Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton

Five

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, a man of slight stature and a distinct lack of hair atop his head, intimidated no one upon their first introduction to him. But Philippa had two prior meetings with the solicitor and given the way his mustache twitched upward with a smile, he had a favorable enough impression of her. She was glad she had worn a walking suit of dark blue, hopefully giving her the air of someone much older and mature. Not everyone took young ladies seriously.

“Lady Philippa.” He bowed as she and her maid entered his office, then gestured to one of the more comfortable chairs across the desk from him. “And Miss…?” He met the maid’s eyes with a kindly expression.

“This is Bessie Lambert, my maid.” And the only servant she trusted not to tattle to her mother, brothers, or sister-in-law. Two days had passed since the newspaper published its ugly piece of gossip about her. She’d undergone two days of her mother’s worries and her brother’s frustration before daring to sneak out of Adam’s house on her own.

“Miss Lambert, won’t you please sit here, next to your mistress? Ah, wonderful. I trust my secretary will know to bring tea.” He looked up through the still open doorway and nodded at the young man who had shown the women in. “Carver?”

“Of course, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk.” Carver closed the door behind them, leaving Philippa and Bessie seated across the desk from the wiry solicitor.

His mustache twitched as he sat down, and he lifted a pair of spectacles from his desk and fit them on his nose. “Lady Philippa. It is lovely to see you again. Last time was at your brother’s wedding, was it not? A beautiful day.” He chuckled, looking every bit as pleased as if he’d arranged their match himself. He’d certainly had a part in it.

“Yes, it was a lovely day. Adam has told me that he has worked with you on a few contracts since then, and he has nothing but positive things to say about you.”

Tuttle-Kirk’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “Not always the case, was it? Yes. Your brother is a fine gentleman, just as his great-uncle hoped. I have heard marvelous things about what he and his wife get up to these days. Opening orphanages and hospitals. They are veritable saints.” He sighed happily and joined his hands together on the table. “But none of this explains your presence in my office today, my lady. Which makes me most curious, indeed.”

A knock on the door forestalled Philippa’s answer, and the young man came in pushing a cart with a plain, dark blue tea service into the room. The cups were all gold-rimmed, but otherwise the set was most unremarkable. The assistant withdrew again, and Mr. Tuttle-Kirk offered to pour out for all of them once the door had shut.

“Here you are, my lady. You did say cream, did you not? Ah, and this is for you, Miss Lambert. Don’t be shy. Help yourself to the biscuits, or else Mr. Carver will eat them all and have a terrible stomachache.”

Bessie hid her smile behind her tea cup but did take a biscuit. The maid likely hadn’t ever been treated so well by anyone other than Philippa and Elaine. Philippa made certain to give an approving nod to her maid before she turned back to business.

“Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, allow me to satisfy your curiosity.” She rested her teacup in its saucer. “You see, I have found myself in something of a muddle with my elder brother, Lord Montecliff. You do remember Richard, do you not?”

“I have many a memory of your brother to draw from.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s eyes darkened. “I battled wits with his solicitor for some time, over the matter of the inheritances.”

“And you came out victorious,” Philippa noted with a quickness she hoped didn’t sound overeager. “For which I am most grateful. And that is why I am here. I need someone to draw swords, figurately of course, and champion my cause in the Court of Chancery. If it goes that far.” Philippa met Bessie’s eyes and nodded. Her maid put down her tea and drew out the leather portfolio she’d carried in her basket.

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk accepted the portfolio, the wrinkles of his forehead deepening. “Are you having financial misunderstandings with your eldest brother, Lady Philippa?”

“Of a sort.” Philippa pointed to the top paper when the solicitor opened the fold of leather. “That is a copy of my father’s will, which I obtained from my brother Adam’s records. I have been unable to get my own copy from my eldest brother and his solicitor. But I’ve always known what that will entitled me to, as you will see in the fifth paragraph.”

The gentlemen wrinkled his nose as he read, his spectacles reflecting the words as he spoke them aloud. “‘…And to each of my daughters, I leave the sum of twenty-one thousand pounds. Should they marry before reaching majority, the sum will be their portion in marriage as part of the dowry agreement. Should either daughter reach the year of their majority unmarried, the executor of my estate will transfer twenty-thousand pounds into that daughter’s stewardship, that she may live in a manner befitting a lady of the household. The one thousand pounds remaining will return to the executor for his trouble.’ A handsome sum for the mere act of signing a few banknotes,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk mused. “This seems very straightforward.”

