by Martha Keyes
Ruth nodded, biting her lip. His presence at the card party could well ruin everything, and yet Lady Tipton seemed eager that he join.
“You are wishing me at Jericho,” he said, dropping his eyes to the floor.
“Never,” she lied. “But it does make things quite awkward. Tonight is important, you know. And it has been going rather well, though I know it is hardly what you wish to hear.”
His throat bobbed, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “It is the way it must be.”
Ruth sighed. “I am afraid so. You told her the last time you saw her that you had experienced a change of feelings, did you not?”
He shut his eyes and nodded. “It was the only way she would listen. She detests me. I could see it in her eyes just now.”
Ruth had her doubts on the matter, but she refrained from voicing them. Topher didn’t need to be encouraged to hope. Nor did Miss Devenish.
A thought occurred to her. She clenched her teeth together. It would be asking more of her brother than she felt she could fairly ask. But nothing about their situation seemed fair, and truthfully, her own situation was now requiring more of her than she felt capable of giving. She could use some help.
“Are you coming to play games?”
He shrugged. “Lady Tipton expects it. I could say I am feeling ill, I suppose. I can’t imagine I will be an asset to your party, though.”
“You might be,” she said with a painful grimace. “But it would be terribly unpleasant for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Brace yourself,” she said. “If you can manage to keep Miss Devenish at arm’s length—to convince her that you regard her with nothing more than polite disinterest, it might provide a helpful contrast to her interactions with Philip.” She bit her lip.
Topher’s jaw was set tight, and he clenched his eyes shut. “I don’t know if I can, Ruth.” He shook his head.
“It is fine,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I quite understand. But I cannot have you betraying how much you still care for her. I can make your excuses.”
He nodded, rubbing his chin, and his cravat bobbed with his throat. “I can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Help you. Act indifferent.”
She shook her head. “I should never have suggested it.”
He smiled wryly. “You didn’t just look into Joanna’s eyes and tell her you hadn’t brought home a doll for her, Ruth. I did. And I am fairly certain I would do anything to ensure that we can return home with enough money to buy her that ridiculous thing.” He glanced at the door again. “I do care for Rebecca, and perhaps if things were different, we might have been together. But the truth is, she deserves more than I can give her. And Oxley can give it to her.”
Ruth blinked rapidly, her lashes brushing against the glass of her spectacles. “I am so very sorry, Topher.” She gave a watery chuckle. “Did I not tell you we should not have accepted Philip’s request? We may return to Marsbrooke three hundred pounds richer, but I fear we shall both be in a bad way.”
He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Come. Let us go be miserable together, then. The sooner we can make this match happen, the sooner we can put it behind us.”
Chapter Thirty
“Mr. Ruth shall be terribly put out when he discovers that I have lost the game for us.” Miss Parkham flicked the king piece over with a resigned finger.
“Nonsense.” Philip glanced at Miss Devenish beside him, who seemed to be lost in a brown study. He put a light hand on her back, wishing it felt more natural. He couldn’t help remembering Ruth’s demonstration the day before and smiling slightly. “The outcome would have been the same whether or not Ruth was here. Do you not agree, Miss Devenish?”
She blinked quickly and smiled. “Oh, yes. Of course. We merely needed one game to find our stride.”
The door opened, and Ruth and her brother stepped in.
Philip watched her carefully for anything that might give him an indication of why she had acted so strangely upon the arrival of her brother. But she was smiling, and she came straight over to the chess table, her brother following behind.
“How did we fare, Miss Parkham?” she asked, glancing at the board.
“I am ever so sorry.” Miss Parkham indicated the king.
“You likely fared better than you would have had Ruth stayed.” Philip sent Ruth a teasing glance, and she shot him an unamused, false smile.
“Only a third game to break the tie will tell for certain,” Ruth said. “What do you say, Miss Parkham?”
Miss Parkham let out a little laugh. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. I think I shall cede my place to Mr. Franks and join Lady Tipton and Mrs. Devenish for a cup of tea. I enjoy nothing more than a warm cup on rainy nights such as this one. But perhaps I shall come over and observe presently.” And with that, she curtsied and made her way over to the chaperones.
Philip turned toward Miss Devenish and leaned in toward her slightly. “What do you say, Miss Devenish? Are you prepared to take on a new enemy?”
She gave a sudden, high-pitched laugh that made Philip blink in surprise. “I am quite ready.” She shifted in her seat so that she sat even closer to him.
He glanced at Ruth, who was staring at Miss Devenish, her expression impassive.
Mr. Hawthorn took a seat, his jaw set tightly and his smile somewhat lacking in authenticity as he greeted Miss Devenish. What ailed him now? Had something happened at home?
All four of the players were intent on winning, though there seemed to be an extra measure of competitiveness in the Hawthorn twins.
Philip found his gaze moving to Ruth every now and then, seeking her approval for his attempts at following the advice she had given him. In fact, though, as the game progressed, Miss Devenish seemed to be the one initiating all the intimate whispers and small touches. She sat very close to him indeed, and her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. They seemed to be the positive indications Ruth had told him to watch for, but Philip found himself torn in response. There was something strange about Miss Devenish’s behavior—or perhaps he was simply unused to romantic connection.
