“Thank you.” He frowned, and then stood abruptly. His expression was apologetic, almost panicked. “I really must be going.”
“Oh, so soon,” Mother cried, appearing as alarmed as Portia.
Lord Sullivan nodded decisively. “I look forward to seeing you again, Mrs. Hayes, Miss Hayes.” He bowed, very elegantly, and then strode for the door without looking back.
“Oh, I should not have mentioned his wife,” Portia cried softly when the front door shut so soundly. “He was just starting to become comfortable.”
Mother turned to her and nodded. “On the contrary, I think it was wise to bring up his loss early in the acquaintance. His father the duke is in Dorset but his Kent estate is said to be quite modest. He has two brothers and three sisters, but they hardly ever come to Town. He will be the Duke of Northport one day don’t forget.” She nodded. “His father is said to be poorly. Lord Sullivan would make an excellent husband for you.”
“Mother!” Portia chided. “He just lost his wife, and now you’re wishing for his father’s death, too. Lord Northport is in fine health. Why, I saw him only last week in Bond Street. Lord Wade pointed him out to us himself. He seemed quite hale and hearty as he strode along to me.”
Mother’s face fell. “Then you’ll be a duchess in waiting, but only if you bring Lord Sullivan up to scratch before someone else catches his eye. Think of what that will mean for your sister.”
The idea of becoming titled—a duchess perhaps, if she were fortunate—was all that mattered to Portia’s mother and father. She was meant to elevate the family into the aristocracy and ensure her younger sister made an exceptional match, too.
Portia, however, was looking for something more in a husband than the obvious. Strength of character and a modest fortune at a minimum were essential. Although she was an heiress herself, her father would not allow her to marry just anyone. Many a fortune hunter had sought out her company, some had even shamelessly pretended to fall in love with her at first sight in a bid to win her affections.
Another knock sounded, and Mother quickly had the attending maid remove the tea tray. When all was perfect again, she bid the butler enter.
Portia gasped at who followed him. The Duke of Montrose was in their drawing room.
They both bounced to their feet quickly and dipped deep curtsies. They had never received a duke at home before, but they had talked about what to do should it ever come to pass.
Portia stepped forward first. “Lord Montrose, what an unexpected pleasure. How gracious of you to call on our home.”
The Duke of Montrose towered over her, seeming to take up all the air in the room. She was grateful when he sat, and she did her best to slow her frantic heart. They had danced together two weeks ago but she’d not seen him since. Portia could not imagine what might have brought him to their door today.
Mother offered him tea, which he declined immediately.
He glanced around the room. “I imagine you are wondering why I have come.”
“Whatever the reason, we are very glad to have you in our home,” Mother said very quickly.
A brief wince appeared on the duke’s face, and then he turned the full force of his attention on Portia. “Might we speak alone? Just a few minutes will do.”
Portia could not have been more shocked. She glanced at her mother for advice. “I…”
“Your mother and sister may wait outside the open door if you’d prefer,” he announced.
Regardless of what she hoped showed on her face, her mind was racing every which way and that. She wet her lips. “Is that all right, Mother?”
“Yes, of course,” Mother agreed slowly, her eyes full of excitement. “I will be right outside should you need me.”
Mother curtsied and fluttered her way to the door, dragging Lavinia with her. She made such a show of leaving the door ajar that Portia wanted to laugh. She did not, of course. She would never seem to make fun of her mother in front of anyone. When Mother could no longer be seen, she turned her attention to the duke.
He smiled quickly. “I’ve come to ask for your hand.”
Portia knew her lips had parted in shock but she was unable to close her mouth. A proposal was the last thing she’d expected the Duke of Montrose to offer her. She wet her lips quickly. “Could you repeat that?”
“I’ve come to marry you.”
“Hmm,” Portia murmured, and then swallowed. Yes she had heard him correctly the first time, but still… “You’re asking for my hand in marriage. Me.”
“There’s no one else at this address of suitable age,” he said with a slight smile.
The duke had a sense of humor. “Surely you jest.”
