Her Unsuitable Match, page 9
“I will support our sister in this.” Adam peered around Richard’s shoulder. “If you attempt to remove her from my home, I swear by all I hold dear that I will fight you before every court of law who will hear my case.”
Casting a grateful look to Adam, Philippa hurried to shake her head. “That will not be necessary. You see, my dear brothers, I have already taken the first steps to gaining my independence.” She raised her chin in the air.
Richard laughed. “I am a peer of the realm. Philippa comes with me if I say she does. If you attempt to stop me, Adam, I’ll see you imprisoned and brought up on charges of assaulting a peer.” He took hold of Philippa’s arm. “I can see the sooner we get you away from this place, the better. You are a child under my care, at least until I can convince some poor fool to take you off my hands.”
“Let me go.” Philippa pulled as hard as she could, but Richard’s grip didn’t loosen. He’d never laid a hand on her before. His blue eyes burned, his features appearing strained.
A thin, nasally voice spoke from the doorway. “I must insist you unhand that lady, Lord Montecliff, or we will need to take legal action against you for your assault of one of His Majesty’s subjects.”
“Mr. Tuttle-Kirk?” Elaine blurted at the same time as Richard choked out, “What is he doing here?”
“Not him again,” added Lady Fredericka with marked disdain. “Who let that horrid little man in the house?”
Philippa, held fast as she was by her brother, couldn’t turn to the doorway. But she felt a mix of hope and dismay. Her solicitor had come with news for her, no doubt. Grievous news, if he felt the need to arrive at her home rather than send her a note or wait for her promised visit the next day. Mr. Cobbett must have turned down the marriage proposal, which meant a longer, harder fight for her ahead.
Nevertheless, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I have retained Mr. Tuttle-Kirk as my legal counsel. We are even now preparing our case against your interpretation of our father’s will.”
Richard looked down into her eyes again as his face turned red. “You are taking me to court?”
“Indeed. And I intend to make it a most public case. I intend to write the papers myself about all the particulars of a British peer taking advantage of his younger sister.”
He glared down at her. His words came out in a hiss. “I must warn you, little sister. You are making a mistake.”
“As are you, Lord Montecliff.”
Philippa’s whole body grew still, her ears pricked, and her heart beat a new and more excitable rhythm. That wasn’t Tuttle-Kirk or Adam speaking. It was Myles Cobbett.
“Take your hand off of Lady Philippa at once, or I will remove it myself.” Despite the calm, even tones of the former soldier, Philippa sensed an undercurrent of danger in every word. Richard must have as well, as he released the bruising hold he’d taken of her arm and stepped back.
He wasn’t finished posturing, however. “And who are you, who dares to speak threats to an earl?”
Philippa turned around, and there stood Mr. Cobbett in the doorway, half a step behind Mr. Tuttle-Kirk. The two had come together. Did that mean what she hoped it did?
Mr. Cobbett’s gaze collided with Philippa’s, and he gave her the barest nod. “Myles Cobbett. Former Lieutenant in the King’s Army. A friend to the Gillensfords, and someone who does not take lightly to men of any rank accosting young women.”
Richard glared at Mr. Cobbett, then Tuttle-Kirk. “You are making a mistake. I will see to it that you are never permitted to work in England again. Mark my words.”
“I have withstood you in a courtroom once, Lord Montecliff.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk actually sounded bored as he spoke, his mustache not so much as twitching. “I dare say, I can successfully do so again.”
“How dare you.” Lady Fredericka rose to her feet. “Adam, I insist you eject this man from the premises.”
Now appearing far more amused than alarmed, Adam folded his arms across his chest. “Mr. Tuttle-Kirk is a dear friend to my family, Mother. He is welcome in our home whenever he wishes.” Though Philippa thought her brother stretched the truth with that statement, she appreciated it, nonetheless.
She stepped farther away from Richard, tucking her hands behind her back lest she give him too easy a target to take hold of again. “Adam, might I have the use of your study? I believe my solicitor has come on a matter of business.”
