True of Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 3)

by Martha Keyes

  As Philip had anticipated, Alice was very eager indeed to comply with his request to act as hostess. She consigned her prior engagement to the devil—though in less offensive terms—and Philip knew that she would be ecstatic to have a hand in his success with Miss Devenish. If Miss Devenish accepted his offer, as he was beginning to think she just might, Alice would no doubt attribute the match to the part she played.

  Ah, well. Let her have her victory. Better people believe it was Alice who had brought about the change than that people suspect the Swan.

  When he arrived in Upper Brook Street on Tuesday, the maid Lucy conveyed him to the drawing room on her mistress’s orders.

  He hesitated before agreeing to this. He didn’t feel that requiring Ruth to come downstairs to meet him would be smiled upon by Doctor Shepherd, but he could hardly suggest that the maid take him to Ruth’s bedchamber. There were limits to what the servants would regard without blinking an eye.

  He walked over to the piano while he waited, touching the keys lightly. His mother had been an accomplished pianist, and he wondered whether she had played upon these particular keys before. He could remember the sound of her voice and playing wafting upstairs when they had had company at Oxley Court, always followed by hearty applause. She was a performer at heart.

  The door opened, and he glanced up, fingers still hovering over the keys.

  When he had asked Ruth not to wear her disguise around him, he had been thinking of his pride. He didn’t think he could continue with their agreement if he was constantly reminded of the deception she had played upon him. He didn’t care overmuch if she deceived the rest of London, but he didn’t want to be deceived, and meeting Ruth dressed as a man while knowing well that she was a woman would always make him question whether the deception was truly over.

  Perhaps it had been a rash request, though.

  There was little trace of Henry Ruth in the woman who stood in the doorway of the drawing room. Her eyes were no longer framed by thick spectacles, the absence of which revealed the two sets of long, dark lashes he had noted during her slumber after the duel. The soft pink dress she wore was not in the first stare of fashion by any means, but it hugged her chest and revealed an elegant set of shoulders and a canvas of creamy skin that stretched from her bosom up her delicate neck until it reached cheeks tinged with pink. Her hair, while still cropped short, was not swept back as it generally had been, but rather brushed forward, so that it covered her forehead in a wispy array of brown locks.

  As a man, Ruth had been thin, of shorter-than-average height, and slightly ridiculous. As a woman, she was…well, she was very much that—a woman.

  She left the door ajar behind her and smiled at him with a hint of shyness and a deepening blush in her cheeks. “I am sorry to keep you waiting.”

  He cleared his throat and blinked, shaking his head. “Not at all. I only just arrived. How is your injury?”

  She smiled. “Better. Doctor Shepherd paid me a visit this morning and is encouraged. I am grateful for his care—and his discretion.”

  “He is a good man—very loyal. Are you certain that you are feeling well enough to do this, though?”

  She smiled. “Of course. Shall we begin?”

  “Not just yet. Have a seat.” He motioned to a place on the sofa.

  She looked surprised but obliged him, all the same, taking a seat and setting her hands in her lap.

  He sat in the chair opposite her and surveyed her for a moment. “You know quite a bit about me after spending so much time in my company, but I find I know very little about you—or at least, I haven’t any idea how much what I have come to know is fact or fiction. I should like to rectify that before continuing.”

  She held his gaze, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “It may come as a surprise, but I have been very honest with you in our interactions.”

  “Aside from the being-a-woman part.”

  She nodded.

  “And your name.”

  She primmed her lips together. “A partial untruth.”

  “And that Mr. Franks is actually your twin brother.”

  A little smile tugged at her lips. “And that.”

  He raised a brow. “And if I continue with the list of things I know about you, would you continue acknowledging their falsity?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. Ask me whatever you wish, and I will answer you honestly.”

  “Whatever I wish?” He sat forward on the edge of his chair, sending her an intrigued glance.

  She paused briefly then nodded. “I want you to trust me.”

  He twiddled his thumbs, keeping his gaze upon her. She didn’t flinch from it—that was a good sign. Or perhaps she was simply a coolheaded liar. He struggled to believe the latter, though. Something about her—something indefinable—told him he could still trust her.

  But he wouldn’t waste an opportunity to gain a better understanding of her. She was a mystery to him—an enigma—this woman who had just spent weeks disguised as a gentleman.

  What did he want to know? There was a whole host of questions he might ask her.

  “Did you truly cut your hair to afford the journey here?” He stretched a hand toward it, rubbing a lock between his fingers. Her eyes flew to his, and he felt a jolt in his chest.

  She kept her eyes on him, sitting very still. “I did.”

  He tried to picture what she might look like with long hair, done up in an elegant coiffure. But he found he liked it as it was. He let his hand drop. “It suits you.”

  She smiled. “My siblings would beg to differ. They assured me that I had finally removed the one barrier that had kept me from looking like a boy. I imagine they will insist on calling me Henry when I return until the hair has grown out more.” There was warmth in her voice and expression when she spoke of her family. She looked at him with a quizzical tilt to her brow. “Of all the questions you could ask me, you choose to ask about my hair?”

