Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton
Eighteen
The night after the picnic, Myles delayed his rest as long as he could. He wanted to be certain Pippa had ample time to dress for bed and slip beneath the covers before he entered the room. Then she could pretend to sleep, and they could both pretend it meant nothing that he climbed into bed beside her.
They hadn’t discussed the arrangement since that first night, when he woke from the nightmare. It was something they both understood. And if it meant he slept comfortably, next to the woman he loved, Myles didn’t mind it at all.
When he entered the room, as quiet as ever, Myles paused in the doorway. The bed remained empty. For a horrible moment, he thought Pippa had disappeared. Left him. Went to sleep in another room, somehow. The thought chilled him, right through to his heart.
“Myles.”
Her voice brought his gaze to her, where she sat in one of the chairs before the fire. The flames were low, and the shadows many. His beautiful wife waited for him, with a night-rail over her gown and her hair plaited down one shoulder.
“Pippa.” He closed the door carefully behind him. “I didn’t think you would still be awake or…up.” It seemed their silent understanding wasn’t to remain silent any longer. “Do you wish me to leave for another hour?”
She shook her head, and for one moment Myles’s heart skipped with hope. Would she invite him to stay? Had something changed—did Pippa want more at last?
“I wanted to speak with you in private. I thought there might not be a better time for such a conversation than now.”
Despite his disappointment, Myles tried for levity in his response. “People are unlikely to interrupt us in our bedroom.” Though the implication of that statement made him wince, he cleared his throat and approached the chair opposite hers. “I am at your service, Pippa. What is it you wish to discuss?” And why was she already dressed for bed? Her bare feet peeked out from beneath the hem of her white linen gown. He cleared his throat and sat down.
“Something that Lady Fox said today, actually.”
“Ah. I liked the Foxes. And Inglewood. They are excellent company.” And he hadn’t though it possible for them to offer offense to his wife, but why else would Pippa wear such a solemn expression?
With her eyebrows drawn together, and an almost pained smile, she said, “I like them, too. Very much. Lady Fox had much to say on the matter of the hospital.”
That didn’t strike Myles as any cause for concern. “As did her husband. I promised to write out all the details and send them that information along with how they might contact your brother.” He tapped the arm of the chair with the fingers of his left hand. “What else did the baronet’s wife say?”
Pippa shifted in her chair, clasping and unclasping her hands. Then she played with the ribbon at the end of her plaited hair and lowered her gaze. “She said something interesting about Sir Isaac. About what it was like, in the early months of their marriage. I had the feeling she wanted to give me advice. It seems he is also plagued by nightmares from his time at war.”
“I am aware of that.” Though it surprised him that his wife would divulge such a thing to a near stranger. And then, “Did you tell her I suffer the same?”
She lowered her gaze. “We spoke in confidence, Myles. One wife to another, about husbands who were wounded in war.” She chewed her bottom lip, a nervous habit he found endearing. Despite the breach of his privacy.
“I suppose finding herself with someone in a similar situation was unusual.” He could allow for that, despite the somewhat sick feeling in his stomach. “You said she offered advice.” He didn’t mean the words to sound clipped, yet he heard them that way.
Pippa folded her arms across her midsection. “Yes. Which brings me to the important part of this conversation. You must know, Myles, how much I admire you. I find you kind, and I feel safe when I am with you. You are a capable man.”
He stared at her, confused. “A capable man?” he repeated. “What does that mean, exactly?” And why did hearing her say that make him feel distinctly incapable?
“Botheration,” she muttered, looking heavenward as though beseeching the ceiling to open and the right words to drop in her lap. “What I am trying to say is that I do not feel—that is, I do not want you to feel any less of a man because of your injuries. Physical or otherwise.”
She had not truly spoken such a ridiculous sentence. Had she? Myles stared at his wife, incredulous. Every insecurity he felt about his missing eye, his scars, his nightmares, tumbled forward to snatch at her words and turn them over and over. Dissatisfied with them. Recognizing only one thing.
He spoke with a lowered voice. “Am I to thank you for that speech? Or for your pity?”
That made her dark blue eyes widen and glitter in the firelight. “It isn’t pity. It’s the truth.”
“And did Lady Fox advise you to say those same words? I somehow cannot imagine her encouraging such an indelicate phrasing.” Myles stood and walked to the hearth, glaring into the embers while he put both hands through his hair.
“Of course not. Any fault in my words are my own.” Pippa remained in the chair, as still as stone. “I did not mean to offend you. I felt it important for me to tell you that I find nothing lacking in your person or character.”
