Chapter 31

Thirty-One

W hy had Philippa lied?

The question kept Michael awake most of the night. Her words had to be a lie, else she would have looked him in the eye. The one woman he had thought was incapable of falsehood, proved him wrong. Michael had no one to turn to for advice. Edward and Deborah were rightfully occupied with their own problems. They had also drawn in his mother and were occupying her time. Richard's opinions he'd heard a thousand times, and last night's rejection only proved him right.

Michael wandered into the small library in search of distraction. The Mysteries of Udolpho still sat on the small table next to the lamp where Philippa left it five weeks and four days ago. Instead of returning it to the shelf, it had been dusted around. He should have never instructed the staff to leave his books where he set them. The urge to chuck the book through the window caused him to flee from the room. Violent outbursts were not becoming to a viscount, nor were they something he was unaccustomed to in himself.

Michael left the house with no destination in mind. When he passed White's, he pondered going in, but the early hour stopped him. A few doors up the street, the man he least expected to meet walked or rather staggered toward him.

"Endelton." Sir Lightwood's words were less slurred than expected given his condition. "Do you have a fiver you could loan your future father-in-law?"

Michael managed to leave his home without even a tuppence in his pocket. Even if he had a five-pound note on him, he would not give his money to an inebriated man. "No, sir, I do not."

"Come now, son." Mr. Lightwood drew himself up.

"I am not your son, nor will I be."

"You said you'd marry her."

"She wouldn't have me."

"How dare she!" The news brought Sir Lightwood to his full facilities. "Ungrateful brat. Defying me at every turn."

Too late, Michael realized his mistake. "I intend to ask again. It has become fashionable to refuse the first offer."

"Fashionable? Foolish. I should have never allowed her to come to town with her sister. This entire problem would have been solved if not for the crippled chit."

For the second time that morning, the overwhelming desire to punch something, or rather someone, filled Michael. He took a step back, wondering how to extricate himself from the conversation.

A man exited the door to his right. "Lightwood!"

Philippa's inebriated father stumbled in the direction of the voice.

Michael made his escape, returning home by the fastest route. His mind cleared with the brisk walk. He would allow his solicitor to complete negotiations with Sir Lightwood's, and he would propose again. It wasn't until he was safely ensconced in his study that he wondered why Lightwood was in town when he was to be traveling home with his daughter.

Phil pulled the blanket over her head to block out the light creeping over the windowsill. It had been an easy thing to plead a headache when the maid came in to commence the day. Between mourning the words she told Michael and the emptiness Alex left behind, she'd had no sleep. In the dark hours of the night, her imagination had worked images worse than any nightmare—Father forcing her to marry Mr. Fry to keep her younger sisters from the same fate. Alex not arriving safely at Kellmore Manor. Michael being cut by the ton despite her actions to keep him safe. Each thought plagued her in turn, each scene becoming more dire as the night wore on.

News of Alex's safe journey home could not arrive sooner than another two days. Father couldn't possibly hear she had refused Lord Endelton in less than a week. And she wouldn't know if Michael had been shunned by his peers for much longer. There was little point in remaining in London. Traveling by post would be the most economical way to return to Kellmore. Unfortunately, news of Alex could not reach her on the post. And if there had been an accident she could well pass it.

Waiting for news was best.

Staying was too difficult.

Leaving would be the best course to take.

Phil punched her pillow. Before the maid returned with a breakfast tray, Phil fell into a fitful sleep.