Page 16 of The Work of Art

“Perhaps a drive in the park would give you more pleasure?”

The knot of anxiety in Philly’s stomach tightened. A drive in the park? With the Duke of Moreland? She’d never been for a drive with a gentleman before. It seemed something only done by courting couples.

She knew she should be flattered by such an offer. There were only a handful of dukes in England. To be courted by one of them was surely the stuff of dreams.

But there was nothing dreamlike about Philly’s present situation. Rather the opposite. She was filled with a sense of impending dread.

What in the world had Uncle Edgar got her into?

“Your uncle has informed me I may call for you on Monday afternoon.” Moreland’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “What say you to that, Miss Satterthwaite?”

“I would be honored, Your Grace.” Philly didn’t know what else she could say. Between her discomfort at dancing the waltz, and the notion that the Duke of Moreland might consider her a prospect for marriage, she was feeling quite overwhelmed.

Moreland continued to wordlessly move her around the floor, all the while staring at her face with his unblinking black eyes. It was as if she were some rare creature he’d discovered in the natural history museum.

To ease her discomfort, Philly began to ponder things she might converse with him about. But Moreland didn’t seem like the sort of man who would appreciate any of the things she had to say. No doubt he’d find her wretchedly uncultured.

Unbidden, an image of Captain Heywood sprang to her mind. With it came a distinct pang of sadness. Those brief moments with him had been the closest thing to companionship she’d had since coming to London. The way he’d looked at her. The way he’d listened. But it was more than that. She’d felt something when she was with him. A kinship. A shared sense of…something.

Moreland swept her into another turn, startling Philly so much that she lost track of her footing again, as well as any fleeting thoughts she might have had about Captain Heywood.

Thankfully, it wasn’t much longer before the music swelled to a finale. She attempted to step away from Moreland then, but he held her fast for just one second more than was decent before, finally, letting her go.

“I shall escort you to supper, Miss Satterthwaite.” He offered her his arm.

She could do nothing but take it, letting him lead her back through the very interested crowd of onlookers.

Up ahead, Uncle Edgar, Mrs. Vale, and her cousins waited to join them. They all made their way into the supper room together.

“Your niece is not much for talking, Townsend,” Moreland said to her uncle. “I find her silence suits me rather well.”

Uncle Edgar gave a watery chuckle and made some polite reply.

Philly did her best to pretend that she hadn’t heard the remark.

As they walked, the two men continued to talk to each other as if she wasn’t there. She was relieved rather than offended, grateful for anything that would draw the duke’s gaze from her face.

Monday dawned overcast and cold. Philly hoped it might rain in the afternoon, thereby postponing her drive in the park with the duke. She wasn’t looking forward to the outing. Quite the reverse. She was dreading it. At the same time, she was all too sensible of her obligation to Uncle Edgar. He’d brought her to London to make a good match. And a match with a nobleman—a duke, no less—would be better than good. It would be illustrious. A match for the ages.

Philly was beginning to feel rather depressed about the whole thing. It was a relief to get out of the house for a walk with her dogs.

Since the ball on Saturday, Mrs. Vale had become even more dictatorial about what Philly wore on her outings. “Everyone’s eyes will be upon you now. You must take the utmost care with your appearance.”

Not wanting to upset the woman any further than was necessary, Philly had dressed for her morning walk with particular care, pairing a pale-yellow cambric walking dress with a close-fitting pelisse of rich, dark amber sarsnet.

“I hope we won’t see that man again,” Sara muttered as they entered the park.

Philly settled Fox more firmly in her arms. She didn’t mind the young maid’s impertinence. She’d always encouraged candor in the servants at Satterthwaite Court. “Why do you say so?”

“He’s not right. And he’s got no business talking to you in the park.”

“Captain Heywood is a war hero.” Philly spoke with unerring confidence. Though she didn’t know anything about Arthur Heywood’s service in the war, her instincts told her that such a man could be nothing but noble and heroic.

“That’s not what I heard, miss.”

Philly shot the maid a questioning look. “What did you hear, Sara?”

“Only that he’s dangerous. That he’s not to be trifled with.”