A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

D inner with Ruth and Franks was a pleasant, laughter-filled affair for Philip. In fact, it had been some time since he had laughed so much. The two men seemed to have known each other from time immemorial and to thoroughly enjoy embarrassing one another by relating experiences to Philip, the telling of which was always challenged and amended by its subject. Franks was the more gregarious of the two and Ruth the wittier.

True to his word, Philip refrained from talking about any business . It was refreshing to leave thoughts and talk of such things behind for an evening, like relieving a weight from his shoulders.

When the two men left, Philip’s house felt suddenly bereft, the stark quiet making Philip frown. He felt a slight pang of envy, knowing that Ruth and Franks were able to continue the spirit of the evening together. Philip had friends, of course—people he liked and enjoyed happening upon in Town. And he and Finmore had known one another for an age. But it was different. Just how it was different, Philip couldn’t quite put his finger on. But it was.

Or maybe he was merely imagining it.

When he strolled into Brooks’ the next day, he saw a number of the people he considered friends, Finmore among them. Finmore was often to be found at Brooks’, though what money he had to gamble with these days was an utter mystery to Philip.

“Ah, there you are, Ox,” Finmore said, motioning him over to the whist table where he sat. “Hoped I’d see you here today.” He scribbled some words on the piece of paper in front of him and handed it to the man across from him.

“More vowels?” Philip said, taking a seat next to rather than across from him to make it clear he hadn’t come to play. He wasn’t going to encourage Finmore’s recklessness.

“Heard you went to church yesterday,” Finmore said, gathering the cards.

“I did.”

“Who’s this Ruth fellow you were there with?”

Philip scoffed lightly. “Having me followed, are you?”

Finmore’s half-smile appeared as he shuffled the cards into a neat pile. “The movements of the Viscount Oxley are always a matter of interest and discussion.”

Philip stifled a sigh.

“So. Who’s this odd youth you’ve taken under your wing?”

Philip felt a strange protectiveness rise up in him, one he brushed aside. Ruth was capable of defending himself—he had made that clear quite quickly. In fact, Philip rather thought he would enjoy seeing Finmore attempt to take Ruth on in a battle of wits. Ruth’s appearance was certainly deceiving. And little did Finmore realize that it was Ruth who had taken Philip under his wing, in a way. What would he say if he knew that Ruth was the very Swan he had encouraged Philip to apply to for help? The thought brought a smile to Philip’s face. But as entertaining as it might have been, he didn’t wish for Finmore—or anyone—to know he was receiving such help.

“He is a friend I hadn’t seen for some time.”

“Hm. Munroe seems to have developed a distaste for him. Called him an unlicked cub .”

Philip let out a snort. “Munroe is a fool. I might safely decide my friends based purely on those he dislikes and my enemies on those whose company he frequents.”

“It seems as though Ruth cut him out with a woman or some such thing.”

Philip smothered his surprise. Was Ruth courting women while in town? It would only be natural, of course, but somehow it seemed unfair that Ruth should know everything about Philip’s romantic interests while Philip knew nothing of Ruth’s. He had found a friend with whom he could speak freely and wished that Ruth felt the ability to do the same.

An unwelcome thought accosted him: he was paying Ruth to be his friend.

“I shall have to convey my compliments to Ruth when I next see him,” Philip said. “Munroe could do with a bit of humbling. Besides, Ruth won’t be in town for long, so Munroe can be at ease.” Philip would miss Ruth when he left.

Finmore grunted, seeming to have lost interest in the subject already. “And how do you fare with Miss Devenish? I understand she has been seen more than once in the company of some gentleman. And looking quite cozy with him.”

Philip frowned. “Who?”

Finmore shrugged. “Just idle talk I heard. Miss Devenish’s movements are a matter of as much interest as yours, you know.”

Philip did know it. And it didn’t make him feel any better. Particularly if Miss Devenish was keeping company with someone new.

W hen Philip met Ruth on horseback that afternoon for a ride, his brow was still set in a slight frown.

“Is something amiss?” Ruth asked as they turned their horses down Rotten Row. It was too early in the day for many people to be found in the Park, so they had the lane almost to themselves.

Philip let out a breath and relaxed his face. “Nothing. Just something I heard today.”

“What is it?” Ruth asked. “You can talk to me, you know.” He smiled. “You are paying me to be discreet.”

Philip’s muscles clenched, but he managed a chuckle. “Very true.”

“Well, then?” Ruth prodded. “What has you frowning?”

