To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke Book 10) (8 page)

S
ince yesterday, Philippa had been lulled into a false sense of calm…that her actions wouldn’t be discovered and bandied around Society. Now, today, standing at her vanity facing a new day, she accepted the inevitability of the whispers.

For the cold-eyed gentleman in the park was the manner of dastard who’d bandy about such a juicy morsel of gossip regarding the recently widowed Lady Winston. And then all of Polite Society would have their assumptions confirmed—Lady Philippa was a wicked widow. There would be veiled innuendos and unveiled ones. There would be improper offers and scandalous, stolen caresses.

For a sliver of a moment, she considered feigning a megrim. Or an injured ankle. Or a horrible cold. Anything. Because surely, when she made her way downstairs, she’d be met with an outraged mother and Gabriel brandishing a copy of
The Times
with all her sins from Hyde Park inked out for the whole of the world to see.

She stared into her vanity mirror searching for the same frightened eyes that had stared back at her every day of her five and twenty years. Mayhap she
was
a wanton. For even with the inevitable demise of her name and reputation or the stern lectures from her brother and mother, she could not bring herself to regret Miles’ kiss. It had been the single most romantic, passionate moment of her five and twenty years that she’d not trade.

Her gaze went to the book resting on her vanity and she picked it up. With Jane’s recent encouragements rattling around her mind, she flipped through the leather volume and stopped on a page that had been marked by her sister-in-law.

…Women do not want power over men. They want power over themselves…

A knock sounded and she spun about. The inevitable. “E-enter,” she called out.

Jane stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Some of the tension went out of her. If anyone would be without recrimination, it would be her bold-spirited, unapologetic sister-in-law. “Hello, Philippa,” she said softly, coming over. “Your mother is asking for you.”

Her earlier courage faltered. She’d spent so much of her life trying to gain the approval of her mother, her father, her brothers, and then husband; a fear of their disappointment had become an unwelcome part of who she was. “Thank you,” she forced herself to say.

…Your eyes speak a tale of a woman of strength… Even if you do not see it in yourself. Which you should…
Miles’ words echoed around her mind and she firmed her jaw. She was a woman of her own now. She’d returned to her family’s home because they’d asked her here, but she needn’t stay and be subjected to admonishments like she was a child who didn’t know her own mind. Nor would she hide away in her chambers any longer. Bringing her shoulders back, Philippa started for the door.

Jane placed herself in Philippa’s path, halting her forward stride.

Philippa looked questioningly at the shorter woman.

“When I met your brother, I despised him.”

She opened and closed her mouth several times. “Beg pardon?”

“Loathed him from the moment I met him,” Jane clarified.

Having been away in the country during one of her many confinements, she’d not known the details of how her brothers, Gabriel or Alex’s, marriages had come to be. Given the love she’d seen between Gabriel and his wife, however, she’d never dare suspect that there had ever been animosity.

“You look surprised,” Jane said with a wry smile.

“I am,” she conceded. “You seem very much in love.” She furrowed her brow. Surely she’d not been wrong in her supposition.

“Oh, you are not wrong,” Jane said, correctly interpreting her unspoken wonderings. “You see, I judged all men by the manner of person my own father was.” The Duke of Ravenscourt. As the duke’s illegitimate daughter, life could not have been an easy one for Jane and still, she’d become this magnificently strong woman. Appreciation stirred anew. Jane waved the box in her hand about. “The point I am trying to make, Philippa, is that your husband was cruel, I suspect?”

She stiffened. “How…” Her mind spun. “Why…?” How had this woman seen when not even her own sister or her mother or brothers had?

“You carry your sadness in your whole person,” Jane said softly. “Or you did. These past few days, I’ve seen joy in you that I’ve not seen in the six months in which you’ve lived here.”

Miles.
Unable to meet her sister-in-law’s gaze, she glanced down at her feet. She’d hidden her every emotion for so very long, she didn’t know how to share that intimate truth.

“I do not know the struggles that were yours, Philippa,” Jane said, taking one of Philippa’s hands in hers. She gave it a slight squeeze and then released it. “And I only know the demons your brother has shared of his own hell. But sometimes, there is light and there is goodness and there is love…and good men. If you are fortunate enough to find one.”

Men who’d pick blooms with her daughter and whisper of moonflowers in her good ear. Men who’d attempt to do right by a widow when Society would never expect it of him. Philippa clasped her hands together and stared at the interlocked digits. “What if you can’t give a gentleman what he requires…?” Her cheeks warmed. “For an heir.”

Her sister-in-law laughed softly, forcing Philippa’s gaze up. “Then I expect he is not one of those good ones and you are better off without.” She opened the box in her hands and drew out a thick gold chain. A heart filigree pendant dangled from the end, twisting and twirling on the strand. “I want you to have this,” she murmured.

Philippa stared at the necklace. “It is lovely.”

“There is a story behind this piece,” Jane explained. “It was once given to me by the Duchess of Crawford when I was just married to your brother…and then shared with others, after.” She stared down with a faraway look in her eyes, studying the pendant with an almost reverent expression. “The legend is the wearer will earn the heart of a duke, but what other women have found is that with it comes love.”

Unease knotted Philippa’s belly as Jane held the necklace out. She held her hands up imploringly. “I…” Cannot. Would not. Do not wish to. She didn’t desire a duke or a husband… Or she hadn’t… Now, since Miles, it had all become so very muddled.

Jane stepped back and stared patiently. Her meaning clear: the decision ultimately rested in Philippa’s hands. And when nothing had truly rested in her power, this offering meant so very much. Even if it was a silly talisman worn by hopeful debutantes searching for a duke. Wordlessly, Philippa turned around and lifted the curls draped over her shoulders.

