Chapter 18

Eighteen

T he footman brought in a vase of hothouse flowers, handing the card to Phil. Another gift from Mr. Newcomb. In the past fortnight, he had not allowed a day to go by without seeing her or sending something. True to Moriah's prediction, most men she'd been introduced to at the balls asked for one set and no more. None appeared during calling hours. Phil handed the card to her sister.

Alex read the card and raised one brow. "I think he's decided on you. Are you willing to accept his suit?"

"I do not know. I have found nothing objectionable about him. And I am sure his fortune will please Father even if his title won't."

"Do you have any feelings for Mr. Newcomb at all?"

Was indifference a feeling? Mr. Newcomb was kind enough. And he danced well. When they touched, it wasn't like when she danced with one of the rakish men who left her feeling as though she had been holding a snail. There was very little to wonder about. She never wondered what he was thinking, not like she did Lord Endelton. "You mean is he my Mr. Darcy? I have yet to see his country estate, so I don't know."

Alex laughed. "You know that's not what I mean."

"I think he is a good enough sort. He has not yet invaded my dreams. Yet, I believe we could be quite comfortable together."

"Then he is your Mr. Collins?"

"If you are going to equate every man to that novel, I will refuse to purchase another one by the author to read to you."

"Can I help it if the characterizations are so perfect? Is Mr. Newcomb a Mr. Collins?"

"Mr. Newcomb is not nearly as repulsive. Nor does he bow and simper to anyone. I think it will be a good fit with Father. Whomever we marry must be able to stand up to him."

"Will you be going to Hyde Park with him for another drive this afternoon?"

Phil read the card once again. "I have no reason not to."

"And if he proposes?"

In Phil's imagination, it wasn't Mr. Newcomb who proposed. "I doubt he has talked to Father yet. As such, I can avoid giving him an answer for now. Anyhow, I doubt he would propose today. Mr. Newcomb strikes me as a very methodical type of man. He often talks about his solicitor and business. I do not see him proposing before coming to a marriage settlement with Father."

The word acquisition came to mind. Mr. Newcomb had used the term in a conversation last week about some properties he was inquiring about. Mr. Newcomb wouldn't use the word to propose. Nevertheless, he would acquire a wife—one with the connections in the peerage he craved.

"It all sounds too businesslike."

"We knew our courtships would be, regardless of what the novels we read say. In the end, we'll both make the best matches for our futures." Love wasn't a feasible option.

"Don't you want something more? Before the accident, when we shared the dancing master with the Godderidges, and I would dance—" Alex paused for a long moment. "My heart would pound as fast as horses' hooves racing across the field. My palms would become moist. And when my partner smiled at me, it was all the worse. Have you never felt that?"

Her sister spoke of Edward. If Deborah wasn't so kind and witty, Phil would be disposed to not like her, simply because Alex had been deprived of her first love. Thinking of Deborah naturally brought thoughts of her brother, the viscount. Who else would she think of but Lord Endelton with her sister's question? But if Lord Endelton was to marry either of them, it would need to be Alex. No other gentleman of the ton had been as considerate of her sister's welfare. "I don't recall ever having sweaty palms."

"When Mr. Newcomb speaks, do you notice your heart beating faster?"

Phil could only shake her head. Such a feeling only happened once—no thrice. Each time, Lord Endelton had been near. In the library the day they had made that ridiculous agreement. At Almack's when he had danced with her. And last night, as she'd left the carriage. No, she had to be mistaken about the last one. It was only the shock of him touching her face. The embarrassment of having been caught crying for no reason she could discern. He was so kind, despite being in a disagreeable mood earlier. "I should go find Green; I'll need to wear a different dress on my outing."

Phil left the room and the painful discussion behind her. If Mr. Newcomb would ask for her, she would have him. No one else was vying for her hand. And if Lord Endelton's list was similar to that of other men's, they never would. Since the only other option was to marry Father's choice, the sanctimonious Mr. Newcomb was the better option. He didn't gamble or drink to excess as Father's acquaintance must. While he wasn't what she would call a kind man, he wasn't mean either. The worst part of their time together was she never was able to speak. One question needed to be answered before he proposed. Would he allow Alex to live with them and provide for her if necessary? He hadn't spoken to her sister at all and knew nothing about Peggy. Today at the park, she would try again. No matter how wealthy the man was, she wouldn't agree to marriage unless her potential husband agreed to care for Alex.

When Michael returned home, he was going to give Deborah a lecture.

"Go for a ride in the park in your curricle," she said.

"Best way to talk to a woman," she said.

"Very fashionable," she said.

And despite Moriah's opinion on being seen with a woman in the park meant he was ready to court her, he was not. Miss Abbott was one of the few remaining women on his list, and she had all but begged for a ride.

