Sullivan’s face paled. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Julian said in confusion, and then his heart skipped a beat as the only possible meaning became clearer just by looking at Sullivan’s sad expression.
“She died,” Sullivan told him.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” he said quickly. He drew close to his old friend and lowered his voice. “I’d not heard. Clare was a truly remarkable woman.”
Sullivan nodded slowly and his expression grew bleaker still. “It’s been a year now.”
Julian mourned Clare. The sharp stab of pain to his heart almost unbearable. She had been great fun to be around before her marriage. She’d had a wicked wit that had appealed to him greatly. But he’d not lain eyes on her since her marriage to Sullivan. The pair had taken themselves off to Kent to be alone and never returned to partake of society. “How did it happen? How did she die?”
“In childbirth.”
Julian closed his eyes briefly, imagining the horror that had befallen the lovely lady. This was a tragedy. “And the child?”
Sullivan shook his head quickly. “He did not survive to even draw breath.”
The earl had lost the wife he loved and the son he’d always longed for. Julian grabbed his old friend’s hand again and held it more firmly. Sullivan had adored Clare. So had Julian, too. “Again, I am so sorry. I wish I had known.”
“Time has lessened my sorrow somewhat.” Sullivan shook off his grip and then glanced past Julian. He drew in a sharp breath and affected a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, Miss Hayes, I believe they are about to announce our dance.”
“Yes, indeed, Lord Sullivan.” She smiled, quickly stepping forward, her expression full of compassion as she met Julian’s suddenly watery gaze. “Do excuse us, Lord Wade. Perhaps we might continue our discussion later.”
“Of course,” he murmured, as he staggered back.
He forced a smile as Portia brushed past him, heading for Sullivan’s outstretched arm. She settled her hand on Sullivan’s sleeve with a shy smile. “My lord.”
“Miss Hayes,” Sullivan murmured. “I have been looking forward to our dance.”
“I have too. Very much,” she admitted, looking up at Julian’s old friend as if he were a god upon the earth.
Julian grimaced and looked away. Why wouldn’t Portia flirt with Sullivan? She did it with everyone as easily as breathing. She had no reason to hesitate. Sullivan was a widower now. If anything, that made the earl even more desirable as a dance partner. Portia knew nothing of their great loss, the light of Sullivan’s life gone from the world.
Julian listened to their brief conversation as they drifted away toward the dance floor, but experienced a feeling of growing discomfort as he considered their budding acquaintance. Sullivan would be an excellent catch, now he was widowed. He was a handsome earl, wealthy because of his marriage to Clare, and out of mourning now. Julian had nothing to say against Sullivan as a potential spouse for any woman.
Many would assume Sullivan was back in London to replace his late wife with this year’s diamond, too.
As Sullivan positioned Portia on the dance floor, smiling down on her and charming her with small talk, Julian realized that he probably was back in London to take another wife. He would need a son and heir soon.
Poor Clare. So soon to be replaced by another.
Julian turned away suddenly as a bitter lump lodged in his throat. He couldn’t stay near Portia when his heart was so heavy for another woman. He headed for home to mourn Clare in private, where no one could see the depths of his unhappiness.
Chapter 2
Portia Hayes scanned her bedchamber in exasperation. “Mary, do you know where my paisley shawl has gone?”
“It was right there on the bed, Miss,” her maid promised. “I put it out earlier.”
Portia tilted her head toward the bed. “It’s not there now.”
Mary Phillip, her maid of a few years now, rushed to the bed and looked all around it and under. She stood up slowly, frowning. “Miss, I am sure I put it right there for you, as you asked.”
Portia drew close to the girl and sighed. “Lavinia probably has it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I never saw your sister come in.”
Lavinia was developing a number of bad habits that Portia did not appreciate lately. “Don’t worry about it now. Could you fetch me my lemon one? Time is flying by so quickly this morning. I cannot be late.”
