Page 89 of Miss Dashing
“Your father, to the best of his ability.”
“And you found him for me.”
“He wasn’t lost, but I did want you to consider that the Bromptons are not your only option in terms of family. Nunn was forthcoming about your parents’ history, and I could see Johnny’s, or Emeril’s, mischief wearing you down. Do we banish the scoundrel back to Canada?”
Hecate rose and deposited herself in Phillip’s lap. “Life would certainly be more peaceful, and I do believe Portia intends to have him.”
Phillip enfolded Hecate in a hug, his sense of homecoming finally complete. “I need a bath.”
“I need you.”
They enjoyed a moment of perfect contentment before Hecate resumed her seat and finished her brandy. “I should be in the ballroom.”
“I have a suggestion,” Phillip said, leaning over to murmur his next words in her ear.
Hecate listened, she smiled, she kissed him, and she sat back. “A fine plan. You see to Papa and pay a quick call on the swimming hole, and I will expect you both in time for the supper waltz.”
She stood, squared her shoulders, and beamed at him. “Until tonight, and, Phillip?”
He got to his feet, prepared to hear that she wanted a long engagement, that Lark’s Nest would not do, that he had best not appear in riding attire on a formal occasion ever again.
“Miss Brompton?”
“Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and the top and all the compass points. Save that supper waltz for me, or it will go hard for you.”
“Your servant, Miss Brompton.” He bowed politely, she curtseyed, and Phillip watched her go with a gentleman’s appreciative eye and a lover’s besotted devotion.
“Canada will be wonderful, Flave,” Portia said, taking yet another sip of the punch, though the libation continued to disappoint. “You’ll see. Emeril says the forests are mindboggling and the summers spectacular. You’ve always liked nature more than I have. You’ll come to love it, I’m sure.”
Flavia’s gaze was on Mr. DeGrange, who was partnering Mrs. Roberts. Portia had done the promenade with Emeril—begin as you intend to go on, after all—and he appeared to be reconciling himself to his good fortune.
“You’re sure you’ll live in Canada?” Flavia asked.
“Emeril has a good post in Toronto, or he did. He wanted to look in on us here in Merry Olde, but he’d taken to opening the mail that came through for Johnny, and Johnny barely sets foot in civilized surrounds anymore apparently. Likes life in the wilderness, if you can imagine such a thing. Emeril says that happens with the trappers. They become part wild themselves, and domesticating them again is nearly impossible. Are you listening to me?”
Flavia’s expression had become preoccupied. Mr. DeGrange twirled by again, and Portia caught a sneaking whiff of an unpleasant notion.
“Of course I’m listening, Porry.”
“Then you are coming with us? Many a spinster lives with a married sibling, and Emeril says Canada is crawling with single men. Some of them, like Cousin Johnny, are even worth some blunt. You’ll find a husband in no time, and I won’t mind having you on hand until then.”
A generous offer. Flavia would not hear a better one.
“That is very kind of you, Porry. Very thoughtful.”
“I am kind by nature, and you are my only sister. This punch is awful.”
“I fear I must decline your suggestion nonetheless,” Flavia said. “My place is here.”
Portia put the back of her gloved hand to Flavia’s forehead. “Are you coming down with something? I thought I just heard you say you will force me to cross an ocean with only Emeril’s dubious company to fortify me. Society has had its chance to appreciate us, Flavie, and they failed us.”
Flavia fluttered her fan slowly with her left hand, then touched the tip with a single finger.Come and talk to me, followed by,I wish to speak with you. Did Flavia even realize what she was signaling? Probably not. Flavia wasn’t much given to flirtation, and who would she flirt with when Mr. DeWitt was lurking among the dowagers?
“You and Cousin Emeril will manage splendidly,” Flavia said. “You will be the making of him. He has wanted direction, and you can provide that.”
“I can, can’t I? Lots of direction. And as you’ve always done, you will help—”
Flavia snapped her fan closed. “I am not going to Canada with you, Portia. You will have grand adventures and see wonderful sights, while I bide in England, stitching samplers and sipping tea.”
