“Are you sure?” he asked her. “Those seem very small, very subtle things, especially if he is accustomed to such treatment from his family.”
“He told me,” she said, “that he was convinced the earth was flat, that the experts had got it wrong all those centuries ago when they apparently discovered that it is a sphere. He said it was obvious to an idiot that if one walked to the horizon one would fall off the edge. And I agreed with him.”
He grinned at her. “He is an idiot, then?”
“Far from it,” she said. “He was goading me. He was playing games with me as surely as I was with him. I strongly suspected it at the time and was even more sure last night in bed when I thought it all over. I decided to do today what I was tempted to do yesterday—tell him the truth and beg him not to offer for me, for I was convinced that he did not wish to marry me any more than I wanted to marry him. But he was not at breakfast, and he did not appear afterward, and everyone was horribly embarrassed and horribly cheerful, and just before you came, Mrs. Hunt admitted that he was gone and was very probably not going to come back for a while, though she had no idea how long a while that would be.”
“Philippa.” His grin had softened to a smile, and his hand came to rest over hers on his arm. Elation bubbled up inside him. But he was aware of the watching maid and of possibly watching eyes behind the windows as he bent his head a little closer to hers. “You are free.”
But she looked troubled.
“It is such an embarrassment and humiliation for Mama and Papa,” she told him. “Papa is looking quite uncharacteristically bewildered. Mama is trying to be gracious about it, as though she really believes we were invited here merely to enjoy a few days in the country with friends. I feel dreadful, for it is all my fault.”
“Yet Darleigh is the one who has fled,” he said. “If he is not an idiot, and I must confess I was not given the impression he was when I met him at Penderris Hall, then clearly he was desperate for a way out of marrying you, Philippa, especially after you drove him to the brink yesterday. I daresay you were forced upon him by all those female relatives of his and he has been feeling as trapped by circumstances as you. If he had really wished to marry you, he would not have played such a trick upon you yesterday. The blame, if blame is the correct word, is entirely his. All you did was agree with him, after all. Your parents will recover from their embarrassment. They would not wish to see you married to a man who would run away from home without a word to anyone rather than make you an offer, after all.”
“Oh, Julian,” she said, and they stopped walking and turned to face each other. “I was so relieved to hear that he had gone. And it was so difficult not to show it when everyone else was horribly embarrassed and humiliated and sorry for me.”
He devoured her face with his eyes and fought the urge to pull her into his arms.
“It has been an eternity,” he said.
“At the very least,” she agreed, and for the first time she smiled at him—brightly and radiantly. “You came. I never expected it. Not for a single moment. I only hoped you would remain in London and that I would have a chance to come back there to you. You had my letter, then?”
“In Bath,” he told her. “I have not even been to London. How could I go there when you were here and I was in danger of losing you?”
He was about to reach for her hand to raise to his lips. But something caught at the edge of his vision, and he was saved from repeating the error he had made two years ago. Mr. Dean was striding toward them.
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Crabbe, in leaving when you did,” he said stiffly, “and in removing my daughter from the embarrassment of being in that room after she had been jilted in the most shameful manner. I am glad to see you have some color back in your cheeks, Philippa.”
“I am feeling better, Papa,” she said. “And I am not terribly disappointed, you know. I hope you and Mama are not.”
“We will return to London tomorrow,” he said. “Your mother is already remembering all the invitations she accepted for you from the day after tomorrow on.”
“Ah, London,” Julian said. “I am on my way there too—after I have spent a few days with my friend close to here, that is. My town house has been opened and my mother is expecting me. I will hope to call upon you there, sir, to assure myself that Miss Dean has fully recovered from her embarrassment here. And I would say that Lord Darleigh’s loss is very definitely the gain of some other fortunate gentleman.”
“Good of you to say so,” Mr. Dean said gruffly. “You lost your father a few years ago. You have brought your property in Cornwall back from the brink of ruin, I have heard.”
“It is making a decent profit again this year, sir,” Julian told him, “and will make even more next year. It has been hard work but worth every moment.”
Mr. Dean gave him an affable nod. “Well, Philippa,” he said, “your mama is awaiting you inside.”
“I must be on my way,” Julian told him, making a bow that encompassed both him and Philippa.
He gazed hungrily at her, but only for a moment, and she gazed back before making him a slight curtsy and turning back to the house with her father.
Julian watched them go for a few moments and then strode resolutely toward the stables.
His heart was singing even while he urged caution upon it.
3
Throughout the return journey from Gloucestershire to London, Philippa’s parents tried to console her for her disappointment, even though she assured them that she was not disappointed at all. She could not press the point too strongly, of course, lest they suspect that she had had a hand in the viscount fleeing.