True of Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 3)

by Martha Keyes

  Ruth’s face flashed before Philip, chin upturned, lips parted invitingly, arc of dark eyelashes resting against her smooth skin.

  “That will not be necessary, Alice, but thank you.”

  “What do you mean? Of course it is not necessary, but I assure you, I am not so prudish that I begrudge you such a little pleasure, and I rather think that it would be preferable that she know of your intent to speak with her father before you go about it—"

  He put up a hand. “I thank you again for your desire to help, but I would rather you leave it to me to arrange things. The situation is more delicate than you realize.”

  “Delicate? How do you mean?”

  How could he explain it to her? He couldn’t. Ruth’s reputation was at stake, and besides, Alice wouldn’t understand. “I merely mean to say that I am not prepared to offer for Miss Devenish just yet.”

  Alice blinked at him.

  “I may have been hasty in telling you of my plans before I well knew what I wanted.”

  “You…you mean you do not intend to offer for Miss Devenish? Philip, you cannot be serious! What in the world do you imagine she and her family expect after an evening such as tonight?”

  “An evening I had no part in planning, you may remember.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and displeasure darkened her brow. “I cannot do anything right, can I?” Her nostrils flared. “And who, may I ask, do you intend to offer for if not for Miss Devenish? Who do you imagine to be her superior—more fit to take her place at Oxley Court?”

  Philip gripped his lips together, unsure how to answer her question. “I am more interested in answering the question of who is fit to take the place by my side—as my wife.”

  Wariness entered her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, “that all this time, I have been looking for the Viscountess Oxley, when I should have been looking for my wife.”

  Her eyes widened. “You are going to ruin us, aren’t you?”

  Philip scoffed and looked away. “Please. You are the wife of Sir Jon Tipton and the daughter of a viscount—positions that put you well above reproach.”

  Alice grabbed his arm. “Yes, I am the wife of Sir Jon Tipton, and I did not become such so that you could make a mockery of my sacrifice by marrying some nobody!”

  Philip looked down into her eyes where anger flamed. “I never asked you to make that sacrifice, Alice. And were it not for Anne and Mary, I might wish that you hadn’t done so. But I could never wish them away, and I know you could not either.”

  She held his gaze, her eyes watering as the bell rang. She released his arm and backed away, finally turning toward the door, where she stopped for a moment, her shoulders rising with a deep, steadying breath. Then she opened the door and disappeared.

  Philip shut his eyes in consternation. He had hoped to comfort Alice, but he felt no better than Jon now.

  Perhaps he was still being rash. He and Miss Devenish needn’t end up like Jon and Alice. Had Ruth not said that what mattered most was the choice to love—made daily? And yet, how could he trust that Miss Devenish would make that choice? The one woman in the world with the most reason to love Philip—his own mother—had been so hot and cold toward him. Why should he expect better from someone who didn’t love him?

  He fiddled with his signet ring again. He had tried it on once when he was only eight or nine years old, on one of the rare occasions when his father removed it for cleaning. It had dwarfed even Philip’s thumb. hanging loosely, a large void between it and his finger. It had seemed impossible then that he would ever be big enough or old enough for it to fit.

  Now that it did, he found it uncomfortably tight, as if he had not only grown into it but also outgrown it.

  Luctor et emergo. I struggle and emerge. That was the inscription inside.

  Philip certainly struggled. But he had no idea how to emerge or what he would be when he did.

  For a woman on the verge of contracting a brilliant match, Miss Devenish showed little sign of excitement—nor any of the willingness she had shown at the card party just a few days since.

  “She can feel your hesitancy,” Alice breathed at Philip during dinner.

  But Philip was going out of his way to be courteous. In a final effort to see whether he had not perhaps fooled himself into thinking himself in love with Ruth, he did his best to open himself up to the prospect of marriage to Miss Devenish. He addressed himself to her throughout dinner, asking her questions, trying to make her smile. And smile she did. But there was no warmth in it. Only politeness. When he put a hand on her back to make a quiet remark to her, she stiffened slightly.