  He leveled a frank gaze at her. “I admit that I had wondered if you hadn’t perhaps cut it knowing that you would be dressing up as a gentleman.”

  She shook her head. “I assure you it did not even cross my mind until shortly before I came to Town. It was an incredibly foolish decision, and one only made out of dire necessity.”

  “For your family,” he said.

  She nodded.

  He softened his voice but persisted, wanting to understand. “If I had known, I would have paid for the journey myself.”

  She chewed her lip with a skeptical glint in her eyes.

  “What?”

  Her head tilted to the side. “You would have accepted love advice from someone unable to even afford a coach fare?”

  He said nothing, taking her point. “But you clearly come of gentle birth.”

  A hint of humor tugged at her lips. “I was never possessed of the triad, but yes.”

  “What happened, then? You mentioned your father’s passing as a turning point.”

  She swallowed and lifted her chin. “He made some unwise investments prior to his death, and we were left to subsist on my mother’s small jointure when the bank failed and he died.”

  He frowned. “Who is we?”

  “My six siblings and I.”

  He blinked. “There are eight of you dependent upon this jointure?”

  “Please don’t pity us, my lord.”

  He tilted his head. “Please don’t my lord me, Ruth. It is Philip.”

  Her lips compressed into a thin line, and he smiled at the censorious expression.

  “Fair is fair,” he said, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I am calling you by your given name. You will call me by mine, if you please.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He laughed, seeing the same sauciness in her that had been apparent on their first meeting. “I thought I should like to be angry with you for a while longer, but you make it difficult.”

  “Do I?” she said with a hint of incredulity.

  He no
dded. “Even the first day we met, I found it hard not to like you, much as I wished to curse your impudence and those silly spectacles you wore.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Had you no reservations upon seeing me?”

  He reared back slightly. “Oh, I had plenty. I thought I made that quite clear.”

  “You did,” she said with an annoyed gaze. “But what I meant was, did you not have any suspicion that I was not, in fact, a man?”

  “Yes,” he said baldly. “I did. I thought you were a boy. A babe in arms. But a woman? Certainly not. I don’t generally question such things, you know. I have never had reason to in the past. But I imagine I shall always look suspiciously upon strangers going forward. Though”—he leaned forward again and looked at her searchingly, his head moving slowly from side to side in wonder—“perhaps I never really took the time to look at you, for now I see plenty of indications of the truth.”

  She smiled. “It was the glasses.”

  He sat back. “Perhaps it was.”

  “Shall we begin now? Or am I still on trial?”

  “We are done for now.”

  She rose and extended a hand to invite him to follow. He raised a brow. “Forgetting yourself? I don’t think it is customary for a woman to assist a man from his chair.”

  She kept her hand where it was. “And what about our relationship has been customary?”

  He couldn’t argue that. “Nothing. But my pride will not allow me to accept such assistance from a woman—and certainly not one who is injured.”

  She sighed and dropped her hand, and he stood.

  “Now,” she said, taking on the tone of a teacher. “Physical touch is one of the most effective ways to demonstrate interest and intention. Watch any man and woman in the early stages of love, and you will see them finding any excuse at all to brush arms or stand close. But touch can also be quite a delicate matter. Too much or too little can send the wrong message. It is important that you be gentle but firm in your touch, showing confidence but not tyranny.”

  He let out a frustrated breath. “Lovely. Another delicate balance I am bound to get wrong.”

  She sent him an understanding grimace. “It requires a good deal of observation, I admit. You must pay close attention to how she reacts to your touch. That is what will inform you how to adjust.”

  “And how exactly am I to recognize what she wishes for?”

  Ruth’s lips pressed together thoughtfully. “It is something that you do all the time without thinking. It is only more difficult in this case because of the emotion involved. You can tell, can you not, when someone desires to end a conversation? Or, perhaps a better example: how do you show that you are ready to end a conversation?”

  He thought for a moment.

  “Show me,” she said, taking him by the arm and pulling him closer. His breath caught at the unexpected gesture, but he allowed himself to be drawn closer.

  “Pretend, if you will, that I have been dominating your attention for the past five minutes, and you are eager to be done conversing because you see Miss Devenish across the room. What do you do?”

  He shrugged. “I imagine I should be somewhat distracted, trying to keep track of Miss Devenish.”

  She nodded. “Very good. Wandering attention is an excellent indicator. What else?”

  He tried to picture the scene, but he found that his attention naturally gravitated toward Ruth. He was still distracted by her transformation.

  He cleared the thoughts away, instead picturing Mrs. Chesford in Ruth’s place. He was always trying to end conversations with the woman.

  Ruth pointed a finger at him. “Exactly. That. You turned away from me just now. That is a prime indication that you do not welcome my presence—that your mind is already elsewhere. And look how you are leaning slightly away from me. It is the same concept. In addition, you might give short answers to my questions, your smiles would lack authenticity, you might tap your finger or foot in impatience.” She let her foot beat lightly on the floor. “Things like that. These are things that people generally do not do consciously, and that is what makes them so valuable—they are glimpses into a person’s true feelings.”

