He held her gaze, confirmed the words were the invitation he’d thought, then smiled—wolfishly. “My pleasure.”
He rolled, taking her with him, trapped her beneath him, and obliged.
Her next coherent thought did not surface until well past dawn.
She might not have been thinking, but he certainly had been. He’d been plotting, planning, but just what she didn’t know.
By the time she reached the breakfast table, he’d convinced Lady O that it was imperative he drive her, Portia, somewhere. She arrived too late to hear where.
“You’ll know when we get there,” was all he would say. Jaw setting in a way she knew well, he gave his attention to a plateful of ham.
She turned to Lady O.
Who waved aside her question before she could ask it.
“Take my word for it—best you let him drive you up to town. You won’t like rocking along slowly with me in the coach—not if you’ve a better option.” She grinned; the old evil light was back in her eyes. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Which left Portia little option but to go along for the ride.
Helping herself to tea and toast, she looked around the table. The transformation was marked; a lighter atmosphere had taken hold once again. There were still lingering shadows in most people’s eyes, but the relief was immense, and showed in their smiles.
Lady Calvin, of course, had not come down, but neither had the other older ladies, except for Lady O and Lady Hammond.
“She’s taking it hard, poor thing,” Lady Hammond confided. “It was always her dream to see Ambrose in Parliament, and now . . . to have to face this, and with all it’s revealed of Drusilla as well, she’s quite overset. Catherine’s asked her to stay on for a day or so, at least until she’s well enough to travel.”
Drusilla, unsurprisingly, had not joined the company.
Later, everyone gathered in the front hall for farewells. The coaches were at the door; the Hammonds left first, then the Bucksteads.
Portia noted that, despite his earlier stance, James stood a little apart with Lucy, then walked her to the carriage and handed her up. A plan to invite Lucy to another house party sometime, and James as well, sprang into her wind, fully formed.
To which house was the only point in question.
Then Lady O completed her good-byes and, on Lord Netherfield’s arm, led the way onto the front steps. She and Simon followed in time to hear Lady O tell his lordship, “Quite a lively break, but next time, Granny, leave out the murders. They’re a bit much for my aging constitution to take.”
Lord Netherfield snorted. “Yours and mine both, m’dear. But at least these youngsters acquitted themselves well.” He bent a beaming smile on Simon and Portia, and Charlie and James who’d followed them out. “Seems there’s hope yet for the younger generation.”
Lady O’s snort was infinitely dismissive. “Bite your tongue—don’t want to swell their heads.”
Struggling to hide his smile, Charlie bravely came forward and offered to assist Lady O into the carriage. She accepted with aplomb; once settled, she looked out at Simon and Portia. “I’ll see you two in London.” She met their eyes. “Don’t disappoint me.”
It sounded like a warning to behave; they both read it for what it was—an exhortation of quite a different character.
Lord Netherfield smiled and waved; they did, too, waiting only until the carriage lumbered off before walking to Simon’s curricle, waiting, horses prancing, across the forecourt.
James and Charlie followed them. While Simon ran a careful eye over his bays, James took her hands. “I won’t embarrass you by thanking you again, but I hope we’ll meet in London later in the year.” He hesitated, then glanced at Simon. “You know, Kitty had driven all thoughts of marriage firmly out of my head. Now . . .” He raised one brow, teasing yet quizzical, “Perhaps there really is hope, and I should revisit the notion.”
Portia smiled. “Indeed, I think you should.” She stretched up and kissed his lean cheek. Then turned to Charlie, raised her brows.
Smiling, too, he met her gaze—then blinked. Glanced at James. “Oh, no—not me. Devotedly fancy-free, that’s me—far too shallow for any discerning lady.”
“Nonsense.” She kissed his cheek, too. “One of these days some highly discerning lady is going to see straight through your facade. And what then?”
“I’ll emigrate.”
They all laughed.
James helped her into the curricle. “And what of you?” he asked Simon as he came up.