Page 32 of Her Unsuitable Match

“I suppose so.” His gaze flicked from the door to the stairway.

“You needn’t linger with me,” Philippa said quickly, though a twinge of disappointment accompanied the words. “I know you are tired.”

But her husband gestured to the doorway. “Tea and a book are my favorite things to combat a headache.”

“Truly? I cannot read when I am even the slightest bit ill. It always makes things worse.” She led the way to the doors, opening them herself. During the day, a footman stood in each corridor, ready to help family members with even the smallest of tasks. But with evening upon them, and the family mostly abed, the servants had sought their own rest or other duties.

“Sometimes it is the same for me, but I am willing to risk it this evening.” Myles followed her inside the room and sat down in a chair near the fire. He took off his right glove, then the left, and put them on a table next to him.

Philippa went to a small set of shelves in the corner. More books were in other parts of the house, but there was always a selection at hand in this room for anyone looking to pass the time. She took up a novel she hadn’t read in years. She then looked over her shoulder at her husband’s bowed head.

“I could read to you, so you can rest your eyes—” She pressed her lips together tightly over the last word, but not soon enough to cut off the plural S.

Myles didn’t so much as twitch. “That is a kind offer. If it wouldn’t trouble you, I think I might enjoy being read to. I cannot remember the last time anyone read something to me.”

She relaxed. It seemed she hadn’t offended him with her small slip. “And here I read aloud nearly every day.” She came around the couch at the same moment the door opened, a maid coming into the room. Philippa gave instructions for tea, then settled in the chair on the other side of the hearth from Myles.

“Who do you read to?” Myles asked, and she realized he’d closed his good eye and leaned against the back of the couch.

“I used to read to my mother. She had headaches all the time. Or, at least, she says she does.” Philippa chuckled and opened the book. “Since Elaine married into the family, we often read together. One of us sews or paints, the other reads. Sometimes I read with Nancy, too. I cannot think of a better way to enjoy a book than with another person.”

“I look forward to giving the exercise a try, then.” Myles folded his arms across his chest, and she saw him tuck his left hand away. From habit? Or to hide it?

As she read aloud from The Eve of St. Marco, she glanced up at him more than once. He breathed evenly, his eye remained closed, and she couldn’t be sure he was awake. When the tea came, her husband opened his eye without any sign of disorientation or sleepiness. He poured out, so she could continue reading.

For half an hour, she read to him. She sipped at her tea when her voice grew weary, then came to the close of a chapter. It felt like the right place to stop. Especially as she couldn’t tell if her husband truly enjoyed the reading or if he only humored her. As soon as she closed the book’s cover, his eye came open and he appeared as alert as ever. Then they talked quietly of the book, with her mindful of his headache, before he suggested they both turn in for the evening.

They went upstairs together, and Philippa noted that most of the lights were out. The corridors were dark and quiet. When they stopped before her door, she looked up at her husband with curiosity. He held a candle between them.

“Do you need the light?”

She shook her head. “My maid keeps a lamp for me when I am out. Does your valet not do that for you?”

Her husband appeared thoughtful. “I haven’t employed a valet yet. I had not even entertained the idea of obtaining one. There is a footman who has been helping, when I require it.”

Philippa’s mouth popped open in her surprise. “Myles, you must have a valet.”

His eye wrinkled at the corner again. “As you say, my lady.” He bowed, then made to walk away. And Philippa raised her hand to stop him, then hastily tucked it behind her back, hoping he hadn’t noticed. What reason did she have to ask him to linger there, in the darkness?

She slipped into her room, where a small fire glowed in the hearth and a lamp waited for her beside her bed. The cozy, inviting room had been hers for weeks now. Yet as she finally slipped beneath her blankets, Philippa didn’t feel as content as she had before. Perhaps because she reflected on the ball. The failure there settled in her heart. As did the disappointment of finding no one willing to speak to her, unless they wished to hint that her marriage was a scandal. Though quiet, her subsequent evening with Myles had been a gentle balm for that hurt.

Maybe she needed to wait another week before going to important societal functions.

People would surely forget about her hasty marriage eventually.

Twelve

Myles dreamed of the ball with Philippa. A vivid, gentle dream in which he danced with her. Men never danced with their wives. But perhaps there, in that time and space, they were unmarried. A hundred bodies surrounded them in the ballroom. As he went through the familiar steps, the room grew louder. People jostled him. Shoulders first brushed and then shoved heavily against his. His wife looked at him with concern puckering her brow. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him a question.

Then Philippa’s hand slipped away, and when Myles turned to find her—instead, he found a battlefield strewn with soldiers. His ears thundered with cannon fire. Screams. Myles had to wake up. Knew he must. And then he flew sideways as he had before—

He sat up in bed with a roar, clutching at the coverlet, the fabric bunched up in his hands. All he could smell was the memory of smoke. His body slick with sweat, he stumbled out of the bed and knelt beside it. He found the empty chamber pot beneath it and drug it out, retching. His blood thrummed in his ears, drowning out anything outside of himself.

It felt like ages before he could sit back, tipping his head against the bed to stare upward at the dark ceiling. Gradually, his pulse slowed. He felt the cold of the floor where his heels rested against it.

The house remained dark and quiet.

No one had heard him.