A Marriage of Notoriety

‘It is,’ her mother admitted.

‘But she has not chosen me.’

Her mother cleared her throat. ‘That is true, but...’

Phillipa stopped playing. ‘I do understand it, Mama. The performers are eligible young people. She wishes them to show off to good advantage.’ Phillipa did not need to explain to her mother that she would never show off to good advantage. Her mother would be first to agree. ‘There is no reason for me to be there.’

‘Well, there is the music,’ her mother added.

Phillipa resumed playing and the final lines of the song came to her—Oh! Who would inhabit this bleak world alone? ‘I would not enjoy it.’

‘I will attend without you, then.’ Her mother turned away and then swung back. ‘Perhaps I will ask Miss Gale if she will come with me. She is at least a sociable sort.’

Miss Gale was the young woman Phillipa’s brother Ned wanted to marry. She was also the stepdaughter of Lady Gale, the woman carrying Rhysdale’s child, the woman who also came masked to the Masquerade Club.

‘Miss Gale will be glad of my company.’ It was her mother’s parting shot. She strode out of the room.

Phillipa’s head suddenly ached, but she moved her fingers over the keys, barely pressing them this time, searching for a melody, any melody to erase this unrest within her.

* * *

Xavier waited for Phillipa that night at their appointed place, at their appointed time. This time, however, he waited with a hackney cab.

He paced the pavement, rather hoping she would not show up, yet yearning to see her, needing to know for certain that her injuries were minor. A blow to the head could be deceiving. What if she had been truly hurt, like that long-ago time in Brighton?

He’d have failed her again, that was what. And this time it would be his fault.

The jarvey leaned down from his perch atop the coach. ‘How much longer, sir? My time is money.’

‘I’ll pay you for your time, do not fear.’ Xavier paced some more.

Her town house door finally opened and a shadowy, cloaked figure emerged.

Phillipa.

She glanced towards where he stood near the coach, pausing briefly to put on her shoes before heading in his direction. She showed no sign that she knew it was he and looked as if she intended to walk past him.

‘Phillipa,’ he called out.

She drew back.

‘It is Xavier.’ He stepped in her path. ‘I have a hackney coach.’

‘Xavier?’

He opened the coach door.

She looked uncertain. ‘You brought a hackney for me?’

‘I feared you might try to walk alone.’ Or be too injured to make the attempt, he added silently as he helped her climb into the coach.

She settled in the seat and pulled her cloak around her. ‘I did not expect this.’

Xavier sat beside her in the close quarters of the coach’s dark interior. He felt her warmth, inhaled the scent of jasmine that clung to her. Her face was shrouded by her mask, but he longed to see her for himself. Was she bruised? Did her injuries again show on her face?

‘Have you suffered any ill-effects from last night?’ he asked.

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