Page 74 of Miss Dashing
“I love you, Phillip Vincent.”
“Then I am content. My love will always be yours.”
Phillip had spent a lifetime inuring himself to mere contentment. The subtle reminder of loss was plain to Hecate.
“You’ll leave in the morning?” She could not have asked the question looking him in the eye. But she was sprawled on his chest, secure in his embrace, her eyes closed.
“If I leave tomorrow, I will return in time for the grand ball, Hecate. I want Brompton to know when he steals your happiness that I see his larceny for the heinous dishonor it is. Promise him nothing further until then, or he will use your new promises to more easily wreak the havoc that he could previously attempt only on the strength of old, dubious documents.”
More sound advice. Phillip was right—if Hecate accepted a proposal from Johnny, his breach-of-promise suit would no longer have to rely on those old settlement agreements Hecate supposedly signed.
“Don’t stay for me,” she said. “Look after your own interests, Phillip.”
He kissed her crown. “I have been looking after my own interests since I was breached. I’m not about to abandon that office at this late date. Sleep now and know that I love you.”
She slept, and when she awoke to a lone robin twittering in a misty gray light, Phillip yet slumbered beside her. At some point, they’d pulled on enough clothing to be decent. Hecate rose and toed into her heeled slippers, then gathered up her stockings and stays. Her hair was a loose braid down her back, a sensation she hadn’t known since childhood.
Phillip remained asleep when she kissed his cheek and didn’t stir as she made for the hedgerow. When she reached the path, she broke into a jog. She ran all the way to the bridge, lest she lose her nerve and instead run away with Phillip.
ChapterSixteen
Phillip kept his eyes closed while Hecate slipped away. He watched, unmoving, as she ran up the path and disappeared into the darkened shelter of the trees. Only when he was certain she would not return did he sit up and finish dressing.
The woman he loved was holding on by a thread, and her parting words to him had been to look out for himself. Hecate believed Phillip was intent on securing Society’s good opinion, and she’d had grounds for that conclusion.
Rings, lace, French perfume,chassé jetté et assemblé, en avant en arrière…
Those gestures had been not for the sake of Society’s esteem, but rather, attempts to be worthy of Hecate Brompton’s hand. Cousin Johnny doubtless had ajettéworthy of Almack’s.
What did Phillip have?
A farmer’s stamina and determination, his calluses, his passion for nurturing the land and beasts, his ability to work hard toward a good harvest even when fate seemed destined to starve him and everybody he loved.
The early morning mists began to dissipate, and Phillip realized he had something else to fall back on, another farming trait. Hours spent walking behind a team of plow horses, more hours spent waiting for a mare to drop her foal, yet still more hours contemplating rainy days that could destroy a crop or save it…
A farmer had time tothink, to consider, to mentally try on ideas and refine them until nearly every problem gained an eventual solution. Clear those acres, divert that stream, fallow that field, cross those two strains of sheep…
Phillip sat in the hay meadow as the sky lightened and the avian chorus greeted the day, and he thought.
About a cousin coming back from Canada, a man changed for the worse.
About Henry Wortham, discounting his own many gifts, to focus on Johnny Brompton’s arrogance and his elegant gentleman’s hands.
About Johnny Brompton, casually declaring himself off on a constitutional and suggesting Phillip accustom himself tocoming in second.
Phillip pulled on his boots and rose, startling a flock of sparrows from the nearby trees. He had mere days to work with, days when Cousin Johnny might be lurking in broom closets or accosting Hecate behind hedges.
“Not bloody likely.” His sorrow and anger had sprouted into seedlings of determination, and they would bear fruit that could poison Cousin Johnny’s schemes.
Phillip cut across the dewy field, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats. The Earl of Nunn was out for his early morning hack, riding the acres he only half knew how to manage.
Phillip planted himself in the middle of the path.
Nunn drew his bay to a halt. “Lord Phillip, good morning. You have grass in your hair.”
“An occupational hazard of farming. You had the ha-has repaired because Hecate laid out the racecourse over three of them.”
“And because a crumbling ha-ha is an invitation for sheep to wander. I’m told my timing was unfortunate, given the progress of the haying.”
