A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

P hilip fumbled with his cravat, let out a frustrated groan, and tore the piece of cloth from his neck, tossing it onto the floor to join two other crumpled ones. It wasn’t as if Philip had never tied his own cravat before, but this morning both his fingers and the cloth refused to cooperate. He was sorely regretting giving his valet the morning off.

He dropped his arms to his sides, letting his muscles rest from the exertion of smoothing and adjusting the neckcloths. He looked at himself critically in the mirror. He had selected a simple blue waistcoat, but he was beginning to think it a bad choice.

A soft knock sounded on his door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Ruth is here, my lord,” came the reply.

Ah, good. Ruth would be honest with him about his clothing.

“Send him up,” Philip said. “I require his help.”

“Very good, my lord.”

He squinted at his shirt in the mirror. Was that a stain? He looked down and, sure as anything, a yellow blotch stared back up at him.

With a sigh of annoyance, he undid the buttons of his waistcoat, tugged it off, and threw it on the bed next to a similar one of crimson satin, then undid the button at his throat and pulled his shirt over his head.

“Lord Oxley?” Ruth’s voice came through the door, a hint of hesitation in it.

“Come in, Ruth.” Philip strode over to the door, opened it, and walked back over to the armoire to pull out one of the neatly folded shirts from a pile. “Thank heaven you’ve come. You can choose between the red and the blue waistcoat. For the life of me I can’t—” He stopped.

Ruth stood in the doorway, regarding him with wide eyes.

“What?” Philip said, feeling sudden dismay. Had he a stain on his pantaloons as well? He glanced down, but his pantaloons were the one article of clothing he felt confident in. “Is it my hair?” He turned toward the mirror, brushing softly at a tuft of hair that had moved from its place. “I gave my valet the morning off, and I have never regretted something so profoundly.” He turned back to Ruth. “Well? What is it, man?”

Ruth swallowed and blinked. “Nothing. It is just…I have never seen a dandy in his natural habitat. It is fascinating.”

Philip scoffed and pulled the shirt over his head. “A dandy! That’s rich. I have never in my life been called that.”

Ruth’s brows went up, and he nodded at the pile of cravats and the waistcoats on the bed. “You certainly seem to meet some of the criteria.”

Philip finished buttoning the shirt at the throat and sent him an unamused glance before holding up the waistcoats. “Red or blue?”

Ruth looked at him carefully, eyes switching between his face and the waistcoats. “Red.”

Philip hurriedly shrugged into the waistcoat then reached for a new cravat. “Perhaps I should have you tie it. My fingers seem to be covered in butter today.”

Ruth laughed. “No, Narcissus. I shall come with you to church, but I must draw the line somewhere, and I think tying your cravat is well beyond that line.”

“Hadn’t any idea what you were getting yourself into when you accepted my request, did you?” Philip tucked the end of the cravat through itself and glanced at Ruth through the mirror.

Ruth shot him a look full of meaning. “You have no idea.”

On the walk to Piccadilly, Philip asked question after question of Ruth, who patiently answered and expounded upon each answer.

Philip couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked over at the young man, laboriously explaining the proper use of eye contact to hint at his interest in Miss Devenish.

“In the beginning, you cannot afford anything but the briefest of exchanged glances when you are not directly speaking to one another. Hold her gaze too long before she has given you encouragement that she looks favorably upon your suit, and you will only succeed in making her feel supremely uncomfortable. Better too short than too long in this case.”

“I must trust you, no doubt,” Philip said. “I can only imagine you see the world quite a bit more clearly than I with these .” He plucked the spectacles from Ruth’s face, and Ruth scrambled to get them back, wresting them from Philip and setting them back on his nose.

Surprised at the vehemence of Ruth’s reaction, Philip put his hands up in a display of innocence. “I never knew a man to be so attached to his glasses. You must be the only man under the age of sixty who wears them all the time.”

“Well, not all of us are blessed with the triad,” he said the last word with feigned reverence.

“Perhaps not,” Philip said, eying the spectacles with amusement. “But you might have chosen a pair of glasses a bit less…obtrusive. You bring new meaning to the phrase making a spectacle of oneself . Or is this your method of being noticed? Perhaps you should let me borrow them today.”

“Don’t veil your eyes,” Ruth said. “Let Miss Devenish see them clearly. They are one of your best features.”

Philip chuckled, a half-smile bringing up the side of his mouth. “You positively unman me with your flattery, Ruth.”

