Oliver Tolliver was of middling height, had a pouch around his middle and had a hairline that was receding rapidly. He was also one of the kindest men Portia had ever met. She understood how he could capture Minnie’s affections. Portia believed them made for each other.
It would also be hard to find a man as handsome as Minnie was beautiful. Portia thought this without jealousy.
Of course, life could be difficult being constantly compared to such a beauty—especially by one’s mother. Portia’s hair was brownish with untamable curls she could only manage by pulling them back to the nape of her neck. Not even braiding brought them under control. Her nose was straight, her eyes were blue—but there wasn’t anything remarkable about her features. She was also far less buxom than her sister.
And she wore spectacles.
In spite of their contrasts, she was proud of her sister and loved her dearly. “Minnie sees the measure of the man beyond his looks,” Portia said. “And I think better of her for it.”
“And I think she has an obligation to her family to marry well,” her mother muttered before taking another drink of tea. “She’s our one chance, Portia. Without a good marriage from her, we are sunk. How thoughtless of your father to leave us without anything.”
“We’ll manage fine, Mother. Let Minnie marry the man she loves.” And hopefully he would call again soon. It had been almost two weeks without a word from him. Portia continued to assure Minnie that her gentleman had not forgotten her.
Lady Maclean gave a snort. “That will not happen.” She set her cup down on its saucer and smiled. “You see, I had a private conversation with Mr. Tolliver when last he called.”
All of Portia’s senses went on alert. Her mother could be very resourceful when she wished. “She loves him, Mother,” Portia restated. “In fact, she is quite concerned that he has not called lately. I tell her that he has probably been very busy. His profession is not one with regular hours.”
The self-satisfied smile spread across Lady Maclean’s face, and Portia’s suspicions grew. “You warned him off,” she accused her mother.
“He’s not worthy of her.”
“How did you do it?” Portia demanded, spreading her arms wide. “You are either here in this room or in our company at all times.”
“You girls are not as attentive to me as you wish to believe. I had a moment alone with him the last time he called. It did not take long for me to say what I wished to express to him.”
Portia let her arms fall to her side in exasperation. “How could you do that to Minnie? She loves him.”
“Love is not for those of our class, my daughter. We each have obligations. We marry for the benefit of family. God gave Minerva beauty for her family’s benefit. She needs to marry rich. After all, I want my sugar.”
The last statement startled Portia. “Your sugar?”
“I like sugar in my tea,” Lady Maclean announced as if stating the obvious. “We have not been able to afford it since we moved to Scotland, and I find that unacceptable.”
“So Minnie must be unhappily married so you can have sugar? This is beyond selfish, Mother.”
“This is being practical.”
“But she loves him,” Portia all but shouted. “And he loves her.”
“Obviously not as much as you assume. It only took a word from me to set him off her. Trust me, Portia, it pains me to cause any of my daughters the slightest bit of unhappiness, but we must be sensible.”
Portia looked at her mother, who was dressed in lace and lounging on a bed that had seen finer days. They lived in a house that was cold and drafty, and so she dared to ask something they had never discussed before, “Didn’t you marry for love, Mother?”
Lady Maclean’s gaze shifted away from her. She reached down and picked at the shawl around her shoulders, rearranging it before raising guileless eyes and admitting in a quiet voice, “And so I know of which I speak.”
Crossing her arms, Portia looked away. “When were you going to tell Minnie what you’d done?”
“I see no reason to do so. If he doesn’t call, she will forget him, especially when we go to the Christmas Assembly and all the men flock to her.”
“But how will she dance with a broken heart, Mother? Minnie isn’t shallow. She cared deeply for him.”
“She will learn to care for another” was the tart reply.
There was no answer to that.
Suddenly, Portia couldn’t stay in her mother’s presence one more second. She picked up the overflowing laundry basket and left the room.
“Please shut the door,” her mother called. “I hate the draft in the hall.”
