“You and Mama corresponded?”
“Nunn’s countess facilitated our correspondence and then bequeathed the responsibility to Nunn when she grew ill. Your mother and I saw each other once a year in the spa towns—I lived for those three weeks, my dear, and I suspect she did too. After your mother’s death, I permitted myself an annual sojourn to London. I, too, lurked behind an occasional hedge, Hecate. Thank the merciful powers you enjoy a gallop of a morning. I hope you won’t judge me for spying.”
On the whole, interminable journey from Bristol, Edward’s sole concern had been that his intrusion into Hecate’s life would make her situation worse. Phillip had assured him it would not, but only she could say if knowing her father would make her situation better.
“Shall I leave you two some privacy?” Phillip asked. “I’m told I need to make the close acquaintance of a large washbasin, the sooner the better.”
“Stay,” Hecate said. “Please.”
Edward considered his brandy. “I have no secrets from you, my lord. I’ve carried too many secrets for too long and would rather have done with such measures.”
He was making a request and trying to maintain his dignity while doing it. Phillip sympathized, but the plea was Hecate’s to answer.
“I cannot acknowledge you as my father,” she said, “not openly, but you are a dear friend of Uncle Nunn’s, and you share with me an enthusiasm for investing. My favorite charity is a sailors’ home, in which you are sure to take an interest.”
Edward nodded once. “I’ve seen it. Lovely establishment. Your residents cannot stop singing your praises.”
Another hedge Edward had apparently lurked behind.
“Mama mentioned that you take good care of your pensioners,” Hecate went on, “and that a life at sea can leave a man distant from his family and with few friends ashore. She said you owned merchantmen.”
Ross nodded. “A few.”
He likely owned a fleet, and Isaac Brompton doubtless resented him for that more than for poaching on marital preserves Isaac had abandoned.
“If we were to take on a joint project,” Hecate said slowly, “a sailors’ home in Bristol, nobody would remark our continued acquaintance.”
Phillip wanted to kiss her, for her kindness toward a father who’d kept his distance for too long, for her genius, for her courage.
But then, he always wanted to kiss her.
Edward stared at her. “A sailors’ home?”
“Britain loves her seamen,” Hecate said. “We respect our soldiers, but our sailors… Wellington will always be venerated, but we love Nelson. We still pray for his soul. We name our children after him. I would be honored to advise you on the establishment of sailors’ homes in Bristol, Portsmouth, Liverpool…”
“And Berkshire,” Phillip added. “You will always be welcome at Lark’s Nest, sir. I know nothing of sailors’ homes or international trade, but I well know who is family and who is not.”
Hecate squeezed his hand. Edward produced a handkerchief and found it necessary to admire the view from the balcony.
“Put him up in the summer cottage with me and DeWitt,” Phillip said. “You were already sorting through possibilities, weren’t you?”
“He is so… not what I expected. I expected a merchant prince, charming, willing to show me some sentimental fondness provided I did not ask for anything more than a passing smile from him, but he’s…”
“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.”