Ruth sent him an annoyed glance through the thick rims of his glasses. Why was it so entertaining to tease him?

“When there is but one good feature to capitalize upon, I feel myself duty-bound to point it out,” Ruth said. “Now, as I was saying, when you are speaking directly to Miss Devenish, you should hold her gaze clearly as she speaks. Let her see that your attention is on her.”

Reaching the gates of St. James’s, they followed behind a middle-aged couple into the churchyard.

The vicar stood just inside the church doors, and he greeted Philip with a raising of the brows. “Lord Oxley,” he said, voice loud enough to carry for many feet around them. “How good of you to join us. I hope this is the turning over of a new leaf and that it means we shall begin seeing more of you. I am always devastated to see your empty box each Sabbath. God is pleased when a lost sheep returns to the fold.”

Philip smiled civilly. “Thank you, Mr. Gibson.”

“I encourage you to listen carefully to today’s sermon, my lord,” said the vicar.

Philip gave a nod and pulled Ruth’s arm to force them both into the church.

“You shock me, Oxley,” Ruth said, covering his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a laugh. “I hadn’t any idea you were a prodigal.”

Philip eyed the vicar with disfavor as they proceeded into the church. “Is it any wonder I stay away?”

“No,” Ruth said. “Though I confess I am impatient to hear what the subject is for today’s sermon. Or does the vicar say that to everyone who attends?”

They slipped into the Trent family box pew. “No, he does not. He seems to feel that every call to repentance is tailored for me.”

The sermon was, as it would have it, on vanity, something that Ruth found extremely amusing. He found it incumbent upon himself to send Philip a stern, pointed glance each time the vicar mentioned the word, mouthing “Narcissus” on one occasion. Instead of the usual frustration and annoyance Philip felt at the vicar’s singling him out, he was hard put not to laugh.

As soon as the sermon ended—complete with a final inclining of the vicar’s head in Philip’s direction—Philip and Ruth left the pew.

“Is she here?” Ruth asked, eyes casually searching the crowds.

“Yes.” Philip had found her easily enough. “She doesn’t generally stay long after the service.”

“Well, then.” Ruth shot him a significant look.

But Philip wasn’t obliged to go in search of Miss Devenish. Her eyes were roving over the groups of churchgoers, as though searching for someone in particular. When her gaze landed upon Philip and Ruth, she smiled in surprise and began to make her way over, trailed by her friend Miss Parkham. It was Ruth she had her eyes trained on, though, and Philip had to admit he was impressed. So, the man knew what he was talking about, after all.

“Mr. Ruth,” said Miss Devenish with a friendly smile. “What a pleasure to see you here. And you, too, Lord Oxley.”

Philip felt a small nudge from Ruth, who addressed himself to Miss Parkham.

Philip cleared his throat and smiled at Miss Devenish. “What did you think of the sermon, Miss Devenish?”

She looked at him with a suppressed smile. “It was very…severe.” She laughed softly. “I believe Mr. Gibson was directing his words at me.”

Philip smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no. You may rest easy. He as much as told me that he chose it for my benefit.”

She tilted her head to the side wonderingly. “Did he really?”

He looked down and nodded, then, remembering that he was supposed to be meeting Miss Devenish’s gaze squarely, brought his head up and looked her in the eye.

Her smile wavered. “What? What is it?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I thought you meant me to understand something by the way you looked at me just now.”

He shook his head quickly, heat rising in his neck. “No, no.” He laughed uncomfortably and looked to Ruth, who was still conversing with Miss Parkham. He searched his mind for what Ruth had told him the night before and on their walk to the church. He was to listen carefully—but Miss Devenish wasn’t saying anything to listen to right now—and he was to ask questions.

But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were again roving over the crowds in the church.

“Are you looking for someone?” That was a question, wasn’t it?

“Oh, no.” She returned her eyes to him, smiling again. “Merely ensuring my mother knew my whereabouts.”

Silence reined again, and Philip caught Ruth’s eye with a significant look. Ruth nodded, and the four of them parted company, just in time for Miss Devenish to be approached by Mr. Munroe. Munroe’s eyes seemed to linger on Ruth as he spoke with Miss Devenish.

Philip breathed his relief at no longer being obliged to come up with questions or conversation. A slight wave drew his attention. “Ah, here are my sister and nieces. Mr. Gibson would have done better to direct his sermon at her. ”