“I had to do a bit of work to find its whereabouts,” Jane murmured as she settled the chain about Philippa’s neck. The faint click of the clasp resounded in the quiet room. “There,” she confirmed.

A sharp charge of heat singed Philippa’s neck and she touched her hands to her throat. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Do not thank me.” She held out her elbow. “Shall we?”

Philippa cleared her throat. “I’ll join you shortly. I would pay a visit to the nursery, first.” The other woman looked as though she wished to say something more, but with a smile, turned and took her leave.

With Jane gone, Philippa made her way from her room, down the long corridor to the nursery, thinking on her sister-in-law’s words…about love and marriage. Those dreams she’d long since given up on for herself. Some women, such as Jane, were blessed with joyous unions and then others…well, others were Philippa. Women who, if they were fortunate, had children who could fill all the voids inside an aching heart.

For the past six years, all her mornings and most of her days were spent with her children. They’d been the sole focus of her existence and, in them, she found a calming peace. She pressed the handle of the nursery and paused.

Squeals of laughter reached through the wood panel and she pushed the door open. Faith sat on the floor and Violet tottered back and forth, ambling into the older girl’s arms.

The sight of her daughters’ joyous smiles and flushed cheeks, stirred happiness in her heart. It had been just them for so very long. While he’d been alive, Calvin had demanded decorum from his wife and daughter, and frowned on public displays of affection and mirth. Now, there was a house full of family who celebrated in her presence.

Faith looked up. “Mama,” she cried and raced over. She hurled herself into Philippa’s arms with such force, she knocked her back.

Laughing, Philippa righted them and held her daughter close. “I am going to take breakfast,” she said, tweaking her nose. “To see if Cook’s sticky buns are still warm.” She dropped to a knee and opened her arms as Violet rushed forward. She closed her eyes a moment welcoming the reassuring weight of her daughter’s small form.

“Mama,” Violet cooed.

Her daughter skipped over to the stack of blocks she’d abandoned. “I’ve eaten. Violet and I are to visit the gardens with nurse.”

“You’ve eaten?” she parroted, surprise creeping into her tone.

Since she’d been old enough to walk and seek out Philippa, her daughter had always come first to her chambers and they’d always taken their morning meal together. A little pang struck her chest. “Yes,” Faith said loudly. “There are sticky buns,” she said, her attention reserved for the tower she now devoted her attentions to.

Violet squirmed in Philippa’s embrace, pushing back until Philippa set her on her unsteady feet once more. With slow, ambling steps, the baby rejoined her sister.

And Philippa was—forgotten.

Calling out another goodbye, her daughters remained fixed on their playing. Philippa backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy about their enjoyment…it was just that…they’d had a morning routine.

…You are not just your children…
As she walked through the halls on her way to the breakfast rooms, Jane’s words danced once more around her mind and she frowned. For the truth was, motherhood had been the sole purpose of her existence these years. Only someday, her daughters would be gone and who would she be? Unnerved by that question of her far-distant future, she reached the breakfast room and entered.

Her mother sat beside Chloe, with Gabriel and Jane at the opposite end of the long mahogany table. Holding her breath, Philippa stepped further inside and braced for the sharp cries and furious demands. Except…

“Good morning, Philippa,” Gabriel greeted.

He sipped his coffee and Mother attended her breakfast plate and… There was no grand display of disappointment. Philippa took a tentative step toward the sideboard. Was it possible Lord Montfort, the witness to her embrace with Miles, had said nothing?

“Gabriel,” she said quietly and proceeded to fill a plate. She then carried it to the seat alongside Jane. After all, if questions of scandal were raised, a place beside her undaunted sister-in-law was the very place she wished to be. She settled a napkin on her lap and reached for her fork. Her eyes went to the copy of
The Times
beside her brother’s dish and she momentarily froze. Wetting her lips, she crept her fingers toward that sheet. Her hand touched the edge of the paper just as she registered the absolute silence.

“Are you taking my copy of
The Times
?”

She blinked, fingers frozen like a child who’d been caught with her hand in Cook’s pastries. “Uh…” Yes, yes she was. Then, isn’t that how Gabriel, Alex, and mother had always seen her? As a fragile miss in need of protection? “You aren’t really reading it though, are you?” she asked needlessly.

Surprise flashed in Gabriel’s eyes. Approval in Jane’s. And confusion in Mother’s. Taking advantage of their distraction, Philippa cleared her throat and swiped the paper. And proceeded to skim her gaze over the page intently searching for two damning names. She opened the copy and skimmed. Surely she could not be so very fortunate that the gentleman would prove honorable and not share what he’d observed?

“I have Lady Audley coming again for tea,” Mother said.

Of course that was intended for her. She tightened her mouth and continued her search.

“And her son,” Mother added.

At the strident note in her determined mama’s tone, she smiled, welcoming the concealment of the paper. “Are they?” Philippa replied, not taking her attention from her search. She flipped to the last page of
The Times
. Nothing. There was no mention. A giddy sense of relief filled her and she set it down.

“As I was saying,” her mother said with a deepening frown. “I have Lady Audley coming over.” Again.

“That is lovely,” she said, picking up her fork and knife and proceeded to carve a piece of breakfast ham. “Have a most wonderful visit.”

Gabriel’s lips twitched. Hmm. He was capable of smiling; once more proving his wife’s powerful influence.

“I was asking you to join Lady Audley and I,” her mother said impatiently.

“Were you?” she asked pausing, her fork midway to her mouth. “Forgive me. I must have failed to hear the request.”

Jane raised her napkin to her mouth and dabbed at her lips, but not before Philippa detected the smile there. Chloe, however, made little attempt to hide her wide grin.

Their mother stitched her eyebrows into a single line. “Philippa?” Confusion wreathed that single word utterance.