What Deborah hadn't told him was much more sinister. She neglected to tell him every time he hit a bump with his curricle, the woman at his side, Miss Abbott, would grab his arm, causing him to jerk the reins. Or he was expected to nod at people he passed, carry on a conversation with the woman next to him, and handle the horses at the same time. It was all too much. He would have been much better off with the open carriage and a driver. At least then he could work on making appropriate comments to the inane chatter coming out of Miss Abbott's mouth.

Apparently commenting that a certain woman's hat looked like a dead pheasant had not been appropriate. Most likely, Miss Abbott would refuse any efforts to continue his suit, which he didn't intend to pursue further anyway, beyond the obligatory pleasantries Deborah insisted upon. There really must be another way to find a wife. So far, all of Deborah's suggestions had not helped him in the least.

"Well?" Miss Abbott's question hung between them.

Michael did not know what she had been talking about. Had it been another hat? Or something of real import? Michael took his eyes off of the horses for a moment and glanced at her. The frown indicated she was not happy. Nevertheless, Michael risked asking what he shouldn't. "I'm sorry. Will you repeat the question?"

"I don't think you've heard a word I've said all afternoon. I think it is best you return me to my home."

"Yes, Miss Abbott."

Her frown deepened. Agreeing with her upset her more?

Michael focused on where he drove. They had a quarter of a circuit to go before they returned to the point where they had entered the park. Michael debated the merits of exiting the park sooner and driving around the perimeter. The one thing Deborah had gotten correct was that absolutely everyone would be out this sunny afternoon.

A shiny new curricle came from the other direction. Michael recognized the passenger before he did the driver. Miss Philippa. She would have laughed at his observation about the pheasant hat. She, however, wasn't laughing at all. Instead, she had the most passive expression on her face. Mr. Newcomb was doing all the talking. Miss Philippa's head bobbed like a duck on the water.

Mr. Newcomb slowed his curricle, which was now blocking Michael's path. "Endelton, stay on your side."

The man was right. Michael had drifted out of his lane. "I beg your pardon." He corrected the matter.

"How mortifying." Miss Abbott's words were low enough he almost missed them.

Finally, they reached the park gate, and Michael turned onto the street. Eventually, they stopped in front of Miss Abbott's house.

"Do not bother walking me to the door. It is obvious we do not suit." Unassisted, she hopped out and ran up her front stairs.

Michael drove to the Godderidge's townhouse. The butler showed him into the study, where Edward sat at his father's desk.

"Where is my sister?"

"Deborah is with my mother. Some issue with Isabel's dress and tonight's dinner."

"Oh. That." Michael had forgotten he was expected to attend. "Do you know the guest list?"

"No, sorry. I think Deborah included Miss Abbott for you."

"She'll likely beg off. We had a disastrous ride in the park. I can't believe Deborah suggested a curricle. Which I am returning. One should never ride in a curricle with another human."

"Why ever not? Deborah and I quite enjoy it."

"She probably doesn't yank on your arm each time you hit a bump."

Edward smiled. "Matter of fact, she does. One of my favorite parts of the ride is her clinging to me. That is the point of a curricle ride with a woman."

"However do you manage to drive straight?"

"I trust the horses. Don't tell me—you were holding those reins with a death grip again, weren't you?" Edward shook his head.

"I didn't want them to skit off."

"They won't. They are better trained than you are."

Michael crossed his arms. "I know how to drive."

"I know you do, as long as you are alone."

"I have no problem with my sisters or Mother riding with me."

Edward sighed. "So, how badly did it go?"

"Miss Abbott said we didn't suit and rushed to be away from me."

Edward's brow furrowed. "Well, this is the end of your list.

We must find you someone else for a match."

"What do you mean? There are still two women on the list."

"They're both good friends with Miss Abbott."

"And?"

"Miss Abbott will tell tales about her horrid ride in the park, and they will side with her and avoid you. Although I doubt they will go as far as to give you the cut direct."

"Oh."

"Cheer up. There are many more debutantes, several on their second and third Seasons we can introduce you to."

"I've read about societies where a matchmaker facilitates the groom getting his bride. Arranged marriage sounds much easier."

Again, Edward laughed. His friend was quite annoying. There was nothing funny about the situation. "Your sister is doing her best at playing matchmaker."

"It isn't working."

"Have patience, my friend. There will be some fresh faces at my mother's party tonight. Perhaps one of them will suit."

"All I need is a reasonably respectable woman, preferably one I can talk with. I am adding conversation to the requirements. I must be able to converse with her." Like Philippa. Michael suspected the problem with the equation of finding a potential wife was him.