by Martha Keyes
Her mind went blank, consumed with the fact that she was so close she could breathe him in. What was she going to say?
His face turned slightly toward her. “Well?”
She pulled her lips between her teeth and pulled back. “I don’t know what to say.”
He shot her an unimpressed look. “Allow me to try, then.” He leaned in toward her, cupping his mouth with a hand, and whispered, “You are a terrible teacher.” His breath tickled her ear and raised every hair on her neck.
She snorted slightly, and he pulled back.
“How was that?” he asked, a victorious cock to his brow.
She arranged her face into an expression of haughty superiority. “The delivery was impeccable, but I would advise you to choose less offensive content when you whisper to Miss Devenish.”
“Duly noted.”
Ruth nodded approvingly. If he wanted to play this way, she was happy to give as good as she was getting. “Now, for the hand on the back I mentioned, if you hear this sound”—she raised her hand behind him and brought it to his back with a thud against the solid mass of muscle. He jolted slightly, and she smiled to herself—“then you have done it too aggressively.”
He turned his head toward her, the corner of his mouth trembling slightly before he managed to control it. “Very helpful,” he said ironically. “Allow me to practice on you to ensure I understand.” He moved toward her, and she hurriedly rose from her chair to put distance between them. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her back toward him, his mouth stretched in a smile that was a perfect mixture of promised vengeance and amusement.
She struggled for a moment to get away, and he wrapped an arm around her to keep her in place, one of his hands pressing into her back. She stopped struggling, staring up at him with a challenge in her eyes and smile. She knew he would never lay a hand on her, even in jest.
Her smile faded, though, as he stared down at her, an intent look in his eyes, as if he saw something unexpected in her face. The pressure of his hand lessened, and he took a step back, blinking.
“Your injury,” he said. “Have I hurt you?”
She glanced down at her side. She had forgotten it entirely, but now that her attention was on it, it was stinging slightly. She shook her head.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I forgot myself.”
“I deserved it for goading you.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat down again. “You learned all of this from your father? And from watching people in the Pump Room?”
It took her a moment to respond, surprised as she was by the change in subject. She sat down in the seat beside him again. “More or less.” Her observations had certainly not prepared her for how it would feel to be in love herself. It was more beautiful and more painful than words could capture.
He turned his body toward her. “And what of you?”
“What of me?” She tried to ignore the press of his knees against hers.
“When do you put into practice all this wisdom you have gleaned? When does the Swan get her own love story?”
Her muscles tensed, and she looked him in the eye. Why was he asking her such a question? “Love is a luxury.”
“But your father married for love, did he not?”
“He did. But he could afford to do so. It was a different time, under different circumstances.” She tried to give a light shrug, feeling uncomfortable at the focus on her—on the light it shone upon the gap between her and Philip. She had resigned herself to the fact that, whenever she married, it would be a practical decision. Never had that felt like more of a sacrifice than it did now.
He was frowning. “It seems unfair that someone who helps others find love should be deprived of it herself.”
“Perhaps, but that is the way of the world. The artisan makes shoes he himself is unlikely to have; the servant cleans a home far superior to her own; the laundress washes linens and clothing she could never afford. We do what is necessary and use whatever talents we possess in order to survive.”
He made a noncommittal sound. “Love is not only a luxury for the poor, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was never any talk of marrying for love in my family—at least not in a positive way. It has always been a matter of duty. Only ask my sister Alice.”
Ruth kept her eyes on him but said nothing.
“What? You do not believe me?”
“It isn’t that. I have no doubt that, for someone in your circumstances, there is great pressure to marry a certain type of person. But that isn’t the same as love being a luxury. The fact remains that you might choose to marry for love if you wished. It might be frowned upon by some—it might not elevate your family or your estate—but it is still an option. You could marry a pauper and still have food to eat and a grand estate.”
He stared at her, and she was afraid to meet his gaze. Afraid that her words would draw his pity. She met his gaze despite that, and there was no pity there, only thoughtfulness. “No. You are right, I suppose.” He searched her face. “You truly believe in love, don’t you? Believe in it deeply, or else you would not be the Swan. And you sacrifice your own possibilities for your family. Your hair, even.” His mouth turned up into a slight smile, but there was a touch of sadness in it.
“Hair grows back,” she said, waving a dismissive hand and, along with it, the tears she had cried after cutting her hair. “If you had met Joanna or George and received one of their embraces, I assure you, you would be willing to do much more than cut your hair to ensure their happiness. Besides, I am not consigning myself to misery just because I understand that my own decision to marry will have to be a practical one. There are different types of love, you know, and even if my future does not hold the ardent intensity that some people are fortunate enough to experience and pursue, I am determined that there shall be love between us—between myself and whoever I marry. That sort of love is a choice—a love that must be cultivated and worked at, day after day. And it is that type of love that a marriage must subsist on once the initial flame diminishes.”
He was watching her intently, and her cheeks began to warm. “I didn’t mean to lecture you,” she said with an embarrassed smile, turning her legs so that their knees broke contact. “We should return to the lesson.”
