Page 19 of Her Unsuitable Match

Slowly, Myles shook his head. “The opposite of those things was often true.”

“Consider that Lady Philippa, though not as experienced in battle tactics as you are, is quite experienced when it comes to weighing and measuring her peers.” The solicitor affixed his spectacles above his nose as he spoke. “She knows well enough what the men of her more immediate acquaintance offer, and yet she chose you. Why do you think that is?”

Myles couldn’t meet the older man’s eyes. He lowered his gaze to the carpet instead, not seeing its whirls and flourishes as he tried to sort out his thoughts on the matter. Prior to their meeting that morning, Lady Philippa had only interacted with him twice. The first of those instances with the most substantial time. When he had saved her from a scoundrel. Had that act alone endeared him to her?

How could she possibly know, from such a short moment, the truth of his character? Because Myles, incredulous though he was at her proposition, knew he would be precisely the sort of man she wanted as a husband. Because he would give his wife—should he ever have one—the freedom to enjoy her life. He would want her happiness above his own.

But he had never considered marriage. Because he couldn’t support a family on his pension, and he refused to hunt down a woman just to force her to support them both. He detested the very idea of fortune hunters. Even though he could well have benefited from a greater income.

Then there was the matter of his scars, both physical and otherwise. He wasn’t even sure what to call them. Spiritual scars, perhaps, given how often he prayed for the welfare of other veterans less fortunate than himself. Mental, for certain, given the way his past strained his mind both waking and sleeping.

What woman would willingly look at his face every day at her breakfast table, let alone every night in her bed? Should he find himself with such an angel, how would she tolerate his nightmares or his headaches? What about the myriad of times he startled at a sudden noise and flinched away from quick movements?

Yet he had to consider the offer before him, despite his misgivings.

With all that Lady Philippa had proposed, and the drafts upon Mr. Tuttle-Kirk’s desk, she was freely giving him access to more money than he had ever dreamed of. He could invest funds, give to charitable causes, and see that his sisters had doweries that would give them a greater ability to find their own matches.

“I have been a solicitor for nearly fifty years. In my time, I have seen many things that you would not believe. I speak of legal cases, of course, but more than that. I have seen people find the most unlikely paths to happiness.” The man’s eyes twinkled, his expression relaxing into a smile. He looked more the part of a doting grandfather than a man of law once again. “Perhaps, Mr. Cobbett, this is your path. I am going to ask you a question, and I would like your instinctive response.”

Curiosity brought Myles’s gaze up again. He raised his eyebrows and took hold of the arms of the chair. “Very well. What is your question?” He sat with the stiffness the military had drilled into him, his chin up and his bearing that of a man poised to lead others into battle. That past life seemed far less daunting than the possibility of what the day had presented to him.

“Do you want to marry Lady Philippa Gillensford?”

One word entered his mind and echoed loudly for him alone to hear. Even though he hadn’t expected that question. He’d only had time to think it might be something to do with honor, or duty, or integrity. There were dozens of reasons, logical reasons, for him to answer the inquiry differently.

Myles frowned up at Mr. Tuttle-Kirk, no less confused when he uttered the answer out loud. “Yes.”

The solicitor nodded slowly. “Are your instincts generally right?”

His left hand twitched. Had he followed his instinct the night he’d lost men, half his sight, several fingers, and more than he could put into words, things would have turned out much differently.

“Yes,” he said again, closing both hands into fists. “Though I have not always trusted them as I should.”

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk gave a solemn nod. “We often fight against our best judgement when it goes against what Society has told us is best. A common failing among men and women both.” The solicitor pushed the drafts to the end of the desk. “Take this. Read them over. Consult a solicitor of your own, if you wish. But do not take long in deciding, Mr. Cobbett. Lady Philippa deserves my best effort to ensure her future happiness. If you will not be part of aiding her, I need to know soon so I might plan another course of action.”

With the papers bound up in a protective folder, Myles left to speak to the only people he trusted to advise him. The Moretons. But while he walked the short distance to their home, he realized something that stopped him in his steps.

He had already answered Mr. Tuttle-Kirk as he intended to. He’d said yes to marrying Lady Philippa Gillensford. And he didn’t mean to change his mind.

Heaven help them both.

Eight

Philippa had spent too much time with Mr. Cobbett. Her mother had regarded her with suspicion all day after her visit to the gentleman’s preferred breakfast location. The next morning, to escape more pointed questions and lectures on familiar duty, she snuck away again to go hat shopping.

A new hat might be just the thing she needed to cheer her up a bit.

Yet the whole while she visited her favorite hatmaker, Philippa’s thoughts lingered over Mr. Cobbett. How startled he had been to see her, and how shocked at her proposal. She didn’t blame him. Even while she tried to decide between a feathered cap that put her in mind of a medieval tapestry and a bonnet festooned with silk flowers, she easily recalled the look of him with one eye looking on in sympathy and the other covered with a leather patch.

He certainly cut a dashing figure, though she doubted he meant to do so. His dark hair, cut short in the way of many a military man, hung longer on the top and front, threatening to fall into his eyes. And he was a lovely height, though not so tall as her brothers. The scars—they did mar one side of his face and were of such a nature that she could not doubt the pain his injuries had caused when they were new.

How had such a thing happened to him? She looked down at the hats upon the table and realized she wanted neither. Despite the fashionable appeal, they were rather ridiculously overdone.

Instead, she chose a cunning blue hat with a silver ribbon and white roses along its brim. She loved roses. And the sky-hued hat appeared elegant in its simplicity.

Entering the carriage Adam and Elaine kept when they were in town, Philippa stared out the glass window and wondered why Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had yet to contact her. Had Mr. Cobbett not gone to see him after all? Had he turned down her solicitor, leaving the older man to prepare a doomed legal case for her instead?

The errand didn’t take nearly long enough. When Philippa walked through the front door, her maid carrying the hatbox behind her, Hopkins appeared.