“Yes, it does.” Philippa started to relax and managed to take up her tea without her hands so much as trembling with excitement. “Except my brother, Lord Montecliff, is refusing to adhere to the terms of the will. I turned three and twenty just above two months ago.”

Eyebrows shooting up, the solicitor bent to examine the paper again. “Ah. Your brother has not released your funds to you, I take it?”

“No. Despite the fact that I have asked, several times. In person as well as in writing. I included copies of my letters to him, and his replies, beneath the will.”

With a purse of his lips, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk turned through the pages and read over each. “Yes, I see. Here he simply puts you off and reminds you to enjoy the Season. And here he tells you that you have no business with the funds that a husband should control. Yes. Ah. And here it is—as I thought. He claims he has a year from the day you turned three and twenty in which to render you that which is already yours.” He looked up at her.

Philippa nodded. “Precisely. Because of how it’s worded. “‘Should either daughter reach the year of their majority,’ is what it says. Can he be correct in his interpretations?”

“That depends. One could argue this means when you turned two and twenty, as that completed your twenty-second year and began your twenty-third.” His mustache rustled above his deep frown. “Or we could read it as your brother wishes. Though I think any sane person—which not all who sit in judgement are, I should warn you—would interpret it as both you and I have interpreted it. That the money is yours as of the day you reached three and twenty.”

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, and Philippa leaned forward in her seat. “What can be done, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk? I should like my independence from my brother and my mother, but until those funds are released, my brother is legally keeping me bound to him and his wishes.”

“And what are his wishes, Lady Philippa?” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk leaned forward, too, his eyes searching hers. “I should think he would have no reason to, if you’ll pardon the phrase, lord over you as he does. Unless he has a purpose for your future which you do not share.”

“He wants me to marry.” Philippa sat back again, looking away from the kind solicitor’s puzzled frown. “Specifically, he would like me to marry one of his cronies. The younger son of another lord. To keep our bloodline unsullied. Someone who will be pliable to my brother’s will, no doubt.”

“A nefarious plan, indeed. And I suppose your brother means to make you more desperate for the release of your funds as time goes on.”

That brought Philippa’s attention back to the solicitor. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk rose from his place behind the desk and paced to the large window overlooking the busy street below. Lawyers and solicitors made up the tenancies of the entire row. “I must ask, my lady, if you have noticed any strange behavior by your brother—or any of the family members who agree with his way of thinking—that would seem to push you toward a particular match?”

“I know my brother approves of a certain man, who has been most persistent in seeking an attachment.” Philippa raised her eyebrows. “I know he has spoken to my brother, and he does seem to show up everywhere I am invited.”

“Ah.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk turned around. He went to a drawer in his desk and opened it, then pulled out a copy of the newspaper. A newspaper she had seen far too often of late. “You speak of the mysterious Lord W.”

Her jaw dropped open, and she looked up at him in shock. “You have read about that?”

“Of course. I had to know everything about your brother’s charity ball. And this was in the same paper.” He dropped it to his desk, his frown returning. “I am not usually one for gossip, Lady Philippa, but as several days have passed, I must ask if this piece of rumor has died down or become inflamed.”

Her mother had spent all of the afternoon before writing letters to her friends in Society. Philippa had thought little of it until that moment. But if Richard and her mother worked together, as they so often did, perhaps her mother meant to stir the rumors about rather than let them be laid to rest. That she suspected her own mother of such a thing caused a sharp pain in her breast. “I have not been out much in Society this week. Yet I have the sudden feeling that you are right in thinking…in thinking that this will not be the last Lord Walter’s name and mine are bandied about together.”

Bessie appeared sympathetic as she lowered her gaze to the plate of biscuits in her lap. The maid surprised her further by speaking, her words soft in the large office. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady, but I don’t think the gossip has died down. The servants below stairs are saying it’s only a matter of time before his lordship makes you agree to a contracted marriage.”

“Thank you for speaking up, Miss Lambert.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk paced back to his chair and sat, meeting Philippa’s gaze with a hard look in his eyes. “As the servants think, so too does London. At least, in my experience, that’s how it goes.”

