Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton
Six
Mr. and Mrs. Moreton kept a handsome home above the law offices where Moreton worked. Myles had always admired the large rooms with their wide windows looking over a quiet street. He especially liked when the couple invited him to take dinner with them. It meant further preservation of his funds and a pleasant evening spent with people he held in high esteem and affection.
Emmeline Moreton kept a well-laid table. As it was only the three of them dining together, they were always informal, too. Which meant Myles didn’t need to stuff the two smallest fingers of his left-hand glove. He could simply leave the gloves off, and not concern himself over who might stare at him.
“I’m quite pleased that you went to Mr. Gillensford,” Moreton said. “It sounds as though you have found a productive distraction from your busy schedule.” He chuckled.
Myles allowed his friend the jest, and he even smiled about it himself. “I cannot say I am overjoyed at the prospect of interacting with humanity again.” He shrugged and put down his fork. “The Gillensfords make it more bearable. They have asked me to take charge of a medical advisory committee. My assignment is to bring together doctors who have treated soldiers and compile their recommendations for continuing treatments in a hospital.”
The enormity of the task weighed upon him. Nothing had induced him to seek any company, outside of the Moretons and occasionally his family, since his return from war. Yet for how daunting it seemed, the knowledge that he worked to better the situations of men injured for their country kept him hopeful.
“That is marvelous, Myles.” Emmeline gave the signal for a waiting manservant to take away the meal. “I am pleased that you have become so deeply involved. I am on Mrs. Gillensford’s committee, soliciting donations for the interior of the hospital. Bedding, linens, even artwork. We believe a pleasant environment is necessary for the speedy recovery of the mind and the body.”
His throat tightened as Myles nodded his agreement with her.
Myles had spent hours a day staring at a blank wall after he’d moved into his rented rooms in London. He had lacked motivation to do much more than exist. Then Moreton and Emmeline had come to visit for the first time. Myles had been embarrassed at the poverty in which he lived. They had seen his bare walls and floors. And though they hadn’t commented upon the state of things, Myles had made up his mind that he was unworthy of their notice. He’d sunk into a deep melancholy when they’d left that night.
The next morning, as he sat and stared once more at the blank wall, Emmeline had arrived with her servants, carrying two small carpets and three framed paintings. Where the things came from, she never said. But she put the largest painting on the bare wall. It depicted a scene in the country of a hillside dotted with sheep and a man walking with a rake slung over his shoulder.
That simple scene became something Myles studied every day. And somehow, the peace of the artwork transposed itself to his heart. Inexplicably, it made things better.
“I do hope the rest of London can get behind this hospital idea,” Moreton said as they all rose from the table in the small dining room. “The Gillensfords’ efforts haven’t had as much attention of late, with all the fuss over Mr. Gillensford’s sister.”
“Lady Philippa?” Myles blurted with some surprise.
Emmeline looked over her shoulder as they went through to the modest and comfortable sitting room. “Yes, the poor dear. I don’t suppose you would’ve heard, or read about her in the paper? You do not strike me as someone who reads the gossipy bits of the newssheets regularly.”
They seated themselves, the couple on their usual couch where Moreton could put his arm around his wife’s shoulder or easily hold her hand. Myles sat in the chair nearest the hearth, his left side to the fire and away from his hosts.
“A gentleman wouldn’t interest himself in gossip, my dear.” Moreton crossed his legs and leaned closer to his wife.
She tutted at him. “Gentlemen are the very worst gossips. I have heard what they put in those betting books of theirs at White’s and Boodle’s. Everyone has. I should think gambling over gossip is worse than merely gossiping.”
Remembering the deep blue eyes of Lady Philippa, Myles recalled that the woman had seemed out of sorts when he called at the Gillensford home the week before. “What fuss has there been made over Lady Philippa?” he asked with genuine interest. He well remembered that when he asked after her health, she had said she was “Well enough, all things considered.” He hadn’t thought she referred to more than her unfortunate incident in the garden with the popinjay.
