A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three

R uth pushed at her sleeve again so that it sat above her elbow, but it was too late. It was already wet. The weight of the rolled, wet fabric caused it to slip back down again, and she surrendered to the inevitable, plunging her arm back into the basin of water and rubbing one of George’s shirts against the washing board.

She pulled out the small garment, twisting the excess water out and then spreading it to see whether her efforts had met with success. The same large stain stared back at her, though, just a few inches away from a hole where the seam joined the sleeve and body. He was growing too big for the shirt anyway.

She tossed it to the side, intending to make it into rags once she finished the rest of the laundry. Ruth’s mother and Topher were in London for the day, and Lucy was inside, making sure that the older children stayed focused on their studies—Ruth had asked to do the laundry herself instead of being tasked with watching the children. She didn’t enjoy laundry normally, but the manual labor was just what she needed to work through her emotions. Ellen was preparing dinner, while George and Joanna played at the far end of the small garden, watering the plants.

Ruth submerged her own chemise in the water and set to scrubbing it, wondering whether Topher and Miss Devenish’s marriage would mean she no longer had to do laundry. She didn’t feel right hoping for such a thing, but she was feeling particularly exhausted since coming home. Home was a refuge after the storm of London in many ways. But in other ways, it was a harsh reality—made all the more so for the luxurious interlude of the past month.

Penny stepped into the garden. “A letter for the Swan, Ruth.” She held out the paper in her hand, and Ruth sighed. Topher had always picked up the post from the office of the newspaper. Now that they had ended their contribution, though, apparently Mr. Jolley was sending the correspondence directly to them. Hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary for much longer.

“I thought Topher told them that we wouldn’t be taking any more correspondence. My hands are wet, so I can’t take it just yet. Put it on top of the dry laundry pile. I will get to it later.”

Penny set the note atop the heap of dirty laundry and skipped back into the house.

A little delighted squeal sounded behind Ruth, and she turned to see one of the plant pots overflowing with water. She rushed over and took the empty watering can from George, forcing her voice to sound patient. “That is far too much water, my love.”

“But you said they were thirsty,” he complained.

“They are—or were, rather. But they don’t need an entire pot full of water, dear, just as you don’t.” She directed a chastising glance at Joanna. “You know that.”

“I told him to stop,” Joanna said, and she tipped the horned spectacles up farther on her nose. Ruth stared at the glasses for a moment, swallowing at the memories they evoked. Joanna had been wearing them for days now, despite the teasing of her siblings.

Ruth set down the watering can and tipped the pot of plants slightly so that the excess water drained onto the stones below, then packed down the wet soil as best she could.

“Go wash up inside. It will be dinnertime soon.”

With their wet clothes and dirtied hands, the two of them scampered inside, and Ruth watched them go with an irrepressible smile as she wiped her hands on her apron.

She looked at the pile of dirty clothing that still awaited her and the note that sat on top. With a sigh, she went over to it. Every time she read the Swan correspondence now, she was reminded of the short letter that had changed everything. If Topher were home, she would have made him read this one to spare her.

She frowned at the bits of soil that smeared the note as she opened it.

Dear Swan,

I write to request another in-person consultation. I understand that the rate has increased greatly, and I assure you I will provide fair compensation for your time.

Mr. O

The note trembled in Ruth’s hands, and she stared at it—the familiar script, the way the clean foolscap stood in contrast to her soiled hands, the signature.

The sound of movement brought Ruth’s head up, and her breath caught.

Hat in hand, Philip stooped through the doorway and into the garden, his broad figure filling the space, his gaze intent on her.

She tried to blink—to dispel the impossible view before her—but, aside from the rise and fall of her chest, every part of her refused to move.

He took a step toward her. “Ruth.”

It was one word, but it lodged inside her somewhere, assuring her that what she was seeing was real.

The edge of his mouth curved up in a small half-smile. “Little panda.”

Her cheeks warmed, and her vision grew blurry again.

A few quick footsteps brought him to her, and he took her hands in his. “I have been grieving you, Ruth—grieving my own stupidity and boorishness—and I needed to see you. Tell me I haven’t lost you.”

Her heart lodged in her throat, stopping her from speaking, and she shook her head.

He let out a relieved, shaky laugh, and his hands clasped hers more tightly. “I still need the Swan’s services, but not for myself.” He put a hand to her cheek. “I assure you, I need no help at all loving you. I only need to know whether you can be persuaded to love me again.”

She covered the hand on her cheek with her own hand and pressed a kiss into it. “I never stopped, Philip. I have loved you and wanted you for myself almost as long as I have known you. But I never thought I could have you.” She stared up into his eyes, hoping he could see her sincerity. “I am so sorry for keeping things from you. I was so scared of losing you that I couldn’t bear the thought of giving you a reason to end what we had—the friendship that had come to mean so much to me.”