“I am not known for it. You will find I am quite a direct man. I’ve considered all the ladies in society, and I think you would be a most appropriate choice to be my duchess.”
Portia exhaled slowly, but her mind continued to race. The Duke of Montrose really was asking for her hand in marriage. Just like that. No flowers, no flattery. No courtship at all. “But you don’t know me.”
He nodded. “I know your father and mother, and what I have seen of you with my own eyes confirms their praise.”
Portia looked down at her hands. “Thank you.”
“Your modesty today recommends you even more, but I am afraid I do require an immediate answer,” he murmured. “We can become better acquainted after you agree.”
Portia swallowed. If she accepted Lord Montrose, she would fulfill her mother’s dearest dream and make her family so happy.
However, she experienced a momentary pang of regret that she would never have a more romantic proposal. As a young girl, Portia had dreamed of this moment and imagined it so much more romantic than this. She’d talked about it with her friends and with her mother and sister too. Portia had once expected her suitor would fall to his knees and declared no one else would do for them.
But that was the dream and this was her reality.
This was why her parents had brought her to London and spent a fortune on her seasons. All so an aristocrat, wealthy and powerful, would ask for her hand in marriage. She was expected to say yes. She had promised her mother and father that she would marry as well as she could too. She had always known she must marry to better the family’s standing in society. Doing so would ensure her sister could marry as she liked and hopefully marry for love when Portia could not.
She swiftly pushed the niggling disappointment aside for what might have been and forced a smile. She nodded slowly, regally. “I would be honored to be your duchess, your grace.”
The Duke of Montrose nodded and got to his feet swiftly. “Thank you.”
Portia thought he was about to lean over and perhaps claim a kiss, but he turned for the door instead and looked out, left and right.
Mother apparently had not lingered long in the hall.
When he returned and sat down again, he was frowning. “We will be married next week.”
“What? No! That is not enough time for the banns to be called.”
He smiled slightly. “Banns are not necessary when one has the means to marry almost immediately.”
“But your grace, it is too soon.” Portia wet her lips and sat forward. “We hardly know each other.”
“You did agree to marry me.”
“But I only agreed because you promised I would have the time to get to know you in the coming weeks.”
He frowned, his jaw worked. “Very well. The banns will be called on Sunday.”
“Thank you, your grace.” There would be time to get to know him, time to plan a sumptuous wedding breakfast, and for Lord and Lady Sorenson to return to London. She so wanted her friend Anna to be there to witness her most important day.
Mother and Father suddenly appeared at the open doorway, and Portia beckoned them inside. “His grace has proposed, and I have accepted.”
Mother shrieked and ran to embrace Portia. “I’m so proud of you, my darling,” she whispered though her tears of
joy.
Mother turned to the duke, smiling, but she only dipped him a curtsy. “You have made a wise choice, Lord Montrose.”
“It was an easy decision,” he told her before departing with Father to discuss terms.
Portia watched him go, waiting for the moment when she might feel as happy as her mother.
Chapter 3
“As you can see, I’ve taken excellent care of the piece,” Julian murmured as he stood back with a smile, but he couldn’t dispel the sadness that had been his constant companion since he’d arisen that morning.
Clare was gone.
Mr. Jones, a fellow sent to him by a mutual acquaintance, squinted and ran his hand over the billiard table’s perfect felt top. Jones was new money, a merchant looking to furnish his new home in Orchard Square. Jones moved around the table slowly, looking for imperfections in the heavily carved oak from all angles. He would find none. Julian had realized long ago that imperfections cost money. “What do you say, Jones?”
The man patted his belly, and then started nodding. “I’ll take it at the price you want. I won’t haggle over fine-quality workmanship like this. It’s a good deal, but I don’t know why you would part with it.”
“I don’t play anymore.” That wasn’t quite true. He played at the club but only occasionally. He also preferred to call upon his friends in their homes if he could. The table was an unnecessary indulgence. It had been purchased by Julian’s father—along with many fine things that were meant to convey affluence and riches they’d never had. Father had liked to show off before his friends and enemies. Unfortunately, the billiard table and many other similarly useless extravagances had placed a considerable drain on the family fortune until the day he died.