  He wondered at it, but he couldn’t help feel a bit of relief. Surely she would not have reacted so if she welcomed his attentions.

  And the gesture felt wrong to Philip—like a betrayal of himself and Ruth. It was unnatural, sharply contrasted against the way he had felt drawn toward Ruth the day before, as though their hands, their faces, their souls were meant to touch.

  “Miss Devenish,” Alice said once the men had rejoined the women in the drawing room. “You look a bit flushed. Philip, why don’t you show her out onto the terrace for a bit of fresh air? I do think it is cooler outside than it is inside.” She shot him a significant look.

  What Alice expected to happen during the short jaunt outdoors after what he had said to her in the sitting room, Philip hardly knew, but he was grateful for the opportunity to speak to Miss Devenish in private. He needed to understand what precisely was going on.

  He offered her his arm and led her toward the two doors on the far wall of the drawing room, which opened onto one of the larger terraces offered by the houses in Town. Torches illuminated the small garden below.

  Miss Devenish unfurled her fan, waving it lightly in the air. “It does feel pleasant out here, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed,” Philip said sardonically. “I believe my sister lit a few fires in the house to ensure it would be cooler out here. I was glad at my sister’s contrivance, though, for I have been wishing to speak with you in private.”

  Miss Devenish glanced up at him, a wary light in her eyes.

  It gave Philip the necessary confidence to be blunt. “I tend to dislike gossip, but I hope you will forgive me for addressing it in this instance, as I find myself feeling a desire to understand—and a suspicion that there is more truth than I previously supposed in what I have heard.”

  She looked at him, a questioning frown in her eyes. “What is it?”

  He opened his mouth then shut it, directing an evaluative gaze at her as he tried to decide how to proceed. “Are you in love with someone?”

  Her lips parted in surprise, and she averted her gaze. “That is not what I was expecting.”

  “I apologize for my forwardness, but I think it will serve us both better than the alternative. You can be fully honest with me, Miss Devenish, I assure you.”

  She played with the hem of her dress. “I am. Or was, rather.”

  “You were?”

  She looked up to meet his eye. “I cannot tell, to be honest. At times I feel more in love with him than ever. Other times, I feel the greatest rage imaginable and regret that we ever met.” She smiled sadly.

  Philip frowned, watching the flickering of the torch light that illuminated only one side of Miss Devenish’s face. “I see. Allow me to be even more frank still, and I hope you will oblige me by returning the favor. Do you have a desire to marry me?”

  She went still, her eyes still trained on him. “I am not certain how to answer that, my lord. Sometimes, I think I should be very content with you, while at others, I think I wish to never marry at all.”

  He nodded. “And which of those do you feel today?”

  She bit her lip.

  “You can be honest. I will not take offense.”

  She nodded. “The latter. It is nothing against you. You are very kind and good, and I am certain that you and everyone else shall think me fit only for Bedlam whe
n I say it, but having tasted love, I cannot find it within me to marry for any other reason.”

  He took her hand in his, offering a sympathetic smile. “I understand perfectly.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. And I would never wish for you to feel compelled into a marriage you cannot enter with your mind and heart.”

  She smiled up at him with a hint of sadness. “Nor I you.”

  Philip glanced at the doors. “What of your parents? I fear they have come to expect a match between us, and I would hate for this to cause any problems—"

  She shook her head, and he let her hand drop. “I am fortunate in my parents. They have certainly come to expect an agreement between us, but only because I gave them reason to believe it was what I wanted. They merely wish for me to be happy.”

  “You are fortunate,” Philip said, a sense of envy stinging inside. He let out a large breath and smiled. “Well, then. We do have an agreement—just a different one from what others have come to expect.” He put out a hand for a handshake, and she laughed lightly.