  “So I am to look for such signs from Miss Devenish?”

  Ruth smiled. “I don’t anticipate she will show you such signs, as I believe she welcomes your attentions.”

  “So I should look for the opposite?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  His brows knit together as he reviewed what she had said before and then flipped it on its head. “Turned toward me”—he put a hand on both of Ruth’s shoulders and turned her gently so that she faced him—“standing close”—he pulled her toward him and noted how she took in a quick breath—“genuine smiles”—he put a finger on each side of her mouth and tried to form it into a smile, an action that became unnecessary as she laughed genuinely and pulled away—“long answers to questions, and…a lack of foot or finger tapping?” He looked down at her hands and her feet. Her entire body was perfectly still, and his eyes moved back up to her face. She was very close, looking up at him, the smile he had elicited quickly fading.

  He swallowed, brushing away the tension in his body. He was unused to being so near a woman. He tilted his head to the side in faux-dissatisfaction. “I will have to hope that Miss Devenish doesn’t require my assistance in order to smile.”

  Ruth chuckled. “I am sure she won’t. And don’t forget her attention.”

  He gave a slow nod, looking her in the eye. “Not wandering.”

  She held his gaze for a moment then looked down, and his eyebrows drew together slightly. “And what does it mean if she does that?”

  “Does what?”

  “What you just did. Look down.”

  Ruth gave a shaky laugh, and her cheeks tinged with a feminine pink. “If she were to look down while you held her gaze, it might just mean she is feeling shy.”

  “Hm. And is that good or bad?” He didn’t even know if they were still referring to Miss Devenish at this point.

  “It is good,” Ruth said, turning away and putting distance between them. “Has your sister received a response from Miss Devenish or Miss Parkham?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Devenish accepted the invitation on their behalves.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, standing behind the sofa and holding its back with her hands. “I will try to arrange things so that you and Miss Devenish are partnered. I was thinking we might play whist and have the two of you together, but that would mean you sitting across from one another, and that won’t do.” She tapped a finger. “Do you play chess?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “And you obviously do not if you think that chess is played next to one’s opponent.”

  She gave him an unamused glance. “I am familiar with the rules. Perhaps we might play in pairs—two against two. It will be a good opportunity for you to give subtle indications of your intentions, just in case she stands in any doubt.”

  “The same subtle indications we just discussed?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He raised his brows. “You mean to say there is more I must remember?”

  She smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ruth hesitated for a moment. This lesson was proving to be very much like torture for her, much as she had tried to reduce the amount of physical contact between her and her pupil. It was difficult to teach touch without any touching. But the better she taught him, the more likely he was to succeed—which also meant her own success and, more importantly, her family’s well-being. She could steel her heart for this short lesson. She had to.

  “This will be a perfect opportunity to take advantage of the unity that being on a team can foster. You will have plenty of chances for conspiring together.”

  He chuckled. “You have put much thought into this.”

  If he only knew how painfully true that was. “That is what you are paying me for, isn’t it?”

  There was a slight hesitation before a
nod. “I suppose so.”

  “Very well. Some things you might try tomorrow evening”—if she said them quickly, it would be easier—“conspiratorial whispers, a soft hand on her back, small nudges—”

  Philip put up a hand. “Wait, wait. You are going far too quickly. Conspiratorial whispers? Is this something I should be familiar with already?”

  She shrugged. “It is just as it sounds.”

  He made a pained expression. “Perhaps you have forgotten how easy I find it to ruin the easiest of tasks. Don’t forget what happened with the advice you gave me about maintaining eye contact. And if I found it easy to cover her with lemon tart from two feet away, I can only imagine what damage I might do at closer range.”

  She suppressed a smile. The thought of Philip making a fool of himself was somehow irresistible. “What would you like me to do? Tell you exactly what to say in her ear?” Oh, please no. Surely her duties as the Swan didn’t extend as far as giving him the words to flirt with Miss Devenish.

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t refuse such a suggestion if you were offering it,” he said with a laugh. “But no. I suppose I just feel…nervous. This is new territory for me. I don’t much like doing things I am not good at or haven’t had occasion to practice.”

  She stared at him, imagining what it would be like to practice with him—to touch him intentionally. As a woman. “It is a whisper,” she said blankly. “Surely you have whispered before?”

  Annoyance flashed across his face—and a hint of embarrassment. “Of course I have.” He put up a hand. “Forget I said anything.”

  Ruth felt instant remorse. She was making him feel stupid, and that was exactly opposite of what she was meant to be doing. She needed to bolster his confidence. Even if it meant…

  “Come,” she pulled him by the hand toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

  His brows were still pulled together, but he obeyed, and she took the seat beside him. “Whisper something to me.”

  He shot her another annoyed glance. “I am not in much of a whispering mood.”

  “Fine. I will whisper something to you, then.” Perhaps it was for the best that he was frustrated. It would be a shield of sorts, knowing he was displeased with her. She leaned in toward him and clenched her eyes shut at the familiar scent of amber.