Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton
Seven
Desperation had driven many a man past the edge of reason. Now it had led the elegant, beautiful woman sitting before Myles to the brink of ruin. The earnest expression upon her face and her previous-to-that-moment calm kept him from immediately dismissing her words as a poorly timed jest.
She was serious.
And she waited for Myles to make an answer while her cheeks grew from pale to pink, then pink to red.
“My lady.” Myles leaned closer and lowered his voice, though the old cafe was nearly empty of patrons. “Your proposition is…interesting. But even if marriage is the only way you can escape the predicament in which you find yourself, you cannot consider me as your partner in it. You do not know me.”
She leaned closer, one elegant finger tapping the table between them. “I do know you. I know all about you. I know you have two older brothers and three younger sisters, and two of your sisters are not yet married.” She kept eye contact with him as she rushed through her words. “You are a gentleman’s son, and your family cannot support you. Yet you have maintained your dignity by living within the limited means of your pension. Sometimes you train other gentleman as a pugilist, but only in private clubs. You are not liberal in your drink. You have no debts. You give pennies away to the poor nearly every morning. You keep to yourself. But you always, always help others when the opportunity arises.”
He sat back, narrowing his eye as he took in the woman before him. Yes. She had said before that her solicitor had investigated him. It seemed the man had done a thorough job.
“Please, do not be offended.” Lady Philippa’s liquid blue eyes pled with him. “My brother and his wife think highly of you, too. They were impressed by your ideas about the hospital, and your willingness to help.”
She knew the barest details of his life. She didn’t know enough to propose marriage. They were complete strangers. “There must be other gentlemen more suitable,” he said. “You are a beautiful woman, the sister of an earl. You must have other options.”
Lady Philippa shook her head slowly. “I have met almost no one without my mother’s approval. And beyond that, I need to marry someone like you. Someone honorable, who isn’t looking to marry me for my connections or money. You are precisely that sort.”
The notion was insane. He had no business speaking with her any further. He should stand up and walk out and never speak of this strange interlude to anyone. Yet Myles found himself curious, too. He leaned forward. “And what if I am not inclined to marry?”
“I will do my best to persuade you. You see, I am not inclined to marry, either.” She picked up her gloves, but only to fiddle with them upon the table. “I have no wish to be under any man’s thumb. We would negotiate terms as you would in a business merger, and I believe you would find my conditions favorable. Though you live modestly, would you not like to have a better income? If not for yourself, perhaps to contribute more to your younger sisters? Or to helping others?”
Myles quite forgot himself and raked his left hand through his hair. “You wish to bribe me into matrimony?” Could the conversation turn any stranger?
Her cheeks flared red again. “I should say not. This is a business negotiation, remember? There would be benefits to both parties.” She likely wanted to try to sound like she was laying out a contractual agreement, but Myles sensed the slight tremor in her voice. He could see the way her fingers shook as she played with the gloves. “If you marry me, I can go about in Society without fear for my reputation. Married women are given vastly more freedom than those who remain single all their lives. I will come into my inheritance. My eldest brother can no longer threaten me in any way, because I will be my husband’s responsibility.”
He arched his eyebrow at her. “Really. There goes your freedom again.”
“Not at all, because how much say you have over me can be included in our contract.” She glanced to the wall where her maid still sat, then back at him. “I have been away from home too long already. If you will at least consider my proposal, I would be greatly appreciative. Here.” She opened the reticule that had rested in her lap since her arrival. “This is my solicitor’s card. He’s agreed to speak with you, and to show you the preliminary terms I have had him draw up. He’s prepared to answer any questions you have, too.”
Myles took the card in his right hand, but then fixed her in place with a hard stare. “You must understand how mad this sounds.”
“I do.” She tied up her purse strings again. “But people forge marriages every day where both parties stand to gain less and lose more. Please, Mr. Cobbett. At least speak with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk.”
His gaze flicked to the card in his hand to confirm that absurd name belonged to her solicitor. Then he stood as she rose. He tried one more question. “What if my affections are engaged elsewhere?”
Lady Philippa’s eyes widened somewhat. “I suppose…that is…” Her cheeks flushed as she began to stutter. “It would depend on the circumstances?” Her voice rose to make the statement a question. “If you cannot marry where your affections are engaged, then—if we married—and if you were discreet…?” She appeared mortified to even speak such a thing aloud.
Myles narrowed his good eye at her. “I was raised to believe in both honor and fidelity, my lady.”