The game ended with another victory for Philip and her, though, and she nudged him with her elbow. “We make quite a team, Lord Oxley.”
He managed a laugh and looked at Ruth, as though she might perhaps interpret Miss Devenish’s behavior for him and tell him what to do next. But she was focused on gathering the chess pieces. Something was certainly off, and he wished he could have a moment alone with Ruth to see what was troubling her.
Miss Devenish was in high spirits all evening, and her manner toward Philip very promising—she had taken his arm more than once and seemed ready to be amused by his pleasantries. He felt none of the anxieties that had plagued him before Ruth’s arrival and assistance, but neither did he feel the sense of victory he had anticipated he would feel given the encouragement from Miss Devenish.
Mr. Hawthorn excused himself just after eleven, pleading fatigue from his journey. His mood had not improved over the course of the games.
It seemed that he was not the only one feeling tired. Miss Devenish, too, seemed to suddenly lose some of her energy, sinking into the sofa and sipping a cup of tea with a bit of a glazed look in her eyes until Miss Parkham addressed a whispered remark to her. It was not long after that that the young women and Mrs. Devenish took their leave.
“Well,” Alice said just after the door shut behind them, “that was quite a success, if I do say so myself. Miss Devenish was absolutely captivated by you, Philip! Well done, brother. Very well done indeed, don’t you think, Mr. Ruth?”
Ruth nodded with a tired smile. “Yes, very well done.”
Philip knew an impulse to take her hand but refrained, given Alice’s presence. Was she feeling spent because of her wound? He should have insisted that the card party wait until she had fully recovered. It was selfish of him to expect her to orchestrate things when she was in such a state.
“Oh.” Philip hesitated. “I walked here, you know, and I had intended to walk home as well.” He wanted to be sure that Ruth’s injury was attended to.
“But it is raining much harder now,” Alice said. “I can spare you the walk in the dark—and speak with you a bit more besides.” She smiled and returned to the drawing room to gather her belongings.
Philip stared after her with a grimace then took a step toward Ruth. “Are you feeling unwell?” He nodded at the place where her injury hid beneath a coat, waistcoat, and shirtsleeves.
She shook her head. “Just a bit tired, I think.”
He frowned. “It is my fault. You should be resting.”
“I was the one who insisted upon the card party. Remember?”
It was true, of course, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “Your brother seemed to be out of spirits this evening.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing toward the stairs thoughtfully. “I am afraid he was.”
“I hope it wasn’t for anything involving your family.”
“No. They are well, thankfully. You are kind to think of them, though.”
Her eyes were still cast down—behind those hideous glasses—and he put a hand on her shoulder. There had to be more to her demeanor than mere fatigue. “Ruth,” he said gently, bending his head to seek her gaze. “What is it? You can tell me.”
Alice emerged from the drawing room, and he dropped his hand quickly.
“Your hat, Philip. I don’t wish to rush you, of course, but I assured Jon that I would return by midnight, and you know how he worries.”
Philip knew nothing of the sort, but he took his hat and nodded, all the same. Ruth didn’t seem inclined to speak with him about whatever was bringing down her spirits, and that simultaneously hurt and worried him.
“Perhaps we can discuss things tomorrow?” he said in an undervoice.
Ruth nodded with a weak attempt at a smile. “Yes, of course.”
“I shall come then. And perhaps engage to beat you at chess again.” The genuine smile he had hoped for appeared, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.
“What an imagination you have,” Ruth responded.
Philip followed his sister into the coach, preparing himself for her chatter and analysis of the evening. Thankfully, the journey from Upper Brook Street to Brook Street would take less than five minutes.
“Well, that was a smashing success, was it not?” She needlessly smoothed one of her immaculate gloves, looking at Philip with all the pride of someone who had just hosted the Prince Regent himself.
He nodded. “It went well.” By most accounts, it had gone well—better than he had expected. And yet, he felt little satisfaction.
“We must arrange for another evening like it as soon as possible. Any evening she spends with you is an evening she is not spending with the other gentlemen who wish to ingratiate themselves with her.” She tapped a gloved finger against her lips. “Perhaps this time we might invite her over for dinner at my house—just a small, intimate affair—for, while I like Mr. Ruth and Miss Parkham well enough, the less distractions, the better, don’t you think?”
Philip stifled a smile, but his brows drew together. Why did that prospect not appeal to him? He should want to spend more time with his future wife, shouldn’t he? He was going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him, after all. And he liked her well enough, but…
“Alice,” he said, interrupting her stream of talk. “Are you happy with your decision to marry Jon?”
She blinked at him and laughed uneasily. “Why, what a question!”
He said nothing, waiting.
She shifted in her seat. “Of course I am. Why would you even think to ask such a thing?”
“I have often wondered if you regretted giving up Vickers.”
She held his gaze for a moment before looking away. “We were ill-suited.”
“Were you?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“Do you actually believe that, or did Father persuade you of it?”
