A sharp charge of heat singed Philippa's neck and she touched her hands to her throat. "Thank you," she said softly.
"Do not thank me." She held out her elbow. "Shall we?"
Philippa cleared her throat. "I'll join you shortly. I would pay a visit to the nursery, first." The other woman looked as though she wished to say something more, but with a smile, turned and took her leave.
With Jane gone, Philippa made her way from her room, down the long corridor to the nursery, thinking on her sister-in-law's words … about love and marriage. Those dreams she'd long since given up on for herself. Some women, such as Jane, were blessed with joyous union s and then others … well, others were Philippa. Women who, if they were fortunate, had children who could fill all the voids inside an aching heart.
For the past six years, all her mornings and most of her days were spent with her children. They'd been the sole focus of her existence and, in them, she found a calming peace. She pressed the handle of the nursery and paused.
Squeals of laughter reached through the wood panel and she pushed the door open. Faith sat on the floor and Violet tottered back and forth, ambling into the older girl's arms.
The sight of her daughters' joyous smiles and flushed cheeks, stirred happiness in her heart. It had been just them for so very long. While he'd been alive, Calvin had demanded decorum from his wife and daughter, and frowned on public displays of affection and mirth. Now, there was a house full of family who celebrated in her presence.
Faith looked up. "Mama," she cried and raced over. She hurled herself into Philippa's arms with such force, she knocked her back.
Laughing, Philippa righted them and held her daughter close. "I am going to take breakfast," she said, tweaking her nose. "To see if Cook's sticky buns are still warm." She dropped to a knee and opened her arms as Violet rushed forward. She closed her eyes a moment welcoming the reassuring weight of her daughter's small form.
"Mama," Violet cooed.
Her daughter skipped over to the stack of blocks she'd abandoned. "I've eaten. Violet and I are to visit the gardens with nurse."
"You've eaten?" she parroted, surprise creeping into her tone.
Since she'd been old enough to walk and seek out Philippa, her daughter had always come first to her chambers and they'd always taken their morning meal together. A little pang struck her chest. "Yes," Faith said loudly. "There are sticky buns," she said, her attention reserved for the tower she now devoted her attentions to.
Violet squirmed in Philippa's embrace, pushing back until Philippa set her on her unsteady feet once more. With slow, ambling steps, the baby rejoined her sister.
And Philippa was-forgotten.
Calling out another goodbye, her daughters remained fixed on their playing. Philippa backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. It wasn't that she wasn't happy about their enjoyment … it was just that … they'd had a morning routine.
… You are not just your children … As she walked through the halls on her way to the breakfast rooms, Jane's words danced once more around her mind and she frowned. For the truth was, motherhood had been the sole purpose of her existence these years. Only someday, her daughters would be gone and who would she be? Unnerved by that question of her far-distant future, she reached the breakfast room and entered.
Her mother sat beside Chloe, with Gabriel and Jane at the opposite end of the long mahogany table. Holding her breath, Philippa stepped further inside and braced for the sharp cries and furious demands. Except …
"Good morning, Philippa," Gabriel greeted.
He sipped his coffee and Mother attended her breakfast plate and … There was no grand display of disappointment. Philippa took a tentative step toward the sideboard. Was it possible Lord Montfort, the witness to her embrace with Miles, had said nothing?
"Gabriel," she said quietly and proceeded to fill a plate. She then carried it to the seat alongside Jane. After all, if questions of scandal were raised, a place beside her undaunted sister-in-law was the very place she wished to be. She settled a napkin on her lap and reached for her fork. Her eyes went to the copy of The Times beside her brother's dish and she momentarily froze. Wetting her lips, she crept her fingers toward that sheet. Her hand touched the edge of the paper just as she registered the absolute silence.
"Are you taking my copy of The Times?"
She blinked, fingers frozen like a child who'd been caught with her hand in Cook's pastries. "Uh … " Yes, yes she was. Then, isn't that how Gabriel, Alex, and mother had always seen her? As a fragile miss in need of protection? "You aren't really reading it though, are you?" she asked needlessly.
Surprise flashed in Gabriel's eyes. Approval in Jane's. And confusion in Mother's. Taking advantage of their distraction, Philippa cleared her throat and swiped the paper. And proceeded to skim her gaze over the page intently searching for two damning names. She opened the copy and skimmed. Surely she could not be so very fortunate that the gentleman would prove honorable and not share what he'd observed?
"I have Lady Audley coming again for tea," Mother said.
Of course that was intended for her. She tightened her mouth and continued her search.
"And her son," Mother added.
At the strident note in her determined mama's tone, she smiled, welcoming the concealment of the paper. "Are they?" Philippa replied, not taking her attention from her search. She flipped to the last page of The Times. Nothing. There was no mention. A giddy sense of relief filled her and she set it down.
"As I was saying," her mother said with a deepening frown. "I have Lady Audley coming over." Again.
"That is lovely," she said, picking up her fork and knife and proceeded to carve a piece of breakfast ham. "Have a most wonderful visit."
Gabriel's lips twitched. Hmm. He was capable of smiling; once more proving his wife's powerful influence.
"I was asking you to join Lady Audley and I," her mother said impatiently.
"Were you?" she asked pausing, her fork midway to her mouth. "Forgive me. I must have failed to hear the request."
Jane raised her napkin to her mouth and dabbed at her lips, but not before Philippa detected the smile there. Chloe, however, made little attempt to hide her wide grin.
Their mother stitched her eyebrows into a single line. "Philippa?" Confusion wreathed that single word utterance.
"I am afraid I cannot join you," she said, looking to her still-grinning sister. "Chloe and I are to go shopping shortly." It was, after all, time to abandon her widow's weeds.
Joseph appeared in the doorway, with a silver tray and calling card. Philippa's heart gave a funny leap. "The Marchioness of Guilford to see Lady Winston."
A pin fall could be heard in the silent room. She furrowed her brow. Miles' mother?
"The Marchioness of Guilford?" her mother said, cutting into the confused silence.
… Though there is no formal arrangement, just an expectation among two mothers …
Philippa cleared her throat. "If you'll show her to the Ivory Parlor?"
The butler nodded and hurried from the room.
"What business does the marchioness have with you?" Her mother furrowed her brow.
Philippa managed a wan smile. "I expect it is merely a social call," she said evenly. Who would have believed Philippa Gage capable of such ease in lying? "If you'll excuse me?" she asked and climbed to her feet. With smooth, effortless steps, she started for the front of the room. "Oh, Mother?" she began, turning around.
The marchioness inclined her head.
"Just so you are aware. I have no intention of marrying Lady Audley's son." She looked to Gabriel. "Or anyone else my family wishes to pair me off with." With that, she ignored her brother's frown and took her leave of the breakfast room. Chloe's muffled laughter trailed behind her, that brief moment of levity only momentarily distracting.
When she was away from their silent scrutiny, she increased her stride, a vicious twisting in her belly confirmed what her mind already knew-the Marchioness of Guilford's was no social call. Certainly not at this time of day. Had the woman discovered Miles' honorable almost-offer?
Philippa turned at the end of the corridor and slowed her pace. Running her palms over the front of her skirts, she came to a stop outside the parlor and plastered a smile on her face. "My lady," she said with false cheer as she entered. "How-?"
The marchioness climbed to her feet. "Lady Winston," she said quickly, wringing her hands. Worry wreathed her wrinkled cheeks.