“It feels as though the opposite must be true,” he muttered, glaring at the embers in the hearth. They grew dimmer, the fire smaller. His hope followed suit. “Why are you telling me this?” He turned slowly to face her.
Pippa looked away from him. “Lady Fox said—she made me concerned for you. That you might think yourself broken. That you might need convincing that you are a whole man, worthy of affection and friendship.”
“Affection and friendship.” Those words were inadequate for what he wanted from her. Perhaps she meant to tell him that was all he would ever receive. He had more to say. So much more. But he settled for proving her thoughtless words wrong. “I am broken, Pippa. I am scarred. I am half-blind. My memories are washed in blood and smoke. When the palace celebrated the king’s birthday with fireworks—do you remember?—I cowered in the corner of my room when the first went off near my apartments. I didn’t even know I possessed such a weakness until that moment.”
She stared at him as he spoke, her eyes growing larger. “I didn’t know. But that doesn’t mean you’re—”
Myles laughed quietly. Darkly. Interrupting her. “It does. A clang of pots on the street. Fireworks during a celebration. Sudden noises. Someone sneaking up behind me. All those things send me backward in time, to the killing fields. To the groans of men dying all around me. To the explosion that took several of my regiment—my friends—away from this earth. And you want to tell me you think I am capable?”
Friendship. Affection. Watered-down words, flavorless as thinned wine.
“I hate for you to feel that you do not belong.” Pippa stood at last, her whole frame trembling in her agitation. “That you cannot be part of something that matters. Because that isn’t the truth.”
There it was. He knew well enough what mattered to her. She’d told him, since the beginning. “That I cannot be part of Society, you mean?” She stared at him blankly, confirming his suspicion. His shoulders fell. “I hate London. I only live there because I can afford the rent. I can eat at a club. I can pretend to be a gentleman, when in reality I have nothing except my pension to my name. A pension bought with my flesh and my soul.”
Her face grew pale. Was it his admission about London or his graphic language that she objected to? And why did he feel the twisted desire to push her to greater discomfort? Likely to ignore the hole opening in his heart.
“That is why we left London, isn’t it? You pretended it was for you. To avoid the gossip and rumor. But in reality, we were fleeing from Society’s eyes the moment I stumbled into memory on the street.”
Her mouth fell open, and her protest stumbled from her lips. “That isn’t true at all. Yes, I worried for you. That isn’t the entire reason—”
“Ah.” His heart fractured. “But it is a large part of the reason.”
Though her words were defensive, her tone sounded anxious. “I didn’t know what it would do to you, to be surrounded by crowds all the time. You never warned me, except at the ball, with your headache.” She approached him, hands outstretched and palms up. “I thought you needed a respite. Time in the country, with your family.”
Looking down at her hands, then lower to her bare toes, Myles swallowed back the bitterness of disappointment. “You would have preferred to stay in London for the end of the Season.” And the worst of it. “Even with the gossip.”
She came closer, her voice soft and pleading. “Myles.”
“Tell me, Pippa.”
Her answer came out with a deep sigh. “Yes.” Her hands lowered, and she spoke woodenly. “I wanted to stay in London until the Season ended. I had never fully enjoyed my time in London before. I am aware of how selfish that sounds.”
Myles nodded once. “Thank you for telling me the truth. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He walked to the door, his steps quick. He had his hand on the latch when she called his name, and when he looked over his shoulder he read the confusion in her lovely face. “I am sorry I forced you out to the country, Pippa. I am sorry you regret marrying a man as broken as I am. Because I am not whole or capable. But someday, I hope to be worthy of more than just your friendship.” It was the nearest thing to a confession of his feelings that he could summon.
Turning away from her, Myles left before she said anything else. He went directly down the stairs and out the door. He needed to walk. And think. Away from Pippa, Winston, his parents, and anyone else trying to convince him that he was as sound in mind and body now as he had ever been. Because they were all wrong. They didn’t know anything about him.
His wife had wanted freedom to attend events in London, to explore the city, to come and go as she pleased when she pleased. She needed a husband to give her wings, not shackle her to his reclusive needs. Why had he married Pippa when she had made it clear what she wanted?
Because he hadn’t thought it would threaten his heart with breaking when he realized she didn’t want him.
Could he change her mind? If she could see the broken pieces of him and still admire him, could she love him? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know how to find out. So he went into the darkness beneath the trees and paced. Marching down one path and then another. Until he grew too tired to walk. Too tired to think. And he fell asleep beneath a tree.