Standing behind the Scamozzi column in Lord and Lady Essex's ballroom in the vibrant purple satin dress recently selected with Chloe, Philippa came to a new revelation. Apparently, the expectation was that young widows were only a little sad. The larger expectation from others was that she was in the market for a lover. Then, when I'm caught embracing a gentleman in the middle of Hyde Park, how should anyone expect anything different? Donning a gown with a deep décolletage did little to quell those assumptions, either. Her belly knotted. She'd not let them steal the simple joy in picking out the gown of her choosing. Societal expectations had already stolen enough of her happiness.
Just then, her gaze collided with a boldly staring Lord Montfort. A licentious smile turned his lips and she quickly stepped behind the pillar, heart racing. She peeked around the white column. Lord Improper-Eyes, as she'd dubbed him earlier that evening, skimmed the crowd and then found her once more. With a silent curse, she ducked behind the pillar again. Blasted gentleman.
Then, not all gentlemen are surely wicked. There was one who helped my daughter and paid a call and asked her questions … questions that hadn't pertained to my interest in a lover. A man who'd kissed her days earlier and whom she'd not seen since.
Her heart danced a funny little beat as a tall, commanding figure entered Lord Essex's ballroom. The hundreds of lit candles cast a soft glow upon his ginger tresses. Hugging herself close to the column, she secretly observed him as he strode with long, confident steps down the sweeping staircase. His path was intercepted by the Duke and Duchess of Bainbridge. Philippa watched on as the trio spoke with an easy familiarity. Occasionally, Miles tossed his head back on a laugh. He wore a smile. In every time she'd seen him, he did. Which was so at odds with everything she'd seen or known of her own stern-faced husband.
Her brother, Alex, a rogue, had long donned a false smile. Gabriel, hardly any at all, until his recent marriage. And yet, this man did. She'd not even known it possible.
He stiffened and then looked over the duke's shoulder. Their eyes met.
A thrill went coursing through her; an inexplicable pull that froze the breath in her lungs. He dipped his head in a silent greeting; that sincere, half-grin on his lips. And mayhap she was one of those scandalous widows after all, for she lifted her fingers in a slight salutation.
A despised figure stepped between them, immediately shattering that slight, maddening connection and she quickly sank back. She hardened her mouth, staring at Miles' mother. The same woman who'd entered her home yesterday morn and asked questions she had no right to. It was not, however, the nasty marchioness who earned her notice but rather the lovely blonde woman at her side. But for her spectacles, with her plump cheeks and golden curls, she may as well have been any other English lady in the room, and yet … there was an ease and comfort with which she spoke to Miles. Jealousy, sharp, gritty, and real, dug its sharp claws into her.
This was the woman. This was the lady his mother would see Miles wed. A woman, as she'd pointed out, who would give him children when Philippa would never traverse that dangerous path. Pain clogged her throat and she swallowed past the sizeable lump. It was why, even hating Miles' mother for the bold words she'd uttered yesterday, she saw the truth in those words, as well. She touched her fingers to the pendant hanging at her throat.
Silly talisman. Though beautiful in what it symbolized, it was foolish for her to have even donned the gift as anything other than a lovely ornamentation given her by Jane. Philippa would not know the love of a man. It was one of those foolish, empty dreams she'd tricked herself into believing might exist for her.
The gray-haired marchioness stepped aside, motioning to the dance floor, and Miles found Philippa briefly with his gaze. With the distance between them, she could not make out the emotion in his eyes. Then he returned his attention to the woman singlehandedly selected by his mother and escorted the lady onto the floor for the next set. As the orchestra's strands of the waltz soared about the room, couples twirled by in a violent explosion of vibrant gowns and tailed jackets. Young ladies with bright, innocent eyes and cheeks flushed with excitement. Yet, only one particular smiling couple earned her notice.
Miles easily guided the bespectacled woman through the motions of the waltz. Philippa tore her stare away from that perfectly paired couple and looked at the sea of smiling debutantes. Was I ever that innocent? Long ago, she'd been …
She closed her eyes a moment. As a girl of five who'd first suffered a birch rod being applied to her back by a father determined to beat obedience into his children, her innocence had been shattered. And yet … she opened her eyes, seeing those other ladies; hopeful and eager. And yet, for the horror of her childhood, hope had still dwelled inside. It was as Jane had only just opened her eyes to the fact that not all men were her father.
There were, in fact, gentlemen who were good and caring; capable of treating a woman and child with kindness and love when she and her own mother had known nothing but pain.
Philippa bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip. She'd been so determined to marry a man who was nothing like her father, she'd been deceived by a man's pretty words and the reputation he'd established amongst Polite Society. And through that folly, she'd invariably become her mother, albeit in a slightly different way.
Then she'd met Miles and everything she'd ever believed had been flipped on its ear.
"There you are."
A gasp exploded from her lips and she spun so quickly she lost her balance. Chloe shot her hands out and quickly steadied her. "Chloe," she chided, faintly breathless. "You startled me."
"Mother is looking for you."
She swallowed another very un-Philippa like curse. Of course she was.
Following her unspoken thoughts, her sister discreetly motioned across the room. "She is alongside Lady Audley."
Her stomach dipped. Of course, even with her bold rejection of those intentions yesterday at breakfast, her mother was relentless in her matchmaking pursuits. Why should she not bother with Chloe who'd, as of yet, been spared that miserable state? Not that she wished it upon Chloe. Anything but. She did, however, know Chloe would never be so weak as to make the same follies she herself had.
"Are you hiding from Mother? Or the crowd in general?"
Her sister's question startled her back to the moment. Philippa smiled. It was hard to not have a smile for Chloe who, with her frankness and strength, represented everything Philippa had never been but had always hoped to be. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Perhaps, both?"
Her sister rounded her eyes and then a sharp bark of honest laughter spilled past her lips. "I've never known you to jest," she said as her mirth subsided.
Philippa grimaced. Yes, just as she'd never challenged her parents or husband, so too had she never done something as scandalous as make jests. Alas … The recent opinion of the ton was that she must be wanton. The whole widow business and all. Unbidden, she searched the floor and her gaze collided with Lord Improper-Eyes.
Chloe followed her stare and frowned. "Ah, so that is who you are avoiding. Lord Montfort," her sister supplied. "A notorious rake and highly improper." She spoke the way a seasoned matchmaker who knew the most suitable matches a lady should hope to make. She softly cursed. "He is coming this way now." Philippa's stomach dipped. In all her greatest horror of reentering London Society, she'd not given thought that she would be sought after by men with dishonorable intentions. "Go," Chloe said from the corner of her mouth.
Philippa looked at her. Go?
Her sister waved a hand. "You are free to slink about your host's home, while we unmarried ladies face ruin for something as scandalous as escaping the ballroom." She looked out across the ballroom once more. "Or stay. Mother is on her way now with Lord Matthew, which I expect is far less safe than the Earl of Mont-"
Philippa spun on her heel and, keeping to the perimeter of the ballroom, marched along the crowded room. She took care to avoid the less than honorable eyes being cast her way. With every step, pressure built in her chest. Who would have expected that this misery would be far more oppressive than the dance to secure a husband all those years ago? She reached the back of the ballroom and without hesitating, rushed from the room and continued walking until the cacophony of the festivities was a muted in her ears.