Chapter Fifteen

Unveiling Truth

Ewan let Jasper help him down from their carriage as they arrived at Grandbole. Convincing his brother to leave Tradenwood seemed a more difficult task. Perhaps, he enjoyed the short holiday away from the girls, with them staying in Town with Mother.

Jasper held up his arm, though he didn’t need it. Ewan was determined to leave the place as soon as possible. “You’re very quiet. Not jealous of Mrs. Cecil’s new company?”

“I am jealous. That is her fiancé.”

His brother stopped halfway up the stairs. “Did you ask her to marry you?”

Ewan heaved heavily as he took another step. “Yes. I laid out my hopes and she trampled them like the runaway dray.”

“No wonder you’ve been out of sorts since the good widow had that squire to dinner. You want to go back and put up a fight. I’ll get my sword.”

Even if he wanted to watch his brother change from his normal lumbering self to a fleet swordsman, how could Ewan spend another minute witnessing Theo accept another man, and a stiff colorless one, at that. One who probably did not see her beauty or humor. One who wouldn’t appreciate her number calculations or her biting wit, though he would taste that tender lip she bit when nervous. “She doesn’t trust that I will protect her or the boy’s interests. She thinks they will become Fitzwilliam pawns. I haven’t figured out how to convince her otherwise. Would Father swearing an oath to her help?”

Jasper nodded. “Father swears a great deal sometimes, but I doubt Mrs. Cecil would want to hear that. Maria weathered everything with grace. I hadn’t thought of how his attitude would make things difficult.”

As the footman opened Grandbole’s door, Hartwell walked in first, tossing his hat and coat on the side table. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”

Ewan didn’t even know what happened to his hat. Being laid up in Tradenwood, he hadn’t even thought of it. Theo would think of the cost of it. “It’s done for now.”

“Done?” Lord Crisdon stood at the center of the hall. “What is done? Did you secure the lease or something more?”

Bracing his weight on the show table, Ewan shrugged. “Nothing was accomplished.”

Jasper tugged off his gloves. “Well, Widow Cecil did assure me she will sign our lease. We won’t run out of water.”

His father harrumphed and strutted past a portmanteau. It sat alone near the end of the stairs. He must’ve returned from town. Yet with no sign of large ones or lots of maids, it meant his mother hadn’t returned. Lord Crisdon had failed to convince her. “Mother’s staying in Town?”

“She has other ideas and is trying to reform the granddaughters.”

His voice sounded sad, sadder than he’d ever noticed. Ewan had sympathy for him. Trying to convince a woman to trust you after disappointing her was a hard task. Theo would marry someone else while he stood by, alive, desperately in want of her.

“Why the delay in signing? You two have been down at Tradenwood for two weeks. Lying about?”

Ewan looked at Jasper, hoping his brother had something to say to stop the earl’s accusations.

His brother only chuckled. Then with a fold of his hands, he launched into a Cheshire cat-sized grin. “Well, Widow Cecil is busy preparing for a wedding.”

Lord Crisdon rubbed his chin as a smile of half-scrunched lips erupted on his face. “So you got the Blackamoor to agree. I suppose I’m happy. Not that my son will marry her, but that Tradenwood will be back in our control. Oh, the sacrifices.”

Anger and humor bubbled up from Ewan’s gut, threatening the air in his lungs. “I’m not the one she’s marrying. She doesn’t want the sacrifice of being a Fitzwilliam. We are beneath her.”

His father blanched. All the color drained from his disapproving cheekbones. “You’re not engaged to her?”

“No.” Tiring, Ewan headed to escape up the stairs.

“Wait.” Crisdon stormed ahead and planted a foot on the first step. “That goat Lester beat you to her bed this time?”

Gripping the banister, as if he could wring it like a neck, Ewan glared at the man. “No one’s in her bed. She’s an honorable woman who has accepted an honorable proposal.”

“Son, you were under her roof and couldn’t entice her. You did a better job six years ago with the harlot.”

Not wanting to fight, Ewan swallowed the itch in his throat, the gall of the fool. “Pretty hard to be seductive while ill and fighting to breathe. I’m better. Thanks for asking.”

The man paced back and forth. He seemed unhinged. “So someone else will get her fortune. Why on earth did I put faith in you?”

