Page 9 of Her Unsuitable Match

“I know we have not been properly introduced,” Mr. Cobbett said, bringing her attention to the solemn expression upon his face. “But I think it best we re-enter the ballroom together. I am happy to return you to your brother or sister-in-law.”

He was right. If the old cats of the ton had seen one man pursue her out into the night, another must take her inside again to cancel out that bit of gossip. How tired she grew of the games.

“Thank you, Mr. Cobbett.” Her shoulders relaxed, and she released a heavy sigh. “You are truly a gentleman to trouble yourself with a stranger like this.”

He bowed, then offered his right arm, putting her on his uninjured side. Philippa took it, and together they left the quietly burbling fountain for the main path—and nearly ran in to Lady Mary Fenchurch, Dowager Countess of Tinniswood. Arm-in-arm with her sister and another gossip, Mrs. Ufford.

Philippa composed herself with haste and bowed her head to both matrons. She exclaimed, with forced good cheer, “Lady Mary, Mrs. Ufford. How wonderful to see you both. Are you enjoying your evening?”

The women exchanged a knowing glance, then eyed Mr. Cobbett.

“A lovely evening, yes,” Lady Mary said.

“Absolutely marveling,” Mrs. Ufford agreed. “So many people to see.”

“People will be talking of nothing else for weeks.” Lady Mary snapped her fan open and raised her gray eyebrows all the way to the edge of her turban. “Your sister-in-law has outdone herself, Lady Philippa. Do pass on our compliments to her.”

“I will, of course. Thank you. Oh—forgive me. Ladies, might I present Mr. Cobbett? He is one of our special guests this evening, a former soldier in His Majesty’s army.” She met Mr. Cobbett’s eye, pleading with him to say nothing that might launch them both into trouble.

“A pleasure, Lady Mary. Mrs. Ufford.” He bowed as much as he could while keeping Philippa on his arm. “I find myself impressed with the evening, too. As well as the hotel itself. What think you of the gardens, my lady? I would venture to guess your opinion on such a subject is expert.”

Philippa blinked. She’d never heard that about Lady Mary in her life—and her mother was friends with the woman.

The compliment, though unearned, made Lady Mary preen. “It is delightful, to be sure, though the walks are a trifle too dark for my taste. More light is wanted for evening strolls, lest young people find themselves lost in the shadows.” She raised her eyebrows at Philippa, and Mrs. Ufford smirked.

“I quite agree,” Mr. Cobbett said. “Atmospheric it may be, but I am in want of light and company once more. Excuse us, please. I must return Lady Philippa to her brother.”

They were barely a dozen steps away when Philippa released a quiet groan. “Wait and see, those two are going directly to my mother tomorrow morning.” She shivered and looked up at her escort, whose face had returned to an unreadable mask of solemnity. “They will paint me as a hoyden in twenty different ways.”

“Your mother will certainly take your word over theirs,” he said, confidence in his tone. Obviously, he knew nothing about her family.

“Unlikely,” she muttered. They climbed the steps to the hotel, and in the brighter light of the ballroom, she examined her damaged dress again. “This will never do. I must away to the retiring room before I see Elaine, or she’ll fret.” She released Mr. Cobbett’s arm. “Thank you again, sir, for your valiant efforts on my behalf.”

He hesitated, and his lips parted as though he had something he wished to say, but then he tightened them in a smile and bowed to her instead. “I wish you the best, Lady Philippa. Good evening.”

As he walked away, Philippa watched him go. She admired the square set of his shoulders, the way he held his head high without appearing arrogant or prideful. Did all soldiers walk that way?

His clothing might not have been the best quality, or the latest fashion, but it had fit him perfectly. It looked sensible, though entirely appropriate for evening wear. And he had been kind—doing her a favor without seeking any reward in return. Philippa couldn’t think of many men who wouldn’t at least tease her about owing them a dance or introduction or some such thing the sister of an earl could provide.

Only when she had found a maid in the retiring room to help her, putting the concern over her ordeal out of the forefront of her mind, did it occur to her to be disappointed. Because Mr. Cobbett, her rescuer, hadn’t even asked her to dance.

Four

Three days after the Gillensfords’ ball, Myles went through the motions of his usual routine, though his mind didn’t dwell upon any of his actions. Indeed, as he walked from breakfast through the crowded streets of his neighborhood, his mind wandered far afield.

Moreton and Emmeline insisted that he get some semblance of fresh air from one of the pockets of green amidst the buildings of London. It was a request he honored without reluctance. His daily walk took him to different parks, affording him the only exercise he took outside of what he managed in the confines of his rented rooms.

He purchased a newspaper, then continued on to one of the larger parks in a more fashionable neighborhood than his. Keeping to the side streets and walking so his left side was to the shops rather than the other people passing by, Myles avoided meeting with anyone he knew.

He arrived in Green Park in between the two most fashionable times for people to ride about in the nearby, larger, more popular Hyde Park. Thus he found the place with few people wandering its paths. Mostly nursemaids and young mothers, leading children about and fussing when those children attempted any activity which might soil their fine clothes.

Green Park, adjacent to St. James’s Park, was a wild patch of green with only a few paths, including the old Queen’s Walk to the water reservoir that had served the royal palace for years.

Something about the neglected royal grounds appealed to Myles. The greenery was hardly tended, and in the past century had been a most popular place for duels, bandits, and the launching of hot air balloons. With such a varied history and bearing neither beauteous flowers nor elegant fountains or water features, Green Park reminded Myles of himself.

Myles found a patch of shade beneath an old oak tree, the likes of which might have stood in that place since the time of King James. He opened his newspaper, laying the wide sheet out across his lap to begin his study of contemporary history. Enough time had passed that the paper would report on the charity ball, at last, and likely hold information about how much of a donation the Gillensfords received for their hospital.

The first article he found on the subject, wedged between columns with news pertaining to Parliament, wasn’t complimentary. He scowled as he read the opening paragraph.