“Oh, that.” Emmeline settled against her husband, apparently forgetting she had been lecturing him on the ills of gossiping men. “It’s quite awful. There was that first article in the paper, of course, about her slipping into the garden with a lord.”
Myles’s breath hitched. He knew a great deal about that incident.
“Apparently, her mother’s friends are spreading it abroad that she is a terrible flirt. Lady Darwimple was quite vocal at some ball or other last evening, saying that she had warned Lady Fredericka for ages about Lady Philippa’s independent nature.”
Moreton’s eyebrows drew down sharply as he stared at his wife. “How do you know all of this?”
She barely turned her head to answer him, lowering her eyelashes prettily. “My dear husband, how does one know anything in London? The papers and the servants.”
His curiosity unsated, Myles drew the conversation back quickly before the married couple could use the opportunity to flirt with each other. Again. “Surely an independent nature isn’t something to cause an uproar in Society.”
“It certainly is for an unmarried young woman,” Moreton said, settling more deeply into his cushions. “Though plenty of married men will tell you it’s not at all uncommon among their wives.”
Emmeline glared at her husband and snatched one of the cushions from behind his back, making him protest. “There is nothing wrong with a woman who is capable of making decisions on her own.”
Sensing the precariousness of staying on topic, Myles hurried to speak before his friend could respond. “An article in the paper and a rude peeress despising independence in younger women don’t seem like enough to cause an issue or take away from what the Gillensfords are trying to accomplish.”
“One would think.” Moreton glared mockingly at his wife. “Do tell us, my darling, how any of this puts plans for the hospital in shadow?”
“The article that appeared today would explain it best.” She rose, making her husband’s arm drop suddenly, and went to a table near the window. She opened a drawer and pulled out a folded pamphlet. “This appeared in one of those little things children sell on the corner. It’s one of those satirical drawings. What does one call them, Joshua?”
“Comical caricature, or something.” Moreton folded his arms and made eye contact with Myles. “I’ve heard people in the business are calling them cartoons now. That will never catch on. Made-up words never do.”
“It’s French, isn’t it?” Emmeline muttered, then dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. She turned the pages of the newspaper as she walked toward Myles. “Ah-ha. Here it is. Midway down the page, on the left.” She handed the newssheet to Myles and tapped the spot.
Taking the paper, Myles rose and stood closer to the hearth and a lamp upon the mantel. Having only one good eye, and standing in the semi-dark room, conditions were not favorable for reading. He stared hard at the paper until the words came into focus, then read aloud. “‘Readers may find it interesting that Lady P. of last week’s scandal is yet refusing the suit of the most eligible Lord W., though all know it is only a matter of time before she capitulates for the good of her reputation and her family’s future endeavors.’” He folded the offending piece of writing in half. “They mean the hospital, surely.”
“That is how I interpreted it.” Emmeline reseated herself beside her husband and folded her hands in her lap. “The poor girl. The snobs of Society would love to see her capitulate, so they can congratulate themselves by saying ‘I told you this is how it would end.’ And if whomever is shaming Lady Philippa tries to use her supposed lack of virtue as a reason to withdraw support from the Gillensfords…”
“Her supposed disregard of honorable behavior will reflect badly upon her brother and sister-in-law.” Myles cast the paper into another chair, glowering at it. “This is yet another example of why, by principle, I avoid people entirely. Surely this whole ridiculous drama will be forgotten in a week.”
“Unlikely, given that Lady Fredericka and her friends are discussing little else.” Emmeline looked up at her husband. “I wish I knew how to help. Mrs. Gillensford must be at her wit’s end, with her horrid mother-in-law and Lady Philippa living beneath her roof at this moment. I imagine there isn’t a great deal of peace in that household.”
Myles said nothing, but retook his seat, and soon enough the couple across from him were speaking on other matters. And flirting rather outrageously, considering he was still present. But he settled in, content to remain in their company for an hour more before returning to his rented rooms.
When he turned in that evening, he thought more about Lady Philippa’s predicament. The night of the ball, he’d left the hotel’s grand halls for the cool air of the gardens. He’d had no thought of playing rescuer to anyone, let alone the sister of the host and hostess. Yet he had been there, near the fountain, in exactly the right place to hear the dishonorable Lord Walter threaten a woman. A woman whose identity he did not even know until he had pulled her from the darkness between the hedges.