She visibly swallowed before nodding with a solemn expression. “There are few men who are, it sometimes seems. I must leave now.” She lowered her gaze from his and tugged on her gloves. He caught the bright glimmer in her eyes he had seen once already, before she started crying. “Won’t you please speak to Mr. Tuttle-Kirk? Then if you remain against the idea, I will never trouble you again.”
He picked up his handkerchief from the table and caught her hand in his, feeling the tremble in her fingers as he placed the cloth in their grasp. “My lady.” He bent his head toward her, drawing her gaze up once more. “I will speak with him, if only to impress upon you that things cannot be this desperate.”
“I am this desperate,” she whispered. “And though they don’t say it, I know my brother and his wife are already feeling the consequences of being linked so closely to me. I cannot see them hurt by the family’s schemes for my future.” She squeezed his hand once, then took the linen to wipe at her eyes again. “Thank you for speaking with me this morning, Mr. Cobbett. You have been very kind.” She walked away quickly and out the door. The bell jangled above her, then rang out again as her maid rose and hurried after the young lady.
Myles looked down at the card he’d dropped on the table, then out the window in time to see Lady Philippa climb into a hired hack across the street. She looked out the window when she’d settled, the soft green of her dress and hat a bright spot of color in an otherwise dull view.
Myles worked his jaw, then withdrew the coins necessary to pay for his mostly uneaten breakfast and her untouched tea. He snatched up the card and left without a word or glance at anyone else.
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s offices were on the same street as the Moretons’ home and law practice. Without hiring a hack—Lady Philippa had been perfectly right in what she said of his economical nature—he made excellent time and arrived at the address upon the card the lady had left for him.
Upon entering the offices and giving his name to a young man behind a smallish desk, he soon found himself seated across the desk from a man with more hair in his substantial mustache than atop his head. Mr. Tuttle-Kirk looked more the part of a kindly grandfather, apt to sit before a fire with a pipe in his mouth, than a cunning solicitor. Yet the more Mr. Tuttle-Kirk spoke, the more Myles had to respect the man’s sharp mind. Mr. Tuttle-Kirk spent a quarter of an hour laying before Myles drafted contracts and explaining the same situation Lady Philippa had described to him. But the solicitor used more dire terms than the young woman had uttered.
“The articles in the paper struck me as highly suspect,” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk concluded, pacing to his large window. He held his spectacles behind his back, in his clasped hands. “Though Lady Philippa didn’t request it, I went about the extra work to determine who submitted them to the Times. Thus far, I have traced them only to someone who delivered the article by courier along with a substantial payment to see that the words against our lady were featured prominently, and above any other of the kind.”
Myles leaned back in his chair, not hiding his disgust. “That the Times editors would take part in the deliberate sabotage of a young woman’s reputation isn’t as shocking as it should be.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk turned where he stood and nodded to the contracts upon the desk. “While I must admit that I believed Lady Philippa to be reacting more strongly than necessary to her situation, looking deeper into everything leads me to believe she is precisely on point. For some reason which I do not yet understand, Lord Montecliff and the dowager countess are forcing Lady Philippa’s hand. The family’s prominence in Society is not under any threat of which I am aware. This desperation to make a match with another noble family is inexplicable.”
Myles picked up the marriage contract, glancing over the draft. His sympathy went to Lady Philippa. She faced a terrible situation. But did it necessarily fall to him to do anything about it? “Why me?” he asked, voice low in the office. “Surely there are other gentlemen who would happily help Lady Philippa. She must have suitors. Friends.”
“I wondered the same thing.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk paced back to the chair behind his desk and put his hands upon its back, the wrinkles above his eyebrows deepening. “Yours was the first—and only—name spoken by the young woman. The first time she visited me.”
“She barely even knows me.” Myles looked down where his left, altered hand rested upon his thigh. He wore a glove with stuffed fingers again. They never looked quite right, no matter what he did to them. “And one look at me shows well enough why I am unlikely to be a love match for her or anyone else.”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s frown deepened. “I didn’t take you as a vain gentleman, Mr. Cobbett. Surely, you do not believe affection is only granted to those of physical beauty? If that were true, none of us would be loved after reaching two and forty years.” He patted the top of his bald head. “I had already lost all of this by that time, you know. And Mrs. Tuttle-Kirk never seemed to mind.”
Myles laughed, then covered his mouth with his fist. “Pardon me, sir. I have never heard anyone speak so plainly of such a thing.” And despite the humor, Myles didn’t quite equate his bodily scars with a man whose hair loss did nothing to lessen the affection of a woman already his wife.