The coach slowed, and Alice looked through the window. “Ah, here we are. I wish I could stay and chat longer, but Jon is waiting. I shall come by to speak with you about that dinner party.”
Philip hesitated for a moment, eyes on Alice, then descended from the coach.
Chapter Thirty-One
At ten o’clock the next morning, Philip’s valet Nash was helping him dress for the day when a knock sounded upon the door of Philip’s dressing room. He grabbed at his shirt, which lay upon the wooden chair, wondering if perhaps Ruth had decided to come see him instead. She had once seen him in just such a state of half undress, and his heart quickened slightly at the memory. Little had he realized that he was subjecting an innocent young woman to such a sight.
Well, not entirely innocent. She had been deceiving him, after all.
“Are you going to let me in or not?”
Philip laughed his relief—and slight disappointment. It was Finmore.
He nodded at Nash, who opened the door.
“Since when do you pay calls at such an uncivilized hour?” Philip pulled the shirt on over his head, shaking out the sleeves. “Indeed, when are you even awake at this time?”
Finmore smiled and tossed his hat on the chair. “Wish I could say I was turning over a new leaf, but I simply wasn’t patient enough to wait before seeing you.”
Philip scoffed lightly, threading his arms through the holes of the waistcoat Nash held and working at the buttons. “Missed me that much, did you?”
“Heard all the gossip, more like. What’s this about a duel with Munroe?”
Philip’s fingers slowed on the last button. So word was getting around, was it? No doubt Munroe was parading it about that he had taught Henry Ruth a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. Philip only wished he could reveal that, not only had Munroe barely grazed his victim, the victim was, in fact, a young lady. It was hardly the victory Munroe seemed to think it.
Philip wavered over how much to tell Finmore. “Yes.” He waited for Nash to bring a fresh cravat. “You know how Munroe is. He was looking for an excuse to quarrel with Ruth, and he found his opportunity.”
“And you acted for him?” One of Finmore’s brows was raised.
“I did.”
His mouth turned up in one of his signature half-smiles. “I left you very respectable and come home to find you have embroiled yourself in an affair of honor, of all things. I must say, though, I enjoy this new side of you. Tell me, would you act for me?”
Philip chuckled, watching in the mirror as Nash evened the sides of the cloth around his neck. “No.”
“You offend me.” Finmore picked up his hat and sat down on the chair, leaning his back against one armrest and draping a leg over the other. “Why ever not?”
Philip cocked a brow at him through the mirror. “If you were involved, I would have my doubts about it being an affair of honor.”
Finmore laughed. “Touché.” He pulled out a snuff box. “I hear your little Ruth was injured.”
“Barely,” Philip said, ignoring the epithet. The thought of what might have happened to her sent a little shock of fear through him.
“I might have known Munroe was exaggerating.”
“A safe assumption to make.”
Nash reached for the black tailcoat that lay on the clothes press and inspected it another time before holding it up for Philip.
Finmore watched with disinterest. “By the by, did you ever discover who Miss Devenish’s secret lover was?”
Philip frowned. He had forgotten about that rumor. “No, but I begin to think it another creation of the gossipmongers’.”
“Hm. Well, word last night was that the man had rebuffed her.”
Philip felt a niggling irritation a
s Nash smoothed the coat fabric across Philip’s back and shoulders. “You’re becoming a dead bore, Finmore, what with your neverending stream of gossip.”
Finmore shrugged a careless shoulder and got up from the chair. “Thought you might wish to know.”
Philip shot him a false smile and bowed ironically. “Much obliged to you.”
“How are things going with Miss Devenish?”
“Quite well,” Philip said, feeling a hint of victory at the way Finmore’s brows tugged upward at his response. He didn’t need to know that it was the Swan who had made such a response possible.
“I must ask, what does quite well mean to a man who, the last time I saw him with her, assaulted a woman with half-chewed dessert?”
Philip shot him an annoyed glance. “I am tolerably certain she shall accept my offer, if that tells you anything.”
Finmore raised his brows even higher. “That is certainly more than I expected. Have you kissed her?”
Philip sat down as Nash took out his pair of black and brown leather top boots. “The girl is barely emerging from a year of mourning, Fin.”
He chuckled. “That’s a no if I ever heard one. Perhaps it is for the best, though—it gives you time to acquire some finesse in the art.” He cocked a brow. “Miss Devenish will hardly wish to have the doubtful pleasure of teaching you. A bad kiss can put a quick ending to the most promising of liaisons.”
Philip busied himself with tucking his pantaloons into the top of his boots, hoping it covered the niggling doubt he felt. He had never explicitly told Finmore about his lack of experience with women, but they had been friends long enough that Finmore had put two and two together. He had always excused himself from Finmore’s invitations to accompany him to places of ill-repute, using estate business as an excuse, but he knew Finmore saw through it.
Philip had assumed that, whenever he did kiss a woman, it would come naturally. But the assumption seemed ridiculous now. What about his dealings with women had come naturally?
He stood and dismissed his valet, grateful to know that Nash wouldn’t relay what he had heard.