Lady Philippa had appeared shocked to see him. And exceedingly relieved. Was there more he could have done to help preserve her reputation? They had only encountered a few people on their way back into the ballroom, and Lady Philippa had made a point of gaining their attention. Someone had spread rumors they knew to be false, but why? To sully the good name of a woman and her family? Or, more likely, to find some way to turn the situation to their advantage.
Lord Walter himself became suspect.
Sleep did not come at once that night. When he finally drifted off into a fitful slumber, Myles was as disgusted with High Society as ever. The hauteton cared for nothing and no one, except when it came to climbing higher upon their pile of wealth and self-importance.
Upon waking the next morning, Myles prepared himself for the day as usual. He dressed, made a few notations in his diary, and then went out in search of breakfast at his usual spot. His mind never strayed far from Lady Philippa’s dilemma, and he searched his paper with an eye for the small squares of ink devoted to sharing the on-dits of Society.
He grew hopeful until he found a new entry that had to have something to do with Lady Philippa. It is rumored that a certain sought-after young lady will not appear at any more of this Season’s events, marred as her reputation has become through unscrupulous flirtations.
Who takes joy in writing such drivel?Myles glared at the paper and laid it down in an empty chair at his table. The sort of person delighting in Lady Philippa’s circumstances, and trying to spin a story from whatever hardship the lady faced, belonged in polite Society no more than a rabid cur.
Myles went back to his breakfast, trying to enjoy the now-cold sausages and beans. Today, the cook had burned the toast rather than the sausage. An interesting change.
The bell over the door jangled, the sound familiar to him enough that he never bothered checking to see which regular had entered the cafe. Even if that did make it easier for Moreton to creep up on him. When the chair directly across from him scraped against the floor, Myles didn’t even look up.
“If Emmeline has sent you to spy upon me again, I beg you inform her that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
“One would hope, given your age.”
The voice that answered was not at all the one he expected. He immediately stood up, nearly knocking his chair backward as it made a horrible screeching noise sliding across the floor. “Lady Philippa.” He bowed, then realized he still held a fork in one hand. He dropped it on his plate. “I did not see you come inside.”
Her dark brown eyes gleamed with good humor, and the curve of her lips softened. She wore a pale green gown and jacket with epaulets, and a small tricorn hat pinned atop her head at a jaunty angle. As though the military style were a fashion one could command rather than a necessary uniform. Of course, she certainly looked far better than most he had seen don such a style.
“I am sorry to have disturbed your meal. I thought I might join you, if you do not mind. There is something I should very much like to discuss with you.” She looked over her shoulder and gestured. A young woman dressed in darker clothing and a modest straw bonnet curtsied, then withdrew to another corner of the cafe. “My maid will likely welcome a respite from following me all over Town.”
Then Lady Philippa sat down, not waiting for him to get her chair or accept her offer of companionship. He looked to where the proprietor of the cafe stood, eyes wide and staring at the most finely dressed person who had ever entered his establishment.
“Would you, er, care for something to drink, my lady? Or eat?” Myles offered.
“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” She daintily removed her gloves and laid them atop each other on the worn blue tablecloth.
Myles made eye contact with the proprietor again and mouthed the word tea. The aproned man nodded quickly and disappeared through the doors to his kitchen. The confused fellow likely didn’t have any idea how to serve someone so obviously above his own class.
“Lady Philippa.” Myles reached behind him to drag his chair forward again, then sat down with some measure of decorum. “I cannot remember ever seeing you in this establishment before.”
She folded her hands before her on the table. “I have never been here before.” She glanced around the room, then to the large window near them. “I understand you frequent this cafe.”
He stared at her, trying to take her measure and failing. Miserably. “I am here most mornings. Though not many people could have told you that.”
“No. Not many.” She turned to look at him again, and the pink in her cheeks darkened. “As I said, I have something important to discuss with you. And I do not imagine you are going to enjoy parts of this conversation. I think I must get the unpleasantness out of the way before anything else.”