The solicitor took his seat behind the desk, waving away the apology. “You are a man of the military. Tell me, did the handsomest soldiers perform the best? With the most honor and dignity? Or did the wealthiest officers command with the greatest wisdom and foresight?”
Slowly, Myles shook his head. “The opposite of those things was often true.”
“Consider that Lady Philippa, though not as experienced in battle tactics as you are, is quite experienced when it comes to weighing and measuring her peers.” The solicitor affixed his spectacles above his nose as he spoke. “She knows well enough what the men of her more immediate acquaintance offer, and yet she chose you. Why do you think that is?”
Myles couldn’t meet the older man’s eyes. He lowered his gaze to the carpet instead, not seeing its whirls and flourishes as he tried to sort out his thoughts on the matter. Prior to their meeting that morning, Lady Philippa had only interacted with him twice. The first of those instances with the most substantial time. When he had saved her from a scoundrel. Had that act alone endeared him to her?
How could she possibly know, from such a short moment, the truth of his character? Because Myles, incredulous though he was at her proposition, knew he would be precisely the sort of man she wanted as a husband. Because he would give his wife—should he ever have one—the freedom to enjoy her life. He would want her happiness above his own.
But he had never considered marriage. Because he couldn’t support a family on his pension, and he refused to hunt down a woman just to force her to support them both. He detested the very idea of fortune hunters. Even though he could well have benefited from a greater income.
Then there was the matter of his scars, both physical and otherwise. He wasn’t even sure what to call them. Spiritual scars, perhaps, given how often he prayed for the welfare of other veterans less fortunate than himself. Mental, for certain, given the way his past strained his mind both waking and sleeping.
What woman would willingly look at his face every day at her breakfast table, let alone every night in her bed? Should he find himself with such an angel, how would she tolerate his nightmares or his headaches? What about the myriad of times he startled at a sudden noise and flinched away from quick movements?
Yet he had to consider the offer before him, despite his misgivings.
With all that Lady Philippa had proposed, and the drafts upon Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s desk, she was freely giving him access to more money than he had ever dreamed of. He could invest funds, give to charitable causes, and see that his sisters had doweries that would give them a greater ability to find their own matches.
“I have been a solicitor for nearly fifty years. In my time, I have seen many things that you would not believe. I speak of legal cases, of course, but more than that. I have seen people find the most unlikely paths to happiness.” The man’s eyes twinkled, his expression relaxing into a smile. He looked more the part of a doting grandfather than a man of law once again. “Perhaps, Mr. Cobbett, this is your path. I am going to ask you a question, and I would like your instinctive response.”
Curiosity brought Myles’s gaze up again. He raised his eyebrows and took hold of the arms of the chair. “Very well. What is your question?” He sat with the stiffness the military had drilled into him, his chin up and his bearing that of a man poised to lead others into battle. That past life seemed far less daunting than the possibility of what the day had presented to him.
“Do you want to marry Lady Philippa Gillensford?”
One word entered his mind and echoed loudly for him alone to hear. Even though he hadn’t expected that question. He’d only had time to think it might be something to do with honor, or duty, or integrity. There were dozens of reasons, logical reasons, for him to answer the inquiry differently.
Myles frowned up at Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, no less confused when he uttered the answer out loud. “Yes.”
The solicitor nodded slowly. “Are your instincts generally right?”
His left hand twitched. Had he followed his instinct the night he’d lost men, half his sight, several fingers, and more than he could put into words, things would have turned out much differently.
“Yes,” he said again, closing both hands into fists. “Though I have not always trusted them as I should.”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk gave a solemn nod. “We often fight against our best judgement when it goes against what Society has told us is best. A common failing among men and women both.” The solicitor pushed the drafts to the end of the desk. “Take this. Read them over. Consult a solicitor of your own, if you wish. But do not take long in deciding, Mr. Cobbett. Lady Philippa deserves my best effort to ensure her future happiness. If you will not be part of aiding her, I need to know soon so I might plan another course of action.”
With the papers bound up in a protective folder, Myles left to speak to the only people he trusted to advise him. The Moretons. But while he walked the short distance to their home, he realized something that stopped him in his steps.
He had already answered Mr. Tuttle-Kirk as he intended to. He’d said yes to marrying Lady Philippa Gillensford. And he didn’t mean to change his mind.
Heaven help them both.