That statement hit Ewan worse than the wagon, maybe even worse than receiving his father’s letter so many years ago about Theo taking up with another man. “You brought me out here as bait. It wasn’t about being a family. It was about a chance at reclaiming Cecil’s land.”

“If your uncle hadn’t thought you dead, Tradenwood would’ve been yours. Your mother won’t come back here until I get back what’s ours.”

“Ours? You mean yours. Everything is about you. If I had gone through with my original plans to elope, instead of taking up your bargain…maybe Tradenwood would be mine, but I’d have a wife and a son—”

“So now you’ll let another man play father to the boy?”

He knew. The earl had known. Every last illusion in his head broke, ripped and tossed like edits to the page. Ewan grabbed the man by his coat. “You turned her away when she came for help. You could’ve saved my son such pain.”

“Ewan,” his brother said. “Let it go. It’s done. Six years done.”

Jasper’s hands were on Ewan’s trying to break his grip, but nothing could stop him from shaking the truth out of Lord Crisdon.

“I need you, Father, to say it. To be a man like you’ve called me to be. Say you tried to kill my flesh. That your hate made my boy go deaf.”

Jasper let go and stepped down. “No. Father, tell him no.”

Crisdon struggled but he couldn’t break free. He caught Ewan’s gaze. “Yes, I knew. Your mother told me. She wanted her run off, and I did what she wanted, everything she wanted.”

Ewan tossed the man back. His hands shook with unspent anger.

A sneer started in Lord Crisdon’s eyes and trembled down to his drawn mouth. “I didn’t think you had it in you to finish me.” He rubbed at his neck. “I don’t target women, but your mother insisted on getting rid of her. I had to make it up to Lady Crisdon for sending you away. She virtually left me when the harlot got the benefit of her family’s wealth. She won’t come back until it’s fixed.”

“That’s a lie, old man. Mother is not like you.”

Lord Crisdon chuckled and righted his emerald-blue waistcoat, his freshly tailored coat. “We were united in getting it back at any cost, even sacrificing you for her Tradenwood.”

Was Mother guilty, too? No, this had to be another convenient lie. He rubbed at the pain in his neck and moved to the door. “The bait failed. I’ll tell Mother myself about failing tonight. Oh, and Mrs. Cecil wants twenty thousand pounds a year for the rights to water. Have fun paying that. I’m done with you.”

Ewan couldn’t tell if it was the absurdity of the number or the fact that he mentioned going to Mother’s, which sobered the man, but Lord Crisdon ran to him, sputtering no.

Ewan turned his back on his father. “Jasper, I’m taking your carriage indefinitely. I’m going back to Town.”

“No, Fitzwilliam,” Crisdon said, “Stay. Your mother might come back to Grandbole, if you lived here.”

He leaned upon the door and stuffed his shaky hands into his pockets. “Then you are both out of luck.”

Lord Crisdon harrumphed and swung his hands desperately. “Stay put or your play will never be performed. I was busy in Town, too. The manager at the Covent may buy it, but the committee won’t approve it. No one will ever see it.”

If he’d blinked, Ewan could’ve sworn it was six years ago. He’d just consummated his love with the woman who understood him better than any, but to curry his father’s fleeting favor he had agreed to join the fight in Spain.

He turned back to Lord Crisdon and fluffed the cravat he’d mangled. “This is one offer I refuse. In fact, I will never darken this estate’s threshold again, not until Jasper’s made earl. And don’t fret, old man, I need to confirm Mother’s hand in this sorry affair, then she won’t see me again, either. I did die six years ago. I’m a ghost to you.”

Maybe the earl was shocked at Ewan’s resolve, for his stone face broke a little with his lips poking out as if he’d swallowed pebbles. “An idle threat. You don’t have it in you.”

“I can be mercenary, too. There’s some vengeful Fitzwilliam blood in here. Good day.”

Crisdon shuffled about him. “Leave your mother alone. She’s entertaining tonight. You can see her tomorrow.”

Ewan kept moving. “She’ll answer tonight.”

His brother caught him by the shoulder. His big palms squeezed out Ewan’s air, but he didn’t know that only death would keep him from the truth. “You’re both not rational. We should reason this out. Father say something. Don’t let him leave like this.”

Still ashen and pale, the earl groused and fisted his hands. “What are you soft, too, Hartwell? That’s why you can’t run this place without me.”

