Graham had been among thoseold boys.Hehad been the best of them. Philip had known him from Eton. They had been inseparable as children. Their friendship had continued into their adolescence, and then, grown into a man, Philip had gone to war and earned himself Graham’s scorn for abandoning Elinor—that was to say, for running away from everything that inconvenienced him by buying his way into the army.
Even if Graham hated him for his decision, he would have known what to do to make Elinor feel better. Philip, too. And he would have done it without question.
That was always his way. Indefatigable, honorable Graham.
But Philip? Eternally detached, accursed Philip? The greater part of him couldn’t help his sister through her mourning period while he still grieved his best friend so deeply. And the lesser part, the part he most repressed, feared even trying to help. Because except for Elinor, there was nothing he cared about in the world, and he could not risk disappointing her. Not when she needed him most.
At present, she needed him to be honest.
“He has… crossed my mind,” Philip admitted, his jaw clenching. He saw his sister’s attention start to wane, likely gone to that place where she still lived with Graham in her memory. “What do you think he would have made of this?”
He pointed to his scar, which he and Elinor had not spoken about outright, even though he had seen the shock that had passed over her face when they had first reunited.
He had heard the staff talking about his disfigurement behind his back. And he could only imagine what sort of terrifying descriptions of his appearance were making their way through the ton. The upper crust of society loved nothing more than a good tragedy—that failing, someone at whom they could point and laugh. And what was more tragic, more pitiable, more entertaining, than an eligible bachelor finally rising to his rightful place in society, only for his good looks to slip right through his fingers, along with his respectability?
His sister’s expression softened while he was thinking. She stepped in front of the looking glass, sweeping gentle fingers over his scar.
“I think he would think you look very impressive. More importantly,” her voice softened too, “he would be glad that you are back home—just like I am. No matter what comes, no matter what you decide to do next, I will always be glad that you are my brother.”
Philip took her cold hand and placed a grateful kiss on her knuckles.
Her words swept over him like a soothing balm. They chased away some of the anxiety that had settled in his chest as he had prepared himself for the evening ahead.
It would be his first visit to London in years. Her confidence made him feel like perhaps she was right. Philip had been Colonel Wilmington for so long that he did not know how to be anything else. But there was still work to be done in London, at the Horse Guards or the House of Lords, an estate to manage for Elinor’s sake, if nothing else.
“Then let us decide that we are not old,” he said, releasing her and reaching for the tailcoat on his bed. He slipped into the sleeves, rolling his shoulders to test the fit of the new garment. “We are still young, with much life ahead of us. You, most of all.”
“You are kind to say so.” Elinor watched him with admiration. “Even if you’re wrong about me. My chance at happiness has come and gone. I may now only look back fondly at what was, and dream of what might have been. Of the two of us, you have never married. There is a whole world of love and trials waiting for you out there. I shall content myself with playing a supporting role in this new life of yours. It will not be so terrible, merely being the sister of the Duke of Wells. I shall become a fine aunt, a fine sister-in-law. And if I grow bored or jealous, then I shall take up philanthropy or watercolors or, heaven forfend, start up one of those women’s salons that are all the rage at present.”
For her sake, Philip forced a smile. They had made progress that evening, and he did not intend to sour the mood by telling his sister the truth.
That even if he had returned from active service without his scars, he would not be seeking marriage. That the idea of taking a decent woman as a wife made him want to leave England all over again. That he had longed for Elinor to find her happiness in motherhood and raise children in Graham’s image. But that, for his part, he had sworn long ago that their last name would die with him.
And Graham knew all of that.And it is partly why he cursed me. If Elinor still holds hope in her heart for me, then it stands to reason that my secret died with him. I cannot break her heart now. There are only a few months until she is out of mourning and can distract herself with other things. If she must believe me eligible until then, so be it.
“All right,” he merely said, casting his gaze to the sun beyond the window. “It seems there is work to be done for us both, in this new uncertain world of ours.”
CHAPTER2
A Few Hours Later...
Anna brought a pearl earring up to her ear, evaluating the shade of white against her skin. Her friends laughed and conversed loudly behind her, doing their own toilettes for the evening ahead.
She sighed contemplatively, setting the pearl earring on the vanity before her. It clinked against the marble tabletop, and she picked up a pair of diamond earrings instead. Her mother had always liked them on her. They were an inheritance from her paternal grandmother—the late, though not particularly missed, Countess of Bristol.
“But that’s just the thing,” Helena cried between bursts of laughter. “How can a woman possibly knowwhatto do with herself if all she isallowedto pursue are interests of such little value as to not be worth the pursuit in the first place? Watercolors, music, manners… These accomplishments set the bar impossibly low from the onset. If a girl is told that her role is to paint prettily, to sing in tune, to be beautiful, how could she conceive of a world in which she could become a woman-barrister, or a woman-doctor? The problem lies in education. Everything is learned, especially the expectations we set for ourselves. That is my thought on things, at least. Which, as usual, I suppose nobody asked for.”
Indeed, nobody did, but that was par for the course with Helena. She launched into political soliloquies at every opportunity.
Anna had determined long ago that Helena loved the sound of her own voice. Anna and the rest of them didn’t mind. As the second eldest of their group, Helena was the most opinionated of them all—and perhaps to their detriment, the most persuasive too.
The youngest, Lucy, placed a hand in front of her mouth and feigned a yawn. She lay down on Anna’s bed, reading her latest loan from the lending library. Her bright blonde hair shone in the light from the candles nearby, a stark contrast to Anna’s chestnut-brown hair.
“How did we even get on the topic?” Lucy asked, giggling when Helena shot her a dark look. “Margaret was saying something about her gown…”
“I said that I was having difficulty selecting my colors for this Season because lavender is supposed to be the favorite of the Queen. But it looks ghastly on me. And so does white, for that matter, which is equally popular,” Margaret explained, striking a pose in Anna’s standing mirror. Poised and polished, Margaret cut an impressive figure. “And then Sophia said that she was having trouble in that regard too, because the latest fashion plates inLa Belle Assembléecontradicted the trends inThe Lady’s Magazineshe had just read. And then Helena said?—”
“And then Helena said,” Sophia cut in, scenting herself with rosewater, “that the reason we have such trouble choosing is that we are all taught to be helpless—that is if I am summarizing your arguments correctly, darling Helena?”
