She laughed softly as they reached the cloak room. “I hadn’t considered that, but I shall be grateful to my past self.”

After they retrieved her pelisse, he helped her don it. She buttoned the front over her bodice, covering the flesh above it up to her neck.

Gregory offered his arm once more. “You don’t regret not taking him? I thought I might still persuade you. He’s awfully sweet.”

“I’m certain he is. However, I have not changed my mind about caring for a pet. I also had an agenda for seeing you this evening,” she said, sparking his curiosity. And making his heart beat a trifle faster.

“I can hardly wait to hear it,” he murmured, quickening their pace so they would get outside faster.

Suddenly, his brother blocked their path. “Care to introduce us?” Clifford asked, his gaze landing on Mrs. Renshaw, and his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly.

Gregory recognized his brother’s reaction. He’d never disguised his interest in attractive women. Indeed, his passion for them had frustrated their father no end. Clifford was married now only because he’d promised his father on his deathbed that he’d do so before the end of the year. That he’d kept that promise had impressed Gregory—and surprised him more than a little.

“Allow me to present Mrs. Renshaw. She’s a guest at Threadbury Hall. Mrs. Renshaw, this is my brother, the Marquess of Witney and his wife, Lady Witney.”

Susan hadn’t stepped in front of them as Clifford had. She surveyed them from beneath hooded lids, her lips pursing slightly as she looked at Mrs. Renshaw.

The widow offered a curtsey to Clifford. “Good evening. I’m pleased to meet you, Lord and Lady Witney.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Clifford said, smiling broadly. “How do you know my brother?” He gave Gregory a look that seemed to ask why he hadn’t been made aware of her.

“We know each other from the Phoenix Club in London,” Mrs. Renshaw responded.

How Gregory hadn’t put that together was astonishing. But then he’d only visited a few times. He’d been there the night his father had suffered his fit.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard of that. Vaguely.” Clifford waved his hand as if the club were inconsequential. Of course, he would think so—he hadn’t been invited to join.

“I’m a patroness there,” Mrs. Renshaw said with a touch of ice. “I’m not surprised you aren’t familiar with it, since you are not a member.” Now she flashed a smile, but it was as cool as her tone.

“I wonder why that is?” Lady Witney asked. “He’s a marquess after all.”

Mrs. Renshaw lifted a shoulder, then looked to Gregory. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes. Pardon us, Clifford.” Gregory guided her around his brother, who finally stepped aside.