A growl worked up his chest and he let a vile curse fly, ignoring the way his mother gasped. He swiped his hand over his face. Philippa had endured a hellish marriage where her husband had seen her as nothing more than a broodmare for his babes. With her insensitive and bold questioning, his mother had demonstrated the same singular focus all Society held dear. Of all the unkindness Philippa had received, he'd now add his mother to one of those who'd done wrong by her. Regret pitted his belly. "Get out," he seethed.
His mother rocked back on her heels. "Miles?" she squeaked.
He shoved to his feet and layering his palms upon his desk, he leaned forward. "I am marrying her," he said again through hard lips. "And I will not allow you to disparage her. Are we clear, madam?"
She blinked.
"Are. We. Clear?" he bit out in succinct tones.
His mother gave a juddering nod.
And without another word or glance for his mother, he stalked from the room. He had a widow to woo.
Chapter 16
In the light of a new day, with her scandal gracing the front pages of every scandal sheet, Philippa came to a very powerful realization about her family-they were more forgiving of ill-behavior than she'd ever credited.
Following her hasty departure of Lord Essex's ballroom, she'd braced for a tide of stern admonishment and a flurry of tears from her mother. Alas, they'd ridden the whole of the carriage ride in silence with not a single word uttered. And when they'd arrived home and she'd been asked to meet them in Gabriel's office, she'd held her breath, waiting for the explosion.
That hadn't come. Instead, Gabriel had quietly informed her that the family would be retiring to the country and then the unthinkable had happened. He'd asked if she and her daughters would join them. Asked, when she'd only ever truly been ordered about. There should be a thrill of victory in that. There should be a sense of triumph that even with the scandal she'd brought down on the family last evening, they'd not admonished and lectured the way they had done for the whole of her life.
So where was the sense of victory? Instead, all she knew was this great, gaping hole in her heart. Her throat worked painfully and she pressed her eyes closed hard. For one week of her life, she had been so very happy and felt alive in ways she'd never, ever felt.
Because of him. Miles. She sucked in a pained breath and her chest throbbed with a dull ache. Philippa leaned her forehead against the smooth windowpane. In the streets below, servants carried the trunks to the three waiting carriages as the final preparations took place for their departure.
"My lady?" Releasing the curtain, Philippa spun around and faced the servant at the doorway. "His Lordship said it is time."
It is time.
Philippa struggled to drag forth a suitable thanks, but her throat constricted. Instead, touching her fingers to the silly pendant that hung about her throat, she managed a slight nod. The retreating footsteps and the faint click of the door as it closed filled the quiet. Philippa returned her attention to the activity below. Her maid finished filing away the last of her garments and then closed the trunk with a final, decisive click.
That click resonated with a finality that stabbed at her. It represented the end of the most gloriously romantic week she'd known in the whole of her existence. For when she boarded that carriage and departed for the country, a now scandalous widow, Miles' life would carry on as it had before her.
He would marry. Mayhap not his Sybil Cunning, but there would be another, a woman who, no doubt, deserved him more than Philippa ever could. Oh, God. Agony ripped through her and she hugged her arms close to her waist. And every day of her life she would hate the woman who called him husband; would hate her with a vicious envy that she should know the love of such a man.
She ignored the faint sound of the door opening and focused on breathing. Anything except this pain knifing slowly away at her insides. "Please inform my brother I will be down shortly," she said through clenched teeth.
"Oh, surprisingly, Gabriel is being exceedingly patient."
At Chloe's dry words, Philippa wheeled around. "Chloe," she said.
Her sister stepped aside for Philippa's maid. After the young woman had gone, Chloe pushed the door closed and came over. She stared at Philippa a long moment. "You were not happy. I thought you must have loved your husband … but you did not."
Philippa bit her inner lip hard and let her silence serve as her answer. Eyes usually filled with mischief and spirit, were now filled with agony. "Was he cruel to you?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Was he like F-Father?"
That crack in a woman of such remarkable composure ripped at Philippa. "No," she said shaking her head and she, who'd long been the protected, became protector. "It was not a miserable marriage," she lied. She gave a small, sad smile. "But neither was it a happy one."
Chloe sucked in an audible breath. "I do not know what woman would willingly subject herself to such a state. If one's heart is not breaking from the cruelty of marriage, then it risks being broken at the loss of that person."
How very jaded her sister was. What a dark, sad view of love. Then, wasn't I the very same before Miles? "Not all men are Father," she said quietly, not letting her sister's gaze go. "There are some men who are admirable and worthy and loving." Tears misted her eyes and she blinked them back.
Chloe's lips parted. "You love him." Shock filled her tone.
Philippa managed a nod.
"Then why don't you-"
"It is done, Chloe."
"But-"
"I said, it is done," she said with a firmness and, for the first time, unwavering and so bold that Chloe fell silent. She would not debate all the reasons she could never be a wife to Miles. There was no greater personal hell than being so failed by one's body. And unless a person had lived with the agony of that in the loss of a child and in the death of a pregnancy, then they could never, ever know that pain.
Except, this was Chloe. "If you do love him, however, then nothing else should matter, Philippa."
Her lips twisted with bitterness. Yes, in the world of fairytales and make-believes, that was very much true. But this was her reality, and this was life, and there could be no rewriting it for that very reason. She gave thanks when another knock sounded at the door. She stepped to the door, opening the panel to admit two footmen, who gathered her trunks.
Not wanting any more questions or urgings from her sister, or anyone, she started out the door. Her sister hurried after her; adjusting her stride to match Philippa's quicker pace. "I am going to gather Faith and Violet," she said. "You go along without me."
"They are already belowstairs." She paused. "In the Ivory Parlor."
Philippa adjusted direction and started for the parlor. As she turned down the hall, the peel of her daughters' laughter spilled into the corridor and she managed her first real smile since last evening. With all the pain and despair that came with life, her daughters' joy had long proven a balm. She reached the edge of the doorway and then jerked to a stop as a familiar baritone sounded from inside the room. Her heart slowed and then sped up. Philippa rushed forward and then stopped. Miles knelt beside Faith and Violet, saying something that roused giggles from the sisters. They looked up at Philippa. The potent emotion pouring from Miles' gaze froze the air in her lungs.
"Mama," Faith exclaimed, shattering the moment. "Look." She held up a small bouquet of yellow buttercups. "Look what Miles brought me and Violet."
"Flow-ra" Violet shook her gift wildly and then hurled it at Miles. It hit his chest. With a grin, he ruffled the top of Violet's head.
Oh, God. How effortless he was with her daughters. How good and gentle and all things wonderful. Her lower lip quivered.
"Aren't they beautiful?" Faith chimed in happily.
"Most beautiful," she said past a tight throat. Miles climbed to his feet and her eyes went to the small bouquet of buttercups in his hand.
"Those ones are for you, Mama," Faith exclaimed, pointing at the flowers. "He even picked them himself, he said." She swung her gaze up to the silent gentleman beside her. "Isn't that right, Miles?"
He stretched his hand out. "Indeed. I had a most excellent tutor," he said and her heart twisted under the beautiful sweetness of that acknowledgement.
"Faith, take Violet and find Miss Cynthia."
Chest puffed with girlish pride, Faith collected her sister's hand. "Come along, Violet." The girls waved and then with a final goodbye to Miles, left.