Which was where they were going now. The foundling hospital had become a cause for Lily. But going there had also recently nearly managed to see her robbed.
“So you say,” he allowed.
“Yes,” Lily agreed cheerfully. “Just as you say you are not in love with your countess.”
The blasted conniving little…
“She ain’t my countess,” he reminded his sister, glowering again.
Lily simply smiled and carried on petting her cat. Sir Bellingham! What a mutton-headed name for a goddamn feline. And the incessant, pleased purring the creature was continuing to emit, it was maddening. Why was the cat so bloody happy?
“Of course she is not,” Lily said lightly.
“She ain’t,” he repeated, more firmly this time.
“But if she is Archer Tierney’s sister, and if you are in love with her, and Archer Tierney has managed to involve our brother in something insidious and dangerous, then being in love with his sister is going to put you to your trumps, ain’t it?” Lily asked shrewdly.
Christ.
“Forget everything I told you,” Wolf grumbled, wondering why the devil he had confided in his vexing younger sister anyway.
“Perhaps I will, if you forget about what you saw in my room,” Lily countered.
Though she was the youngest, she was certainly the most cutthroat of all the Sutton siblings.
“I’ll not be bribed, Lil.”
His sister simply shrugged, looking rather smug.
He glared at her. “I’m not in love with the Countess of Blakewell. Lydia’s betrayal has cured me of the notion of loving anyone.”
“Lydia was a foolish girl who likely regrets choosing to become Mr. Anthony Drummond’s mistress over being your wife every day,” his sister said.
Once, the mere mentioning of Drummond would have been enough to have his resentment soaring. But time had intervened, cooling his ire. The promises Lydia had made to Wolf and the love she had sworn she felt for him had died a swift death when she had been offered carte blanche by a wealthier cove. Drummond’s offer for Lydia to be his mistress had been far more lucrative to Lydia than wedding a mere partial owner of what had then been a struggling gaming hell. In the years since he had been a green, eighteen-year-old lad who’d thought himself in love with Lydia, The Sinner’s Palace had grown far more successful.
He had begged Lydia to choose him that day. And she had told him she had made her decision.
I can’t choose you, she’d said. Drummond has promised me so much more than your love can buy.
Wolf had thrown himself into the only constants in his life ever since: his family and their gaming hell.
“I don’t suppose I’ll ever know whether or not she had any regrets,” he mused, startled to realize he felt nothing when he thought about it now.
Whether or not Lydia wished she had accepted his proposal instead of becoming Drummond’s doxy, it had ceased to matter some time ago.
“Do you still wish she had married you?” Lily asked, astute as ever.
“No.” The admission left him feeling lighter. Freer.
“What happened with Lydia was a long time ago. You were a different man then.” Lily scratched the feline’s head. “You are not the same, and neither is your heart.”
She was not wrong, this vexing sister of his.
He frowned some more, wondering when Lily had grown so blasted wise. “I suppose it ain’t.”
Lily beamed. “You see? You are in love with Lady Blakewell. You only required a bit of aid in seeing it.”
Absently, he flattened his palm over his chest, rubbing the space above his heart as he considered his sister’s words. “How can you love someone you’ve only just met?”
It made no sense.
He did not want to believe it.
And yet…
He felt closer to Portia than he had ever felt to another. He could not deny that. The connection they shared was rare and unique, difficult to understand, but running beneath the surface of their every interaction just the same.
“Your heart recognizes itself,” Lily said softly, sadly. “Regardless of what your rational mind wants, sometimes.”
His brows snapped together as he considered his sister. “What do you know about hearts and love?”
“Precious little.” The smile she sent him was melancholy. “I do read books.”
He was not certain he believed her response. The carriage came to a halt, however, meaning they had reached their destination. As if protesting the abrupt sway of the conveyance, the cat delivered a loud mew.
“You never did say why you’re bringing the bloody cat to the foundling hospital,” he pointed out, curious.
His sister always had a reason for doing what she did, even if it was a mad one. Lily was…well, Lily. That was the best way to describe her, and for those who knew her, it summed everything up quite tidily. Her name was its own adjective.
“The children need more happiness,” she said, shrugging a shoulder as she cradled Sir Bellingham to her bodice. “I tried to secure some toys for them, but I was unsuccessful.”
“More happiness,” he repeated, seeing the wisdom in his sister’s words. “Ain’t that what we all need?”
“If your happiness is to be found with the Countess of Blakewell, then you ought to pursue it,” Lily said as she gave the cat another scratch behind his ears. “Pursue it, and her.”
If only it were as simple as she made it sound.
But it wasn’t. Everything with Portia was complicated. Challenging.