He drew back in feigned fear, his eyes on her hand, and she laughed. “I shan’t hurt you. I have told you a few things you might try to show your interest in Miss Devenish. Now I hope to help you attune yourself to her reactions.”
He nodded and waited for her to go on.
“There are a number of things to look for: looking up at you through her lashes, any intentional touch that mirrors your own, body turned toward you as we discussed earlier, laughter, blushing.” She swallowed, realizing how many of the signs she had unwittingly demonstrated in her own behavior that very day. She only hoped he was too focused on Miss Devenish to apply his learning elsewhere.
He scoffed. “So I am to pay attention to the chess game itself, my own behavior, and Miss Devenish’s reactions to my behavior? I am afraid you have overestimated my abilities.”
“Impossible, Narcissus,” she said with an ill-repressed smile. “Perhaps I am overwhelming you for no reason. I think you are comfortable enough with Miss Devenish at this point that it may all come quite naturally to you. I was in earnest when I told you that I feel you have little need of me now.”
He let out a little snort. “We shall see, shan’t we?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Philip felt surprisingly calm as he awaited the arrival of the guests in Upper Brook Street. They had chosen the day well, for the rain pattered in a steady stream outside, making the inducement of a cozy night indoors more appealing than ever.
Alice had taken on her role as hostess with alacrity and was busying herself with some last-minute instructions to the cook, while Ruth was still dressing upstairs. She and Philip had been discussing the plans for the evening when Alice’
s carriage had arrived—much earlier than anticipated—and Ruth had been obliged to hurry upstairs to change from a dress to the more suitable male attire that would be expected by all in attendance. The last thing they needed was to create the stir that would inevitably be caused by Alice seeing Ruth dressed as a woman. Philip wondered with a bit of curiosity whether she would even recognize Ruth as the Mr. Ruth she had met before.
As Ruth came down the stairs, Philip approached her, chuckling softly at the sight of her in pantaloons, boots, and a waistcoat.
“Good evening, Mr. Ruth,” Philip said in an undervoice, glancing quickly at his sister, who was still spouting off a list of commands to the slightly harried looking servant. Poor chap.
Ruth gave an annoyed tug at her cravat. “I shall be very happy when I can say goodbye once and for all to these devices of persecution.”
Philip frowned and slipped a finger between her cravat the shirt collar. “You have tied it too tight.”
Ruth sent him an irritable look. “Not all of us have valets who have perfected the art of cravat-tying, my lord.” She used a finger to push the spectacles back up onto the bridge of her nose.
Philip narrowed his eyes at them. “Do you even need those? You haven’t worn them since”—he looked at Alice again to make sure she wasn’t listening—“the duel.”
Ruth gave him a wary look. “It depends upon how much the answer shall anger you.”
He sighed and pulled them from her face, inspecting them with a light tap on the lenses. “Plain glass?”
Ruth looked sheepish. “They were instrumental to the disguise.”
He handed them back to her with a look full of meaning. “The list of lies grows.”
She lowered her head in faux meekness, and he chucked her under the chin teasingly. He had found it too easy to maintain the familiarity that had flourished between them prior to the discovery of the truth. She might look quite different to the man Philip had made friends with, but she acted very much the same. “Those ridiculous things should have alerted me that something suspect was going on.”
She laughed, and he thought he saw a slight blush to her cheeks in the candlelit hall. “Well, once you had seen me with them at our first meeting, I could hardly stop wearing them. Neither could I continue wearing Topher’s reading glasses.”
“Is that what those were?”
She nodded. “They gave me the most oppressive headache imaginable.”
“Could you see through them?”
She smiled. “Not a blessed thing. You were nothing more than an insufferable blur to me.”
His laugh was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from Alice behind them.
“They are here!” She scurried over and turned Philip toward her, straightening his cravat and smoothing his coat. “I think you should have chosen a different color of waistcoat, but I suppose there is no helping that now. We will have to hope that Miss Devenish likes that particular shade of brown.”
Philip sent a long-suffering glance at Ruth, who was trying not to smile.
The bell rang, and Alice shooed them into the drawing room, following behind. “I shall endeavor to keep Mrs. Devenish occupied, and Mr. Ruth, perhaps you may engage to do the same with Miss Parkham, so that Philip and Miss Devenish can have time to…further their acquaintance.” She sent them a significant glance then shushed them, as if they had been the ones speaking.
The door opened, and a footman announced, “Mrs. Devenish, Miss Devenish, and Miss Parkham.”
As promised, Alice went directly to Mrs. Devenish, greeting her with a grace and warmth that reminded Philip forcibly of their mother. Watching Alice in company was much like watching a performance.
Both Miss Devenish and Miss Parkham greeted Ruth with affection, and Philip suppressed a smile. Somehow, knowing he was the only one there aware of Ruth’s disguise gave him a simultaneous thrill and an interesting hint of protectiveness. He was well aware just how compromised she would be if anyone else discovered the deception.
