Page 17 of Her Rogue to Ruin
“Then perhaps she’ll draw him out, or perhaps he’ll inspire her to value contemplation.” His mother gazed at Phin thoughtfully. “You do know that love sometimes comes upon us most inconveniently, don’t you, son?” She turned her focus to her gloved hands, twisting them in her lap. “That’s why I never approved of your father’s marital machinations for all of you, but what could I do? The man never listened to my advice and never respected my wishes.” She sniffed and squared her gaze on him again. “Love is a worthy pursuit, dear boy. Regret might come later, but there are those who find great joy too.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Phin uttered the apology with his father in mind, but he knew Mr. Russell had hurt her too.
“I don’t regret it. Believing in love. You must know I don’t regret my choices. How could I when you and your sisters were the result?” She smiled again, this one softer, more earnest. “I hope you find someone who brings you joy.”
“Like Lady Mary Morton?”
“I know what the contract says. And I know you’ve avoided addressing it. Perhaps youwouldbe to each other’s liking. I’ve corresponded with her mother.”
“No scheming, Mama.”
“Would I?” She lifted her hands as if to emphasize her innocence.
A moment later, the carriage slowed in front of Granford House.
Phin’s pulse began to race as he helped his mother alight and turned to head into the townhouse.
“Are you quite alright, my boy?”
“I am.” Or at least he would be once he’d seen Portia and determined whether he’d damaged the bond she’d formed with his family.
* * *
“I knowyou’re busy with the Pemberton commissions, but Dash and I agree that we’d like to have some of your pieces to decorate our sitting rooms here and in the countryside.” Fiona, Lady Granford, sipped her punch and watched for Portia’s reaction. “Would you be willing to fit us in?”
“Of course I would. I’d be happy to.” Every time someone sought her work, it felt like a gift. “I’m assuming you don’t mean portraits.”
“Well, we have the one you did of us after our wedding.” Fiona gestured to the large piece over their sitting room mantel. “But we were thinking landscapes. Or even seascapes, if you prefer.”
“Oh yes, I’d love to paint more landscapes.”
Fiona beamed. “Perfect. We’ll have to plan a tea to discuss details.”
“Yes, please.”
“Now, do excuse me while I greet a few guests.” Fiona gestured toward one of her footmen who was circling the sitting room with a wide tray. “Those little savory tarts are scrumptious if you’re hungry at all.”
Portia couldn’t even consider eating. She’d tried to hide it since arriving, but she remained unsettled by her conversation with Lord Pemberton.
She’d gone from shock to irritation, and now sadness sat in her chest like stone. Foolish, needless disappointment that he saw her as nothing more than a means to obtaining another lady’s affection.
The evening had only just begun, and she already wished to return to her aunt’s house. Or perhaps sneak away to her studio for a few hours of painting.
“Lady Hastings, what a pleasure to find you here.”
Portia stiffened at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Lord Berwick.” Portia turned to greet the nobleman who’d always been on the invitation list when she and her late husband had entertained.
He was an older man, as her husband had been, and they’d run in the same circles. Lord Wilmot was one of his cronies too, and that was enough to make Portia uncomfortable in his company.
“Have you been claimed for the first dance? If not, I’d very much like to do so. I’ve long wished to speak to you.”
Portia loathed the notion of beingclaimedby the elderly viscount, but she’d come to a ball. She could hardly refuse to step onto the dance floor. Though she was curious what he was so eager to discuss, since she’d not heard from him following a letter of condolence after her husband’s death.
“Very well, Lord Berwick.”
He glanced toward the ballroom. “The first set will commence soon. Should I not escort you in now?”
