by Rose Pearson
Sighing heavily to himself, Philip lengthened his stride and strode quickly towards St. James’ Park, praying that the hour was early enough for the usual patrons not to be present as yet. The last thing he wanted was prolonged conversation, not when his mind was already busy with a great many thoughts, most of them centered around his betrothed. It was, of course, quite unreasonable that he had not as yet called upon her, had not yet even written to her to announce his return to England, but it was as though he did not wish to accept that part of his life again. Not until he absolutely had to. Unfortunately, the more his mother chased him to call upon Miss Weston, the more he was absolutely determined not to do so.
Suddenly overcome by a stab of guilt, Philip stopped dead in his tracks and put one hand over his eyes. Goodness, was this what he had become? Selfish, stubborn, and prideful? He had not once thought about how Miss Weston would be feeling over his current lack of interest towards her, attempting to convince himself that she did not much care for him regardless. It was entirely unfair of him to behave in such a way. He was not a coward, he was not a cruel man. No, he would have to put aside his own selfish feelings and do as he ought, out of consideration for her.
“You look as though you are in the depths of despair.”
A familiar voice caught Philip by surprise and he looked up to see none other than Lord Hilton, who was walking alongside a beautiful young lady whom Philip presumed to be Miss Forthside, Lord Hilton’s betrothed. What astonished him all the more was just how delighted Lord Hilton appeared to be as he drew nearer to Philip, looking down fondly at the lady on his arm. Miss Forthside had eyes only for her betrothed, blushing furiously at something the gentleman said to her as they drew near.
“Lord Hilton,” Philip murmured, suddenly struck by a pang of longing that quite startled him. “And this must be Miss Forthside.” He swept into a bow as the lady greeted him. “How delightful to meet you.”
“Isn’t she just wonderful?” Lord Hilton murmured as Miss Forthside smiled and lowered her eyes demurely. “You have not found yourself engaged since I last saw you, Galsworthy? It is the most capital state. I do hope the pain I saw on your face but a moment ago is not because of a broken heart.”
Philip snorted, only just managing to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Given that I only saw you but two days ago, Lord Hilton, I hardly think that is anywhere near enough time to procure a bride.”
Lord Hilton grinned good-naturedly. “Well, one never can tell when the first flurry of love might strike, Lord Galsworthy.” He continued on, talking in depth about just how differently he felt, and Philip found himself staring at the gentleman in complete astonishment. Was this really the very same Lord Hilton? Could it be that he had been so changed simply by falling in love with a lady such as Miss Forthside? It was completely perplexing to Philip, given that he had only felt a very faint stirring when it came to Miss Weston and even that he had tried to ignore.
“Might you like to walk with us for a time, Lord Galsworthy?” Miss Forthside asked in her gentle Scottish lilt. “The park is not yet busy, although I can see a few carriages have arrived.”
Philip turned to survey the scene, seeing that three carriages had now entered the park. He was about to thank them and explain that he was quite content in his own company and would not want to intrude upon their time together, when something – or, as it was, someone – caught his eye.
It was Miss Weston.
The carriages were, of course, being driven rather slowly around the park, to give the occupants within the best view of those out walking, which meant that Philip could clearly see Miss Weston sitting within one of those carriages, her eyes bright with laughter and a wide smile on her face.
His heart turned over within his chest.
A gentleman sat opposite her, looking out across the park and, Miss Harriet Weston sat beside her. He did not know the gentleman. Beside the man, looking most uncomfortable, sat Miss Weston’s maid, apparently as chaperone.
Miss Weston was talking and laughing with the gentleman Philip did not know, and Philip found that his hands had slowly begun to curl into fists, for whatever reason. He was angry, he discovered, although he was not quite certain why. It appeared that the gentleman in question was simply taking both the Misses Weston out for a drive and, most likely, he was hoping to court Miss Harriet Weston and her sister, therefore, was accompanying them both. That was the most reasonable explanation, but still, Philip could not find it within himself to be rational. The urge to stop the carriage and demand his betrothed descend and walk with him was almost overwhelming. It was to the point that Philip found himself starting forward, only to stop himself dead with an effort.
“My, my,” Lord Hilton remarked with an interested look on his face. “You are quite het up about something, are you not?”
Philip, who had quite forgotten that he was with company, turned his head away from the carriage with an effort. “I thought I saw… someone,” he stammered, trying to push the image of Miss Weston from his mind. “It is not at all important.”
Lord Hilton chuckled and threw a knowing glance towards Miss Forthside, who returned it with a smile. “I will not accept that as an answer, Galsworthy. I can see that you are upset about something, perhaps even jealous?”
“Not in the least!” Philip exclaimed, feeling heat rise in his face as he tried to ignore the carriage completely, seeing that it was turning towards the path where they now stood. “Do excuse me, Hilton, Miss Forthside. I have just remembered a matter of business which I must see to at this very moment. Do excuse me.”
“Of course,” Lord Hilton replied, his smile never slipping. “Although I do hope that one day soon you will be able to reveal to me just who it is that is causing you such distress.”