Jasper turned from the earl and stared ahead. “Be the bigger man, Ewan. Don’t separate from us again. The girls need their uncle. You can’t be gone again.”

“If you had to choose between Maria and this place, which would you choose?”

The shimmer in Jasper’s clear eyes brightened; he pushed past Ewan and held the door open. “Take care of my horses. My gift. And get as far from here as you can.”

“I’ll borrow the horses tonight, but see me in Town, old boy, bring the girls, if they promise not to burn my flat to the ground.”

With a final rap upon his brother’s thick knuckles, Ewan strode out of Grandbole. The clean, free air hit him. If only he’d done this six years ago. If only.

Climbing into the carriage, he grunted, then motioned to the driver to head to Town. There was a countess he needed to see. His hope was that she was innocent or misunderstood, not duplicitous. He would not jump to conclusions or write the story in his head as he had with Theo.

With eyes shut tight, he lay back and took one long breath, then another. The memory of Theo’s last kiss kept his mind right where he wanted it, centered on the rage building in his chest.

The two-hour ride to London seemed like minutes. Music could be heard outside Lady Crisdon’s townhouse. Every window was bright with burning candles. He tugged his wrinkled coat, swiped at his missing hat. The musty smell of ointment and carriage leather would turn heads, but Ewan did not care. He hobbled up the steps and pushed inside.

At the top of the interior grand staircase, he saw three moppets. Dressed in fashionable ivory and pale salmon pink ribbons, they looked like Dresdens. His mother’s work made them look perfect—perfectly trapped.

Lucy smiled at him. Then returned to her statue-like pose.

He nodded but he wasn’t here for them. “Where is Lady Crisdon?” he asked Mother’s butler.

The man dressed in a shiny satin blue coat pointed him to the big drawing room. “But I should announce you.”

“No. I am her son. I’ll do it.”

Ewan didn’t wait for a response and stepped inside. Tables were strewn about with the finest silverware and crystal. Even the gilded trim of the room sparkled. The fashionable ilk sat at the tables chatting over their dinner, something that smelled of fowl. They hardly noticed him.

When Mother lifted her head, her pretty blue eyes widened. “Ewan?”

“I came to see you after staying at Tradenwood.”

She rose quickly and came to his side. “Dear boy, you didn’t have to come tell me of your engagement. I have a party. We can discuss tomorrow.”

“I need to know something now.”

She took his arm and smiled as she giggled at each of her guests.

When they finally were alone in the hall, the joy faded. “Ewan, you could have waited, and you could have come more suitably attired. I keep different standards than what you may be used to.”

“I have to ask you one question. You need to hear me.”

She went to a console mirror and fluffed a curl, fingered the giant ruby necklace at her throat. “Yes, Ewan of course, but go refresh yourself, then join me—”

“Mother, did you go after Theodosia when I left to join my regiment? Did you turn her away when she asked for help?”

She lowered her gaze and picked at the folds of her fan. “Is that what she told you? They lie you know. I wasn’t kind to her, but I suppose that is to be forgotten with you marrying her.”

His mother played coy, and she could be as stealthy as the earl when it came to secrets. He straightened and offered her rope to hoist her canard. “So you will accept her and my son with the return of Tradenwood.”

“Of course, dear.” She put her satin hand to his cheek. “You’ve restored our loss, what was wrongly taken.”

She didn’t hesitate. She said everything in a calm tone, as if she were deciding menus.

He sighed, the sting to his gut worse than a mule’s kick. “And you’ve broken my trust, Mother. You knew, too. You knew Theodosia carried my babe and yet you turned her away.”

Her breath caught, and she started fretting with the lace on the handle of her fan. “I was grieving, and it was her fault you were sent away.”

“No. It was my fault I went away.” He folded his arms and sought the right words to make her feel his loss. “There is no wedding. You will never have Tradenwood. You don’t deserve it. Probably why Uncle didn’t leave it to you when he had the chance.” He pivoted, leaving her with her mouth falling open.

“Ewan. Ewan?” Her voice was loud enough for guests to hear. “Wait.”

“Mrs. Cecil wants nothing to do with us. I don’t blame her at all.”

He marched out the door and didn’t stop. The family he wanted to belong to had ruined the family he could have had. How would he survive so many cuts? No play, no father, no mother, no Theo. He put a hand to his chest. His story wasn’t going to end like this. He was a cousin to a little boy who liked Shakespeare. He’d not lose access to him, no matter what.

