Portia shook her head. “It is fine, Minnie. I kept it secret. Having clandestine meetings with one of the most notorious rakes in all England is not something one shares with her mother and sister.” She didn’t wait for Minnie’s response but ran inside the house and up the stairs.
She shut herself in her bedroom. The bed, the draperies, the two chairs by the window near her desk looked the same but now everything was different. She placed her hand on her belly. Yes, very different. She should never have left this room. Being publicly humiliated was what she’d deserved . . . but what of the future? What of the child she was certain they had created?
Need for Harry stabbed through her. They had been apart from each other not even an hour and already she missed him. Was this what the rest of her life would be like? She couldn’t imagine ever forgetting him. He was a part of her.
She’d turned down his offer of marriage.
The realization robbed her of breath . . . and then she remembered the happy way in which he’d told her that they would never love each other.
There might have been a time when Portia would have claimed she could love him enough for both of them . . . but then she thought of her father, of her mother, whose disappointment in her marriage was so very clear.
No, Portia was better off alone.
Sitting on the bed, Portia was overwhelmed with fear. She looked around the room, wishing Owl was there. The cat was nowhere to be seen. She was alone. Completely alone.
Portia lay down and surprised herself by falling asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
A light knock on the door woke Portia. She sat up and looked around the room. She’d not closed the curtains, and the weak morning light filled the room. She must have slept all day and all night. She felt good—until she remembered all that had happened the day before.
The knock sounded again.
“Come in,” Portia said, expecting her visitor to be Minnie. She reached for her spectacles on the bedside table and was surprised when the door opened and her mother entered the room.
Lady Maclean was dressed for the day, something she’d only recently started. Always before, she’d lie abed until the evening hours, and by then, why change? She’d have Portia bring up a tray and that would be that. However, lately, her mother had been joining them for dinner as well.
“How are you feeling?” her mother asked, closing the door behind her, a sign that they were going to “talk.”
Portia was not ready to talk. “I’ve been better.” She put her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The world seemed to spin a moment. She crossed over to the washbasin and poured cold water into the bowl. She splashed it on her face.
Her mother was watching her with great concern in her eyes.
This was not what Portia wanted or needed. She faced her mother. “I know you believe it would be wiser if I accept Colonel Chattan’s offer of marriage. I will not.”
“I realize that,” Lady Maclean said. She walked over to one of the two chairs by the window and took a seat. “Come sit.”
“Why?”
Her mother smiled. It appeared genuine. “I’ve already told you—we must talk.”
Portia considered her mother a moment. She’d changed. Certainly, she was calmer than Portia would have imagined under the circumstances. Her guard still up, Portia crossed to the empty chair beside her mother’s. She sat.
“General Montheath has asked for my hand in marriage and I said yes,” her mother said.
For a second, Portia wasn’t certain she’d heard her correctly. She waited, expecting some excuse or complaint to follow. She had assumed this conversation would be about her. It wasn’t.
“Aren’t you going to wish us happy?” her mother asked.
“Oh, yes,” Portia said, still thrown off balance by this conversation. “I am happy for you.”
“I shall expect both of my daughters to stand as witnesses for us.”
“I will be honored,” Portia murmured, and then realized she had a new concern. What would become of her? “When did he ask?”
“Yesterday evening. You seemed to need your sleep or else I would have woken you.”
Portia pressed her lips together, feeling the worst daughter. Then again, since when had her mother become so independent? “You were set against him,” she said. “What happened?”
“Actually, it was something you said. I realized I’d mourned your father long enough. Indeed, I mourned for him when he was alive. I wanted him to be the sort of man I thought he should be. You accused me of not seeing Black Jack Maclean clearly. You were right.”
Leaning back in her chair, Portia saw her mother with new eyes, and was a bit embarrassed by her own callousness that evening after the dance. “I was a bit harsh.”
“Sometimes harshness is what one needs to make a change.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Do you not think it wise to consider marriage to Colonel Chattan?” her mother suggested.
Portia hardened her jaw. This was the conversation she’d expected.
Before she could answer, her mother said, “I understand you are upset with him, although I don’t comprehend why. If I think back on your activities over the past two weeks, you have been seeing him, have you not? Alastair suspects the two of you have been together.”
“Alastair?”
“General Montheath. Monty.” Her mother blushed with fondness as she said the names.
And Portia had a sense that she herself had been absent while the rest of the world had changed.
“Being Colonel Chattan’s wife would not be such a bad thing,” Lady Maclean continued. “He’s wealthy, well connected, very easy on the eyes—”
“And cursed.”
“What?” Her mother frowned as if she hadn’t heard correctly.
“He’s cursed, Mother.” Portia crossed her arms. “You haven’t heard of the Chattan Curse? All the locals know it. When a Chattan male falls in love, then he will die.”
“I doubt if such a thing is true. You know how these country folk are—full of superstitions.”
“It’s true, Mother.”