Myles narrowed his eye at her, utterly flummoxed. What could the woman mean, seeking him out? They were strangers to one another. Yet she knew where to find him and had some matter of business to discuss with him. It had to regard the evening of the ball. Did she perhaps wish him to refute the rumors in some way? Would that not only give them greater credence?
“If that is what you feel is best, my lady.” Myles glanced again at the maid in the corner, noting she had taken out a book to read rather than spend her time gawking at her mistress. That either meant the maid knew what was going on or that she didn’t care to know. Myles wagered on the former. “What unpleasant thing do you have to say to me?”
Lady Philippa’s chin tipped upward, and he saw her defenses go up the way one might raise a shield. The merriment in her eyes faded, and her lovely face grew pale. “I requested that my solicitor investigate you so I could learn more about the sort of man you are and what kind of family you have come from.”
Myles stared at her. “You did what?” He wasn’t certain whether to be amused or affronted.
The proprietor arrived and sat a tea tray on the table with one pot, two cups, and the necessary containers of cream and sugar. Then he vanished without a word, leaving Myles and Lady Philippa staring at one another in silence.
* * *
Philippa did not fidget.She had command enough of the moment to keep perfectly still. Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had insisted that she maintain a veneer of calm, even if she did not feel it, when she approached Mr. Cobbett. He hadn’t liked that she wanted to do it alone. In a place where Cobbett was comfortable. But it had seemed cruel to invite him to her home or have Mr. Tuttle-Kirk try to explain the situation to the former soldier.
If she was desperate enough to approach Mr. Cobbett with her ridiculous scheme, she ought to be brave enough to present it to him by herself.
She poured herself a cup of tea, using the time it took to add a splash of cream to prepare her next words. “I know it is not the thing, to admit one dove into your life without your knowledge. But I would much rather begin this conversation with honesty. I have no wish to cloud the issue with politeness.”
“The issue,” he repeated, staring at her with a dumbfounded expression upon his face. “Which issue would that be, if it is not your delving into my privacy?”
He had every right to be upset, she reminded herself. Philippa stirred her tea with the small, slightly bent spoon from the tray. “I find myself in the midst of a dilemma, Mr. Cobbett.”
Avoiding eye contact seemed wise for the moment. With such a fierce man glaring at her, she might never get her words out. Feigning bravery was easier when she needn’t see his frowns.
“The night we met, and wherein you subsequently rescued me from the attentions of a man I did not wish to entertain—”
The gentleman interrupted her with a dark chuckle, and then he said, “You mean the night Lord Walter accosted you, and I pulled you through a bush.”
She put the spoon down. “Yes. That is what I meant.”
“If you are going to speak honestly, Lady Philippa, you might also speak plainly. I would prefer to get to the heart of the matter rather than listen to your pretty use of the King’s English.”
She darted a look up at him then, her eyes wide with surprise. She expected him to appear vexed, and instead she saw the glimmer of humor in his eye. And a slight smile upon his half-ravaged face. He looked most pleasant, actually.
“Very well.” Philippa shifted her hands to her lap. She chewed her bottom lip a moment, reordering her explanation. How did she fully explain and use the fewest possible words? Her rehearsed speech had sounded impressive to her in the mirror that morning.
Perhaps brevity and bluntness would serve as her allies. “If I am to speak plainly, then here is the circumstance. My brother will force me into a marriage I do not want, to a man I cannot trust or abide. To save myself from this fate, I must find my own match, and quickly take a husband of my choosing.”
Mr. Cobbett arched an eyebrow at her, but he said nothing. Perhaps he waited for her to do the unthinkable. What woman offered marriage to a man? Let alone to a man she barely knew. Yet she had considered the few options available to her, discussed them with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, and had found this course best. Being missish now would serve no purpose.
Philippa held herself perfectly erect, the very model of a British noblewoman. “To take control of my situation, I need a man who will understand these circumstances and be as much a partner in business as in life. I have decided to ask you, Mr. Cobbett, if you would consider marrying me.”