Page 55 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Are you commanding me, Marchioness?’ Philippa crossed her arms and tapped a finger against her sleeve like a cat twitching its tail. The entire room fell silent.
‘It’s about time someone did, Duchess.’ It felt glorious to meet Philippa as an equal on the battlefield.
You have no idea how determined I can be, darling. But you’re about to find out.
16
Philippa sat in her carriage in one of her best day dresses. It was an expertly tailored affair in royal blue with an overlay of layered organza in shades of shimmering emerald-green and black. Ingenious use of the eye of peacock feathers had been sewn onto the bodice. The colour enhanced her eyes and skin, and the cut drew attention to her figure. It was exactly what one wore when visiting the Queen, especially if one had the audacity to ask the leader of the United Kingdom to throw a soiree for All Hallow’s Eve.
Philippa was rarely nervous, but she also wasn’t in the habit of asking favours from her sovereign. Whether it was because of Victoria’s love of the holiday, her longstanding relationship with the Duchess of Dorsett – Philippa wasn’t bold enough to call it friendship – or perhaps because Victoria had been in a grand mood that day, the Queen had been delighted with the idea.
Samhain was only a fortnight away, but Victoria was undaunted. And why should she be? With endless money, manpower, and influence, it would be a lark to throw the biggest ball of the season with only two weeks to prepare. By the time Philippa left, the Queen was already ordering servants hither and thither to begin sending invitations. The High Lord Chancellor Hardgrave and his delightful niece would be amongst the revellers.
Philippamighthave mentioned the poor young lady wasn’t given a proper coming-out, and wouldn’t this ball be a lovely time for Miss Hyacinth to make her debut in society? Surely the Lord High Chancellor would be thrilled at Victoria’s specific invitation to his niece, for there couldn’t be a higher compliment paid to a young woman on the cusp of her adulthood.
During their entire discussion, Philippa watched for any signs illuminating the Queen’s knowledge of Hardgrave’s more nefarious activities or any indication where the monarch’s loyalty might lie, but Victoria was Queen for a reason. She revealed nothing to Philippa that she didn’t intend to show. Of this, Philippa was certain. And so, she left the palace confident Hardgrave would attend the ball with his niece, but less assured on whether Victoria was privy to – or even more troubling, approving of – his actions.
As she sat in the carriage, bumping over cobblestones for the short drive to Belgrave Square, she should have been congratulating herself on a successful mission or plotting the next step in their plan. But instead, she was thinking about Olivia.
I am always thinking about Olivia.
It was a problem she couldn’t seem to solve. Even more troubling was who she had not been thinking of. Liza. A truth which filled Philippa with oily guilt. Liza had been the love of her life. The woman whom she had faithfully mourned for the past two decades. But ever since her night on the cliff, something had changed. It felt like Liza was slipping away from her, and instead of feeling hollow, Philippa felt lighter. Which was unacceptable.
On a whim, she stopped the carriage and had the driver change course.
Exiting the contraption before her footman could hop down and set the step, Philippa breezed up the stairs leading to the front entrance of 4 Whitehall Place. She wound through the corridors as Bobbies leapt out of her way. The Commissioner’s office had once been the main bedchamber when 4 Whitehall Place was a home. Since it was converted into the Metropolitan Police Force’s headquarters, it now housed Commissioner Worthington’s very messy office. What would have been a small parlour for the lord of the house was Mr Reading’s much neater workspace.
Hopefully, Edward is not out slavering over his new wife like some lovesick fool.
Philippa paused as her heart stuttered. Never in a million years did she think she would be able to forgive Edward Worthington for betraying her and revealing her love affair with his sister. Yet here she stood, her wasted husk of a heart full of joy just thinking about Edward’s romance with Ivy Cavendale, a woman who vowed to remain single for all her days. But Ivy had met her match with Edward Worthington, and Philippa couldn’t be happier. Both had found healing together and new life within each other’s arms.
‘But what of me?’
Indeed. Edward has been able to forgive himself and find his partner in life, but I have already found my partner and lost her. How can I possibly move forward with another woman?
Her chest squeezed painfully. Because it was equally impossible to ignore her growing feelings for Olivia.
I can’t hold two opposing truths within one body without splitting apart entirely.
Philippa’s thoughts tripped back to the day before. Pleasuring Olivia had been divine, but watching her stand up for herself in the parlour when the Damsels and their daring lords had convened was something else entirely.
I respect her. And damn it. I like her. Which is so much worse than being attracted to her. Everyone is attracted to her. The woman is a bloody siren. But how many know the human being living beneath all that beauty? The courageous mother fighting for her child. The terrified sister battling for freedom? The lonely woman aching for a true companion?
A corresponding pang of longing thrummed through Philippa. Shaking her head and pressing her lips together, she pushed through the door and didn’t pause at Reading’s desk as he dropped his quill and hurried to his feet.
‘Your Grace. We weren’t expecting… What a lovely dress you’re wearing. Are those peacock feathers?’
‘I’ve no time, Reading.’ Yet she couldn’t stop herself from pausing in a helpful beam of light coming from one of the dusty windows so the smartly attired assistant could better admire the details of her ensemble. Even in the midst of her turmoil, fashion must be given its due. ‘And yes. They are.’
‘Divine,’ Reading breathed.
Philippa quite agreed. Her heart might be disintegrating one beat at a time, but at least she looked dashing.
She didn’t have to open Worthington’s door because the man did it for her. Standing in the frame, he took one look at Philippa and his eyes softened. A wave of emotion crashed over her, and she feared she might burst into tears in the middle of Scotland Yard. The sheer horror of such an unsightly display kept her emotions at bay.
Damn you for being able to read me like some penny dreadful.
He knew her too well. Better than anyone, for they had been children together, lost Liza together, and while once he dreamed of romance between them, now he loved her with the loyalty of a dear friend. And she desperately needed a friend, though she was loath to admit it. Especially to Edward.