The maid rushed across the room and finally found Portia a shawl to wear downstairs. She slipped it around her shoulders and considered her appearance. She was wearing a new gown, one made of white muslin like everyone else seemed to wear, but she was not at all sure it really suited her complexion. It was a bit pale where Portia preferred to wear brighter jeweled tones. The gown was modest in design too. She wasn’t sure if it was the color or the style that gave her pause, or both. “The lemon doesn’t look at all bad with it.”
“No, Miss,” Mary said as she glanced away to the door, and then rushed to it to listen. “Your mother is calling for you.”
Mary had excellent hearing, a desirable trait to possess in a lady’s maid. Discretion and loyalty were, too. Portia quickly hid the forbidden novel she’d been reading with Mary that morning under her mattress so her mother would not find it, should she come in. Mother firmly believed novels were not suitable for unmarried ladies’ minds. She said they encouraged rebellion and disappointment. It didn’t help that the late Lady Scott had been a great reader, and a murderess too. Anything that reminded mother of that horrible woman had been immediately denounced as unacceptable.
Ready to face any callers that may come, Portia rushed from her bedchamber and into her mother’s dressing room. Mother was at her mirror, admiring her reflection. Her once lustrous dark hair had faded to gray with age but her green eyes were still shrewd. She looked Portia up and down and nodded.
Portia moved to the mirror and twisted this way and that. “You don’t think it is too modest?”
“My dear, a little mystery will only increase your appeal,” her mother murmured as they prepared for the day’s callers together. This had become their new ritual each day of what was left of the season, since those horrible murders had taken away her friends.
Only occasionally did Portia long for the days when she had more freedom. “Even at this time of year?”
“Especially now.” Mother swept a hand over her brow, and then reached for her scissors. She pruned a loose thread on Portia’s sleeve and smiled. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Portia smiled ruefully. “Second most beautiful, next to you.”
She quickly pecked a kiss on her mother’s soft cheek and went to her jewelry box. Portia selected a favorite necklace her mother owned and wore often—a large drop of bright amber strung on a long gold chain and placed it around her mother’s neck.
“Thank you, my dear.”
Portia turned back to the jewelry box and examined the contents idly. Mother’s jewels were modest but there were plenty to choose from. Portia found the matching amber earbobs and handed them over. “What interesting tidbits did you hear last night?”
Mother moved to the mirror and threaded the golden hooks through her ears then flicked the amber beads so they swung. “Only of Lord Sullivan, and you were certainly envied for gaining an introduction so swiftly. My only regret was that you had already given away the supper dance to Lord Stephens.”
“It was Lord Stephens’ turn to take me in. Lord Sullivan seemed very nice,” Portia said. “He certainly danced well.”
“You made a very elegant pair.” Mother turned back. “I suppose Lord Wade had something to say about him?”
Not enough, really, and she was very curious. She hoped to see Wade again soon, so she might quiz him discreetly about Lord Sullivan, and vice versa. “Nothing at all bad. They went to school together. I believe Wade knew the earl’s late wife.”
And last night, she’d seen signs
that Lord Wade would mourn her, too. She was sure there had been tears in his eyes when she’d drawn close.
Tears were the last emotion she’d expect from such a cynic.
Mother nodded. “Ah, perhaps they were rivals for her affections before the marriage.”
Portia considered Lord Wade’s emotional reaction to the news that Lady Sullivan had died and wondered if mother might not be right. It would explain the estrangement, the long interval since they’d seen each other, and the fact that he’d not learned firsthand of the woman’s death. Close friends wrote to each other all the time. “Wade did seem genuinely upset over Lady Sullivan’s death. I had no chance to learn more, as he disappeared. I think he might actually have left the ball very early.”
“That is unfortunate. Perhaps he will call today and be persuaded to tell all about the mysterious earl and how his wife died.”
Portia shuddered. “I already know. She died in childbirth. Lord Sullivan would have had a son.”
