To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke Book 10)(18)

Bainbridge lifted another black eyebrow. "You coaxed me into the living.  You helped me find a new life with a wonderful woman. I expect you can  muster sufficient charm to woo the young widow."

Woo her? His frown deepened as he recalled every word he'd uttered to  Philippa. He'd spoken of respectability and preserving her honor. Miles  swallowed a groan. A woman whose previous marriage had proven so  disastrous, so cold, and empty …  Whyever would she have responded  favorably to his own poorly launched suit? Miles dragged a hand through  his hair. Never before had he wished for being one of those charming  lords with all the right words. Until this great blunder.

Bainbridge shoved back his chair and Miles looked up as the other man  stood. "You are leaving, so quickly?" He pushed the bottle toward his  friend.

"I merely came to ascertain your circumstances." Despite himself, Miles'  lips pulled at that blunt honesty. Bainbridge pierced him with his hard  stare. "And to tell you not to be a bloody fool."

Miles chuckled and lifted his hand. "Send my best to the duchess."

The young duke inclined his head once more and, laconic as always,  quickly took his leave, ignoring the terrified stares shot his way.

Bainbridge gone, Miles returned to thoughts of Philippa. Bainbridge's  words rattled around his mind. Following his earlier meeting with his  mother, he'd departed for Philippa's residence. He'd convinced himself  that his intentions were borne of nothing more than Montfort's poorly  timed appearance. Now, with his own thoughts and now Bainbridge's  company, he was forced to face the truth he'd denied until now. He  wanted her. Now, how to prove to the lady that she wanted him in return?





Chapter 12


Since yesterday, Philippa had been lulled into a false sense of  calm … that her actions wouldn't be discovered and bandied around Society.  Now, today, standing at her vanity facing a new day, she accepted the  inevitability of the whispers.

For the cold-eyed gentleman in the park was the manner of dastard who'd  bandy about such a juicy morsel of gossip regarding the recently widowed  Lady Winston. And then all of Polite Society would have their  assumptions confirmed-Lady Philippa was a wicked widow. There would be  veiled innuendos and unveiled ones. There would be improper offers and  scandalous, stolen caresses.

For a sliver of a moment, she considered feigning a megrim. Or an  injured ankle. Or a horrible cold. Anything. Because surely, when she  made her way downstairs, she'd be met with an outraged mother and  Gabriel brandishing a copy of The Times with all her sins from Hyde Park  inked out for the whole of the world to see.

She stared into her vanity mirror searching for the same frightened eyes  that had stared back at her every day of her five and twenty years.  Mayhap she was a wanton. For even with the inevitable demise of her name  and reputation or the stern lectures from her brother and mother, she  could not bring herself to regret Miles' kiss. It had been the single  most romantic, passionate moment of her five and twenty years that she'd  not trade.

Her gaze went to the book resting on her vanity and she picked it up.  With Jane's recent encouragements rattling around her mind, she flipped  through the leather volume and stopped on a page that had been marked by  her sister-in-law.

 … Women do not want power over men. They want power over themselves …                        
       
           



       

A knock sounded and she spun about. The inevitable. "E-enter," she called out.

Jane stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Some of the tension went out of her. If anyone would be without  recrimination, it would be her bold-spirited, unapologetic  sister-in-law. "Hello, Philippa," she said softly, coming over. "Your  mother is asking for you."

Her earlier courage faltered. She'd spent so much of her life trying to  gain the approval of her mother, her father, her brothers, and then  husband; a fear of their disappointment had become an unwelcome part of  who she was. "Thank you," she forced herself to say.

 … Your eyes speak a tale of a woman of strength …  Even if you do not see  it in yourself. Which you should …  Miles' words echoed around her mind  and she firmed her jaw. She was a woman of her own now. She'd returned  to her family's home because they'd asked her here, but she needn't stay  and be subjected to admonishments like she was a child who didn't know  her own mind. Nor would she hide away in her chambers any longer.  Bringing her shoulders back, Philippa started for the door.

Jane placed herself in Philippa's path, halting her forward stride.

Philippa looked questioningly at the shorter woman.

"When I met your brother, I despised him."

She opened and closed her mouth several times. "Beg pardon?"

"Loathed him from the moment I met him," Jane clarified.

Having been away in the country during one of her many confinements,  she'd not known the details of how her brothers, Gabriel or Alex's,  marriages had come to be. Given the love she'd seen between Gabriel and  his wife, however, she'd never dare suspect that there had ever been  animosity.

"You look surprised," Jane said with a wry smile.

"I am," she conceded. "You seem very much in love." She furrowed her brow. Surely she'd not been wrong in her supposition.

"Oh, you are not wrong," Jane said, correctly interpreting her unspoken  wonderings. "You see, I judged all men by the manner of person my own  father was." The Duke of Ravenscourt. As the duke's illegitimate  daughter, life could not have been an easy one for Jane and still, she'd  become this magnificently strong woman. Appreciation stirred anew. Jane  waved the box in her hand about. "The point I am trying to make,  Philippa, is that your husband was cruel, I suspect?"

She stiffened. "How … " Her mind spun. "Why … ?" How had this woman seen when not even her own sister or her mother or brothers had?

"You carry your sadness in your whole person," Jane said softly. "Or you  did. These past few days, I've seen joy in you that I've not seen in  the six months in which you've lived here."

Miles. Unable to meet her sister-in-law's gaze, she glanced down at her  feet. She'd hidden her every emotion for so very long, she didn't know  how to share that intimate truth.

"I do not know the struggles that were yours, Philippa," Jane said,  taking one of Philippa's hands in hers. She gave it a slight squeeze and  then released it. "And I only know the demons your brother has shared  of his own hell. But sometimes, there is light and there is goodness and  there is love … and good men. If you are fortunate enough to find one."

Men who'd pick blooms with her daughter and whisper of moonflowers in  her good ear. Men who'd attempt to do right by a widow when Society  would never expect it of him. Philippa clasped her hands together and  stared at the interlocked digits. "What if you can't give a gentleman  what he requires … ?" Her cheeks warmed. "For an heir."

Her sister-in-law laughed softly, forcing Philippa's gaze up. "Then I  expect he is not one of those good ones and you are better off without."  She opened the box in her hands and drew out a thick gold chain. A  heart filigree pendant dangled from the end, twisting and twirling on  the strand. "I want you to have this," she murmured.

Philippa stared at the necklace. "It is lovely."

"There is a story behind this piece," Jane explained. "It was once given  to me by the Duchess of Crawford when I was just married to your  brother … and then shared with others, after." She stared down with a  faraway look in her eyes, studying the pendant with an almost reverent  expression. "The legend is the wearer will earn the heart of a duke, but  what other women have found is that with it comes love."

Unease knotted Philippa's belly as Jane held the necklace out. She held  her hands up imploringly. "I … " Cannot. Would not. Do not wish to. She  didn't desire a duke or a husband …  Or she hadn't …  Now, since Miles, it  had all become so very muddled.                       
       
           



       

Jane stepped back and stared patiently. Her meaning clear: the decision  ultimately rested in Philippa's hands. And when nothing had truly rested  in her power, this offering meant so very much. Even if it was a silly  talisman worn by hopeful debutantes searching for a duke. Wordlessly,  Philippa turned around and lifted the curls draped over her shoulders.

"I had to do a bit of work to find its whereabouts," Jane murmured as  she settled the chain about Philippa's neck. The faint click of the  clasp resounded in the quiet room. "There," she confirmed.