Philippa rubbed at her temples before remembering herself, adjusting her posture and affecting an air of calm that she certainly didn’t feel. “I would like to remove myself from my brother’s protection and have the financial security my father intended for me as soon as possible. What, in your expert opinion, ought I to do?”

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk looked down at the papers upon his desk, and Philippa appreciated the long moment’s silence as he considered the situation. When he spoke, his voice was gentle even as his words were firm. “You send a legal notice to your brother, written by a man of law whom you trust, informing him to make the full payment of your inheritance to you or else you will take him to court for a very public trial.”

“Would you please represent my interests, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk?”

His smile briefly appeared beneath his mustache. “Of course, Lady Philippa. I am honored that you’ve asked.” Then he went back to his more serious mien. “That will begin the proceedings. Knowing your brother from my past interactions with him, I do not believe he will easily acquiesce to your request. So I must prepare you to do battle before the judgement bar, my lady.”

A sickly, sinking feeling took hold in her stomach. “I understand.”

“And then we are at the mercy of a judge, who might well side with your brother, meaning you will have no access to those funds until your twenty-fourth birthday.”

Philippa wilted, her shoulders falling and her calm disintegrating a little more. “I see. All while the public watches, no doubt, as my brother tries to bend us all to his will.” She closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, not caring about imperfect posture. “If this is the only way, then I am prepared to go forward. I am certain Adam and Elaine will let me stay with them until it’s all over.”

Her mother really had no say over what Philippa did, given that Philippa had come of age, but she had wanted to preserve that relationship as much as possible. Even if it meant letting her mother drag her from ballroom to ballroom, and salon to salon, questing after a social status Philippa didn’t even care to possess.

Her hands trembled in her lap, and she hurriedly folded them on top of one another. She couldn’t lose heart yet. Despite her realization that her mother and brother could both make her life quite miserable when they found out how determined she was to avoid marriage to Lord Walter—or anyone like him—and gain her freedom.

“There may be one other way,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk said, sounding most reluctant. When she lifted her eyes to peer at him, he was grimacing. “I am loathe to propose the idea to you, Lady Philippa, given that you are attempting to gain independence. But if, perhaps, there is a gentleman to whom you would not mind attaching yourself to through marriage, that would put an end to anyone else deciding your fate for you.”

At once she remembered when Mr. Cobbett had appeared at the townhouse, paper in hand, visage serious. When she’d thought, for one absurd moment, that he’d come to propose marriage, to save her reputation like some hero from a gothic novel. Thank goodness Elaine had said something before Philippa answered him.

But what if that had been the case? Was there any gentleman of her acquaintance who might take her cause up as his own and marry her without expectation of gaining control over Philippa herself?

“You are thinking of someone,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk said, and Bessie inhaled sharply.

“Perhaps.” Philippa glanced at her maid, then looked up at Mr. Tuttle-Kirk. “I do not know the gentleman very well. Yet. And I am not certain how to make inquiries…”

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk withdrew a pencil and sheet of paper from his desk and slid both across to her. “Write down his name and anything else you know. I can have a full report ready for you on Monday. I’ll also have a draft of the letter to send to your brother, and a draft of a marriage contract for you to look over to decide if that option is worth your pursuit.”

Philippa’s heart raced as she picked up the pencil. Was this at all wise? Could she not think of another man whom she might trust? Yet she wrote Mr. Cobbett’s name, what she knew of his military career, and a brief description of him. Then she folded the paper and handed it back to Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, her hand no longer trembling.

His blue eyes met hers, an unexpected warmth and kindness within them. “Take heart, Lady Philippa. I will bend my mind to this issue, and I will not rest until you are happily settled. One way or another.”

“Thank you, sir.” She measured her breaths, regained control of her calm, and managed a smile. “I am glad I came to you.”

“As am I.”

She and Bessie left shortly after. If anyone asked where they had gone, Bessie knew to report that her ladyship had needed a walk in the park to clear her head. Philippa intended to plead a headache and hide in her room. But Monday was four days away, and she doubted she could hide away the whole time she waited for Mr. Tuttle-Kirk to gather his forces in preparation for battle.

Which meant she might have to get creative in her avoidance of her duties as a dowager countess’s daughter.