“Of course, Pippa.” Adam stepped between her and their eldest brother. “I will see our brother and mother out, of course.”
Lady Fredericka started to sputter. “Are you throwing me out, you ungrateful boy?”
Philippa fled to the door in as unhurried a manner as possible. She slipped between Mr. Cobbett and Mr. Tuttle-Kirk as they each opened one side of the double door.
“Not at all, Mother. You are already packed, after all, and wanted nothing more than to return to Richard’s townhouse a few moments ago. I am only seeing to your wishes.”
“But Philippa—”
The two doors closed behind Philippa, but she didn’t turn to thank her rescuers. Not yet. Instead, she walked quickly to the front of the corridor. “This way, please.” She went to another set of large, dark doors and pushed one of them open.
The men entered behind her, and she closed the door quickly, then slid the bolt into place. While not necessarily the most appropriate thing, Philippa had no intention of making it easy for Richard to intrude upon them should he wish to try it. She leaned against the closed door, turning to face the two men who had followed her inside.
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk walked to the desk, and she noted he held a leather portfolio under one arm. “Dashed ridiculous family,” he was muttering to himself.
Mr. Cobbett remained only a few steps inside the room, facing her, his expression rather grim. “Are you hurt, my lady?”
A trembly laugh escaped her. “There will likely be a bruise in the shape of my brother’s fingers, but it is of no consequence.” She stepped away from the door and approached him slowly, aware of Mr. Tuttle-Kirk laying things out on the desk and muttering to himself. “I confess, I am most surprised to see you here, Mr. Cobbett.”
One corner of his mouth went upward, the expression more of a grimace than a smile. His dark brown eye studied her with care. “I met with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk again this morning, with my additions to the contracts. He thought, once we finalized the papers, that we should present them to you with some speed.”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk spoke loudly from the desk. “It is always better to have both parties present when finalizing these sorts of things. It makes the process much easier.”
Philippa looked up at Mr. Cobbett again. “Your additions? Does that mean you agree to—to—” Her cheeks warmed. Good heavens, she hadn’t struggled to say the words to him before, had she?
“Marry you? Yes. I suppose so.” His smile untwisted itself, appearing more natural and softening his features. “I hope you haven’t changed your mind. That would make my uninvited visit to your home most awkward.”
“No, of course not.” Philippa shook her head quickly. “Though I do wonder at what your proposed changes might be. I thought we made the terms quite generous in your favor.”
“You did.” He looked over his shoulder to where Tuttle-Kirk now prepared a pen he had found in Adam’s desk. Then Mr. Cobbett took her hand and led her to the window. Once they stood in the light, he picked up her other hand, too. “The things most important to you, I did not touch. Your independence. The way in which your fortune will be invested and used. Your generosity toward my family—thank you for that—it is all there.” He paused, and for a moment she thought she saw his unscarred cheek turn somewhat pink. But that was the side facing the window. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light.
“What did you find lacking in the agreement?” Philippa winced when she heard the breathiness of her question. One would think she hadn’t initiated the agreement, given her tone. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I want to be certain I understand the motivation behind your changes before I read them in Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s clever hand.”
The gentleman looked over his shoulder at Tuttle-Kirk again, and Philippa had the distinct impression that he didn’t like the idea of the solicitor listening in. Which was preposterous, since Mr. Tuttle-Kirk would have needed to know the particulars of whatever Mr. Cobbett wished to say in order to put it into the paperwork.
Finally, after smoothing his expression into something more stern and unreadable than she’d seen him wear thus far, Mr. Cobbett answered her question. “I never thought to marry, my lady. Not on a soldier’s pay, and especially not on my pension. But now that the opportunity has arisen, I find that I am loathe to make this a business arrangement only. I would like to make our relationship into something more. Perhaps—if you are amenable to the idea in future—we might have children.” That warm, dark brown eye of his searched her gaze, only the barest hint of hope appearing there.
