Page 10 of Her Unsuitable Match

Despite the Royal Hospital Chelsea, patronized by the ruling families of England, being open to any veteran of wars past or present, the Gillensfords would have us believe our nation does not provide for our soldiers after they have done their sworn duty.

Myles gave the paper a shake, wishing he could do the same to whoever wrote the article. The Royal Hospital Chelsea, an institution over a century old, might have suited the nation during peacetime—but after decades of war such as the kingdom had experienced?

When Myles had returned home, wounded and recovering slowly, he’d fallen beneath that hospital’s supervision. The officer charged with informing Myles of his future—that of an invalid with a sum of money to be paid annually for the rest of his life—told him that the hospital itself housed just under five-hundred veterans of war. But over thirty-thousand pensioners lived outside of its walls, drawing their pensions from the government based on what their rank had been when they left the battlefield for the last time.

“And the hospital doesn’t care for the invisible hurts, or getting a man back upon his feet,” Myles muttered, glaring at the newsprint.

He kept going through the newspaper, and he found the first promising words about that evening much deeper in its pages. The writer here praised the Gillensfords for bringing the needs of young men cast adrift after war spent their health and left them without the means to provide for themselves as they had previous to taking up arms.

“More like it.” Then he found another bit of news listing himself and twelve other veterans who had been present, and he scowled at that. What did it matter that they had been there? Two of the men were titled, a handful more were third sons of important people, and the others were like him—barely even considered worthy of interacting with the gentry. Never mind that he’d been born a gentleman’s son. He lived in tiny, rented rooms and took income from a pension and the occasional prize money when he deigned to take part in bouts of fisticuffs.

Though Myles did not classify himself as a pugilist, he found the occasional friendly match kept his mind and body sharp. The activity saved him from complete boredom.

As had taking part in the Gillensfords’ scheme.

He snatched up the paper again and folded it into a small rectangle. He’d read what he most wanted to, and there wasn’t much else of interest to him. Except he felt a sudden desire, a thing which surprised him, to call upon Mr. Gillensford.

To get to the Gillensfords’ address, a house at Berkley Square, he need not walk far. He could at least leave one of his calling cards—one of his very few calling cards. He didn’t have much occasion to use them, thankfully. He hadn’t wanted to print them in the first place—a foolish expense, he thought, for one living in such reduced circumstances.

Starting on his way from the park, Myles rehearsed to himself why he found himself motivated to do something that mattered. The Gillensfords would surely ask.

If he could do more than idle his days away, and do something that mattered, he ought to take a step in that direction. Myles hadn’t trained for anything outside of the military. His birth position in his family, a third son with a healthy father and elder brothers, had meant choosing his occupation with care.

He’d no interest in the law. He had even less interest in joining the clergy. His family had scraped together enough money to purchase a commission in the military for him—and that was that. He couldn’t ask anything more of his father, mother, brothers, and three younger sisters. Two of those sisters were still unmarried, without suitable dowries to tempt bachelors.

If a position for one of his experience existed within the framework of the Gillensfords’ plans, if he could offer his help in even a limited way, Myles had to try.

With the newspaper under his arm, he made his way to Berkeley Square, ignoring when others on the walkways peered too long at his scarred visage. Let them stare if they wished. For the first time in months, he had a purpose beyond making it through the day.

* * *

Though Philippa and her mother normally stayed at the family’s Town house, Elaine had prevailed upon the dowager countess to stay at her fashionable address in Berkley Square. “Just for a few days,” Elaine had said. “I intend to host a tea, and your experience would be of great benefit to me, my lady.”

Lady Fredericka had given in to the appeal to her vanity, while Philippa and Elaine had exchanged a knowing glance. Elaine had wanted to make peace with her mother-in-law for some time, in part to smooth the way for her children, and also to give Philippa more time in Adam and Elaine’s home.

Three days after the successful veteran’s ball, Philippa sat in Elaine’s morning room holding her little niece, Isabelle. Elaine and Adam’s adopted daughter, Nancy, sat next to Elaine, learning a complicated embroidery stitch. Nancy’s governess sat near the window, reading.

The peace and felicity in the room laid upon Philippa’s heart like a warm quilt on a winter night. These were the moments she craved when she was away from her brother’s family. There had never been any moment in her childhood home as calm and happy. Philippa’s family always seemed at odds with each other, and never let an opportunity to sniff disdainfully at the misfortunes of others go by. Which was why Philippa had often sneaked away to visit her great-uncle, the man who had left Elaine and Adam his entire fortune. Her uncle had been unfailingly kind, like Elaine.

“You are such a fortunate little girl, Isabelle,” she crooned to the little darling in her arms. The baby smiled and cooed, making it necessary for Philippa to coo back at her. “How wonderful it is to have such a handsome papa, sweet mama, and an older brother and sister to look after you.”

“When will William visit again?” Nancy asked, looking up from her work at Elaine.

Elaine sighed and shared a commiserating glance with Philippa before she answered. “Your brother will come home with us to Tertium Park when we leave London. School is very important for young gentlemen.”

Nancy jabbed her needle into her embroidery hoop with more force than necessary. “I still don’t see why he cannot have a governess, like me. Miss Wilson could teach both of us. Couldn’t you, Miss Wilson?”

The governess, obviously at ease with her place in the home, turned a page in her book as she answered. “I should be happy to teach the young master how to play the pianoforte, paint water color portraits, and serve tea. Though I do not think he will find any of those skills of much use should he pursue the law, as he has said he wishes to do.”

Philippa had to bite her bottom lip to keep from giggling at the dark frown Nancy wore as she took another stab at her needlework. “Nancy, it isn’t so terrible. I missed Adam dreadfully when he went away to school. And look at us now. Still quite good friends.”

Elaine nodded her agreement. “Absolutely. William’s time away from us will only make the time he spends with us all the sweeter. You’ll see—”

A bang elsewhere in the house made everyone in the room jump. It sounded as though a door had been practically flung off its hinges, and then the shouting in the corridor began. “Ruined! My daughter is ruined!”

“Oh, dear,” Elaine breathed, gathering the sewing and putting it into a basket near her feet. “Nancy, be a dear and take Isabelle back to the nursery. I do not want her upset by your grandmother. Miss Wilson, if you’d take the children up the servants’ stair?” She kicked the basket under her chair.

Nancy huffed but came to take her baby sister with a smile. “Come along, Belle. We mustn’t let you see Grandmama’s fits.”