Page 15 of Her Unsuitable Match

“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.

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.”