“Ah.” Mother shuddered, too, and then hugged her quickly. “I think we are as prepared as we can be for callers.”
Mother liked to be ready early, always. “I’ll go and fetch Lavinia.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Mother wandered off toward the stairs while Portia went to find her younger sister. At seventeen, Lavinia was turning into such a beauty that she was already attracting attention on the street. She had yet to be presented at court, though, so she often missed out on amusements unless they were conducted at home. Some of Portia’s gentleman callers cast an appreciative eye over her younger sister when she occasionally joined them in the drawing room. Lavinia was not officially out, but she was never banished to the nursery as many younger sisters often were.
At her sister’s doorway, she knocked once and entered, catching Lavinia unawares. Portia’s paisley shawl was wrapped around her slender shoulders but she was still in bed, wriggling under the covers.
“What a lazy little slugabed you are!” Portia held out her hand. “And that is my shawl.”
“I was cold.”
Lavinia had her own on a nearby chair. Portia snatched it up and tossed it onto the bed. “Give. Mine. Back.”
Lavinia grumbled but returned it. In doing so, Portia discovered she’d been reading in bed again, too. “You are going to be in so much trouble.”
“Don’t tell.” She held the book to her flat chest. “I’ll die if I don’t finish this.”
Portia rolled her eyes. “You’ll die if Mother catches you reading a scandalous novel. You now how she feels about that sort of thing now.”
“But it’s your book!” Lavinia cried.
That was true. Portia did have a small collection of novels that Mother didn’t know anything about, very well hidden, usually. She’d lose them all if Lavinia were caught and tattled on her. “Well, I am clever enough to never be caught reading one in my bed so late in the day.” She flung the covers off her sister. “Put the book away under the mattress and get up. Mother expects you downstairs to greet our callers.”
Lavinia grudgingly did. “This is so unfair.”
“It’s only a book.”
“The best book.” Lavinia twirled about and pulled the bell for a maid. “I cannot wait to fall in love.”
Her enthusiasm was catching, so Portia wrapped her arms about the girl and squeezed. “One day you will fall in love,” Portia promised before dropping a kiss on her pale hair. Love was not in Portia’s future, however. The family had expectations for her that went beyond matters of the heart. “I swear you will. Don’t take too long coming down.”
Portia had the unenviable responsibility of marrying well and raising the family’s consequence in society. Although she had wished it could be otherwise many times, she had accepted that she’d not the luxury of marrying for love. She had to marry to please her parents. She was still under one and twenty, and must have their permission and approval.
Father would only agree to an earl or better for Portia. Anything less was considered beneath them. It was not an opinion Portia shared, but she kept her feelings to herself these days out of fear that they’d marry her off to an older man. In their eyes, she’d had almost two unsuccessful seasons. Her parents were starting to worry she’d never be wanted as anyone’s wife.
Portia made her way downstairs and went into the sunny drawing room where mother was waiting. Portia took her usual place, and then Lavinia rushed in a moment later to entertain them with her practice on the pianoforte.
At the sound of the knocker, Lavinia fell silent and swiftly moved to sit at Portia’s side.
Their butler announced the caller, and Portia looked toward the door with excitement. A very distinguished gentleman appeared, and her smile grew.
“Lord Grindlewood. What a pleasure to have you call on us today, my lord,” Mother exclaimed as the earl strode into their drawing room and bowed.
Of all her potential suitors, Portia was quite particularly drawn to the Earl of Grindlewood’s good looks. She had admired him even before he had restored his fortunes. He was tall, broad in the chest and rather dashing. He made many ladies sigh as he passed, especially so since he was wealthy again.
Having money had its drawbacks, though. Portia never took anyone’s overtures of friendship at face value until she had learned all she could about them. Lord Grindlewood was no different from any other suitor. Fortune or not, he had been thoroughly investigated and vetted as soon as they had met.