…

Theodosia gripped Philip’s hand as she and Frederica ventured into the Burlington Arcade. Four weeks had passed since Ewan and his brother had left Tradenwood, and this was her last week as the widow Cecil. The final banns would be read Sunday. She and the squire could marry ahead of Lester’s return. Her plan had worked. It had worked so well, she cried herself to sleep each night. When the picture book Ewan sent for Philip came in the morn, she cried all over again. She choked up when Pickens told her Ewan had left Grandbole, never to return. He’d broken with his family, something she hadn’t wanted to happen. What pain this must be causing him?

Was it terrible to want her ghost to return and haunt her one more time?

Yes, it was. Engaged women couldn’t have ghosts or regrets.

Frederica, dressed in a pale blue walking gown, strolled a few steps in front of them. Her head was high. Not a care in the world must be on her mind, but with all the colors and sights of the shops, who could blame her?

As if she knew Theodosia’s thoughts were upon her, Frederica stopped and half-turned. “Why are we here again? Bonbons? You rarely come to Town unless on business. And I don’t like the openness of this place, not without the duke.”

Readjusting Philip’s small hand within hers, Theodosia attempted a smile, but found her lips too heavy, or she’d moved to biting both the top and the bottom ones. “I needed to pick up a few things, maybe seek a designer for a wedding gown. Maybe check for a letter.”

“You’ve accepted the squire, but you are rethinking the matter? Good. You shouldn’t grasp at crumbs, when a bonbon might be on the next platter.”

“Men and food? Well, one could never say your mind is fixed upon a single path. I want to see if the baron ever answered. With so much happening with the banns and my cousin, I forgot to have someone check. If the baron wrote, I need to tell him I’m no longer looking for a husband. I want to finish this advertisement business right. Correct. Rightly.”

She shook her head. “That Fitzwilliam cousin of yours. He was scrumptious, a fine piece of bonbon. Now that he’s returned to health, you haven’t mentioned him.”

“He’s gone from the fields.”

“Yes, you seem sad about that. Philip, too. During his convalescence, I awoke unfashionably early and found Mr. Fitzwilliam reading to his…your son. What exactly happened?” She pulled closer. “We’ve been friends a long time. It’s fine to fancy him again.”

Again? Have I ever stopped? “I don’t know what to do. I marry the squire in a fortnight. Philip will be safe. The squire will represent me at the Court of Chancery.”

Frederica’s lips pulled into an uncharacteristic frown, all sour-lemon-puckered mouth. “You could go. You could do it. You’re an honorable woman. You don’t have to rely on a stiff bore. Stop selling yourself short. You know numbers. What value do you put on you? Pences or sweet pounds?”

The squire wasn’t exciting. He seemed honorable and quiet, but hadn’t Mathew taught her that quiet was better, better than uncontrollable fire. Irresponsible blazes burned and hurt too many. “I’m not a duke’s daughter. The courts will look at me worse than how these shoppers eye Philip, trying to figure out which one of us is his mother.”

Whipping her head from side to side, Frederica allowed her smile to return. “Or they are waiting to see if we have a pet monkey following our unusual entourage.”

Theodosia cringed at the memories of selling flowers on the streets to ladies like Ewan’s mother. They’d parade a Blackamoor page and exotic pets behind them on shopping days. “I want to scream at them to stop looking, but that would get us kicked out.”

They passed the soap store and Theodosia peeked inside. Only the horrible manager was there, dusting his green glass vials. A smile rose inside. Sally was in the country, and Theodosia had given her enough money to feed herself and that baby to come. She bent to her own baby and straightened his coat. “I’ve saved one shop girl. Maybe I should be a reformer, too.”

Philip cupped his hand to his ear as if he wanted to funnel in all the sounds. Theodosia wished she could put all the sounds in the world in a bottle for him.

“You rescued a desperate girl. You are bold in business dealings. Why not be that in the rest of your life?”

Theodosia couldn’t answer, not when a thunderstorm could reduce her to a quivering mess. Instead she leveled her shoulders and tightened her grip on Philip’s small fingers. “Let’s go see if there is a letter from the baron and then leave. This will be done. My newspaper search for a groom will be over.”

