Phillip let it sink in. This could be perfect. Ella was a member of the nobility, which meant she was just as eligible as her stepsisters to become queen. If she felt the same way about him as he did about her, all his problems could be solved in a better way than he’d ever thought possible.
But…why hadn’t she told him? Had she planned to lead him on, seduce him with a forbidden tryst in hopes of bypassing the competition? The thought of her betrayal soured his stomach. He eyed the letter still in Drake’s hand, considering whether he should take it back, rip it up, cut his losses. But the thought of turning his back on Ella was torture, so instead, he found himself taking back the pen and another piece of parchment, and slowly writing a second letter.
He would ask for an explanation. Maybe she had one. If she did, perhaps all his problems could still be solved. And if not…well, best to know now, before he got in too deep.
But as he finished writing, sealed the second envelope, and sent Drake away with both letters, he couldn’t help but think he was already in so deep that he might never find his way back.
6
It was half an hour before Ella appeared.
Philip straightened when he saw her, breathless and searching for him at the entrance to the stables. He’d started to worry that she wouldn’t show up at all, which could only mean she didn’t have a good explanation. But here she was, hurrying toward him, apology in her eyes and his letters in her hand.
r /> “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I tried to get here quicker, but I had to mend Daphne’s riding outfit.”
Phillip narrowed his eyes. He’d thought they were done pretending. Maybe she hadn’t come with a good explanation after all. “You can drop the act,” he said tightly. “I know you’re their stepsister, not their assistant.”
She huffed, holding up her index finger. It was bleeding lightly from a pinprick injury. “I have a war wound from the sewing machine to prove it!” she said indignantly, frowning. “And for the record, I never claimed to be their assistant. You just assumed that.”
“You let me assume.”
“I didn’t, not on purpose. I only…I wasn’t thinking about it, I guess. I’m here to help Daphne and Anna, not to cast my own name in the running. I just wanted a chance to live my own life. Is that too much to ask?”
Phillip swallowed as her words hit home. Could he fault her for wanting the same thing he did? A chance to pick your own destiny, to live the way you wanted rather than under the weight of obligations.
She bit her lip and looked away. “And actually…I didn’t know I inherited the title of marquess, not until your letter just now. My stepmother never told me.”
Phillip stared. “She never told you that you were nobility too?”
“No, I mean, I knew I was nobility, I just assumed that she’d been the one to get the title after my dad died. She never talks about anything having to do with his death, and I didn’t really want to dig too deep into the records surrounding his passing either.” She winced. “It was too painful, you know? For her and me both, I guess.”
Phillip tried to stay stoic, but he couldn’t do it. “I understand,” he said, meaning more than just her feelings about her father’s passing. “Perhaps…maybe you’d like to take a ride with me? We could talk more. I would like that.”
Her wide grin lit up her whole face. “I’d like that too.”
Phillip brought out two of his favorite horses and was pleasantly surprised when she started expertly grooming the mare.
“I really am sorry about misleading you,” she said again as she curried the horse’s ribs. “But I should be clear. After the party is over, I’m going back to the States. I’m here to help my stepsisters, nothing more. Once I see them settled I have plans back home. I’m going to be a riding coach at a friend’s stable, make my own way.” Her unruly hair blew in her face and she unsuccessfully tried to shove it away.
Phillip’s heart fell. He opened his mouth to try to convince her to stay and let him court her, then paused. It was obvious she had her mind set on this topic, at least for now. Arguing probably wouldn’t change it, but maybe a little flirting could show her what she would be missing. “You should try a messy bun,” he said, and reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
She went still, leaning into his hand the tiniest bit. “What?”
He grinned, elated, and withdrew his hand to point at his own hair. “A messy bun. It’ll keep your hair out of your face while you work.”
She cleared her throat, hmphed, and kept currying. Her squared shoulders and determined gaze said she was dead serious, even in the face of his flirting—she really was going to move back to the States when she was done here. Maybe they could still have a fling, if she was willing, but nothing more.
He fought against the urge to cajole her, convince her to put herself in the running. He could tell already that she would be a great queen. But in the end, it was her choice, and it seemed she’d already made it.
Damn. He couldn’t help but wish her conflict had been an evil stepmother instead. It would’ve made things so much less complicated.
He broke the silence after a moment. “So why did you have to mend Daphne’s outfit?”
Her gaze darted to his and she smiled, just a little—but it was a victory, and his heart lifted a bit. “She tore it during your ride.”
“No. Really? I didn’t even notice.”
“Oh, yes. She hadn’t been riding since she was a teenager and she’s grown out of her old outfit but didn’t have anything else to wear. She ripped seams in both the jacket and the pants and had to tie her jacket around her waist to cover it.”