  “We have an agreement.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Ruth spent all of the next day with a boulder-sized weight in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t keep herself from hoping that the bell might ring or that the footman might deliver a note to her from Philip—anything to put a stop to the alternating hope and despair she was feeling.

  By the time the sun was illuminating the sky with the yellows and oranges of sunset, she felt an unbearable restlessness and stepped out onto the streets. She couldn’t remain cooped up in the townhouse, wondering whether Philip would emerge from the evening with permission from Mr. Devenish and a promise from his daughter—the very promise Ruth had engaged to make a reality when she had set out to help Philip.

  In no part of her mind did Ruth believe that she belonged at Philip’s side more than Miss Devenish did, but never had her mind been so challenged by her heart.

  She returned to Upper Brook Street just in time for the last purple hues of dusk to give way to the deep blues and star-speckled blanket of a nighttime sky. She turned back toward the street once on the doorstep, taking a moment to revel in what was likely the last night she would spend with such freedom at her fingertips. She had no intention of attending the Walthams’ masquerade on the morrow if she had not yet heard from Philip—indeed, she doubted she would be allowed inside without his escort—and she and Topher were set to leave the morning following it.

  Silence reigned again at breakfast, as it had come to do in recent days, evidence of the humor both Topher and Ruth were in. But just as Ruth was finishing her cup of tea, a footman entered with a silver salver. He didn’t bat an eye to see Ruth in her woman’s garb—what Philip had said to his uncle’s servants to ensure their silence and acceptance of an utterly bizarre situation was beyond Ruth, but she was certainly grateful for it. She couldn’t imagine being cooped up at The Three Crowns as long as they’d been in Town, or being required to wear men’s clothing day and night.

  Her heart sputtered and galloped as the footman handed a letter to Topher and then one to Ruth. She felt a sting of guilt as disappointment at seeing her mother’s script washed over her.

  But she opened the note and smiled. The bottom half of the page contained a small, scrambled drawing from George and an attempt by Joanna to sign her name. Little notes from her other siblings filled the remainder of the space. Tears sprang to Ruth’s eyes, and she gripped at her mouth to keep it from trembling. She was anxious to be back home with her family. Much as her siblings tried her patience, their sweet embraces would be balm to her wounds.

  Her mother expressed an anxiousness to have Topher and Ruth home, as well as a reminder of Joanna’s dearest wish to have a doll like Sophia’s—as though Ruth needed such a reminder. “Though you mustn’t trouble your heads over something so superfluous and extravagant. I assure you Joanna will be content just to have you back.”

  Ruth folded the note back up and looked to Topher, whose gaze consumed the note before him hungrily.

  “Who is that from?” Ruth asked.

  Topher didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes following the script on the page. When he had finished, he folded it up quickly, saying, “Just from Rowney. Is that from Oxley?” He indicated the paper in her hand with a nod.

  “From Mama. Apparently the children insisted upon contributing.” She handed it to him, and he read over the contents with a little half-smile forming as he reached the end. “George is an atrocious artist.” He folded up the paper and handed it back to her as he rose from the table. “Is Oxley coming over today?”

  Ruth cast her eyes down to her tea, stirring the little that remained. “I can’t be certain. Perhaps not. The Walthams’ masquerade is tonight, you know.”

  “Ah, yes. I had forgotten about that. Are you to go?”

  Ruth shrugged. “I cannot think what the point would be.”

  Topher sent her an understanding grimace before leaving the room.

  Half an hour later, Ruth stood in her room, looking at the place she had called home for the last few weeks, strewn as it was with a mixture of bonnets, top hats, slippers, and top boots. A strange scene indeed. A knock sounded on the door. “Another letter for you, miss. And a bandbox.”

  She opened the door with a frown, and her heart immediately leapt at the sight of Philip’s script, only to plummet as she considered what news it might contain. She tried to keep her composure until she had closed the door behind her, but she set down the largest bandbox she had ever seen and hurriedly tore the seal on the letter, her eyes flying over the words within.

