Page 62 of Her Unsuitable Match

She laid both gloves on the table, next to the shorter, wider pair of men’s gloves Myles had tossed amid her hairbrush and combs without a thought, as though they had freely mingled their personal belongings always. She let her hand linger on the table’s surface, then touched his glove. The left one, with the two smallest fingers missing. In Town, he had always worn a stuffed glove. She hadn’t even paused to think on it—but here, in his family’s home, he didn’t bother with the pretense.

Who made his gloves? Had they offered him a glove without fingers, or had he requested it?

Myles broke into her thoughts with a cheery laugh. “Lord Inglewood and Sir Isaac wish to take an active role in the building of our hospital. The earl is offering funds—the largest sum of any patron yet. And Sir Isaac has included a list of political associates to approach. Some of these men are not yet on your brother’s lists. This is marvelous.”

He looked up at her, his good eye bright with hope. “I hoped the earl might provide introductions, I never thought he would offer so much of his fortune to our cause.”

Pippa didn’t hide her pleasure at the news. “That is wonderful. Adam and Elaine will be so pleased.” She stepped closer, and he held the letter out to her. Rather than take it, she stood at his side, resting a hand on his arm to read the paper he held. Her eyes skimmed the fine handwriting, then she looked up at her husband, proud of him. “This is lovely news. Better than what is in my letter, I should think.”

“Ah, yes.” Myles put the earl’s letter and baron’s list upon the mantel. Pippa released his arm but did not step away. She chewed her lip, somewhat anxiously, as he unfolded the letter from Mr. Young. “What did our old reclusive neighbor have to say to my young, beautiful wife?” he asked, narrowing his good eye at the paper.

His pretended suspicion drew a grin from her, and Pippa leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Come now. I couldn’t possibly entertain a flirtation with any man—not even the Regent himself—when I have you, my love.”

“That is most reassuring.” Myles put his left arm around her, holding the paper in his right hand toward the lamp. He read silently, and Pippa stayed tucked up beside him. Content in a way she had never felt before.

After enough time passed for Myles to have read the letter twice, he peered down at her. His good eye narrowed. “This is a proposed price, which feels quite well negotiated, to purchase all of Mr. Young’s property. Including the house he lives in, tenant cottages, and the Clock House.”

Pippa nodded slowly. “With the understanding that the cleared land in his western fields will be used to build a hospital for the soldiers.” Pippa couldn’t quite read her husband’s expression. “He has great admiration for military men.”

“Pippa. This is incredible.” Myles looked down at the letter again. “Have you written your brother and sister-in-law yet?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to be certain you approved. If you thought it a poor idea, or too high a price—”

“No. It’s wonderful.” He put the paper next to his own letter, then turned so he could hold Pippa in both his arms, the embrace comforting. “My wonderful, intelligent, incredible wife. To have the hospital here would be perfect. The country air, the neighborhood itself, would soothe many a battered man’s heart.”

“Oh, I am so glad you think it is right. I didn’t know if I should even speak to Mr. Young without you, but it would have been so disappointing if he had said no.” Pippa laid her cheek against his chest. Myles kissed the top of her forehead.

“You did well, love.” He kissed her temple. Her cheek. She tilted her chin up. “I am in awe of you.”

Her heart skipped with elation. Feeling mischievous, Pippa leaned away from him, the better to glare up at him. “If that is true, husband, then there ought to be less talking and a great deal more kissing.”

His smile turned into a wicked grin. “Is that so? I suppose if my lady demands it—”

“She does.” Pippa stood on her toes and kissed him before he could utter another word. They had gone too long married without opening their hearts to one another. She was done waiting. From that moment forward, she intended to enjoy her husband. His embraces, his laughter, his conversation, his kisses. All of it. All of him.

Much later that evening, the fire hardly more than embers, Pippa lay in her husband’s arms with her cheek against his chest. Her fingers traced the scars on his left side, marveling at what he had gone through. Grateful that she held him now, safe in her embrace.

Epilogue

The young man’s hands trembled as he lowered the rose-bush cuttings into the soft earth of the hospital garden. Myles knelt next to him, holding his own spade and preparing the earth for another cutting from his mother’s garden. He remained quiet, though he watched the soldier with a gentle eye.

The soldier leaned back, eyeing his work critically. He gazed down the row of the plants, all newly settled into the earth, then looked at Myles. “It’s a good sight. Knowing these here bushes will be part of the hospital makes me proud. I didn’t think I’d ever work a garden again.” The young man expertly pushed himself up with the use of a cane. The lower half of his right leg, just below the knee, was gone.

He’d lost it in a battle halfway around the world. He’d come home to find the estate where his father worked as head-gardener had no use for him. And Myles had found the lad in London, sitting in an alley, an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“You can stay here as long as you like, Smythe,” Myles reassured him, voice gentle. Smythe didn’t like loud voices or noises. He’d flinched at loud laughter in the dining hall of the hospital the first night he’d been present, then started taking scraps of food to the gardens rather than eat with the other men.

Patients—or wards, as Myles preferred to call them—of the hospital often arrived distrusting and nervous. Some thought they would be put to work until they were sick and useless. Others worried they’d be treated like madmen. But the Gillensfords had hired only sympathetic staff and doctors, most of whom had seen active duty themselves, or lost loved ones to battle. The atmosphere was one of compassion and hope.

They couldn’t help everyone. Some men left not long after arriving, too lost in their minds or hearts to accept assistance. Others, thankfully, stayed until they were well enough to return to families or seek employment. Thanks to the patronage of the Gillensfords and people like the Earl of Inglewood and Sir Isaac, those men left with excellent references.

“Papa?”

Myles brushed off his hands and turned around, looking to where his youngest son walked along the brick wall that circled the future rose garden. The little scamp had snuck up on them. Smythe didn’t seem to mind. “Yes, Pip?”

Philip, all of five years old, jumped down from the wall. “Mama said to remind you that we have dinner at Ambleside tonight.”