Page 37 of Her Unsuitable Match

He opened his eye, uncertain when he had closed it. Unaware of how much time he passed. He slouched against a building. Behind Philippa’s shoulder, traffic moved as normal on the street. Though he thought a few faces on the walk peered at him before their owners hurried by. Pretending not to see him, a grown man, behaving as a lunatic.

At last, he lowered his gaze to Philippa’s lovely face, pale now with worry, brow wrinkled in concern. Her beautiful eyes were large and fearful. Of him? Or for him?

He slowly adjusted his posture, still leaning a touch on the brick wall for support. “Did anyone see?” he asked quietly, his hands shakily adjusting the hem of his waistcoat, and then his jacket.

Philippa did not look away from him. “What happened?” she asked in a whisper he barely heard. “One moment we were walking, and suddenly you pulled me to this wall. And you looked as though you had seen some sort of horror.”

“That noise…” His words trailed away as his eye caught what had set off his war-wounded reactions. Several feet in front of him was a shop carrying pans and pots of all sizes, and a young man was stacking several in a cart. Perhaps he had dropped a few. Or slammed one against another. A completely innocent event. An innocuous sound.

Myles shook his head, trying to clear it further, while his face grew hot, and his stomach churned. His wife continued to stare at him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“I think we had better return home,” he said at last, pushing himself fully upright. He offered her his arm without looking at her, and he felt her hesitation as she took hold of him again. He kept his eye forward until he found a carriage for hire. Then he assisted his wife inside and took the seat next to her, staring out the window. The way they sat, she was upon his scarred side. He hadn’t meant to do that, but sitting across from her would’ve invited more staring and scrutiny.

She did not let the silence last long. “What happened, Myles? Did you have some sort of dizzy spell? Or a faint?”

He shook his head. Refused to look at her. “Nothing of the kind. It will not happen again.” The sick feeling in his gut increased with those words. In truth, he couldn’t promise her such a thing. When Myles had first returned home, many noises had startled him. Loud shouts. A runaway horse. They had left him trembling and sick, lost in memories of war rather than aware of his present circumstances. But it had been months since he had experienced such a spell. He had hoped they were a thing of the past.

Like his dreams, these waking nightmares could come and go without warning.

Her slim fingers grazed his forehead, and Myles reacted without thinking. He snatched her hand away, whirling to face her with a fierce glare. He hadn’t seen her remove her glove or reach for him. Because of his half-blindness.

Her eyes went wide, but she held perfectly still. Watching him.

Shame raced through him with heat and speed. He gentled his hold upon her bare hand, then released it altogether. “I apologize. I am unused to being touched.”

Rather than appear offended or hurt, Philippa tipped her chin back. “I am checking you for a fever.” She put her hand up again, daring him to pull away as she glared. He held still, surprised that she would wish to try a second time. Her palm across his forehead was smooth and soft, a gentle touch that he yearned to lean into but dared not show such a need.

He wasn’t used to being touched, as he said. But he relished the simple contact. Especially as it was hers. Her hand on his arm had become common. But her skin against his? It was a beautiful rarity. Only ever accidental. And here she purposefully stroked the tips of her fingers against his forehead.

“Cool to the touch,” she said, confusion apparent in her deep blue eyes. She withdrew her hand but did not immediately replace the glove. “Myles, please tell me. Have you been ill? Did all our walking today over-tire you?”

Myles lowered his gaze to her hands in her lap, watching as she twisted her unworn glove. Admitting to the brokenness of his mind had never been easy. He had only explained it a few times before. To a doctor, who had advised rest and fortifying himself with liberal doses of laudanum. His mother and father, who had looked upon him with pain and helplessness. To Joshua Moreton, who then spent hours every day looking in on Myles.

How would his wife react?

“Perhaps we could speak of it later.” When he had time to decide how to tell her, how to explain that his weakness didn’t make him any less of a man.

“After dinner,” she said at once, that determined glint in her eye returning. “I will not be put off for long, Myles. If you are ill, I must know.” She gentled her stern words by laying her hand upon his, and he wished he had found reason to remove his gloves, too. What would his wife think if she knew his thoughts?

He nodded once in agreement, turning his gloved hand over to lace with her fingers. Offering a gentle squeeze, a nonverbal thanks, for her words. “After dinner.”

He did not know how he wanted their conversation to proceed. But he dreaded seeing pity in her eyes. Or disgust. They both fell silent for the remainder of the carriage ride, and Philippa had the kindness not to remove her hand from his.

* * *

Dinner that evening included guests, come to discuss the children’s school that Adam and Elaine had founded. Three couples joined them at the table, all married, and all from the highest points in the merchant class. Those not born to privilege, but to the knowledge of hard work, were far quicker to give to the little school to ensure it remained open and financially stable for years to come.

Pippa assisted Elaine in hostessing duties, but that didn’t serve as much of a distraction from watching her husband. He hadn’t shown any further signs of illness since their return to the townhouse. He also said as little as possible during the meal and afterward in the parlor.

When the guests left, the hour closer to midnight than Pippa liked, both couples climbed the stairs to the second floor of the house. Adam and Elaine drifted down one corridor, toward the stairs, in order to go up to the nursery as they did every night. To take one last look at their little ones before retiring for the evening.

That meant they did not see as Pippa stopped at her bedroom door and kept her arm securely tucked through her husband’s. “You haven’t found a valet yet, have you?”

He stared across the way to his bedroom and shook his head. “Not yet.”

Which meant his room would be dark, without a lamp or fire lit. Pippa sighed and pushed open her bedroom door, tugging him inside behind her. Quite suddenly, her husband dug his heels in.

“Wait—” He disentangled his arm from hers. “We can speak tomorrow—”