As they rounded the corner, their path intersected with Lord Hartwell. “Mrs. Cecil. Miss Burghley, Master Cecil. How are you this fine afternoon?”

Her mood lightened as she saw the smiling man. Ewan’s brother had been an amiable guest and so loyal at Ewan’s side. He stuffed a paper into his jacket and came toward her. “Doing a little shopping?”

“Yes, picking up a few things. And Philip has never seen such architecture. He enjoys it as much as Miss Burghley.”

Chuckling, he stared at her then turned to Frederica. “Yes, I can see her hazel eyes sparkling.” His gaze lowered to Philip. “There is nothing quite like Burlington Arcade, is there, young man?”

Panicked that her son couldn’t hear to answer Lord Hartwell, she stepped forward. “How is your brother faring? I haven’t seen him in the fields.” She bit her lip, realizing how stupid she sounded, admitting to looking for the man she’d rejected.

“I’ll tell him you asked. I am dining with him tonight.”

Frederica tugged at her gloves as if she’d suddenly become bored. “Where will you dine in Town? Maybe somewhere rife with intrigue.”

Wanting to tap her friend and make her stop man-bubbling, Theodosia edged forward. “I suppose he is busy with his play.”

“No, Mrs. Cecil. It’s not going to be purchased. It seems the theater manager… His mind was changed.”

“His play was rejected?” Her heart broke a little more. No. He was too good. Ewan must’ve said no. Could he have done that for her?

As if Frederica had read Theodosia’s mind and read it wrong, she shook her head. “So sorry for Mr. Fitzwilliam. Was it not good enough?”

Lord Hartwell’s brow rose. “It was quite excellent. The best I’ve read.”

“It had to be excellent,” Theodosia said. Her voice carried and more people turned and looked their way. Thinking of Ewan losing another play made her not care how loud she sounded. She stared straight into Lord Hartwell’s eyes. “The theater owner couldn’t see that?”

The man tapped his fingertips together. “Our father doesn’t want a playwright in the family. And suddenly the offer for my brother’s play disappeared.”

Theodosia couldn’t breathe. Somehow this had to be her fault. She swallowed and held onto Philip a little tighter. “He must be devastated.”

“No, ma’am, something else had already bitterly disappointed him.”

The look in his light blue eyes, wistful and sad, made her sadder. Ewan had surely told him of her rejection of his proposal, but it was for the best. “Your father has been known to have his way. Is there no way to appeal?”

“It would take hundreds of pounds and persuasion. That’s a mighty sum while we are in the midst of this water war. Fitzwilliam says twenty thousand pounds is your sum.”

She reached into her reticule and pulled out one of her cards with her mark. “I have given you my word on resolving the matter. There’s a number that we can agree upon, I’m sure. After my wedding, I am sure there will be lot of things that can be agreed upon.”

Lord Hartwell frowned. “All depends upon who you marry.”

She’d said too much. Her hurt for Ewan clouded her judgment. She held out her palm and offered her card. “Take this and tell the theater person I will cover what is needed to get his play performed.”

Frederica had that devilish grin on her as if she’d eyed the last bonbon. “I see you decided on pounds. Yes, Lord Hartwell, be her errand boy. That should be fun for you.”

Something sparked in his eyes, and he turned from Frederica back toward Philip. “You are persuasive, Mrs. Cecil, but I don’t make the best errand boy.” He folded his arms. “You do know his play disparages a young woman, a flower seller who some might think is you.”

She stuck her card in his face. “I know. But he deserves to have this play.”

This time Lord Hartwell took it. His face reddened, and he coughed. “You have distinctive handwriting, Mrs. Cecil. Yes. I will take this to the manager and do my best to get the play purchased.” He stuffed the card into his breast pocket. “Are you prepared for the excitement and gossip a play like this may bring?”

“Pounds worth. I’m not what people say I am. I am who I say I am. Your brother deserves to have his vision on stage. Please say you will take care of this. A Blackamoor woman may not be able to negotiate it, but I can definitely pay for it.”

Jasper tipped his hat. “Character trumps a great deal of things, even rumors.”

A crowd of ladies passed by, staring and giggling.

Frederica seemed above it all, as if they couldn’t possibly be the object of their scorn.

But Theodosia knew. She felt it in her bones. “Not everyone can see that. And it doesn’t matter how much strength one possesses. It’s still in the same package. A woman needs a champion.”

