To Woo a Widow (The Heart of a Duke #10)(31)

All of Miles’ beautiful lessons he’d unknowingly handed Philippa on her own strength and worth brought her shoulders back with pride. Mayhap it was years of abuse at her father’s hands. Or the rigid expectations placed on her by her mother, husband, and brother, but Philippa’s patience cracked. “How dare you?” she demanded.

The marchioness creased her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“As you should,” Philippa bit out, deliberately misinterpreting the other woman’s words. “You come into my home and ask me to explain my connection to your son.” Color flooded the marchioness’ cheeks. “You expect me to speak about personal matters you have no right to ask on, with the only concern being your son’s need for an heir.” She surged to her feet with such alacrity her skirts snapped noisily at her feet. “I will tell you this, madam, I do not intend to marry your son.” Nor had he asked. A slight exhalation of relief burst from the other woman’s lips. “But even if I did, I would not answer to you about it. I owe no explanations, nor do I seek your approval. Now,” she said, gesturing to the door, “if you’ll excuse me? We are through here.”

The older woman opened and closed her mouth like a trout yanked from the lake and tossed to shore. Then with stiff, regal elegance befitting a queen, she came to her feet. “Well, then,” she said tightly. “With your deplorable manners you have proven you are very much an Edgerton.” Yanking at her skirts, Miles’ mother started for the door.

Philippa steeled her jaw. An Edgerton. The marchioness spoke it as though it was a sin upon her character, when in actuality, the Edgertons were something far more; something she’d failed to realize of herself—until this moment.

They were survivors.

And they would not be trampled by life…and this woman would most certainly not cow her. “Madam,” she called out and the woman halted in her tracks. “My family demonstrates far greater dignity and grace than most.” The marchioness brought her shoulders back. “And Society may whisper of us, but neither are we the manner of people who would dare enter someone else’s home and call into question their character and worth.” For as good, kind, and worthy as Miles had proven himself to be these past four days, his mother had demonstrated herself to be as cold as the rest of the ton. “Good day, madam,” she bit out, not allowing the hated woman to raise all her oldest insecurities about bearing babes.

“How dare you?” the marchioness seethed, taking a step toward Philippa.

“No, how dare you?”

As one, they looked to the sharp exclamation that came from the front of the room. Philippa’s mouth fell open. Fury radiating in her eyes, her mother rushed forward in a whish of skirts like a warrior storming a keep. “My daughter, the Countess of Winston, has asked you to leave and I insist that you do so this instant.”

If the Marchioness of Guilford’s cheeks turned any redder, she’d be set ablaze. “In all my years, I have never—”

“I will not ask you again.” The Dowager Marchioness of Waverly’s voice shook with emotion; more passion and life than she’d ever shown in the years she’d spent married to her miserable husband.

Through the years of her husband’s abuse, never had her mother found the courage to intervene on behalf of her children—until now. So much love filled Philippa’s throat, it choked off words.

“Well.” With another flick of her skirts, Miles’ mother stalked from the room.

The moment she left, the fight went out of Philippa and she buried her face in her hands. And in this instance, she couldn’t sort out whom she hated more—herself for having a body that had so failed her, Miles’ mother for being so very correct in him deserving a wife who could and would give him those boy babes he required, or Miles himself for showing her everything she’d never believed possible; dangling the sliver of a promise before her. All the while, knowing he could never be hers for every blasted reason his mother had spit out.

Her mother touched a delicate hand to her shoulder and she let her hands fall to her side. Tears glazed her mother’s eyes. “I am so very proud of you. You have always been stronger than I ever could have hoped to be.”

…your eyes speak a tale of a woman of strength… Even if you do not see it in yourself… With Miles’ words whispering around her memory, Philippa offered a tremulous smile.

“I am so sorry I failed you,” her mother whispered. “You deserved my protection from your father. Each of you did.”

“You did not fail us. You did the best you were able. Just as I did with Calvin.”

Shock registered in the older woman’s eyes. Then, the dowager marchioness placed her fingers to tremulous lips. “Thank you.”

And there was an absolution in that; freeing her mother of guilt and finding freedom in it herself.

“Oh, Philippa!” She jerked her gaze to the doorway where her sister and sister-in-law stood. Chloe’s wide smile reached her eyes as she rushed forward. “You were brilliant.” She took her hands in her own and gave a squeeze. “We were listening at keyholes,” she explained. “And, Mother, you were utterly magnificent.”

Their mother claimed Philippa’s hands in hers and squeezed. “Your sister was magnificent.” She looked over to Chloe. “As all of my children are.”