He wasn’t much for small talk or smiling but she found him good company. He did not brag or make fun of his fellow gentlemen. Lord Grindlewood had been orphaned young, raised by near strangers, and had lurked about town—Lord Wade’s description, not hers—for several years. His newly recovered fortune made him acceptable everywhere. Grindlewood was, in a sense, perfect husband material.
Portia was not in love with him, but she liked him very much.
She held out her hand to him and he bowed over it. “Miss Hayes, how lovely you look.”
“Thank you.” Portia dipped into a perfect curtsy. “It is very good to see you again, my lord.”
From behind his back, Lord Grindlewood produced a bunch of pink hothouse tulips. “For you.”
The tulips were perfect but sadly not Portia’s favorite flower. However, she took her time enthusing over their color and showing her mother. When complimented enough, the flowers were handed to a maid to be placed in water on a nearby side table. “Please do sit down, my lord.”
“Thank you.” He smiled broadly. “Did you enjoy the ball last night?”
“Indeed we did. I do love to dance,” she enthused. “Did I hear you attended Lady Porter’s musicale earlier in the week?”
“I did indeed. Were you there? I did not see you if you were.”
“No, unfortunately not. I’m not acquainted with the lady, but I long to be. I should like to attend one day. Everyone talks about the superior performances the next day. As you might be aware, my sister has a particular interest in music.”
The earl glanced at Lavinia and smiled. “I heard you as I arrived, and you do play very well.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Lavinia’s face slowly turned pink with embarrassment, which the earl must have noticed because he turned away from her and caught Portia’s eye. “I should be happy to introduce you, should the occasion arise.”
“That would be a wish come true,” Portia enthused. Lady Porter’s musicales were legendary—but so too were her political talks afterward. That aspect of the lady intrigued her more than the music, but women were not supposed to concern themselves with such matters, so she hid her interest for now.
There was a tap at the door and when invited to enter, the butler announced Lord Sullivan.
Another handsome earl in her mother’s drawing room. Mother would be beside herself with glee. Portia smiled happily as he bowed to them.
They chatted together for a little while, and then Lord Grindlewood said his goodbyes, leaving Lord Sullivan
to keep them company.
At that point, his lips seemed to fuse together. There was an awkward silence as he smiled nervously. The fellow did not flatter them about their appearance, as Lord Grindlewood had done, and Portia liked him more because of it.
Mother sent for tea and Lord Sullivan exhaled slowly.
Sensing he was more nervous than expected, Portia took control of the conversation. “Did I hear that you and Lord Wade attended the same school?”
“Eton. For the last year, we roomed together. How do you know Wade?”
“He was my very first dance partner after I made my debut.” She’d been in awe of Lord Wade that night, but later, when he’d revealed a few too many bold observations, she learned he wasn’t always a gentleman. “What was he like then?”
“Shorter.” Lord Sullivan laughed. “I don’t think he’s changed very much. Absolutely hates to talk about himself. But he’s a good man, dependable.”
Portia smiled at his praise of Lord Wade. Obviously the earl was more at ease talking about other people. “Which of you excelled at school, and in what subjects?”
“Wade excelled at sport, while I considered a future as a poet, of all things.” He laughed to himself.
Wade had not struck her as much of a sporting fellow, but this handsome man might have a passion for words in the right circumstances. “Do you write often? I should dearly love to read one of your works.”
“I gave all that up when I married my Clare. I used to send her little poems each morning, inspired by our meetings the prior night. I thought myself very gifted, but she was the only one brave enough to confess that I had no talent for it.”
“So the poetry did not win you the lady?”
He shrugged. “It was something else altogether that won me her hand. Something I never expected.”
Portia smiled. She quite liked Lord Sullivan, but he was so different from Lord Wade that she had trouble imagining the pair had much in common. Obviously, the late Lady Sullivan had chosen this man for good reason. “I was very sorry to learn of your wife’s passing. Please accept our condolences.”
Lord of Sin Page 2
