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The next morning, Lex paused outside the Robsons’ suite of hotel rooms. Without saying a word, Eleanor entwined her arm with his and leaned against him.
I have faith in you. You can do this. She didn’t say the words, but he heard them—appreciated them, even if he probably wouldn’t handle Portia as deftly as Eleanor would have. Bartholomew’s toes, not even as deftly as anyone else would have. Nonetheless, he owed his sister the effort even if she would not come round in the end. Why should she?
He laid his hand atop Eleanor’s briefly before knocking on the door.
A maid admitted them to the drawing room where the Robsons and their son were all seated. Andrew came immediately forward, hand outstretched.
“Lexden! Good to see you again. More to the point, where the devil have you been keeping this lovely wife of yours all these years?”
“Language, Andrew.” Justine’s murmur came out more as a sigh than a chastisement.
Lex checked himself, realizing Andrew was quizzing him and not making an accusation. He shook the man’s hand. “I hope the amusements of Bath proved worthy of your time.”
“Amusements are always worth my time,” Andrew replied with a cheeky grin. “I hold out hope that tomorrow evening’s entertainment will surpass them, however.”
“I think you give Astley a little too much credit, but I am glad you can join us nonetheless.”
As usual, his friend’s easy chatter set Lex at ease, but his chest constricted after all the greetings were exchanged and everyone was seated. Now, he must act. So he turned to Mrs. Robson.
“Is Lady Portia up and about? I would like to take her for a drive in the park.”
The drive was Eleanor’s idea. She’d thought the curricle would give the siblings privacy, as well as prevent Portia from leaving in high dudgeon. The necessity of trapping his sister in a carriage didn’t exactly fill Lex with high hopes for their meeting.
Mrs. Robson rose. “I’ll just fetch her.”
God bless the woman for not batting an eyelash at the oddity of Lex having to collect his sister from them. The Robsons continually amazed him with their graciousness.
Andrew and his father good-naturedly carried the conversation while they waited. Lex, every nerve pulled taut, sat on the edge of the sofa, contributing nothing more than the occasional nod. After many minutes, far more than it took to grab a bonnet and shawl, Mrs. Robson reappeared with Portia.
She was stormy-eyed. It would be so much less complicated to send her back to Somerset. Complicated, however, was the new state of his life. Lex cared for his sister, if his method of showing it hadn’t been successful over the years. However difficult it might be, now he must try a different tack.
He ventured a smile, hoping it wasn’t too strained. “Good morning, Portia. What do you say to a drive in the park?” It was a risk, posing the offer as a question, but what was the point in attempting to repair the relationship if he was going to continue to order his sister about?
Despite the straw bonnet on her head and India shawl draped over her shoulders, she looked ready to turn around and leave him hanging in front of everyone. Then Andrew, who had risen to pluck a small bun from the breakfast tray, leaned toward his mother and Portia and said in a loud, carrying whisper, “Don’t let his cautious look deceive you, dear girl. The man knows how to handle a dashing pair of cattle. Insist that he show you what they can do.”
“It is a fine day for a drive,” Portia admitted, almost under her breath. Her cheeks flushed pink as she looked at Andrew, and the smile dropped off Lex’s face.
He strode over and pulled the door open. Once Portia swept by, he turned back and gave Andrew a small, grateful nod, and then he looked to Eleanor. Confidence blazed through her hazel eyes, and she made a small shooing motion with her hands. With a deep breath, he followed after his sister for their tête-à-tête.
Portia said nothing as they descended the hotel stairs. Her silence continued as Lex handed her into the curricle. When he climbed up beside her and took the reins from the tiger, she stared straight ahead, her lips locked tight.
Lex set the vehicle in motion. The weather was indeed fine; the sun shone so brightly he had to pull his hat lower to shade his eyes. A good blustery wind and driving rain would better suit the mood, but alas the sky was cheerfully blue and the breeze lazy and warm.
He maneuvered the horses around the corner onto Piccadilly. “I’m glad you could come today. I probably should have taken you driving before this.”
