Page 56 of Her Unsuitable Match

“That sounds lovely. I hope I am here to see it.” Pippa couldn’t bring herself to say much more, but her mother-in-law kept up a comforting stream of words about flowers, gardens, and all things summery and light.

Lady Greenwood didn’t seem upset over her son’s absence. And she didn’t question Pippa closely about why Myles disappeared without a word to either of them. It was only when they left the greenhouse and inspected the outdoor rose bushes that the older of the two gave Pippa a soft smile. “Did you know that Myles was my least adventurous child?”

Startled by the change in conversation, and the knowledge, Pippa had to shake her head. “No,” she drew out the word slowly. “I did not. Given that he became a soldier, I would have thought the opposite to be true.”

“Myles never ventured far from home, except when his sisters or brothers asked it of him.” Lady Greenwood smiled fondly, her gaze unfocused as she slipped into memory. “And he only went because he thought he needed to look after everyone. That has always been his way. He looks after people.” She bent to inhale the scent of a white rosebud. “When he was a very little boy, only two years old, he found me crying. I don’t remember why now. Mothers cry a great deal over nothing, sometimes.” She shrugged and turned to face Pippa. “But that little boy toddled to where I sat and patted my cheek. ‘No cry, Mama. Love you.’ And he gave me a kiss. I tell you, I wrapped him in my arms and held him close. I thought it the sweetest thing.”

Pippa lowered herself to an iron chair, keeping her eyes on Myles’s mother. “That is a sweet story. So protecting others from harm has always been part of his nature.”

“Always.” Lady Greenwood swept forward and took the match to Pippa’s chair. “Which gives me reason to wonder how the two of you met and married so quickly that he did not have time to write me about it until after the deed was done.” Nothing in the woman’s tone was threatening, or disapproving, but the way she sat like a queen on a throne meant she expected answers.

“Myles hasn’t told you anything?” Pippa asked softly.

“Nothing. Except that he is happy.”

Pippa’s heart fluttered, but then guilt weighed it down again. She folded her hands in her lap. “I think…I think you should know all the circumstances. Because I wonder if maybe Myles isn’t happy at all.” Pippa swallowed, then had to look away from the woman whose eyes were so like her son’s. “He was looking after me. Protecting me, and by extension, helping his sisters.”

“What do you mean?” Lady Greenwood spoke steadily, and her expression softened. “Were you in danger?”

Though Pippa had no desire to tell their story without Myles, the peace of the garden wrapped around her heart and soul. Lady Greenwood’s gentle presence made it easier to confide in her, too. Haltingly at first, and then more steadily, Pippa told her mother-in-law their story. From the moment she first met Myles in the ballroom, up until the day they arrived at Ambleside. She tried not to speak much about Myles’s struggles in London, focusing instead on his readiness to do whatever necessary to please her.

“I never thought myself spoiled, or selfish,” Pippa admitted, unable to look her mother-in-law in the eye. “I wanted to be better than that. Better than my mother and my elder sister. They are horribly vain. They accept nothing less than what they think the best, in everything. I thought I was different. But lately, I think I have been just as terrible as them. Your son has sacrificed his future for mine, when he might’ve been happier to marry someone else. Someone who didn’t demand so much from him.”

Lady Greenwood said nothing. Pippa couldn’t bring herself to look at the other woman’s expression, certain as she was that it would hold disappointment. Or disgust. The silence lay heavily on her heart, the only sounds penetrating her guilt the soft rustle of the leaves. Far away, a bird called, and another answered.

“Pippa.” Lady Greenwood spoke firmly. “Look at me, child.”

She inhaled deeply, bolstering herself with what little confidence remained to her. Pippa lifted her gaze to her mother-in-law. Lady Greenwood’s countenance, soft and maternal as ever, didn’t waver as she studied Pippa. “My son isn’t one to make important decisions lightly. That he married you doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. He saw a way to help people outside of himself. Whatever sacrifice you think he made for that opportunity, you ought to honor it rather than bemoan your own motives.”

Leaning closer, Pippa asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, dear Pippa, that we all have weaknesses. You. Me. Myles. But I would not declare that his giving heart is one of his. And it does not sound to me as though you came to the conclusion that you must marry with selfishness so much as self-preservation. You needed someone. You found Myles. If you feel you have since been more concerned with yourself than him, that is a weakness that can be corrected. Isn’t it?”

That thought made Pippa’s head hang lower and her shoulders bunch up toward her ears. “I tried,” she admitted quietly. “When I spoke to Myles last night. I tried to correct how I’d behaved—”

“In order to make yourself feel better, dear.” Lady Greenwood’s voice remained gentle, and Pippa winced again. The baroness had a perceptive mind. “You weren’t thinking of Myles so much as you were thinking about you. Were you?”

Pippa released a trembly breath. “No. You are right, of course. I wanted to soothe my conscience more than I thought on what he needed from me.” Pippa rose from her chair and walked to one of the rose bushes, not seeing the buds so clearly as the thorns. “What do I do? He must think me such a foolish, childish thing.”

Lady Greenwood came to stand beside her, brushing Pippa’s cheek as gently as she might a rosebud. Pippa’s attention stayed on the greenery, knowing if she saw the way Myles’s mother looked at her she would most certainly cry. No one had looked after Pippa in so long. But that was exactly what this felt like. Lady Greenwood mothered Pippa as she would one of her own children.

“I doubt my son would ever think less of you for your mistakes. As I said. We all have them. And Myles—well.” Here the woman’s voice changed, sounding more amused than comforting. She drew Pippa’s gaze up again as she spoke. “Myles has always been a protector, it is true. He has always been kind. But I have never seen him look at a woman as he looks at you.”

That afternoon, Lady Greenwood and her daughters Margaret and Elenor, invited Pippa to call on Dr. and Mrs. Johnson with them. “You must come see the Clock House,” Elenor, the youngest, said with a bright grin. “It is absolutely charming.”

Though Pippa had hoped to visit the doctor with Myles, she had no intention of passing up the opportunity now presented. Myles thought highly of the doctor and his wife. She wanted to get to know them, for his sake. Thus she rode in an open carriage with her new in-laws. Lady Greenwood drove, rather than have a servant accompany them.

They passed through a beautiful wood to emerge in a sun-drenched lane surrounded on either side by rolling hills of green. “This is Highdale land,” Lady Greenwood told Pippa. “The same gentleman owns it that leases the Clock House to the Johnsons. He used to raise cattle, but recently sold most of his herds.” She pursed her lips. “He is being quite close-mouthed as to why. Though the baron and I think he means to sell.”

“He hasn’t any family,” Margaret said, speaking in a soft voice as though the gentleman himself might hear her. “And he must be seventy if he is a day.”

“It would be interesting, would it not? To have new neighbors at such a time in my life.” Lady Greenwood shook her head and then pointed. “Ah, there it is. The Clock House.”

An ordinary brick house, with slate roof, sat back not twenty feet from the road. Pippa studied it carefully, from its green-painted shutters to the pleasant yellow door, and the ivy creeping up one side. “Why is it called the Clock House?”

“Look at the barn,” Elenor said, pointing to a brick building set near the house.

At the top of the barn, several feet in diameter, was a bright white clockface. Two long hands pointed out the hour and minutes. The clock faced the house, and anyone coming toward it on the road.