“It very well may be nothing, but apparently Miss Devenish has been seen more than once in the company of a gentleman. I was wondering if it might not be the reason she has suddenly decided to put off her mourning.”

Ruth’s forehead wrinkled. “Someone you know witnessed this, then?”

Philip shook his head. “Just hearsay. It wouldn’t be the first time there were untrue rumors about Miss Devenish.”

Ruth looked at him with a cock to his brow. “Rumor or truth, we must help Miss Devenish see what is obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes and a brain: she couldn’t marry a better man than you.”

Philip chuckled, though he was secretly touched by Ruth’s words. “Perhaps you should offer your spectacles to Miss Devenish to help her see that.”

Ruth shot him a feigned glare then laughed. “I am in earnest, though. She would be fortunate to call herself your wife, with or without the triad.” He looked ahead. “Either way, I think we need to change our approach a bit. What you and Miss Devenish need is time for a real conversation, one where you can delve a bit deeper than is possible during two minutes at the church.”

“I think I can only manage two minutes at a time without making a fool of myself.”

Ruth shook his head. “It is merely a matter of momentum. Once you discover a topic upon which you and Miss Devenish agree—or some topic with which you both have experience—you will see how your conversation begins to flow. Are you aware of any topics on which she feels strongly?”

Philip pursed his lips. “You will think me stupid, no doubt, as I have known Miss Devenish for some time now, but I cannot say that I know much about her.”

“Then we must rectify that. I have only met her twice, but I think I can surmise a few things from those short encounters. And, adding that together with what we know about human nature, I think we might come up with a few topics of conversation that are likely to draw her out of her shell.”

Philip shot him an impressed look. “Let us have it, then. What have you gathered about Miss Devenish?”

Ruth made a pensive expression. “You mentioned that her father is too fond of her to force her into a marriage she doesn’t wish for. Is she as fond of him as he is of her?”

“I believe so,” Philip said. “She tends to stay near her father rather than her mother when the three of them attend events together.”

“And the brother whose death she mourns, were you acquainted with him?”

“A bit, yes.”

Ruth shrugged. “Why not ask her more about him?”

Philip frowned. “Is it wise to bring up such a painful subject? Might that not upset her?”

There was a pause. “In my experience, when people lose someone they love, the pain is enhanced when they feel they cannot speak of the loved one for fear of making others uncomfortable.”

“In your experience….” Philip said slowly.

Ruth glanced at him. “Yes. I find joy in speaking of my father—in remembering him. It feels like honoring him, I suppose. But perhaps I am an anomaly.”

Philip rarely spoke of his own father, but he couldn’t say that it caused him any pain. “Were you very close with him?”

Ruth smiled with a hint of nostalgia. “Yes. Yes, I was. He is the one who taught me almost everything I know about love—I wouldn’t be the Swan without him.”

“How do you mean?”

Ruth’s smile grew, though his gaze was trained on the space between his horse’s ears. “I accompanied him every day to the Pump Room in Bath for the last year of his life. He hated drinking the waters, but I could never convince him that it would be better to drink the glass in one draft and be done with it. He insisted upon taking his time—a sip here and a sip there. Every single day was the same, and we would pass the time with a game—one he created to distract himself from his illness and the unsavory waters, I think. We would observe those who came and went during our hour there, taking particular note of the interactions between the men and women. My father would ask me questions, and we would make predictions.” The nostalgia in his smile was tangible. “Did I think Miss Brownsword and Mr. Lovell were in earnest, or were they merely flirting? Would Mrs. Hewitt and Mr. Horton make a match of it? If so, when? Things like that, you know. He was nearly always right in his predictions—and he helped me see the subtleties of human interaction and their importance.”

Philip felt a sting of envy. He had admired his father—his determination, his dedication to his position—but he had never shared anything with him like what Ruth described.

“What of you?” Ruth asked.

“My father would have consigned the Pump Room and its waters to the devil, I think.”

“For good reason! I imagine the devil might send the waters right back, though. Vile stuff, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Philip said.

“And what of your mother?”

Philip frowned. “I can’t say, really. She died shortly after giving birth to my brother. I was only five, so I have few memories of her.”

“Few memories, but not none. What do you remember, then?”

Philip glanced at Ruth. Would he think ill of Philip knowing what he thought of his own mother? Somehow he didn’t think so. “I admit that my memories often conflict with one another. When anyone else speaks of her, it is with near-reverence, though.”

“It is customary to idealize the departed. I find myself doing it with my father. I loved him dearly, but he had his flaws, just as we all do. What did you think of your mother?”