Heat suffused Philippa from the tip of her nose through to her fingertips and toes. His hands felt far too large upon hers, their gentle grip too warm, and his whole body too near. She stepped back, dropping her hands from his. “You added children to the contract?” Her voice went into a high register she doubted she had ever used before.
His eyebrows shot upward. “Of course not. How does one put such a thing in a legal document?”
Philippa looked to Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, who most certainly had been listening to the whole thing. He appeared amused, the horrid man. “Quite right,” he said dryly. “Progeny? In a contract? It would never hold up in court.”
Mr. Cobbett muttered something cross and shoved his hand through his hair. Then he faced her again. “I put in the stipulation that we must spend the first year of our marriage in each other’s company. We live under the same roof. We attend the same social functions—only those you wish to attend, of course—all with the hope that we form an understanding for our shared future outside of what the contract stipulates.”
Philippa’s mouth opened, then closed. Then she looked at Mr. Tuttle-Kirk. “What do you think of Mr. Cobbett’s adjustments?”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk stood at attention, his eyes gleaming with what she didn’t dare think of as glee. “I am in favor of them, and I rather wish I had thought to suggest such a thing myself. After all, you are still quite young, my lady. You may find you wish for more than a business partner, at some point. Life has many unexpected paths, and should you find yourself in a difficult position, it would be better to face it with someone to whom you are bound by things other than ink and paper. As to the matter of children—”
Philippa raised her hand. “I quite understand your point, Mr. Tuttle-Kirk. Thank you. I should like to look over the documents now.”
A sudden shriek down the corridor made all of them jump. Philippa put a hand to her throat. “Oh dear. Mother must be leaving.”
Mr. Cobbett’s eyes widened. “That was your mother?”
“She can be quite theatrical.” Philippa winced and walked to the desk. “We had better get started.” Before Mr. Cobbett changed his mind, leaving her to a legal muddle far more difficult to win than the one that marriage might solve.
After Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had put away the signed documents, Myles breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Lady Philippa had accepted his conditions, which the solicitor had taken to calling “the relationship addendum.” He would need to thank Moreton for his advice yet again. He’d spent the better part of yesterday afternoon convincing Moreton that he wasn’t insane for considering Lady Philippa’s proposal. Then he’d gone over what he wanted added to the document, and Moreton had written up suggestions for what he termed “unconventional nuptials.”
It seemed everyone had a name for what Myles wanted except for him. Because he couldn’t quite explain what drove him to add those things to the contract. He hadn’t ever thought to have a conventional marriage of any kind. But now that a wedding lay within his future, he had to consider what such a thing meant. And what he wanted.
If he and Lady Philippa got along, they might provide each other companionship. Support. And if they found they suited well enough to have children—well. Myles had loved growing up in a large family of children. His family held a genuine affection for one another.
Perhaps he’d do well at fatherhood.
Not that such things bore thinking of yet. He grew warm around the neck and adjusted his cravat.
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had all the documents in hand, tucked beneath his arm, and led the way to the door. “I must be on my way. With your permission, my lady, Mr. Cobbett, I will obtain a common marriage license and you can be married by Sunday next, so long as it is within one of your church parishes. I am assuming, since you live in London year-round, Mr. Cobbett, that yours might be the easier of the two options.”
Lady Philippa followed them both, her hands tucked behind her back and her head lowered. She hadn’t spoken much after they had begun to sign things. Perhaps the reality of the situation began to sink in for her, too.
Married by Sunday. Myles cleared his throat. “That is acceptable. I attend at Chelsea Old Church. The vicar there went to school with my father.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk slid the bolt open. “I will be in touch with you both when everything on my end is finalized.”
He opened the door and standing in the hall was the same butler who had shown them up the stairs when Mr. Tuttle-Kirk claimed he had come to assist Lady Philippa with legal matters.
That butler appeared highly suspicious now, rather than relieved as he had before. “My lady.”
Lady Philippa stepped between the two men, her bearing changing to something far more confident. “Hopkins. I understand I have you to thank for the timely arrival of these gentlemen.”
