stone, angled perfectly, and counted the skips as they went. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

“Nine, ten…” Myles’s voice faded as her stone disappeared beneath the water. When she turned to look at him, widening her eyes innocently, he narrowed his good eye at her. “Pippa. I didn’t think you a fibber.”

She laughed, finally. “I never said I didn’t know how to do it—I merely asked you to show me how you skipped stones.”

He looked back to where her stone had sunk beneath the water. Then at her. Then he released a short, deep laugh. He held his hand out, and she laid her bare hand in his. Myles drew her closer. “You did say you grew up playing out of doors. Who taught you?”

“My great uncle, Peter Gillensford. The one who left his fortune to Elaine.” Along the shore, children had started trying their luck with their stones. None had returned for another lesson. But they all laughed and giggled. Myles had done that. “Do you think I might borrow you from your pupils?”

“As they have all devoted themselves to practice, I doubt anyone will mind.” Myles allowed her to lead him away from the pond, toward Sir Isaac’s party. “Look who came.”

“Ah, and Doctor Johnson has joined them.” He nodded to a tall, thin gentlemen with a lovely woman on his arm. “I would especially like to introduce the two of you, if you have no objections.”

“None at all. I very much want to thank him for saving my husband’s life.” Pippa squeeze Myles’s hand and glanced up to see him looking at her with a softness she had begun seeing since their arrival in the country.

The afternoon passed in a blur of sunshine and laughter. The men ambled away from the women after the food and lemonade had been mostly consumed. Myles had taken Lord Inglewood and Sir Isaac to try their hand at the lawn games his family had provided. Pippa sat content in the shade between Lady Inglewood and Lady Fox. The three of them had spoken enough to have found connections between them, though tenuous. But it was enough for them to converse together comfortably.

“I have heard of the hospital your brother wants to build,” Lady Fox said during a lull in their conversation. She glanced from Lady Inglewood to Pippa. “Sir Isaac wanted to attend the ball in London last month, but we had already withdrawn to the country.”

“Oh, the Gillensford hospital for soldiers?” Lady Inglewood sat straighter. “I had nearly forgotten—Isaac mentioned it in passing to me when they first returned home.” Lady Inglewood was the younger sister of the baronet, a connection that had been made immediately apparent to Pippa given their kindly-meant teasing of one another.

“We have great hopes for the hospital.” Pippa turned her gaze across the pond, to the other side, where the men were heard laughing. She had met her husband at that ball. Something she didn’t intend to announce, though she grew increasingly grateful he had come that night. “Myles is devoted to the project. He has seen so much sorrow since the war. I know he hopes the hospital will provide a safe, comfortable place for soldiers to recover from their wounds. Those that are readily apparent, and otherwise.”

Lady Fox and Lady Inglewood exchanged a significant glance. “I know precisely what you mean,” Lady Fox murmured. She held a fan and wafted herself languidly as she spoke. “Given the way your husband feels, and the significant wounds he acquired, I am perhaps right when I suppose that he has nightmares?”

Pippa stiffened, a defense of Myles rising to her tongue, but then she saw the sympathy and knowledge in the other woman’s eyes. And in Lady Inglewood’s. “Does Sir Isaac…?”

“Things are getting better,” Lady Fox murmured, looking into the distance. “At least, I sometimes think they are. I should not be surprised if his dreams stay part of our lives forever. No one can live through such darkness without carrying the memory of it with them.”

Lady Inglewood laid her hand on her sister-in-law’s, then smiled at Pippa. “I do not think my brother would have come away from his home for this visit without Lady Fox’s support. The love of a wife makes all the difference in a man’s healing. But then, new as you are to your marriage, you have likely already discovered that truth.”

Startled, Pippa lowered her gaze to the rug on which they sat. “Yes, of course. I do all I can to support my husband.” But had she? Was escaping from London enough?

“The most difficult thing for me, in those early months of marriage, was convincing my husband that I loved him just as he was.” Lady Fox spoke with conviction and a determined tilt of her chin. “Our Society lays such importance on appearance, and on our gentlemen publicly eschewing all emotion. Isaac thought himself broken and therefore unworthy of my love. He didn’t think he could tell me things without causing me pain, or worse, making me pity him.”

Could Myles think such things about himself? He had said things…had apologized for things that she had dismissed in the past. Though she had compassion for her husband, was it enough? If someone thought themselves broken beyond repair—as Sir Isaac had—what would reassure them? If Myles hid how he felt, she could not help him.

“England needs the hospital,” Lady Inglewood said, conviction in her words. “I hope your husband will discuss the particulars with mine. If we can help in any way, I should like to. For Isaac’s sake, and everyone like him.”

Pippa agreed with them, then allowed the conversation to drift from that topic even while she made up her mind to speak to her husband. As soon as she had opportunity to do so. He needed to know how she felt. At least—some of what she felt.

A roar of laughter from the other side of the pond drew her gaze, and Pippa saw her husband among the laughing men. And then he looked at her. Despite the distance between them, she felt the moment their eyes connected. Her cheeks warmed as he touched the brim of his hat.

She shivered, despite the warmth of the day, and diverted herself with her fan. When she glanced up again, Myles still watched her.

And she wondered at the connection that had grown between them.