Philip was grateful for Ruth’s words. It wasn’t wrong to recognize the faults of one’s parents. “I found her…perplexing. Difficult to understand or predict. I remember sneaking from my bedchamber one evening and watching as she and my father greeted guests at Oxley Court. She was magnificent—so elegant, her face wreathed in smiles. She emanated warmth and grace. It was like watching a stranger, in some ways.” He smiled wryly. “I must have been a disappointing child, for she was often cross with me. Or perhaps I was merely too sensitive.”

Ruth was looking at him with a considering gaze. But there was no shock in it, neither was there pity. Only thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps not,” Ruth said. “Children are quite perceptive, I think. They often see through facades more easily than adults—undeceived by words. They have very good memories for feeling, too. My own sister Joanna is five years old, and I do not exaggerate when I tell you that she remembers times when I lost my temper nearly two years ago. She is expecting me to bring her home a doll, and I can only imagine how long her memory will be if I fail to do so.”

“Ah, yes,” Philip said, thinking of his nieces’ recent invitation to tea and what would happen if he failed to keep the appointment. “One offends children at one’s peril.”

“Indeed,” Ruth said. “The Lord must have had personal experience when he said it were better for a man to have a millstone hanged about his neck and drown in the depths of the sea than to offend a child.”

Philip laughed heartily, feeling a bit of his somberness depart.

“You must draw Miss Devenish out,” said Ruth. “Let her see that you are someone she can speak with frankly, just as you’ve done with me.”

Philip frowned. “I cannot imagine holding this sort of conversation with her.”

Ruth sent him a look of commiseration. “That is the risk of love, I’m afraid. And friendship, too. The meaningful ones cannot be had without some peril. If you wish to make Miss Devenish feel safe confiding in you, you must take the chance of confiding in her .”

Philip clenched his teeth and let out a hissing noise.

“I suspect the barrier is in your mind. If you think of Miss Devenish as your potential future wife, you will always feel immense pressure on your behavior. Perhaps you need to let go of that for a moment. Think of her first as a potential friend, a woman you would like to understand better—and speak to her as such.”

“But that is just it,” Philip said. “I don’t speak to my friends about such things.” The thought of confiding anything in Finmore was almost laughable—only less so than the thought of Finmore confiding in him.

“But you’ve spoken it to me. ”

Philip let out a laugh, and it had a caustic ring to it. “Yes, and I am paying you two hundred pounds for the service, aren’t I?” He glanced at Ruth, and his smile faded as he noted the hurt in the man’s eyes.

“I am sorry to hear you think that.”

There was a short pause, and Philip felt sick inside at the thought that he had hurt his friend.

“In any case,” Ruth said, “it may initially cause you some discomfort to share your personal experience, as it is not something to which you are habituated. But I suppose you shall have to decide whether the ability to discuss meaningful subjects together is something you value in a wife. If you do, it seems wise to pave the way for it now. If not, then you may simply limit your conversation to more mundane topics. But if Miss Devenish has her pick of suitors, the bond that is forged through such connection will undoubtedly influence whatever decision she makes.”

Philip sent a sidelong glance at Ruth, wondering if he had truly offended him by his comment. There was a slight crease to Ruth’s brow, and Philip regretted his words. He tried to lighten the mood—to recapture the easy understanding between them. “You mean to say that, with enough practice, I shall find it quite natural to tell even my deepest secrets to the hackney driver?”

“Hardly,” Ruth said. “I fear it is never easy to share that which is personal with someone else—there is something within each of us that simultaneously craves it and fears it—but it certainly comes more naturally between some people than it does others. When people speak of falling in love , I think it is generally that to which they are referring—the sort of connection between kindred spirits that is inexplicable yet undeniable.”

There was experience in Ruth’s words, and it brought to Philip’s mind what Finmore had said about Ruth cutting out Munroe with a woman. “Have you felt such a connection?’

Ruth glanced at him, and Philip didn’t miss the wary look in his eye. “I don’t know.”

Philip narrowed his eyes. “Did you not just say it was undeniable?”

“I did,” he said, staring straight forward. “I had always thought it to be something felt either by both parties or neither. That was not the case for me. Or perhaps I mistook the feeling.” Ruth glanced at him with a quick, tight smile.

“Someone in London?”

Ruth nodded but said nothing more, and Philip didn’t resist when he shifted the focus back to Miss Devenish. But he couldn’t help wondering if he was being rash in his decision to marry. If he married Miss Devenish, was he forgoing the chance of ever experiencing what Ruth spoke of? Was it that which Miss Devenish wished for?

What if he couldn’t give it to her?