Lady Maclean lifted a brow at the conviction in Portia’s voice and then reconsidered. “Is he in love with you?”
The question lingered in the air a moment.
I won’t have to worry about falling in love. That was what he’d said yesterday.
Portia wished she could go back to bed, pull the covers over her head, and forget those words.
“No, he isn’t,” she said to her mother.
“Interesting. He’s called on you several times since yesterday. He’s been most anxious to see you.”
“He has?” Portia said, her traitorous heart almost singing with the possibility that Harry cared.
Or was he calling because of guilt?
For all his faults, he was an honorable man. He certainly felt duty bound to marry her, but Portia didn’t want to be a duty. Her love for him was such that she’d rather live without him than be a mere obligation.
Or be the cause of his death.
“Does that not move you?” her mother asked.
Portia shook her head as she studied the grain of the wood on the floor.
“People here have long memories. They will not forget,” her mother warned.
She was saying that Portia was ruined. Forevermore when they talked of her, they would bring up the story of her foolish affair with a man most definitely above her touch.
Her mother sighed. “Well, so be it. Alastair has assured me you will always have a place under his roof.”
Now she had Portia’s attention. “You are moving?”
“I must if I marry him.”
“Why can’t we all live here?” Camber Hall was home to her.
“I don’t like this dr
afty place overmuch,” Lady Maclean said. “The house Alastair is living in is better suited to servants and the stable is larger.”
“You never cared about the stable before,” Portia said.
“Oh yes, I did. I want a coach and team. Alastair has promised to give them to me as a wedding present.”
And her mother would be the grand lady she’d always wished to be. “Are you just marrying him for security?” Portia asked.
“A bit.” Her mother smiled at her. “It will be nice. But I’ve grown fond of Alastair. He’s not handsome. And certainly he is not as dashing as your father was. However, I find his looks are growing on me. Furthermore, it is nice to be adored.”
Yes, it would be. “I’m so happy for you, Mother.” Portia meant those words. “You are going to be at peace with all of his dogs?”
“Alastair and I will reach a compromise. I told him no dogs in the dining room and the bedroom and he thought that acceptable. To be honest, that beast Jasper is rather sweet. The wedding will be in February. I thought it best we settle Minerva and Oliver first.”
“That’s wise.” And Portia would be alone.
Portia shook her head to clear it. She was sinking into self-pity, a trait she did not admire. She must be practical. Soon, she would be thinking for a child as well.
“I don’t know how Owl will like living with all those dogs.”
Her mother’s brows came together. “Owl?”
“She’s a cat I found, Mother,” Portia confessed. “I’ve been hiding her from you.”
Lady Maclean started to speak and then stopped as if she thought better of it before plowing ahead. “Portia, Minnie told me about your ‘cat’ many weeks ago. Please, you must no longer talk about Owl.”
“Is she all right?”
Her mother looked away.
“Tell me,” Portia ordered.
Lady Maclean swung around to face Portia, taking her hand. “You truly believe there is a cat, don’t you?”
“I know there is a cat.”
Her expression concerned, her mother slowly shook her head no. She went to the door and called for Minnie.
After a few minutes, Minnie came to the room. Her face broke out into a smile when she saw Portia sitting by the window. “Are you feeling better? We were all so worried. Ollie debated whether or not he should examine you. He believed we should wait and see how you felt when you woke. You are all right, aren’t you, Portia?”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “But Mother insists I am imagining my cat Owl.”
The smile died on Minnie’s face. She looked to their mother, who nodded as if urging her to admit what she knew. “You are,” she told Portia. “There is no cat.”
Portia came to her feet. “There is a cat. Her name is Owl. You were in the sitting room the day I found her in the attic.”
Minnie had clasped her hands in front of her. She appeared ready to cry.
“We set out a bowl of cream for her every night,” Portia said. “You do it for me when I am busy.”
“I do it to help you,” Minnie said.
“Because we have a cat,” Portia was close to shouting.
Minnie shook her head. “No, dear, we don’t. You imagine the cat.”
If she had said the sky was as green as grass, Portia could not be more surprised. “Minnie, are you daft? Of course we have a cat. Why, the cream is gone from the bowl every evening.”
“Because I pour it out,” Minnie answered. ”I understand why you would imagine a pet that you could confide in. I’ve explained to Ollie that you’ve carried the weight of this family on your shoulders. It has been challenging.”
Portia took a step away from her mother and her sister. Were they trying to tell her that Owl didn’t exist? How could that be true when she’d held that cat and petted her? She’d felt Owl’s weight, slight as she was, in her arms.
Their mother spoke. “We would have been fine letting you pretend. However, our family’s circumstances are about to change. I haven’t said a word about your pet to Alastair.”
“Ollie understands your need for an imaginary pet,” Minnie chimed in. “He’s had patients who have imagined all sorts of things in order to manage their lives. Such as Crazy Lizzy and those dolls she calls babies.”