Frederica pulled closer, as if she tired of being ignored. “Yes, a champion to do her bidding, now go on, good little viscount.”

Lord Hartwell’s dimples popped as if he suppressed a laugh. “It’s been a long time since someone’s teased me or called me little, but I will handle this. I’ll make sure Fitzwilliam gets what he deserves. Mrs. Cecil, Miss Burghley. Good day. The errand boy is leaving.”

The grin on Frederica’s face almost made Theodosia laugh. Her friend enjoyed tweaking everyone, but teasing a man. That was better than her beloved bonbons.

As they entered the stationers, the humor fled and Theodosia’s fingers became ice-cold. She had to admit to herself, that she hoped for the baron to write. Truly, she didn’t want to marry the dry squire. With Philip cupping his good ear as his head bobbed from side to side, they waited for the clerk.

Frederica played with the lace eyelets on her fan until the young man came forward. “Mrs. Cecil. There have been no new letters.”

Even as the clerk moved and went to another customer, Theodosia found herself stuck in place, hoping that a mistake had been made.

But she had no such luck. The baron had never sent a response to her reply. Her letter of regret didn’t pass his muster or perhaps her sin was too great. It didn’t matter. The imagined romance was done. “Let’s go.”

After winding back through the arcade, Theodosia heard humming. Not her classical pianofortes but something the fiddlers had played at the festival. Lively and in beat, as if she skipped around a Maypole, Theo sang, “So no baron, no playwright, but a squire, a boring squire. He will save the flower seller.”

“You think this is funny?”

Frederica gripped her arm. “Your plan to get you a husband from the advertisement worked. But my plan to use it to get you to meet men and dream again didn’t. You stopped dreaming when Cecil died.”

No. Six years ago. But she’d had a waking vision of Ewan on her balcony, asking her to trust him again. “Frederica, I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t need a new husband. You need an errand boy and a good solicitor. Let’s pay for a man to fight your cause.”

“What?”

Frederica bent and scooped up Philip. “Yes. Let’s find a man and pay for his services. We can even have a solicitor draft paperwork to buy off Lester. He has a price, too.”

The girl had lost her mind, or maybe the lack of bonbons for the two-hour drive had reduced her to nonsense. She followed behind her flirty friend who spouted nonsense. “I accepted the squire. Why risk it all now?”

“Because you are worth the risk. If you could see the look on your face when the clerk said ‘no new letters,’ you’d know I speak the truth. You don’t want the squire. You deserve the dream of what our riddle-writing baron offered. Let’s go to my father. He can get you a solicitor. Then Ester and I will help you craft a rejection letter for the squire. This is one no I can’t wait to write.”

One of the most infuriating things about Frederica was her ability to transcend from silly to wise in mere moments, but she was right. She didn’t want the squire. “Can this be done? Paying a man? What would that cost?”

“Less than what you paid for the play for your playwright cousin. You and I, we are daughters of women who were paid to entertain men. I think it quite fitting for you to buy one.”

Frustrated, Theodosia picked up her pace to the carriage. Her thoughts whirled inside. A solicitor would still be representing a Blackamoor to the Court of Chancery. That hadn’t changed, but buying off Lester was an idea. “How much would that cost again?”

“Less than selling all your hopes to the squire. You are strong, Theodosia. Mathew Cecil found you when you were in a bad way and needed protection, but you forgot about the girl who fought living on the streets. The girl who escaped brothel life without a duke’s pity.”

Theodosia spied herself in the shop glass. Older, cut in finer clothes, but where was that fighter? She’d made Mathew listen to her and now the Cecil farm grew the best lavender in the world. She’d made Ewan listen to her, and he had respected her decision and abandoned his haunting. Today, she had implored a viscount to do her bidding. If she could get three men to listen, was it so impossible to get another, like a magistrate, to side with her? She took a breath and counted her fingers, numbering every word of encouragement that Mathew and Ewan and her mother had ever poured into her, even the things her own mother had done to hide her from sin. “Yes. I will try. I will fight.”

Frederica gripped Theodosia’s cold fingers. “You will win, as easy as you do with math calculations and prices. Let’s go buy a man.”

After settling Philip in the carriage, she looked up at the blue sky and then down into his bluer-than-blue eyes. She could fight for Philip. She had to hope she was heard, not dismissed because of her race or her humble start at a brothel by the docks.