Portia was happy to comply, slamming the door behind her.
However, alone on the other side, she all but collapsed against it.
Her mother exhausted her.
“And poor Minnie,” Portia whispered to herself. She must tell her what their mother had done.
At that moment, a door opened and Owl came down the hall, her tail high in the air as she trotted up to Portia. So far she had managed to keep the cat’s presence from their mother. Of course, Owl was a very independent creature. She could disappear for days at a time and then present herself whenever and wherever she wished.
Portia knelt to gather her pet up in her arms, asking, “What am I to say, Owl? How will I tell Minnie that Mr. Tolliver has deserted her? And all because of what Mother said. She’ll be heartbroken. Then again, what sort of true love is he to abruptly drop her just on Mother’s say-so? He probably understood our circumstances and ran. After all, how can he support all of us?” She hugged the cat close, feeling her heart beat. “I don’t know what we shall do, Owl. Things are not good—”
“Are you talking to your cat again?” Minnie asked, her voice light with teasing as she came up the stairs. At the top step, she paused and tilted her head, her smile turning to concern. “Portia, are you feeling all right? Your face is very pale.”
Owl struggled for release and Portia set her down before turning to her sister. “Minnie,” she started, ready to confess what their mother had said to Mr. Tolliver, when Owl gave a loud, forceful meow as if in warning and bumped into her leg.
Portia looked down at her pet in surprise. The cat’s expressive eyes seemed to urge her to silence. It was the most unusual impression.
“What is the matter?” Minnie asked.
“Nothing,” Portia answered. She pulled her gaze away from Owl.
“Dear, I worry about you,” Minnie said with great concern.
“You needn’t,” Portia answered. “I’m fine, or I will be.”
“Perhaps not. We have a visitor. Mr. Buchanan is here and he is being very formal.” Minnie lowered her voice as if not wanting it to carry where their mother could hear. “Are we behind in the rent?”
Mr. Buchanan was the Duke of Moncrieffe’s man and managed all of his properties, including Camber Hall. It was a bad sign when a man was formal around Minnie. Usually they doted on her. Portia handed the laundry basket to her sister and untied the apron at her waist. “This will not be pleasant,” she muttered.
Minnie understood that the answer was yes. “How far behind are we?”
“A month, so far. Uncle Ned will send money soon. I know he will,” Portia repeated, more to reassure herself than anyone else. Their mother’s brother Edward was their sole source of income and he was more than a bit unreliable in keeping his promises. It was he who had suggested the move to Scotland. She thought he believed that her father’s relatives would be willing to help. However, although many had known Black Jack, few admitted they were related to him.
Portia forced a smile on her face and went downstairs.
Mr. Buchanan waited in the sitting room. He stood by the cold hearth, his hat in his hand. He still wore his heavy coat, and his boots were caked with mud. She’d have to sweep the w
ood floors once he left.
He was a head shorter than Portia and had a balding pate. He tried to hide his baldness by combing his hair from one side of his head to another. Portia thought it silly but tried not to give away her thoughts in front of the man.
“Mr. Buchanan, what a pleasure that you have come to call,” she said, entering the room. “Please, have a chair.” She indicated the two chairs and settee that were the room’s main pieces of furniture. There were also several side tables.
“This is not a pleasure call,” Mr. Buchanan answered in his thick burr. He took a step toward Portia. “I am so sorry, Miss Maclean, but I must have the rent. Your family is in arrears.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Buchanan, that we have fallen behind. Certainly you can understand how precarious a position we are in. You know my father was a war hero—”
“ ’Tis why the duke offered you this establishment, Miss Portia. He knows your difficulties, but he means to be paid his rent. I need something, coin, household goods, something. I don’t want to throw you out.”
“Perhaps I should speak to the duke himself,” Portia suggested, putting the right note of hauteur in her voice. Her mother wasn’t the only one who could put on airs. Granted, Portia’s workday dress might be frayed at the hem and her hands rough from housework, but her pride was intact.