  Little Panda,

  I hope you mean to come to the masquerade tonight—I would like for you to be there for such an important occasion. I have sent along what you will need for the evening, compliments of the chest of belongings Alice has never removed from my townhouse. I meant to bring the things to you myself, but I have had some unexpected business to attend to today. Preparations and such. Both you and your brother are expected by the Walthams, under the names Mr. and Miss Franks. My Aunt Dorothea shall arrive to escort you at eight o’clock. I have taken her into my confidence, and she is thrilled at the prospect of accompanying you to the masquerade.

  I can already hear your excuses and arguments against this plan, but please lay them aside. I require your attendance this evening. After all you have done, you deserve a chance to enjoy yourself for a night—sans cravat. I shall see you this evening.

  Yours,

  Philip

  PS Leave the spectacles at home

  Ruth reached for the large bandbox, removing the lid and uttering a sharp intake of breath at the sight within. A delicate pink dress, overlaid with lace flower embellishments, rested in the box. She pulled it out and set it gently upon the bed. He wanted her to come to the masquerade in that?

  She had never touched anything so fine, much less worn it. Another glance at the bandbox revealed a silver silk domino and a black mask. She pulled out the mask and set it next to the dress, letting the silk ribbons trail off the side of the bed. The domino was the last item in the box, and Ruth smiled as she saw that it was hooded. He hadn’t forgotten her short hair.

  She let out a gushing breath, setting the domino on the bed. Could she go? Could she not go? Philip was expecting her—required her to be there, he said. I would like for you to be there for such an important occasion. Did this mean that he meant to offer for Miss Devenish there? It seemed so unlike him—the publicity of it. Or perhaps he merely meant that it was important because it was an ending to Ruth’s and his association.

  Ruth swallowed down the thought.

  She ran a finger along the embellished sleeves of the ball gown, imagining what it would feel like to wear such a dress—to wear any dress to a ball. And to a masquerade, no less. A final hurrah.

  What would she tell Topher? He couldn’t go. Surely that wouldn’t be wise, even if he was masked. It was too risky. The last thing they ne
eded was for Miss Devenish to have a reminder of Topher when Philip was so close to his goal.

  But Ruth discovered from Lucy that Topher had left after the note from Rowney. She frowned. Every time he went with Rowney, he either returned in the small hours of the morning or not at all. It was his last night in Town too, though, and it was his decision if he wanted to make an uncomfortable journey back to Marsbrooke due to a night of too much drinking.

  Whatever he was doing, he hadn’t returned by the time Ruth rang for Lucy to help her into Lady Tipton’s dress. She had an uneasy feeling about the evening—maybe it was just nerves at the prospect of going about dressed as a woman—oh, the irony of it! But she found she couldn’t resist Philip’s plea, nor the opportunity to see him for what might be the last time. If all it did was cause her pain, at least she wouldn’t leave London wishing she had gone—at least it would be the last painful evening she spent in Town.

  Lucy worked at Ruth’s hair with the container of pomade Topher had brought with him from home, and Ruth allowed her to primp and prepare her for the evening. Lucy had become quite deft at styling Ruth’s hair in ways that accentuated her femininity and masculinity, depending upon what the occasion required. She deserved higher wages.

  As the maid worked, Ruth traced the edge of the mask she would wear. She was becoming tired of wearing disguises, but this would be the last time.

  “There. Let me see you now, miss.”

  Ruth stood, smoothing down the dress skirts carefully—she didn’t want anything to catch on the lace embellishments. The dress was a bit short in front, but the domino would hide that well enough.

  Lucy’s mouth drew into a smile. “You are a wonder to behold, if I do say so myself, miss.”

  Ruth turned toward the mirror and went still. Her eyes stung, and she blinked quickly.

  “Do you dislike it, miss?”

  Ruth sniffed and shook her head with a watery laugh. “No, no. Quite the opposite. It has been so long since I felt like I looked the part of a woman, and somehow you have managed it this evening.”