Page 5 of Her Unsuitable Match

With that, her sister-in-law gave a merry laugh. “There you have it. I am emulating the French, as any seamstress must know how to do.”

After they checked each other’s hair and gowns, Elaine and Philippa linked arms and went out the door to the main hall. Philippa had offered to stand in the receiving line with Elaine, but her sister-in-law proclaimed that she needed Philippa to keep an eye on things in the ballroom once guests began arriving.

Adam waited at the top of the steps above the grand foyer. He gave Philippa the briefest greeting before taking his wife’s hand in his and kissing her, right there where anyone might see, with a brief press of his lips to hers. Had a man ever been so besotted by his wife?

“Are you ready, my darling?” he asked, his blue eyes focused upon Elaine. “The hotel manager said there are carriages lining up in the street.”

Elaine turned a little pale. “Is it too late for me to run back home to the nursery?” Her voice sounded strained, but Adam put his arm around her shoulders and Philippa saw her sister-in-law relax.

“Nancy and the nursemaid are quite happy looking after little Isabelle together. I promise they are well. You are needed here.”

Elaine tipped her chin up. “I am, aren’t I? You certainly couldn’t manage a ball yourself, could you?”

He chuckled and pressed another kiss to her temple. “I couldn’t manage anything without you, Elaine.”

Philippa stepped back as they spoke, watching as her brother helped Elaine find her courage once more. As the third son of an earl, Adam had been born to privilege, wealth, and the games of the ton. As husband to Elaine, he stood as her defender and partner in all things. Between the two of them, Society had no chance of ignoring the amount of good they would do.

If someone promised such a match to Philippa, she’d happily do as her mother insisted and wed. But she’d seen too many marriages, up close and from a distance, that lacked such care and respect.

As Philippa stepped into the ballroom, she put her shoulders back and offered a nod to the orchestra on the balcony above the dancefloor. They took that as their cue and played music meant for listening rather than dancing. The ballroom of the hotel was twice as long as it was wide, with white-marble columns and an array of chandeliers above—lit by the gasworks across the river. Quite modern, in many respects.

The room was grander than Almack’s ballroom, but no one would dare say it. The building still sparkled with fresh paint, and one could almost smell the new lumber used in its construction. A ball at a hotel, while not a new concept altogether, was certainly unique. And everyone wanted a glimpse of this particular ballroom.

The evening would be a success for Elaine and Adam. Their dream of a veteran’s hospital would come to fruition. Philippa had no doubt of that.

The doors to the ballroom opened, and the first of the guests came in, the hum of their conversation providing a gentle undertone to the music. Philippa glided toward the doors, ready with her most charming expression and words of welcome.

* * *

The dancing was well underway when Myles entered the ballroom a few steps behind Moreton and his wife. Emmeline cooed over the fine decor, the dresses, and everything else as though the whole spectacle had been created for her enjoyment alone. Moreton’s affection for his wife was evident in the way he introduced her to the first knot of people they came to.

“I have the honor of introducing this enchanting woman on my arm as my wife, Mrs. Moreton.” Moreton kept his eyes upon her through every word, his expression filled with adoration.

If the couple were not the closest friends Myles possessed, their display of affection would garner a cynical response rather than his reluctant admiration. Few men were as fortunate in their choice of a wife as Moreton. Then his friend introduced Myles, and the conversations became more focused.

“And this is my good friend, Mr. Myles Cobbett, a former captain in His Majesty’s army.”

Myles flexed his left hand within its glove, questioning again if it had been practicality or vanity that made him stuff the two empty fingers of the glove with scraps of fabric. He couldn’t hide his left cheek as easily, the scars from the shrapnel as apparent as the (mostly unharmed) nose on his face. Then there was the eyepatch.

“A captain in the army, were you?” A gentleman with a self-important tilt to his chin made a point of staring at the left side of Myles’s face. “Then you must have some idea of what the Gillensfords are trying to achieve, and an opinion on the matter. Tell me, do you think it really necessary that the men returning home from battle—hardened soldiers who have seen death and dealt it for king and country—need a place such as this hospital will be? A facility where they will be coddled?”

Myles hadn’t ever particularly enjoyed mingling in Society, and in less than five minutes, he deeply regretted being moved by Moreton’s pleas to step out into the world again. Myles narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him, noting the softness of his chin, the puffiness beneath his eyes, and the expensive material of his clothing.

“I think you ask the wrong question, sir.” Myles couldn’t be bothered to remember the man’s name. “Here is what you should consider. Men without fortune, rather than remain home in London taking up positions in respectable places of employment, decide to place themselves in the line of fire between England’s citizens and their enemies. With little pay, less gratitude, and the genuine chance of dying a slow death alone on a battle field, bleeding from wounds too painful to describe, these men do indeed see death. They deal it in order to delay their own.” Myles took no pleasure in the way the man turned pale, or how he swallowed. “So the question you ought to ask, sir, is this: What are the people of England willing to do to show these men that their sacrifices are valued? How will England prove it doesn’t hold the lives of its sons upon the battlefield as cheap?”

The question hung in the air; the people encircling Myles and the man he spoke to were absolutely silent, and he realized how impassioned his speech likely seemed. Emotion—strong emotion—was not permitted in Society. He didn’t care. Much. He’d answered honestly enough.

A new voice spoke from Myles’s blind side—a woman’s voice, cultured and low. “Is establishing a hospital for the men to recover an appropriate answer to that question?”

Myles turned, drawing himself up and collecting his thoughts. The crowd around them had grown while he spoke, and this woman had not stood among them when he first arrived with Moreton and Emmeline. She stood with a regal tilt to her head, dark curls sparkling like the night sky, with jewels tucked into their folds.

He gave a slight bow to the woman, the only concession to their lack of proper introduction he could give in the midst of a conversation. “I think it is a step in the right direction.”

The blue of her eyes reminded him of indigo ink, swirling and dark. Those eyes glittered with interest, but her lips remained pressed closed as she considered him and his non-answer.

A gentleman appeared at her elbow, oblivious to the fact he interrupted the silent stare between Myles and the woman. “Lady Philippa, this is our dance. Do come quickly.”

Lady Philippa.