“I wish you would,” Mr. Buchanan said. “Frankly, I don’t believe he would receive you.” He shifted a glance toward the hall where Minnie hovered anxiously. “If I may speak plainly?”
“I pray you do.”
He sidled over to Portia, lowering his voice. “I don’t believe Lady Emma is happy you are here. Your sister is too attractive.”
Portia frowned. “Lady Emma has no grudge against us,” she said, knowing that was not true. “And Lady Emma is attractive as well.”
“But not as lovely as Miss Minerva. It is embarrassing how headstrong and jealous my employer’s daughter is. She is also his one weakness. He cannot deny her anything. There has been talk since you all arrived in the kirk that Miss Minerva outshines Lady Emma.”
Portia was aware of this. “But my sister is no threat to her. Her affection is fixed on Mr. Tolliver.”
“That’s not the word being bandied about in the valley. They say your sister rejected Mr. Tolliver. There are many hard feelings toward your family. Mr. Tolliver is very well respected, and, pardon my saying this, Miss Portia, you are English. We expect the English to be fickle.”
“Minnie is not fickle,” Portia shot back at him in an angry whisper. This is what her mother’s meddling had wrought. “ ‘They’ are wrong in what they say. My sister is steadfast in her character and her affections and you can tell them that. As for your rent, tell the duke he shall be paid.”
“When?”
Portia hated that word, especially from landlords.
“May I have two weeks? We are expecting funds from family members. I don’t know what has delayed the mail,” she lied, suspecting Uncle Ned had not sent a shilling. “It will arrive any day.”
“Portia, is everything all right?” Minnie asked from the doorway.
Portia looked at her lovely sister, whose brow was furrowed in concern. “All is well, dear.” She turned back to Mr. Buchanan and gave him a ferocious frown. “Two weeks?” she demanded.
“One,” Mr. Buchanan answered. “I value my position and can’t have too many questions asked. Contact your relatives. Sell something. Do what you must. The duke will hold off Lady Emma’s demands if you are right with him.”
“I shall be.”
“I did not mean to be a burden to you, Miss Portia.”
“I understand.” She found it difficult to unbend toward him. He was speaking out of kindness and with the truth. It didn’t make his message any more palatable.
“I shall say good day to you then.” Mr. Buchanan left the room.
Minnie saw him out and then returned to the sitting room. “We need money, don’t we?”
“Oh yes. It seems the duke’s daughter is jealous of your beauty.”
“My beauty?” Minnie scoffed. “What nonsense. I’ve seen Lady Emma. She’s lovely.”
“But you are lovelier, dear, because you are beautiful inside as well. Lady Emma would like you banished from anyplace near her.”
“You are jesting.”
“I’m not.”
Minnie’s face had gone pale. “I can’t leave. I can’t leave Ollie.”
“I believe there is something else I must tell you,” Portia said. Owl was wrong. Minnie needed to know. She drew her sister over to the settee. As gently as Portia could, she explained what their mother had done.
Predictably, Minnie did not take Mr. Tolliver’s defection lightly. She burst into tears and then tore up the stairs to confront their mother. In the sitting room, Portia could hear the angry argument. Moments later, her sister still noisily crying, she slammed the door on the way out of their mother’s room and then slammed her own bedroom door.
Lady Maclean came downstairs. She was still wearing her lace dressing gown. She stopped in the doorway when she saw Portia, and smiled, pleased with herself, before turning and climbing the stairs for the haven of her room.
Owl jumped up on the settee beside Portia.
Portia ran her hand over the animal’s silky fur. “You warned me not to tell her,” she confessed to the animal. “But she had a right to know. She was waiting for him, Owl. She loves him.” She paused and asked, “Why isn’t life easier, Owl? Why must Minnie and I always be the ones who wait. I just wish something would happen. I’m so weary with all this worry about money and Mother and Minnie’s happiness. I can’t continue like this. I don’t want to.”
