Page 23 of Her Unsuitable Match

A sudden shriek down the corridor made all of them jump. Philippa put a hand to her throat. “Oh dear. Mother must be leaving.”

Mr. Cobbett’s eyes widened. “That was your mother?”

“She can be quite theatrical.” Philippa winced and walked to the desk. “We had better get started.” Before Mr. Cobbett changed his mind, leaving her to a legal muddle far more difficult to win than the one that marriage might solve.

* * *

After Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had put away the signed documents, Myles breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Lady Philippa had accepted his conditions, which the solicitor had taken to calling “the relationship addendum.” He would need to thank Moreton for his advice yet again. He’d spent the better part of yesterday afternoon convincing Moreton that he wasn’t insane for considering Lady Philippa’s proposal. Then he’d gone over what he wanted added to the document, and Moreton had written up suggestions for what he termed “unconventional nuptials.”

It seemed everyone had a name for what Myles wanted except for him. Because he couldn’t quite explain what drove him to add those things to the contract. He hadn’t ever thought to have a conventional marriage of any kind. But now that a wedding lay within his future, he had to consider what such a thing meant. And what he wanted.

If he and Lady Philippa got along, they might provide each other companionship. Support. And if they found they suited well enough to have children—well. Myles had loved growing up in a large family of children. His family held a genuine affection for one another.

Perhaps he’d do well at fatherhood.

Not that such things bore thinking of yet. He grew warm around the neck and adjusted his cravat.

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk had all the documents in hand, tucked beneath his arm, and led the way to the door. “I must be on my way. With your permission, my lady, Mr. Cobbett, I will obtain a common marriage license and you can be married by Sunday next, so long as it is within one of your church parishes. I am assuming, since you live in London year-round, Mr. Cobbett, that yours might be the easier of the two options.”

Lady Philippa followed them both, her hands tucked behind her back and her head lowered. She hadn’t spoken much after they had begun to sign things. Perhaps the reality of the situation began to sink in for her, too.

Married by Sunday. Myles cleared his throat. “That is acceptable. I attend at Chelsea Old Church. The vicar there went to school with my father.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Mr. Tuttle-Kirk slid the bolt open. “I will be in touch with you both when everything on my end is finalized.”

He opened the door and standing in the hall was the same butler who had shown them up the stairs when Mr. Tuttle-Kirk claimed he had come to assist Lady Philippa with legal matters.

That butler appeared highly suspicious now, rather than relieved as he had before. “My lady.”

Lady Philippa stepped between the two men, her bearing changing to something far more confident. “Hopkins. I understand I have you to thank for the timely arrival of these gentlemen.”

He appeared suddenly concerned. “I thought they might help with the situation above stairs, my lady.”

“And so you were right.” Then Philippa surprised Myles, and the butler, given the way he reddened, by laying her hand upon his cheek. “You have always been kind to me, Hopkins. If there is ever anything I might do by way of thanks, do let me know.”

“My lady.” He bowed, as a knight before a queen. Then he rose and gestured down the corridor. “Mr. and Mrs. Gillensford hope you and your guests will join them for tea, if you have concluded your business.”

Mr. Tuttle-Kirk chuckled before anyone else could answer. “I am afraid I must be off. Work to do. But do not let my absence hinder the two of you.” His mustache twitched. “I can show myself out. Good day, my lady. Mr. Cobbett.”

“Good day,” Lady Philippa responded, sounding surprised.

Of course the old man would depart now, leaving Myles and Philippa to explain what had transpired to people he respected. Mr. Gillensford would likely throw him out on his good ear.

Slim fingers found his gloved left hand and twined with his. She had to feel the unnatural stillness of the smallest two fingers in his glove, but Lady Philippa did not draw back or question him. Instead, she came up beside him, the length of their arms pressed together.

“Well, Mr. Cobbett. Here is our first test. Adam and Elaine mustn’t think us desperate so much as practical.”

Looking down into her lovely blue eyes, Myles forced himself to relax. Tentatively, he squeezed her hand with his. “I will follow as you lead, my lady.”

Her soft pink lips turned upward in a soft smile. “Am I to play the general?”

“Field marshal, I should think.” He untangled their fingers and offered her his arm instead. Though he wore his glove, having her bare hand in his was too much for him. Too soon. She didn’t know the extent of his scars. She hadn’t cared to ask about them. Maybe that meant she didn’t mind them. Though he found that difficult to believe.

He suddenly wished he had offered her his right arm, and thus his right side to look upon.

They went to the same room they had abandoned with Mr. Tuttle-Kirk earlier, and this time when they entered together, only Mr. and Mrs. Gillensford waited inside. The two of them sat together on the sofa, and they moved as one to stand when Myles and Lady Philippa entered, arm-in-arm.

“Adam, Elaine. You both know Mr. Cobbett.” Lady Philippa’s arm tightened around his, and Myles looked down to see that—despite wearing a serene expression—her eyes were full of worry. “I have the honor of introducing him to you both anew, as my betrothed. We are to be married this Sunday, by common license.”