To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke Book 10)(2)

"I do not want your pity," she said tightly.

"You misunderstand, Philippa. I am sorry for your pain."

Philippa stiffened. I am sorry. Or my deepest regrets. Those were the  other familiar words given since her husband's passing. Wanting to  protect her family from the truth of the pain she'd lived with, Philippa  had not let anyone into her world. Not Mother. Not Alex. Not Chloe.  Certainly not her brother, Gabriel, the Marquess of Waverly, who'd  introduced Philippa to her husband. On most days, she was torn between  hating her brother for coordinating that union     and herself for  allowing him to. After all, it was ultimately she who'd agreed to the  match with Calvin.                       
       
           



       

Just like her family, she, too, had been content to see what was on the  surface; a staid, polite, respectable man. She, weak, pathetic Philippa,  had been so fixed on how reserved he was. So very different from her  explosive, now dead, sire that she'd failed to notice the falsity in  Calvin's smile. As such, she had never predicted that Calvin's kindness  would be blotted out by his ruthless need for an heir.

What would they say if they knew the real truth? At the protracted  silence, she cleared her throat and pulled the needle through.

Chloe moved over in a soft whir of skirts and sank to a knee alongside Philippa. "I do hate seeing you like this."

"I'm sorry," Philippa replied automatically. Often, those words came,  rote, born of a child who'd been constantly making apologies to their  monster of a father.

Chloe covered Philippa's fingers with her own in a reassuring caress.  "You do not need to be sorry for missing your husband," she said gently.

In this moment, with her sister's aching hurt for her a tangible force,  Philippa was sorry. It was hardly fair to accept sympathies for a loss  she did not feel.

"It has been a year," Chloe said gently … needlessly.

Philippa managed a nod. Three hundred and sixty-five days of black  widow's weeds. She could wear whatever Society dictated, but she could  not mourn the moment a husband such as Calvin Gage went on to the  hereafter. Cold. Unfeeling. Despising of his daughter with her partial  deafness. Singularly driven in his quest for a male heir, there had been  little redeeming in him as a husband. "I will reenter Society at my own  time. When I am ready." She underscored those latter words with an  unwavering resolve.

"Well, whether you're ready or not, you don't have much choice in the  matter. Mother is expecting you to reenter Society." Just like that,  Chloe yanked the earth out from under Philippa's feet.

No!

"Yes," Chloe said softly.

Had she spoken aloud? Chloe gave a wry smile, so much more in character  with who she commonly was, that had their mother's intentions for them  not been breathed to life, then Philippa would have found solace. But  Chloe had said it. And now, as her sister proceeded in a very  Chloe-like, practical argument on all the reasons Philippa should enter  ton life, her mind whirred, spinning out of control. She drew her arms  close and hugged the embroidery frame to her chest. She'd been married.  For six years. At five and twenty years she was no fresh debutante  expected to make a match, and yet, is that what her mother hoped, nay,  expected of her? Panic licked at the edge of her senses. Or mayhap Jane  and Gabriel didn't wish her underfoot. Her breath came hard and fast. Of  course she could retire to the country alone with her daughters-

"Nor do I think it is a bad idea for you to leave this townhouse," her sister was saying, yanking Philippa back from the brink.

She blinked rapidly. "I … " Can't, " … will think on it."

Her sister's lips turned down ever so slightly. "Promise me you'll at least go shopping."

How desperate Chloe was to send her out. Philippa would rather sit  through a lecture on propriety from their always-proper mother than  visit Bond Street. No one knew that. Not her younger sister. Not her  mother. And certainly not her two elder brothers. They'd always seen a  proper lady who enjoyed ladylike ventures: embroidering, shopping,  sketching colorful blooms, but never anything more interesting. Then, no  one truly knew all the secrets she carried. Or the hopes. Or rather,  the hopes she'd once carried, to laugh with abandon and speak her mind.  Another pang struck her heart.

"Then Hyde Park," Chloe persisted with an unwavering resolve that would  have impressed any military general. Then, Chloe gave her a long look.  "Mother wishes us to join her for tea later this morn."

Tea? Philippa furrowed her brow and tried to follow that abrupt shift in discourse. "What-?"

Chloe cleared her throat in a purposeful way. "She'll be joined by Lady Audley." She paused. "Lord Matthew's mother."

That name should mean something and yet it didn't. Philippa had been so  removed in the country with her husband for six years and then a  six-month bereavement after his death, there had been little need or  want to know any names. Particularly of gentlemen.

"He is recently widowed." Warning bells went off. Surely not. Surely  after having already done her Societal duty of properly wedding she'd  not be expected to …  With an exasperated sigh, Chloe threw up her hands.  "Lady Audley is coming," Chloe continued.                       
       
           



       

Oh, Saints on Sunday. This is why Chloe was here. Not because she was  attempting to thrust her into Polite Society or matchmake her with  another gentleman. Her stomach muscles clenched reflexively. Now it made  sense.

Philippa's sister leaned close and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial  whisper. "I recommend you visit the park, and … " She gestured to her  elder sister's black taffeta skirts. "If you wish to silence Mother on  another matter, I'd at least don gray." With a wink, Chloe hopped to her  feet and rang for Philippa's maid.

Philippa had never been so grateful for her younger sister's loyalty.  How much braver and stronger Chloe had always been. She'd long been a  master at sidestepping their mother's plans for her. Where I've long  stayed indoors, afraid to embrace life. "Thank you," she said softly and  set down her embroidery frame.

A moment later, the door opened and Philippa's maid, Ella, stepped inside.

Chloe gave a wave of her hand. "Do not give it another thought." She  swept to the front of the room and then with her hand on the door  handle, paused. "What you must give another thought to, are Mother's  intentions for you."

Philippa balled her hands into the fabric of her skirt. As a girl, she'd  never been a match for her mother and Gabriel's goals for her. They saw  in her a young debutante who could make an advantageous match with a  respectable, honorable gentleman. She bit her lip hard. That is all he'd  ever been to her family-respectable, honorable Calvin. And secretly, in  a shameful way that would have shocked all, she'd resented that not a  single member of her family had seen Calvin for the monster he'd been.  Yes, the Edgerton patriarch had been a merciless devil who'd beat his  children. But there were other forms of cruelty … and not a single one of  her siblings had looked enough to see that.

Hands settled on her shoulders and she jumped as Chloe, of like height,  met her gaze squarely. "They expect you to eventually wed," she said  quietly. "Because that is always the expectation, isn't it? But you've  been married, Philippa." Yes, she had. For six years. Unable to meet her  sister's eyes, she slid her gaze beyond Chloe's shoulder. "Do you  know," her sister murmured more to herself. "For so many years, I  believed yours was nothing but a formal arrangement made with Gabriel's  influence. A passionless man he attended school with whom Gabriel  respected for being just as staid as he was." Philippa went still. Chloe  lightly squeezed her shoulders. "I have seen you this year, and your  mourning, and realize how wrong I've been. You loved him." The words  were spoken more statement than anything else and Philippa's throat  worked. "And regardless of what Mother wishes, I'd not see you wed any  man, as you've already known love." She paused. "Unless you wish to,  that is."

Philippa bit the inside of her cheek. Chloe expected something. An  affirmation? A "thank you"? What was it? For a brief moment, Philippa  could not see past the always-present bitterness that threatened to  consume her. "There will never be another," her voice shook with the  force of that truth.

"You are certain," Chloe pressed. With her determination she'd make a better matchmaker than their mother and Gabriel combined.