Page 16 of Her Rogue to Ruin
“Oh yes, of course. That makes perfect sense. London society is such a small world.”
“Mmm.” Phin hadn’t intended to attend the Granford ball.
After Portia’s departure, he’d been in no mood to do anything other than sulk. And perhaps see how many snifters of whiskey he could consume in an evening.
When he examined the misery he felt, a most extraordinary realization came. His disappointment had nothing to do with the portrait. He could always find another artist. And, more and more, he found he didn’t truly give a damn about fulfilling Mrs. Grove’s request.
What he’d looked forward to most was the prospect of spending time alone with Portia.
So when his mother had reminded him about the ball at the Granford townhouse—the home of Lady Granford, who counted Portia as a member of her club for widows—Phin found himself trudging up to his suite and donning evening clothes, eager for the possibility of seeing Portia again.
Though now that they were rolling toward Belgravia and Granford House, he considered whether his decision to attend had been a foolish one. The lady had turned him down but hours ago, and he still couldn’t be certain whether or not he’d offended her.
Perhaps that was why he yearned to see her. To make sure they could still be… What the hell were they?
“Lady Granford is quite remarkable.”
Phin suppressed the immediate and impulsive urge to reply that Lady Hastings was too.
Then a suspicion began to take root.
“Are you a member of Lady Granford’s widows’ club?”
“Not yet.” She sniffed and then notched up her chin. “I am considering it.”
“Damian Foxworthy calls it the ‘wanton widows’ club’ according to Selkirk.” Phin still couldn’t get the phrase out of his mind, mostly because it inspired delicious meanderings about Portia.
“Foxworthy is a cad.” His mother let her pronouncement settle in the air between them before bristling and pushing back against the squabs as if offended.
“I’m sorry, Mama. You’re right. He is a blighter.”
“I know you likely think me a wanton—”
“Stop. No. I meant nothing of the sort.” Phin leaned forward, wanting to make sure she heard him on this point. That she could see the sincerity in his eyes and have no doubt. “I do not judge you regarding Mr. Russell.”
She turned away as if she disliked hearing his name. “He wasn’t the man I thought him to be, and I regret that it became a problem you needed to solve.” She faced him again. “I hope you thanked Lord Selkirk on my behalf.”
“He’s the most loyal of friends, Mama. He’ll never breathe a word—”
“No, Phineas, I haven’t a single worry on that point. I meant it. He is to be thanked for his efforts.”
“We’ve been helping each other since we were little more than lads, but I’ll send him a crate of good brandy. He’ll appreciate that.”
“Excellent.” She smiled, a genuine tilt of her mouth that put a bit of sparkle in her eyes.
Phin knew that look well and inwardly groaned. It meant she was scheming.
“You do know Louisa is besotted with the man, don’t you?”
The immediate thrill of not being the focus of one of her cunning plots was instantly replaced by uncertainty.
“I suppose I suspected as much.” It was why Selkirk remarking on her portrait had drawn his sarcastic reply. “Lord Blake is quite keen on the marriage contract Father drew up.”
The man had signed off on joining his son and Louisa when she was but nine. The son had reached the age of majority last year and was eager to make Louisa his bride. Phin knew with absolute certainty that it was not his sister’s desire, and he’d already considered how to break the agreement his father had made.
But marriage to Selkirk?
“Do you really think they’d suit?” Phin asked his mother. “Selkirk can be taciturn, and Louisa is always in motion.”
