Page 4 of Her Unsuitable Match

“If I am not invited to the ball in order to garner pity and open pocketbooks, why would I need to be present at all?” He still had no desire to be trotted out as an example—yet he couldn’t be selfish. If even the smallest sacrifice of his comfort played a part of offering hope to boys and men coming back with wounds too deep for most to see…? It was his duty to attend.

For the first time since he sat down, Moreton wore an expression of complete seriousness. There was no coaxing, no false-cheer in his voice when he spoke. “You would be present to answer questions, if anyone is brave enough to ask. To have conversations in which you are honest about what life was like for you when you returned to England. You are an eloquent man, when you wish to be, and none can doubt your sincerity given how openly you wear your scars.”

Myles lowered his gaze to the table, a lump forming in his throat. If only Moreton knew how difficult it was, every single day, for Myles to step out into the sunshine and bear the stares of others. But he had mastered himself, and his emotions, to a point where few could even guess at what strength it took for him to put on his eyepatch and coat as though both were perfectly normal to wear.

“I had better find a barber.”

Moreton blinked at him. “Pardon me?”

Myles gestured with his fully-intact hand to his face. “I wouldn’t want to scare away any of the ladies by looking like a bear.”

When Moreton rose to clap Myles on the back, he forced a smile. In a few hours, he’d be dressed in his finest clothing, moving about in a room filled with the wealthiest members of Society, and revealing much more than he wished about his past difficulties.

He hoped it would be worth it.

Three

Philippa and Elaine were the only two in the retiring room the hotel had set aside for ladies attending the Gillensford ball. The guests would begin arriving shortly, and Elaine needed a moment to herself. Philippa, dressed in soft rose-colored silks, sat on the padded bench next to her sister-in-law, admiring the older woman’s subtle beauty while Elaine stared into the gilded mirror on the wall, smoothing her ivory-and-gold skirts.

Red hair hadn’t been admired in Society for some time, if ever, but Elaine wore her natural color with grace. Her maid had piled the red hair loosely atop Elaine’s head, held everything in place with pearl-tipped pins and golden thread, and finished off the whole with a broad satin ribbon that looked like liquid gold.

Sometimes, when Philippa saw Elaine looking like that, she wished to exchange her own dark-brown locks for something more unique. Something more auburn. Or gold. Many a man said they admired women with yellow-gold hair. Dark hair wasn’t quite the fashion, though it was certainly a widespread hue among the ton.

“I am terrified.” Elaine’s abrupt statement, coupled with her meeting Philippa’s gaze in the mirror, broke through the younger woman’s thoughts. “This affair is so much grander than the dinner we hosted to raise money for the orphanage.”

Covering her sister-in-law’s hand with her own, Philippa gazed back into her eyes with an upward tilt of her chin. “You are doing something incredible, Elaine. Of course you are nervous. But Adam will be by your side, and so will I. Everyone who attends here this evening is doing so because they want to make a difference, too. They merely lack the imagination to do so on their own. You are pointing them in the right direction and allowing them to dance while they learn how to do and be better.”

Elaine’s cheeks pinked beneath her freckles, and she released a wavering laugh. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Of course I do. I know you have a good heart.” Philippa squeezed Elaine’s hand, then turned to look at her directly. Elaine did the same. “And what is the worst thing that could happen? Last week, the Earl of Coventry fell into a bowl of dark red punch at Baroness Gower’s private ball. Everyone laughed about it for a few days, and then it was forgotten.”

That brought a truer grin to Elaine’s face, though she tempered it with a shake of her head. “The poor earl. And baroness.”

“And last Season,” Philippa went on with perhaps too much glee, “everyone was scandalized when Lord Dudley’s mistress arrived at a ball, on the arm of her husband, and still flirted with Lord Dudley all evening. That made the papers, but everyone thought that particular ball a success.”

Elaine wrinkled her nose and gave Philippa a gentle shove with her shoulder. “I think you ought not to enjoy such stories so much. Do you read anything in papers and magazines other than gossip?”

“I find people interesting.” Philippa rose from her seat and tugged a bit at the slight wrinkles in her dress. “It isn’t that I delight in the unfortunate things that happen, but that I’d rather read about my peers bumbling through life as I do than about less pleasant things—like tariffs and trade proposals.” She shuddered dramatically, knowing full well that Elaine and Adam both pored over those articles in order to manage their funds and stocks.

Elaine did not rise to Philippa’s bait. Instead, she rose from the cushioned seat and put her arms around her sister-in-law. “Thank you for being here this evening, Pippa. I know I can trust you to tell me when I don’t behave correctly.”

At this, Philippa snorted. “You are twice as polite as people who are born to the upper classes and peerage. You do not need me to help you at all.”

“Except to remind me whom people are sometimes.” Elaine winced. “I still don’t think that baroness has forgiven me for confusing her as a baronetess.”

“A minor mistake.” Philippa looked Elaine over carefully once more. “At least she wasn’t a duchess. That may have been awkward.”

The former seamstress, now dressed finer than any of her clients had ever been, took both of Philippa’s hands in hers. “Will you look after the soldiers coming this evening? It cannot be easy for them to be here, to speak of their needs to strangers. Adam thought it would be a good idea to have them, but I worry it might be insulting in some way.”

“They wouldn’t have agreed to attend if it bothered them.” Philippa narrowed her eyes at Elaine. “How many said they would come?”

“A dozen, nearly right away. The last one agreed to be here only a few hours ago.”

“Thirteen.” Philippa raised her eyebrows and affected a concerned expression. She dropped her voice an octave. “An unlucky number.”

Elaine tossed her head with a dramatic sniff. “I am not the least bit superstitious. And one might argue those who bring wives with them negate that, anyway.”

Philippa nodded sagely. “I quite agree. I’ve heard that some people think thirteen is quite lucky. The French, for example.”