Page 25 of Her Unsuitable Match

He dropped into the seat across from her, then he removed his hat and placed it on the seat beside him. He stretched one leg forward and winced.

“Did you hit it very hard?” Philippa had caught sight of the blow he’d suffered as she had stood to make her way to the altar with Adam.

His hand stilled. “You noticed?” His expression softened into a cautious smile. “It will be purple for days, I should think.”

“I suppose that is what you get for being over-eager.” Philippa bit her lip after the words escaped and directed her next words more to the window than to her new husband. “I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched as he settled more deeply into his seat. “You made a compelling argument regarding all the ways this arrangement will benefit me, too. If we’re going to start expressing gratitude, you must know how greatly I appreciate your trust.”

“We cannot have that. We will wind up talking ourselves in circles as I thank you, and you appreciate me, and we will both grow insipid and dull before the week is out.” Philippa arched her eyebrows and gave him the slightest of smiles. “We best talk of something else.”

“As long as it isn’t the weather.” His amiable smile made the whole of his face far more attractive. Not that she noticed such a thing. But that smile quite made one forget about the scars lining one side of his face. “I detest drawing room conversation topics. They are far too…” His eye narrowed as he searched for the right word.

“Safe?” Philippa ventured.

He chuckled and took up his hat, brushing off the top of it with his left hand. The left never seemed to move as she expected. Perhaps the same mishap which left him without vision in one eye had harmed his hand, too. “I suppose I would say impersonal. But yes, they are far too safe. If I must converse, I would prefer to speak of topics that are of unique interest to the people around me. For example, your brother tells me that you are an accomplished rider.”

“I suppose that might be said of many ladies.” Philippa dipped her head in acknowledgement of the fact. “But yes. I do enjoy riding, excessively. At home, I have the most wonderful mare. I always miss her when I am in Town.”

The scent of her roses drifted into the air between them, the perfume soft and gentle as a mild spring day. It reminded her of home. Not her elder brother’s estate, of course. But of Tertium Park, where she had spent all her free time as a child with her great-aunt and great-uncle, until time stole them both away from her.

“Your brother assures me the two of you are quite a sight, riding across the meadows.” His dark eye gleamed with interest. “What do you call her?”

“You will think me terribly silly. I named her ages ago.” Though not as long as she would have people believe, given the name she had given the finely bred mare. “I call her Bunny.”

Myles didn’t even bother hiding his sudden laugh. “Bunny?”

Philippa allowed herself a grin. “She did a great deal of hopping about the field as a filly. And she has the loveliest white coat.”

“Marvelous. I cannot wait to meet her.”

“I suppose we ought to have her brought to our house in the country,” Philippa said, the idea coming to her most suddenly. “I would love that. She cannot stay in Richard’s stables now that I am not returning to his estate.”

A frown appeared on her new husband’s face. “Will he part with her, do you think?”

“He had better. She was a gift from my late great-uncle.” Philippa ran a gloved finger over a flower in her bouquet. “I wish you could have met him. He never would have stood for what Richard and my mother tried to do to me.” She shuddered and let the roses rest upon her lap. They were nearly at Adam’s townhouse.

Rather than linger upon memories of her great-uncle, Philippa tried to put more cheer in her voice as she asked, “And what of you, my new husband? Do you have any particular interests for us to discuss?”

He looked down at his hat again, his expression turned solemn. “For a long time, no. Nothing in particular. But now—I think I must say my interest is deeply taken up in the hospital your family intends to create.”

She arched her eyebrows. When the solicitor gave his report on the man seated before her, he’d not had many details of what Myles Cobbett did to amuse himself. She easily recalled the few things of note. “You teach gentlemen what you know of pugilism, don’t you?”

“I used to. I cannot say it was with relish so much as a need.” He turned to the left, leaving her only his unscarred profile to observe as he spoke. “I was often ‘rewarded’ handsomely for giving up my time to instruct others.”

Because gentlemen didn’t work, that would have been a difficult situation for him to navigate.

“And you spend a great deal of time with the friends I met today—Mr. and Mrs. Moreton.” She had liked the look of them both. “We should invite them to a family dinner while we are at the Gillensford house. I would like to get to know them better.”

He turned toward her, head tilted to one side. “You would?”

“Of course. They are important to you. I know ours is not a traditional arrangement, but we can certainly be cordial to one another’s family and friends.”

“Cordial. Yes.” He turned away again, looking out the window. Dash it all—she hadn’t phrased her response especially well. Knowing what he hoped for—an eventual understanding that would lead to children, of all things—she shouldn’t speak lightly about things that mattered to him.

“Mr. Cobbett?”

“Myles.” He didn’t turn as he corrected her. “I think being cordial extends to using my Christian name. It’s Myles.”