Philip bowed to Miss Forthside, who bid him farewell, managing to hold his tongue as he did so. The urge to argue with Lord Hilton was very strong, but seeing that the carriage itself was now drawing nearer, Philip was forced to retreat. He did not want to greet his betrothed here, not in the park in front of Lord Hilton and whoever it was in the carriage. It would be too obvious to them all that something of import was between himself and Miss Weston. Besides which, he was much too angry to deal with the situation as it now stood. He would have to think things over carefully and allow himself time to consider the matter calmly. For the moment, he was much too on edge to even greet the lady.
Turning towards home, Philip hastened towards the gate of the park, his mind heavy with thoughts. Why had he reacted so strongly to seeing Miss Weston with another gentleman, when it was quite obvious that she was simply accompanying her sister? Why had he found himself so furious? Was there even the slightest chance that he was, as Lord Hilton had implied, jealous of the gentleman? That would mean, of course, that he felt more for the lady than he wanted to admit.
Shaking his head to himself, Philip muttered darkly under his breath as he stalked home. Sometimes he wished he had never returned to England at all.
“My lord?”
Philip lifted his head from the pillows and groaned, feeling the bright morning sun pierce his eyes as the curtains were drawn back – most likely, at the behest of his mother. Having drunk far too much brandy last evening, he now felt the full effects of it all through him. His head was in agony.
“I shall set your breakfast tray just by the fire, my lord,” his valet continued when Philip said nothing. “It is a fine day, my lord, a fine day.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Philip muttered under his breath, not feeling at all the thing. “Do be off with you now. I am still quite exhausted.”
Gibbs, however, simply cleared his throat, placed his hand behind his back and remained exactly where he was as the footman continued to bustle about in Philip’s room, tying back the curtains and building up the fire in the grate so that it might be warm enough for Philip to dress.
Closing his eyes again, Philip sighed heavily to himself. “Close the drapes. The light pains my eyes.”
He waited until his orders had been carried out before directing his tired eyes back towards his valet. “What is it?”
Gibbs cleared his throat again. “My lord, Lady Galsworthy bid me to inform you that tonight is the evening of the celebration of your return.”
“Yes,” Philip replied firmly. “I am aware of it.” Even though he had been away from the sea for some days, his legs still certainly did not feel as though they appreciated being back on England’s shores. He had retired to bed early last evening, still feeling rotten whilst the voice of his mother had floated up the stairs behind him, railing at him for leaving her side when she had no other company to speak of. It was not as though he had not ensured that he had remained with her all through dinner, instead of taking a tray in his room, but that had not been enough for her. She had wanted to talk in depth about all that was planned for this supposedly wonderful celebration, whereas all he had wanted to do was to lie down in his dark room and close his eyes. Of course, the moment he had done so, thoughts of Miss Weston and the gentleman in the carriage had begun to assail him and so, in desperation, he had turned to the brandy.
He had to pray that this morning would allow him to feel a little better, once he found the energy required to rise from his bed.
“My lord,” Gibbs continued, now appearing rather awkward. “Your mother also bade me inform you that your betrothed is residing at home for the remainder of the day, should you wish to call.”
Philip’s eyes shot open and he saw Gibbs’ cheeks flush with color, evidently mortified that he had been forced to make such a statement, but having had little choice in the matter. Philip, knowing just how tyrannical his mother could be at times, chose not to say a single word, dismissing Gibbs with a wave of his hand.
“Please allow me some time to eat, then return to assist me with dressing.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Gibbs bowed deeply, evidently quite relieved that he was not to be railed at for bringing such a message to Philip. Leaving the room, he pulled the door closed tightly and left Philip in peace.
Groaning, Philip threw his head back against the pillows and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He did not want his mother’s interference and certainly could not allow her to tell him what he ought to be doing when it came to his betrothed! He had no particular wish to call upon Miss Weston, given that she was to be attending the celebration this evening, but he was quite sure his mother had either promised the girl or had made the suggestion that he would do just that. Not that he knew when his mother would have seen Miss Weston, but it was just the sort of thing that his mother would do. She was doing her best to improve the situation between them and Philip did not appreciate her efforts. The fact that he had not written to Miss Weston to inform her that he had returned was, as he now understood, something of an insult. Although, he had made the excuse to himself that the lady would understand that he had been recovering from his travels and had not wished to inform her that he was home without being able to call upon her in person. Unfortunately, he knew full well that he had not written to her, despite his realization that he was being something of an oaf, because he was struggling with what he had seen and the emotions that had risen in him at the sight of it.
However, knowing that she was to be at his home this evening was more than enough to deal with for the moment, for he had to confront the fact that he was just as unwilling to marry as he had been before he’d left for India. Yes, she was beautiful and that was, he supposed, a piece of good fortune, but to settle down, bear children and continue as a married man without any sort of feeling between them felt more like a punishment than any sort of blessing. Why could he not have her smile at him as she had done to the gentleman in the carriage? Why had there never been anything but awkwardness and tension between them? And what if he began to feel something deep and true for her, but she felt nothing in return? What agonies would that bring?
