Page 44 of Her Unsuitable Match

Myles released a quiet breath, then pushed his hair back from his forehead. “I haven’t told them more than the most basic information. When we married. Your name. My change of address.” He looked away from her. “I’ll use the dressing room to prepare for dinner, if you prefer. Then we can go down together.”

She nodded but didn’t move from where she stood in the center of the room. Myles walked around the edge of the carpet, feeling her eyes on him the whole time.

“You still don’t have a valet,” she said, before he opened the door to the narrow room that held their clothing and luggage.

“I’ll manage.” He tried to reassure her with a smile. “We both will, I think.” When she gave him a hesitant nod, he went fully inside and shut the door.

A narrow window let in the last rays of spring sunlight, and a lamp flickered in its place on the wall. There was just enough light for him to dress, though the room was stifling and uncomfortably warm.

His head started to pound, so he left while still holding a cravat in one hand. His shirt was open at the neck.

Philippa had settled into one of the chairs near the hearth. A book lay open in her lap. But the way her eyes snapped up to meet his made him doubt she’d actually focused on the book. He held up the cravat, sheepishly. “I need a mirror to tie this torture device around my neck.”

Her eyes fell from his gaze to the open shirt, and his wife’s cheeks turned a dark, rosy shade of pink. “Yes, of course.” She lifted up her book and pointedly stuck her nose inside it.

Myles went to the mirror hanging above the bureau and started wrapping the cloth around his neck. He lay the whole thing on the back of his neck, then pulled it forward. Then back. Around again, then drape it this way and that. Finally, he held it all together with a plain silver stickpin.

“What are we going to do about our sleeping situation?” Philippa had apparently used the time it had taken him to dress to gather her courage enough to ask the question.

Myles looked down at his hands, realizing he’d forgotten to take his dinner gloves out of the dressing room. He flexed his left hand several times. “I have given it some thought. I would prefer to keep my family unaware of our agreement. It would…” How did he explain in a way she would understand? “It would distress them, I think. To know our match was made based on anything other than mutual affection.”

“I understand.” He darted his gaze up when she spoke, immediately noting the softness in her eyes. “I do, Myles. And I don’t mind. I cannot think many mothers would be thrilled with a situation like ours. Especially one as caring as yours.”

“Thank you.” He relaxed somewhat, then nodded to where she sat. “I will sleep in one of the chairs. No one will be the wiser.”

Philippa raised her eyebrows. “One of these chairs?” She stood and pointed in her seat. “Myles. That would be terribly uncomfortable.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he admitted, trying to smile through the memory of the hard, damp ground where he’d lain his head during the war. “I will steal a pillow from the bed. A blanket from a linen closet. That amount of comfort will be perfectly acceptable.”

His wife pursed her lips, glancing down at the chair and then up at the bed.

Days in a carriage and uncomfortable beds in old inns hadn’t exactly been easy. He’d looked forward to a downy mattress and warm blankets and pillows stuffed with feathers. But Philippa’s happiness and wellbeing came first.

“I suppose…”

The long case clock in the entry hall chimed the hour, its steady rhythm echoing through the whole house.

“We had better go down, so we aren’t late to dinner. I wouldn’t want your mother to think me rude.” She started across the room, stopping at Myles’s side. “I quite like her.”

“I think she feels the same about you.” Myles extended his arm to her, and she took it with a hopeful smile.

“Really?”

“And if anyone is blamed for our late arrival to dinner, it will be me. Just wait and see.” He led her from the room, and they went down to dinner together without speaking another word on the subject of who would sleep where.

* * *

Philippa woke from her slumber with a start. She’d had the most peaceful dream. There was a garden, full of bumblebees and butterflies. She’d been looking for someone. And then she’d heard Myles calling for her.

Awake, she heard him moaning. Speaking unintelligibly.

Blinking in the darkness of an unfamiliar room, Pippa listened carefully a moment. Then she realized Myles mustn’t be awake. He was dreaming. And given the sound of things, they were not pleasant dreams.

He was having a nightmare.

She threw the covers off and put her bare feet on the cold floor, then stumbled blindly toward him in the dark.

They had exchanged enough covert looks after dinner for Pippa and Myles to understand one another. She had gone up to bed before him, ringing for her maid to help her undress. Then she’d slid into bed and left a lamp for him to take into the dressing room for himself. He’d stayed downstairs long enough with his brothers that she’d almost fallen asleep, lulled easily to rest in the comfortable bed. But she’d woken when he’d entered the room, her whole being aware of his movements up until the moment he’d settled in the chair to sleep.