“However,” Lady Maclean continued, “if you are going to live under my roof, you can’t keep carrying on about the cat. You must give the cat up.”
For a moment, Portia doubted her own sanity. And then she thought of Harry. “Colonel Chattan has seen the cat. He knows Owl exists.”
“Alastair told me that the colonel claimed to have seen a cat, but there are so many about,” her mother said, “who is to say if it is your cat or not? And, Portia, if you wish to secretly pretend you still have the cat, then that is fine. Just please be prudent. Not everyone will understand you the way your sister and I do.”
“I even put the cream out last night,” Minnie said proudly.
Portia had witnessed Owl drinking the cream . . . or had she?
“No cat?” she said, looking to these two people who loved her more than anyone else in the world.
They both shook their heads.
“May I have a moment alone?” Portia said. “I need to polish my teeth—” She was going to cry, and here she had not thought she had tears left.
“Of course,” her mother said, heading toward the door as if relieved an unpleasant interview was over.
Minnie was right behind her. “Glennis has fresh buns for breakfast. Shall I bring up a tray? Or will you come downstairs?”
“I’ll be down.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Minnie said as if to reassure herself. “In fact, Mother and I were talking about a pet for you. A real cat.”
Portia didn’t want a real cat. She wanted Owl.
When she didn’t answer, Minnie excused herself and left. Portia’s first action was to get down on her hands and knees to search for Fenella’s book and then remembered it wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for almost two weeks. Harry had it. How could she have forgotten?
She pressed her palms against her temples. She mustn’t think this way.
The book existed. Owl existed. The curse was real.
She knew of only one person besides Harry who could tell her if she was mad or not. She climbed to her feet and flew through her toilette. She dared not tell her mother and Minnie where she was going. After the disastrous escapades of the past weeks, she didn’t think it wise to tell them she was going out again.
And they would certainly believe her a lunatic if she told them why she needed to see Lizzy. The crone might be able to help her make sense of all this. Lizzy had known of Fenella. And Lizzy had predicted Portia would be the source of Harry’s death.
So Portia stole out of the house one more time.
Crazy Lizzy was sitting on her stool beside her door when Portia arrived.
“Why, Miss Maclean, what a pleasure. Did you bring some treats for me?” She spoke as if there had not been a scene days before. As if all was well.
Portia approached and went down on one knee so that they were eye level. “No, Lizzy, I didn’t. I shall remember you tomorrow.”
“Christmas Day,” Lizzy said as if pleased with herself for remembering.
Her reminder surprised Portia. Her world had been spinning like a top and she’d not stopped to realize the passage of time. Her mother and General Montheath were to have a dinner. “I’ll bring a basket of something special.”
Lizzy smiled her approval.
“Do you remember my being here?” Portia asked.
“I do. You had the Chattan with you.”
This was a good sign. Portia leaned toward the crone. “You spoke of Fenella.”
Again, Lizzy nodded.
“I’m so grateful you remember. I feared I was going mad
.”
“You made a wise decision, Miss Maclean,” Lizzy whispered. “Stay away from the Chattan.”
“And what if I can’t?” Portia asked, thinking of the child she knew she carried.
“Then Fenella will have her way. Much power she has, does Fenella.”
“Is there any way to stop her?”
“None that I know.”
Portia closed her eyes and realized that a part of her had hoped that if she had imagined Owl, then she had imagined all the rest.
“The Chattan shall die,” Lizzy said, reading her mind.
“He can’t, Lizzy. He mustn’t.” She couldn’t bear thinking of him dying. She would rather give him up.
“It’s too late,” was the whispered reply. “You were meant to be here.”
Meant to be here.
Portia came to her feet. She backed away from Lizzy as if putting more distance between them would serve to weaken her words. “Are you saying there is no way to change what is to be?”
“Is there ever?” Lizzy asked, her smile as innocent as a child’s.
Portia would not accept that prediction. She couldn’t. Just the thought of it sent the pain of despair ripping through her—and then she realized, this was some of what Rose had felt.
Rose, who had stood on her tower, knowing her love was lost to her.
Just as Harry was lost to Portia. And her son growing within her would bear this curse as well.
She had to believe there was a way out of this madness. There must be. “What part do I play, Lizzy?”
“How should I know, mum?” was the reply.
Frustrated, Portia walked back to Camber Hall, her mind working furiously. She’d been destined to play a part in this. Hadn’t Lizzy said she was to be here? But how did one escape her fate?
She kept her eye out for Owl . . . but she did not see her. The cat had disappeared.
Or perhaps she had never existed.
Portia managed to sneak into the house without her mother or Minnie being the wiser.
For the rest of the day, she stayed in her room. She read her Bible. She opened and shut one book after another in her meager library, searching for anything that could free Harry of this curse, and she found nothing. If she was supposed to be here for Harry, then what role did she play? Why was she not here to save him?
Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books) Page 44