Miss Devenish was looking striking, as usual, even more so now that she wore a butter yellow dress—Philip was still unused to seeing her in anything but blacks, grays, and purples. He quickly reminded himself of the things he and Ruth had discussed, redetermining to be observant and attentive to Miss Devenish. The image flashed across his mind of holding Ruth against him, and he pushed it—and the unexpected thrill it had caused him both then and now—aside.
The group partook of tea and a tray of sweetmeats before Alice gave Philip a speaking look and addressed herself to Mrs. Devenish. It was his cue to start the games.
Ruth sent a quick glance across the circular table in the drawing room. She sat beside Miss Parkham, who was waiting patiently in front of the chess board while Philip and Miss Devenish conferred in hushed whispers about their next move. Chess in pairs, Ruth had called it, knowing that it would force the teams to work together—and to do so just as Philip and Miss Devenish were now: heads huddled and eyes glancing suspiciously at Ruth and Miss Parkham to ensure they were not overhearing anything.
It was perfect. Painfully perfect. It was exactly what she had prepared Philip for, and he was doing marvelously. He looked completely natural—a far cry from the uncertain, stiff man she had watched at church a few weeks ago.
Ruth’s own performance was of a different nature. She needed not only to remember that she was a gentleman—a task made more difficult by the two days she had just spent as a woman—but to also hide the misery inside her.
She had initially been worried upon Miss Devenish’s arrival—the young woman was as kind and civil as ever, but Ruth hadn’t missed the slightly drawn look she had. It reminded her quite a bit of Topher, and that did nothing to alleviate her qualms.
But Miss Devenish seemed to enter into the spirit of chess in pairs with enthusiasm, and even if she didn’t return Philip’s subtle touches, neither did she draw back from them.
Ruth and Miss Parkham had taken the first game, and the result of the current one was still very much up in the air. Philip and Miss Devenish seemed to come to an agreement, though, and the latter reached out and moved her remaining knight.
Philip looked at Ruth with a smile on his lips and a hint of anticipated victory in his eyes.
The door to the drawing room opened, and Ruth glanced up, stilling.
Topher’s confused gaze flitted from Lady Tipton and Mrs. Devenish—sipping more tea on the settee—to Ruth and Miss Parkham, and finally to the backs of Philip and Miss Devenish.
Ruth tried to shoo him away, but realizing that Lady Tipton’s eye had caught the action, she changed her approach, hurrying to rise from her seat. “Franks!” Ruth called out with as much pleased surprise as she could muster to cover her dismay. “Wasn’t expecting your return until tomorrow.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, wide eyes still on Miss Devenish. “I finished my business sooner than anticipated.”
“I imagine you must be quite tired from your journey,” she said with a tight smile. “Wishing to rest, no doubt.”
“Is this the Mr. Franks you were telling me about, Philip?” Lady Tipton asked, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
Philip nodded. “The same. Franks, this is my sister, Lady Tipton, and beside her, Mrs. Devenish.”
Topher bowed to them both.
“We are acquainted,” said Mrs. Devenish with a kind smile, and Ruth held her breath as she waited to see whether Mrs. Devenish would expound upon their acquaintance. She knew a moment of panic as she thought on what the result would be if the connection between her brother and Miss Devenish became known. Her stomach flipped and churned at the realization that she was still not being fully honest with Philip.
“You must join the games, of course,” said Lady Tipton, motioning for him to come further into the room.
Ruth let out a breathy chuckle and perjured herself. “Oh, Franks hates chess. I hope you don’t mind if I steal him away for a moment—this business he left on, it is somewhat urgent, and
it is a matter which requires a bit of consultation. You know very well what you are doing, Miss Parkham. I have every confidence that you can bring about another victory for us. Excuse us, if you will.”
“Of course, of course,” said Lady Tipton. “But do bring him back after. We needn’t play chess all night—there are plenty of other options. And games are always more amusing with more people, I have found.”
“Then it is somewhat strange that you yourself have declined to play,” said Philip as his eyes roved over the chess board.
Lady Tipton waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I am far too old for such things now.”
Noting the flush in Miss Devenish’s face as she looked at Topher, Ruth took her brother’s arm, firmly guiding him out of the room and shutting the door behind them. She pulled him toward the library across the corridor.
“She is here,” Topher said, stumbling a bit as she tugged him into the room.
“And so are you. But why? You weren’t supposed to return until tomorrow.”
Topher’s eyes lingered on the shut door. “Mama scolded me for leaving you at all and insisted I return as soon as I had carried out business for the Swan.”
Ruth dropped his arm and pursed her lips. “Of course she did.” She let her head drop back with a large sigh of frustration. “What did you tell her? Does she know of my disguise?”
Topher tore his eyes away from the door and shook his head. “I didn’t want to worry her.”
She nodded. “How is she? And the children?”
The first hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Well enough. They miss you, though.”
Ruth missed them. But she also felt dread at the prospect of leaving London—and Philip.
It would be for the best. In the end.
Topher’s eyes traveled back to the door. “I should have let you know I was returning early, but I didn’t expect….”
