Her Unsuitable Match, page 6
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 gaze 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.
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.