“You will do your duty.”
Those words were spoken from his lips without him even thinking them. His mother had repeated that over and over ever since he had returned home, as though she knew that he was considering his future with a good deal of severity. It was not as though he was entirely unaware of what his duty was, nor that he ought to be pursuing it with an eager intent, but he simply could not rouse such feelings within himself.
Throwing back the covers, Philip rose unsteadily, feeling his legs a little weak but certainly a good deal better than last evening when he had been required to force one foot in front of the other simply to climb the staircase to his bedchamber. Who would have thought that traveling by ship would make one so weary and so ill for such a prolonged length of time? Although you did not exactly help matters by your indulgence in the finest French brandy, he thought to himself, his head swimming.
Closing his eyes again as he sat down in a chair by the fire, Philip settled his head into his hands for a moment, knowing just how little he was excited about this evening’s events. To have to converse with everyone, to have people throwing knowing looks his way, to have the expectation that he would propose to Miss Weston very soon all bit at him painfully. He did not want to have to act and pretend, like some foolish court jester with a painted smile on their face. To appear delighted to be back in England, to appear as though he could think of nothing more wonderful than marrying and begetting an heir was all more than Philip thought he could bear. What made it all the worse was knowing that Miss Weston would be doing as much play-acting as he. There would be a ready smile that would not quite reach her eyes, a brightness in her expression that would fade the moment she turned away.
“Galsworthy?”
Groaning, Philip wished to goodness he had thought to lock his bedchamber door, for it was his mother’s shrill voice coming from the other side.
“Do ensure you are dressed, my boy, for I have something I wish to say to you.”
Philip, knowing that he could not exactly prevent his mother from doing just as she pleased, begged her to wait for a moment before quickly drawing on a pair of pantaloons and tying his robe a good deal more tightly about his waist as though it were some kind of protection against his mother’s sharp words. The moment he called for her to enter, the door opened and she walked in, sitting down opposite him with a glint in her eye that told him there was a storm growing steadily. Evidently, his response to Gibbs with regards to calling upon Miss Weston had not been good enough.
“Yes, Mama?” he asked, resigned to the fact that she was about to drag him across hot coals for failing to do as she wished.
“My dear boy, why is it that you do not wish to call upon your betrothed?”
This was not quite what he had been expecting, and he felt himself tense just a little as he looked back at her. There was a frown forming between her brows and her eyes were no longer hard and cold, but rather slowly filling with a concern he had not seen before.
“Mama,” he began haltingly. “It is just that… I find that I – I am quite content with the thought of seeing her this evening.”
Her frown deepened. “Have you written to her, in order to inform her of your return?”
Shaking his head, he lifted one shoulder. “As I said, I will see her this evening, Mama.
“But she will be snubbed!” his mother exclaimed, sounding horrified. “She will think you care nothing for her, Galsworthy!”
“And I do not.”
The words slipped from his mouth before he could prevent them. Snapping his mouth closed, he dropped his gaze and stared mutely at the floor. His mother said nothing for some minutes, the air growing thick with strain and tension.
“Oh, Galsworthy,” she said eventually, heaving a great sigh. “Your absence has affected you in more ways than I expected. I am quite sure that when you see her again, you will be caught up with delight over her.”
It was now Philip’s turn to sigh, one hand rubbing his forehead as he did so. “I doubt that, Mama. You forget that this betrothal was simply handed to me, as t
hough it were something I ought to be pleased with. I have never had the opportunity to seek out a lady of my own choosing. It is as though you expect myself and Miss Weston to simply rub along well together, without any particular difficulty.” He raised his eyebrows, seeing his mother’s surprise. “Did you think that I was truly pleased with such an arrangement, Mama? I have accepted it because I have no other choice, but I am not delighted by it, no. I will marry the girl because that is what duty requires of me, but I do not go into it with a heart filled with joy and contentment.” He did not speak of what he had felt for the lady on seeing her with another gentleman and certainly made no mention of the fact that he had even seen her at all, for his mother would simply hold onto that fact and question him all the more fervently.
His words bounced around the room long after he was finished speaking, repeating themselves over and over as he lowered his head into his hands, quite certain that his mother would have more than enough to say in response to his complaint. For a long time, however, she was quite silent. They sat in the room as though made of marble, their gazes focused yet unfixed. Eventually, Philip sat up and regarded his mother carefully, seeing the astonishment that had come into her expression.
“You have never once expressed any sort of discontent,” she whispered when he lifted one eyebrow.
“I know my responsibilities,” he replied gruffly. “Do you truly believe that I could turn from my own father’s will? He arranged my betrothal before he passed away and, given that Miss Weston’s father had agreed wholeheartedly to the match, it was not as though I could refuse.” Bitterness laced his words and he turned his head away from her, pain slicing through his heart. “I am aware that my father wanted what was best for me, as he saw it, and therefore I am doing my duty,” he finished numbly. “Do not ask any more of me, Mama. Do not ask me to be joyful or delighted, or any other emotion that I must pretend to wear. It is not in me to do so.”