He lowered his forehead until it met hers. “I understand. And I forgive you with all my heart. Please forgive me for being so blind and insufferably proud.”

“I am used to the insufferable part,” she said with a smile. “And I have a pair of spectacles for the blindness.”

He laughed softly, and the sound filled some of the holes that had plagued her since he had left her standing in Grosvenor Square. “I will wear even those ridiculous glasses if it will please you, my love.” He pulled back, staring down into her eyes. “I thought the reason I was always at ease with you was that I thought you a man when we met. But I was wrong. You are everything I need, Ruth. And everything I want.”

She looked down, shaking her head. “I am not what you want, Philip. I am not Rebecca Devenish—I am nothing like her—or like any of the women you should marry. I am poor, unknown, with no reputation to speak of. I could hardly be less fit to marry a viscount.”

He tipped her chin up with his finger, his brow drawn into a frown. “I do want you, Ruth. More than I have wanted anything in my life. I want you just the way you are”—the corner of his mouth lifted, and he put a gentle hand to her head—“short hair”—he grasped her hand and brought it up to display it—“wrinkled fingers”—he put his over her heart—“and the kindest soul of anyone I know. I want you or no one at all.”

Ruth shut her eyes, letting his words soak into her, feeling her heart beat against his hand.

“Will you have me, Ruth?”

She kept her eyes shut, breathing in amber and wet soil and laundry soap, the scents of disparate worlds. She wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, bringing the two worlds into collision and melding them together as their mouths met and molded to one another. His hand moved from her heart around to the small of her back, drawing her nearer, and she ceded to it, answering his question with every means available to her but speech.

Giggling sounded, and they broke apart just as Joanna and George darted into the garden, the latter chasing after his older sister.

“He is going to get me, Ruth! Make him stop!” Joanna cried somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Ruth caught at George’s sleeve and scooped him up into her arms. He kicked and writhed, and she struggled to control him.

Philip took him from her arms, restraining the young child in an unyielding hold. “So this is Master George, is it?”

George attempted to free himself one more time then surrendered, looking at his captor with unabashed curiosity. “Who are you ?”

“I am to be your newest brother,” Philip said, all formality.

George’s nose and forehead wrinkled. “I already have too many of those.”

Philip laughed and set him on the ground.

Joanna had her head tilted to the side, her gaze moving from Ruth to Philip and back again. “Are you going to marry Ruthie?”

Philip looked down at Ruth and took her hand in his again. “I am indeed.”

“But John says that Ruth can’t marry till her hair grows long again, ‘cos people think she’s a boy!”

“George!” Joanna elbowed her brother.

Ruth sent a challenging look at Philip. “ Do you intend to wait until my hair grows long again before you marry me?”

“It shall be a miracle if I can manage to wait to marry you until the banns are read,” he said in an undervoice.

“You shall have to wait until after Topher and Miss Devenish marry,” Joanna said, “for they were betrothed first. It is only fair.”

Philip glanced at Ruth in surprise, and she laughed and confirmed her sister’s words with a nod. “She came only yesterday with her father.”

“Well, that does complicate things, doesn’t it? For, as you said, Miss Joanna, fair is fair.” Philip crouched down and beckoned the children. “But perhaps we might come to an arrangement.”

George frowned and crossed his arms. “What sort of arrangement?”

Philip held up a finger. “Wait one moment.”

He stood and moved past Ruth, pausing to plant a hasty kiss on her lips before disappearing inside for a moment. When he emerged, both hands were behind his back. He crouched down again in front of Joanna and George, and Ruth covered her mouth with a hand as she recognized what he held. He had remembered.

“What are you holding behind your back?” George asked, trying to sneak a peek.

“An offering,” Philip said. “One for Miss Joanna”—he pulled one hand from behind his back, displaying a small, porcelain doll, with rich, brown hair and a green silk dress—“and one for Master George.” He pulled out the other hand, revealing a small, wooden horse.

Both sets of eyes rounded, and their hands flung out to take the toys in hand. They tilted the gifts, admiring them from different angles, until Joanna directed her large eyes at Philip. “You may marry Ruthie today if you wish.”

Philip chuckled and rose to his feet, moving back toward Ruth and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I see you are not above bribery, my lord,” Ruth said, trying to direct a quelling look at him, though her mouth betrayed her with a smile.

“One must speak in the language a child understands.” He glanced at the children, who were comparing their gifts as they walked back toward the end of the garden. “Besides, it was necessary to distract them.”

She raised her brows. “And why is that?”

“Because I wasn’t anywhere near done kissing you.”