To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke #10)(23)

His mother pressed her palms to her cheek. “You surely are not speaking of courting Lady Winston.” Shock laced that statement.

“She is the daughter of a marquess,” he said ignoring her question. The young woman at the park had spoken with revelry for her newly attained freedom. Such a woman wouldn’t be eager to bind herself to another husband. His stomach knotted. Oh, the irony. That he should desire more, and the lady spoke of her previous marriage with the same tones of one relishing the hereafter. “Furthermore,” he went on, “the lady is a countess by her own right.” Surely his mother, who could see nothing beyond titles, would, at the least, appreciate those pieces; the ones he cared the least for. He cared about her smile and the way she’d tossed that embroidery frame at him.

“She is an Edgerton,” she snapped. “And she cannot bear children.”

He snorted and in one swallow, drained his glass. “That is a stretch, even for you, Mother,” he said, climbing to his feet. He crossed over to the sideboard. He poured himself another glass and returned to his seat. “The lady has two children, proof of that lie.” Even had there been truth to her claims, Miles would never allow such a detail to keep him from wedding a woman. He took another sip.

“The lady has two daughters and no fewer than eight pregnancies.”

He choked on his swallow. Eight pregnancies? Surely not. She could not be more than…five and twenty years. “Impossible,” he gritted out, disgust at the careless way in which his mother spoke of Philippa’s life.

“Hardly impossible,” she continued relentlessly. “She lost her husband more babes than she birthed.”

Her words slammed into him like a kick to the gut. He concentrated on his breathing to keep from thinking of artless Philippa, enduring agony after agony.

“Nor did she have the decency to give the late earl an heir before his death.”

The glass cracked under the pressure of his hand and he set it down carefully. Had his mother always been so singularly merciless in matters of marriage? Miles shoved back his chair so quickly, the legs scraped along the hardwood floor. He stalked over to the door.

“Miles?” his mother called out. “Wherever are you going?” she called after him.

“Out,” he bit out. And with all her ruthless pronouncement and unfavorable words, she could go to hell.



Since she’d returned earlier from Hyde Park, Philippa had entered the townhouse more than half-expecting a barrage of questions from Chloe and furious admonishments over what had transpired between her and Miles. Seated in the parlor with Chloe and Jane reading from their copies of Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s works, Philippa bounced Violet on her knee and it became apparent…her secret was her own. For now.

She should be properly horrified. After all, she was proper. Yet, she could not bring herself to muster even a modicum of shame. How could she, when having failed to know even a glimmer of passion in the whole of her life? She’d been awakened to the fiery hungering that proved she was not incapable of that grand emotion. A small, secretive smile pulled at her lips and she dropped a kiss atop her daughter’s curls. Violet squirmed and she shifted Violet’s slight form in her arms.

Mindful of her sister and sister-in-law reading in the chairs opposite, she sang softly.

Sing a song of sixpence,

A pocket full of rye.

Four and twenty blackbirds,

Baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened,

The birds began to sing;

Wasn’t that a dainty dish,

To set before the—?

“The Marquess of Guilford to see Lady Winston.”

Her voice cracked mid-note as she jerked her stare to the butler who stood framed in the room’s entrance. Silence resounded, as the three ladies looked with varying degrees of shock and surprise to the servant. Through the charged silence, Violet babbled and clapped her hands excitedly.

Joseph cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “Should I inform His Lordship, Her Ladyship is not receiving—?”

“I’ll see him,” her frantic voice peeled around the room. Heat pricked her skin at the attention now trained on her. Shifting Violet’s body in her arms, Philippa climbed to her feet. “You may show His Lordship in,” she said with the remarkable composure she’d practiced through the years.

As soon as the butler ducked out of the room, the ladies present sprang to action. Chloe hurried to collect the leather tomes scattered about the table. Jane rushed over to gather Violet. While the ladies set the room to rights, Chloe trained a questioning stare on Philippa.

She warmed under that scrutiny. “It is hardly significant,” she said quickly. “I am sure he is simply here…” Her mind raced. Why was he here?

Chloe winged an eyebrow up and stared back with a mature knowingness that defied her younger years.

“Come along,” Jane urged, carrying Violet in her arms.

With a smile, Chloe hurried out of the room after her sister-in-law.

The knowing eyes of her family now gone, she pressed her palms to her cheeks. He was here. After their meeting in Hyde Park and their kiss, he should come here…now? To what end? Mayhap he intended to make her an indecent offer?

She slid her eyes closed as a wave of heat went through her at the memory of his kiss. Why should that possibility both thrill her and fill her with an inexplicable disappointment? She was not the manner of woman who’d ever wished to marry again. She’d traveled along that perilous path. A powerful marquess, Miles would certainly require the requisite heir and a spare…things she could never give him, or any man. Not when her life would surely be forfeit from the perils of childbirth. As it was, she’d spent the bulk of her adult life pregnant. While Society had few expectations for a woman beyond birthing babes and advancing familial connections, Philippa longed to live for more.