“It’s not the fashionable hour,” came the stinging reply from between those rigid lips.
“No, it’s not,” Lex said. God give him the patience He’d blessed Eleanor with. He slowed the horses as the traffic on Piccadilly grew heavier, then glanced at Portia who was looking in the opposite direction. “However, I didn’t think you would be at all agreeable to being seen with me during the height of the social hour.”
He’d kept his tone light, intent on not sounding accusatory for her feeling as she did. The only response he received, though, was a slight twitch of her shoulder.
God knew he wasn’t one to babble, but he couldn’t stand the uncomfortable silence. He remarked on the number of carriages on the street, pointed out two dogs scuffling over a scrap on the pavement, commented on the beautiful weather, described the fine attributes of the two horses pulling their curricle, and on and on until at last he swung the vehicle into Hyde Park and down Rotten Row. Portia now probably thought him a lackwit as well as a bad-tempered lout.
Though there were only one or two other carriages on the path, he guided his horses to the side and drew the curricle to a halt, advising the tiger to take a walkabout. With the reins held loosely in his hand, Lex spoke his sister’s name. She stared off through the trees.
He reached out and laid his hand upon her shoulder. “Lady Porcupine.”
She sucked in a breath and turned. The trembling of her bottom lip nearly undid him. In the face of this young woman he could see the frightened three-year-old he had held in his arms so long ago.
He squeezed her shoulder before letting his hand fall away. “You remember. I wasn’t certain you would. You were so little.”
“‘Where’s my lady Porcupine?’ You used to call that out on your way up to the nursery.” She sniffed. “And then you’d fling open the door and I would rush at you. We would both tumble to the floor, and you would pretend to be mortally wounded from all the quills I supposedly injected into you.”
He had done. And he’d kept up the play on that horrible day, though his voice had wobbled with emotion as he’d called out on his way up.
“I’m sorry, Portia. For the way I’ve neglected you. For the humiliation I’ve caused you. I’m sorry most of all for not being the brother you deserve.” The words tripped out more easily than he’d expected. He hoped she didn’t think they were glib.
Her gaze fell to her lap, where her fingers twisted around themselves. “Did Eleanor tell you to say that?”
He sighed. “I can’t blame you for thinking so, but while she encouraged me, I wanted to speak with you. I know I’ve wronged you, and it’s my sincerest wish to make amends.”
She pushed her shoulders back and turned those sharp blue eyes on him. “Why won’t you let me marry Mr. Semple?”
He sighed again. Of course she was going to be mulish about forgiving him. Was that a Drummond family trait or a Mayne one?
Hellfire. Was his vision of her forever tainted by the knowledge of her paternity? He could not let the Drummond connection make a difference. She was his sister, as she’d always been. And truthfully, she’d probably always been stubborn; he just didn’t know it since he’d abandoned her.
“Eleanor already told you that he’s in debt, and so he is.” Lex paused, uncertain whether to impart the other tidbit of information he’d discovered. Remembering Portia’s four-page ode to Semple, he knew how deeply the revelation would cut. If he wanted her to trust him, though, he had to tell her everything. “You’re the third heiress he’s proposed to in the last six months. You deserve better, Lady Porcupine.”
Lex’s sister looked away, past his shoulder, her eyes straining hard to focus on...something. Anything, most likely. “I see. Well, that’s— That is to say, he— I suppose I shouldn’t have...” Then she simply crumpled. Her shoulders and head fell, and if there’d been room in the curricle she probably would have curled into a ball.
Where was Eleanor when they needed her? Lex had no idea what to say, so he just stretched his arm across Portia’s shoulders and pulled her back against his side. She stiffened and her breath hitched. Then she huddled into him and sobbed.
They sat like that—her crying and gulping, him silently praying she’d stop—for several long minutes. At one point Lex fished out his handkerchief and pressed it into her hands. Eventually the sobbing grew quieter, replaced by sniffles, and Portia blew her nose into the linen square.