The sting of tears in her eyes surprised her. She angrily brushed them away, frowned at her cat, and confessed, “I just wish life held something more. I can’t believe this is all there is, one day just like another . . .”
Owl nudged her hand with her pink nose as if in commiseration.
“I know, I shouldn’t wallow in pity. It’s just sometimes, Owl, I wish my life wasn’t the way it is. Maybe sometimes, I wish there was a man by my side who could deal with Mother and Mr. Buchanan and Uncle Ned. A man with heart and courage and kindness, but not too gentle. Not like Mr. Tolliver. He is sometimes fastidious. But I’d want a man of a more robust measure. Someone exciting.” She shook her head at her silliness. “I’m being foolish, but yes, there are times I long for someone. Times I’m lonely.” She pushed the bridge of her spectacles. “I’m old. I’m what I am. This is my life.”
She looked around the bleak room with its worn furniture and bare floor. “It is not so bad.” She stroked the cat’s back. “It’s good actually. All is good,” she repeated to convince herself.
Owl arched her back, wanting to enjoy every inch of Portia’s pat.
“I should be like you and savor each moment as it is, shouldn’t I? The best thing to do right now is carry on . . . and write my uncle.” Portia put all her frustration about the situation in that last word. He was far from a loving relative.
She rose and walked over to the writing table. She hated begging. Hated it. But what else could be done?
Her letter to her uncle was not a newsy, pleasant one. She’d written those before to no avail. This time, she was direct. She let him know the family was in desperate straits and reminded him of the sum of fifty pounds a year he’d promised them when last they had a serious discussion. It should be enough for them to live in Scotland. Otherwise, we may need to return to London and become a burden to your household, she penned thinking that might be threat enough for her bachelor uncle.
Portia took a coin to frank the letter, put on her cloak, and went out the door to walk to the Glenfinnan House to post the letter. The clouds in the sky had grown heavier. There would be rain, but after so many months in Scotland, Portia never let the weather stop
her from doing anything. Owl followed her to the end of the drive before disappearing into the woods.
There wasn’t much to Glenfinnan other than the Glenfinnan House, the home of Laird Macdonald. However, the Scots in the River Finnan Valley around Loch Shiel considered it a village, and so Portia had come to think such as well. The community itself was spread over the countryside. The Christmas Assembly would be held in Borrodale’s barn. Portia had never seen the building but had been informed it was a fine structure and unlike any barn she could imagine.
Portia had also discovered, after so many years of living in town, that she liked country life. Yes, Scotland was damp and cold, but the air was clean and there was freedom here as well. She’d not be able to walk the road unescorted in London, even considering her age. She also liked that the Scots didn’t stand on ceremony. Clan alliances were more important than titles, and so the children of Jack Maclean had been, albeit somewhat tepidly, welcomed even though they spoke with English voices.
Exercise and fresh air heartened her spirits.
A plan of action began to form in her mind. She would find a way to contact Mr. Tolliver and convince him of Minnie’s love. And Uncle Ned would honor his pledge and send money. She just had to think positively—
The sound of a galloping horse interrupted her thoughts mere seconds before the animal came charging around the bend. A huge, dark beast with hooves the size of mallets, and it was right upon her.
Portia barely had time to blink, let alone move. Indeed, her feet had suddenly grown roots to the ground.
The rider was a man in a greatcoat, the brim of his hat pulled low over his face as protection against the wind. He rode as if driven by some unseen power. Both he and the horse noticed her at the last possible moment, and there didn’t seem time to save her from being run over.
Chapter Two
Portia threw her hands up in the air to protect herself . . . but the accident did not happen. Hard hooves did not strike her.
The rider pulled back with all his might, heaving the giant horse away from her. The steed reared and twisted midair. The flailing of hooves was so close to Portia’s head she could feel their movement in the air and smell the sweat of the beast.
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