He appeared suddenly concerned. “I thought they might help with the situation above stairs, my lady.”
“And so you were right.” Then Philippa surprised Myles, and the butler, given the way he reddened, by laying her hand upon his cheek. “You have always been kind to me, Hopkins. If there is ever anything I might do by way of thanks, do let me know.”
“My lady.” He bowed, as a knight before a queen. Then he rose and gestured down the corridor. “Mr. and Mrs. Gillensford hope you and your guests will join them for tea, if you have concluded your business.”
Mr. Tuttle-Kirk chuckled before anyone else could answer. “I am afraid I must be off. Work to do. But do not let my absence hinder the two of you.” His mustache twitched. “I can show myself out. Good day, my lady. Mr. Cobbett.”
“Good day,” Lady Philippa responded, sounding surprised.
Of course the old man would depart now, leaving Myles and Philippa to explain what had transpired to people he respected. Mr. Gillensford would likely throw him out on his good ear.
Slim fingers found his gloved left hand and twined with his. She had to feel the unnatural stillness of the smallest two fingers in his glove, but Lady Philippa did not draw back or question him. Instead, she came up beside him, the length of their arms pressed together.
“Well, Mr. Cobbett. Here is our first test. Adam and Elaine mustn’t think us desperate so much as practical.”
Looking down into her lovely blue eyes, Myles forced himself to relax. Tentatively, he squeezed her hand with his. “I will follow as you lead, my lady.”
Her soft pink lips turned upward in a soft smile. “Am I to play the general?”
“Field marshal, I should think.” He untangled their fingers and offered her his arm instead. Though he wore his glove, having her bare hand in his was too much for him. Too soon. She didn’t know the extent of his scars. She hadn’t cared to ask about them. Maybe that meant she didn’t mind them. Though he found that difficult to believe.
He suddenly wished he had offered her his right arm, and thus his right side to look upon.
They went to the same room they had abandoned with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk earlier, and this time when they entered together, only Mr. and Mrs. Gillensford waited inside. The two of them sat together on the sofa, and they moved as one to stand when Myles and Lady Philippa entered, arm-in-arm.
“Adam, Elaine. You both know Mr. Cobbett.” Lady Philippa’s arm tightened around his, and Myles looked down to see that—despite wearing a serene expression—her eyes were full of worry. “I have the honor of introducing him to you both anew, as my betrothed. We are to be married this Sunday, by common license.”
Nine
Medieval churches were a common enough sight in Britain, and several dotted London’s maps. Yet Chelsea Old Church had a special feeling to it when Myles stepped inside, Sunday after Sunday. It wasn’t as large or elegant as its sisters in Westminster or near the Tower. In fact, it was quite small. Homely, even, with a distinct lack of marble and artwork. A few columns bore carved scrollwork, and the largest glass was many-paned and colorful. But that was all that adorned the space. Yet the simple arches and well-worn wooden benches always set Myles at ease.
No one of great importance attended any of the services. Simply members of the neighborhood who had a care for Sabbath worship. Myles hadn’t had any trouble when he presented the vicar, Mr. Perry, with the common license and made his intentions known.
Thus, the Sunday morning after signing the contracts in Mr. Gillensford’s study found Myles seated next to Mr. and Mrs. Moreton at a pew toward the front. Across from him, the distinguished Mr. and Mrs. Gillensford accompanied Lady Philippa. A little girl sat with them between the red-headed matron and Myles’s almost-bride. She leaned forward several times to peer at him, which made Myles all the more grateful that he sat on the left side of the church, so his scars wouldn’t distress the child.
“I find it sweet you can’t stop staring at her,” Emmeline whispered from beside him. “She is lovely.” When Emmeline had heard Myles and her husband arguing about the marriage contract, she surprised Myles by supporting his decision to wed Lady Philippa. She had continued with positive commentary on the arrangement from that time forward. “I think this will be quite good for you,” she had said when they arrived together at the church.
