Page 29 of Her Unsuitable Match

She leaned into him for a moment as they stood upon the top step in front of the house, but with no sign of the earl, she relaxed and smiled up at her husband. His gaze still swept the street, and she could feel the tense muscles in his forearm. She needn’t fear any danger with Myles at her side. The comfort that thought gave surprised her, and as he handed her into Adam’s waiting carriage, Philippa wondered how many benefits to her marriage she had yet to see.

Eleven

Walking up the stairs to enter Lady Darwimple’s ballroom meant Myles and Philippa had to pause every few steps to wait for those ahead of them to move. Before the war, Myles had only attended one event that could be called a crush, but this was so much worse than that local assembly ball had been.

Despite the cool weather outside the massive townhouse, Myles already felt perspiration forming at the back of his neck, beneath the white silk cravat his wife had bought for him the day before when they had gone to the tailor’s.

Philippa bounced on her toes and stretched her neck to peer upward. Her enthusiasm made him forget, at least for a moment, how much he despised crowds.

“I thought arriving a half hour late would mean avoiding the rush on the staircase.” Philippa looked over her shoulder, down toward the entry hall. “I haven’t seen Adam and Elaine arrive yet. Perhaps we all ought to have ridden together.”

“Your sister-in-law urged you to go on ahead,” Myles reminded her in a low voice. Elaine Gillensford had finished readying herself at the same time as his new bride, but then her infant had woken and cried with such urgency that the nurse had felt obliged to inform the parents of the child’s upset.

Philippa chewed her bottom lip as she nodded, a sight he found almost distracting enough to make him forget his growing headache. She stood on her toes again, this time peering upward, and the swell of music in the ballroom rushed down to meet them both.

The people around them on the stairs raised their voices over the music, and the mounting din momentarily sounded as the shouts of soldiers on the battlefield. The perfume stunk of ash and sweat, and the hot taste of iron filled his mouth.

Like a sudden and welcome breeze against his skin, Philippa’s concerned whisper broke through the haze of memory. “Myles?”

He opened his one good eye, not having realized he had closed it. First he saw several empty steps ahead of them, and then the frown of his young and beautiful wife. She gripped his arm with surprising strength. Her fingers shifted, and he focused on the pressure releasing from her touch.

He forced a smile that likely looked more like a grimace. “I beg your pardon, my dear. I was lost in thought.” He spoke more for the people behind him than the woman at his side. She raised her eyebrows, her only response, and he took her forward up the steps.

They gained the upper floor at last and found Lady Darwimple waiting a few steps inside the ballroom, an ostrich-feather fan in her white gloved grip. She waved them in languidly, as though the room didn’t maintain an almost intolerable temperature.

“Ah, Lady Philippa. You have arrived at last. I wished particularly to greet you this evening.” Lady Darwimple raised her time-softened chin to direct her diamond-hard gaze at Myles. “I am terribly sorry. I have already forgotten your married name. Though I believe I met your husband somewhere before.”

Myles didn’t need the upbringing of a titled man to recognize the snub, though he acted the part of a gentleman by ignoring it. He forced himself to chuckle as he looked to Philippa to provide a proper introduction.

His wife’s expression surprised him. Philippa held her head in such a way as to look down her nose at the countess. Her eyes had gone hard, too, and her expression smoothed with what he would deem affront. “You are not mistaken, my lady. I believe you met Mr. Cobbett at the charity ball a fortnight before. Indeed, you glimpsed us shortly after a rather lovely interlude in the gardens that evening.”

“Ah yes, of course. I had no thought on that night that we would soon learn of your engagement, let alone a wedding. Special license, was it?”

That comment had yet another barbed insult beneath her ladyship’s feigned curiosity. Myles hadn’t any hope of obtaining a special license, given that one had to hold either a high rank or more than a passing acquaintance with the archbishop.

Philippa proved perfectly adept at handling the countess’s smug comments. “Oh, goodness, no. I have always thought that special licenses show a certain amount of vulgarity, given that one not only disturbs the archbishop’s more holy work, but it also is such a mark of impatience. No. We had a lovely wedding at one of the oldest churches in England. The charm of marrying in a medieval church quite delighted me.” She batted her eyelashes up at Myles, and he couldn’t resist smiling at her in return.

His wife waged battle on Society’s fields quite well. It made him wonder, yet again, why marriage to him had been the best answer she’d had to combat the rumors that had started to erode her reputation.

Lady Darwimple felt the sting. Her nose lowered, and her eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” She cut her gaze toward Myles. “My felicitations to you both, Mr. Cobbett. Lady Philippa Cobbett.” She folded her fan and pointedly turned to the person next in the receiving line.

Myles led his wife away, down one long wall behind the growing crowd. Her hand flexed against his, and her shoulders dropped such a slight amount that he almost missed the movement.

“Can you believe her?” Philippa bit the words out, and he watched her jaw stiffen so she spoke her next words through her teeth. “For her to offer such insult at an event to which she invited me!”

“You routed her well enough.” It was a husband’s place to offer such words, surely. “She retreated with speed.”

His wife stopped her angry march along the wall, allowing him to pause, too. She looked up at him, a twinkle of mischief appearing in her eyes. “I did, didn’t I? I recalled at the last moment that Lady Darwimple married by special license herself. My mother has many theories as to why and discusses them still with great relish.” Philippa’s smile faded, and she slowly shook her head. “Perhaps that was less than kind of me. Elaine wouldn’t approve.”

“I heartily do, if that counts for anything.” Myles chuckled. “But then, I was trained to use every means I have against the enemy. And Lady Darwimple set herself as your enemy this evening.”

“I certainly didn’t expect such an attack, to use your war-like vocabulary.” She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. “She is a friend to my mother. One would think she would be a little more respectful, at least to our faces.”

Myles didn’t exactly care, except in regard to how her ladyship’s barbs might have hurt Philippa. Since she had regained her good humor, he could easily forget the moment. In truth, it had proven a distraction from his inward disquiet. “I doubt you will have any further difficulty. Lady Darwimple’s rank gave her the courage to speak in such a manner. Come. Enjoy your first ball as a married woman. Without chaperone. You may wander as you wish, dance as you wish, and converse with whomever you wish to converse.”

Her expression brightened, and her gloved fingers gave his arm a gentle squeeze before she released him. “I did see a friend a few steps in. Will you be all right?”

He took up her hand only to release it, as one might cast off a line to set a boat adrift. “I have faced things far less dangerous than a ballroom, my dear. Enjoy your evening. Look for me if there is anything I might do for you.”