Page 39 of A Love to Remember
Portia threw herself back into his arms and laughed. “What a thoughtful gift. I just have to make sure his father doesn’t drink it in the meantime.”
“Oh, I bought a flask for Grayson, too.”
“I could kiss you again. Come and sit and tell me about Christmas. Grayson and I plan to go on to Flagstaff Castle after this to see Mother, Maxwell, and Douglas. Tell me, did Douglas come home for Christmas?”
“He did not. He stayed in Scotland. And, of course, Thomas sent gifts from India. However cleverly Maxwell and I kept Mother amused, I know she misses you and Jackson.”
Portia squeezed his hand. “Then I will stay for a whole month. Grayson is indulgent. Will Maxwell be home?”
“No. He is off in Dorset. Inspecting Squire Hornridge’s farm. It’s up for sale.”
Her eyes narrowed, considering. “Isn’t that property near our farm?”
“Yes, and Maxwell is looking for an estate to manage. It seems law is not to our brother’s taste, after all.”
Portia’s eyes welled. “So you are buying him a farm. You are such a wonderful brother. I knew he wasn’t happy, but you men are such trials to your womenfolk. You won’t talk about your emotions or problems.” She stopped and then softly said, “Just as you will not share why you are purposely making Rose and yourself unhappy.”
“Portia,” he warned. “Don’t spoil our first night together in several weeks.”
Her smile faded. “But Rose arrives tomorrow—and I don’t want to be caught between my best friend and my brother.”
“That won’t happen,” he said, hoping it was true.
“I couldn’t live through another night like Serena’s dinner party. Please tell me you have come here alone.”
Did she think he kept a harem? “Of course I came alone. I would not have brought Lady Philomena to that dinner, either, had you not lied to me.”
She elbowed him in his stomach. “I did not lie. Rose had told us all she was unable to attend, then changed her mind and only told Serena. There was no reason why she should have told me, after all. I wasn’t the hostess.”
Philip didn’t think she was lying. Portia appeared to be genuinely upset about that evening. “Portia, please. Promise me you won’t interfere in my relationships. I want to prove to Rose that we can be seen together without it being awkward. I also want to prove to thetonthat the end of our affair was mutual and amicable, and that I amdefinitelynot hunting for a wife.”
“But if youwere,would Rose be on the list? I’d hate to think you were a prig and had excluded her because of her past. Your own reputation is not precisely lily-white—and Rose does not deserve to be treated like some bit of muslin.”
“Stop it, Portia.” He knew what his conniving sister was doing. She was trying to get him to admit he still had feelings for Rose. Were he ever going to marry, Rose’s name would be theonlyone on his list. “I know you mean well, but you don’t understand the situation. Please stop. You’ll only end up hurting Rose. And neither of us wants that.”
She must have heard something in his tone, because she sighed. “It’s hard to sit back and watch something so beautiful implode. Especially when I love you both so much.” His mouth firmed. “All right. Although I want to pull caps with you, I shall be a good sister, keep my opinions to myself, and try not to meddle.”
He frowned. “Try?”
She sighed. “Extremely hard.”
It was the best he was going to get. “Thank you.”
“However.” She pinned him with a far-from-friendly look. “One day, when we are both old and gray, youwilltell me what happened. And if you don’t have a very good reason for breaking up with Rose, I shall ring a fine peal over you, I give you my word.”
Before he could reply, a few more couples entered the room, and they had to stand to greet them. As Portia drifted off to talk with Beatrice and Marisa, he studied their husbands. They were all carrying on various conversations, but each man was fully aware of his own wife—where she was, if she was happy, whether she was comfortable. They watched their women with pride, with love, with possessiveness, and he had never envied men more in his life.
Philip used to think that God had sent Rose to him that day by Robert’s graveside to save him from his guilt and misery. But He hadn’t. Instead, Rose had been his punishment—to touch what he could never hold, to taste what he could never possess. To understand what loss truly meant.
As he looked at the loving couples around him, he realized the next few days were going to be the hardest of his life.
Chapter 12
By the time her entourage made the three-day journey to Wiltshire, Rose was exhausted. It was close to midnight when they arrived, which she hoped would mean she would not see Philip until the following day, after she’d had a chance to bathe, rest, and fortify herself.
Kirkwood personally came to welcome her and Drake, and she hated to imagine what he must have thought of her state of exhaustion, because he quickly organized for Drake to be taken to his room and sent her immediately to her own.
Elaine, too, must have been fagged to death, but she still rang for a bath. Once it was organized, Rose shooed her off to her bed.