Distraction. “You must have a proper Season, Portia. Next spring, for certain. I know Eleanor would be more than pleased to host a ball in your honor.”
His sister pushed away, and the feather on her hat bounced as she released a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know. Perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking about marriage at all. In any case, the Mayne family no longer has any cache with Society. I would be laughed out of Town.”
She had a point. He had dug himself quite the hole. But he’d started clawing his way back out, so he might as well continue. “The uproar I caused will blow out with the wind, if it hasn’t already, by next week. There is no need to worry about next spring. And”—he placed his hand over his heart—“I promise not to cause another.”
Drummond would be dealt with, and Eleanor...well, Lex had every wish to nourish and not destroy what was growing between them. God-willing, there would be no new reason for a set-to. Not as long as he could keep his affliction hidden. When had it first overcome his father?
Unaware of his thoughts, Portia did not seem confident. She lifted an eyebrow, and tears still clung to her lashes, making her expression especially poignant.
“Surely you can give me a little credit,” he begged. “I do care about you. I am your brother after all.”
She looked into his eyes, as if assessing his worthiness for the title. Lex had only ever felt less adequate when Henry had looked to him as father.
At last, long last, a tiny smile pulled at his sister’s mouth. “I would love to come to London for the Season. Spring seems so far away, though.”
Why couldn’t he have been blessed with a brother? Any number of things not involving dancing, gowns, and balls—and suitors—would have sufficed with a young lad. “Eleanor’s ball in honor of the Robsons is fast approaching. You’ll not want for entertainment.” Who knew exactly what kind of entertainment it would be given his current status with the ton, but Lex wasn’t about to return to that subject.
Portia nodded, looking slightly more cheerful. “That’s true. Andrew—that is, Mr. Robson will be there. I suppose Mr. Drummond has been scratched from the guest list. He was an amusing dance partner.”
Her tone was laced with innocence, but Lex didn’t miss the hint of criticism that lurked in her eyes for his actions at the ball. Finally able to see a glimmer of light in the tunnel toward righting his relationship with his sister, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Portia about her parentage. He’d upset her enough for one day by explaining Semple’s past. Too, he didn’t want to share her affection with Drummond, a man who could easily contort himself into the exact kind of brother Portia thought she wanted. The sordid truth would best be told another day, when Eleanor could be present to support Portia. And Lex.
So, he prevaricated. “There is no love lost between me and Mr. Drummond. I think all of Society is aware of that now. We have, however, discussed the matter like the gentlemen we are and agreed to keep our distance from each other. Still, I can assure you that there will be at least a score of ‘amusing dance partners’ at the ball. You will not lack for admirers, Portia.”
And you will undoubtedly fall in love with each and every one.
Her spine stiffened at the brittleness that crept in during his speech, but, perhaps sensing that it was directed more at Drummond than herself, Portia smiled when he complimented her. “Will you promise me something else, Lex?”
He couldn’t help it; he grinned when she used his shortened name. “If I can.”
“Promise me I won’t be sent back to Somerset to live by myself.”
He really had been an ogre. But that was over. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I promise, Lady Porcupine.”
Her eyes brightened, and she sat back. “Now, show me what these cattle can do!”
Lex tightened his grip on the reins and, ever grateful to do instead of say something, he set the horses to showing off their speed and finesse. And by the time he pulled the pair up again at the other end of Rotten Row, Portia was clutching her bonnet and smiling like Henry after the spinning game.
“Impressive,” she exclaimed. “I never would have guessed you to be so daring.”
“I have my moments. Just ask Henry. Now...” He glanced over at her, knowing he needed to strike while her good humor persisted. “Portia, will you come home?”
Her smile faded. Lex waited, holding his breath, unsure how he would proceed if she refused, but at long last she nodded. “May I wait to do so until after we visit Astley’s tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. Absolutely.” The words rushed out with his breath. Finally feeling on firmer ground, he ventured, “Shall we put the cattle to the test one more time?”
They were off and flying before her answering grin had fully formed.