Since then, Julian had been attempting to rebuild, but mostly all he’d managed to do was survive, to delay the inevitable fall. Father had not invested wisely, and the losses since his death just kept coming.
“The table has only been gathering dust. I do hope you enjoy it more than I had time for.”
They shook hands, and Julian was pleased beyond measure that Jones handed over the funds immediately.
He tucked the proceeds into his pocket, feeling immense relief. The funds from this sale would go toward paying his servants’ next quarterly wages and settle an outstanding bill of his aunt’s from her dressmaker. The little that remained after would be locked away for any unforeseen expenses in the coming month.
Julian had learned to be frugal, but the worry of keeping up appearances was starting to take a toll on his emotions. Some days were harder than others.
Jones gestured his men forward and they grunted and heaved to get the piece out of the room. “This would go faster with a few more men to help carry the load,” Jones grumbled, casting the elderly butler at his side a hopeful glance.
“My servants are busy elsewhere right now,” Julian said as dismissively as he could before the butler could do something foolish, like offer his assistance or send for the boot boy. The few servants Julian kept were working hard enough, carrying on the duties of twice their number to keep the house Julian couldn’t get rid of in fair order.
He glanced out the front window to the bustling square and presented his back, falling back on familiar habits. He pretended the required indifference to their struggle as befitting a gentleman in possession of a title. He had been born to be a viscount, not a laborer—although he could end up one, he supposed. For now, he’d do everything he could to keep his place in society.
Unfortunately, selling off an item as big as this was sure to draw attention to the townhouse. There was no help for it. Only the front door was wide enough to emit the table, and Julian needed the money from this sale rather desperately.
He had to continue to spout the same story, that he was bored with the game, so few would question his real motive.
Jones had gotten a good bargain in their deal and thankfully said not another word about needing more men or help. Eventually they got the piece out to the street and loaded onto a cart to begin their short trip around Hanover Square, bound for Orchard Square.
Jones returned, rushing into the room. “I almost forgot the other things for the table,” he exclaimed apologetically, rushing to collect the billiard balls and sticks.
Julian nodded but then remembered an oversight. He heaved another sigh and strode to the mantel and carefully pulled down an item from the wall. He returned to Jones, forcing a smile. “To help you keep score against your opponents, and your enemies, too. No charge.”
“Thank you, my lord. Thank you very much. But I cannot take something for nothing. Here.” Mr. Jones shoved a handful of notes into Julian’s hand. “I believe a man should pay a fair price.”
Jones clutched the counter board tight to his chest and juggled the lot on his way out the door. The butler followed to shut the front doors and the house was finally silent.
It was also painfully emptier.
Julian shoved the extra notes in his pocket as the butler returned. He’d gotten more than the counter was worth, but glanced around the nearly empty front room and bare wall with a pang of regret. The emptiness would be noticed immediately by the next person to call on him.
Luckily, Julian had already considered what to do about that.
He strode to the next room and picked up an armchair.
The butler spluttered.
“It’s time to do a little redecorating around the house,” he muttered, looking at the man apologetically. “Mosely, could you fetch the small round table and put it beside this chair?”
Julian could do most of the little changes himself, but he should not do everything.
He’d moved two comfortable armchairs and another oval table to sit before the front window before his aunt swept into the room.
“Where’s my billiard table?” she cried.
“My table,” Julian corrected her. “I sold it.”
Aunt Hesper’s face fell, and the newssheet in her hand crinkled as she crushed it. “But I was seduced on that table after I won my first game.”
The butler choked and quickly fled the room.
Julian shook his head. “I’m glad you waited until after the deal was struck and Mr. Jones was gone before you mentioned that fact out loud. Poor Mosely, though. He may never look at you the same way again.”
“Lenthall was quite proud of me that day.”
Aunt Hesper and her late husband had enjoyed a passionate marriage. Unfortunately, she sometimes liked to share those reminiscences out loud more often than Julian preferred.
His aunt came forward and sighed as she looked about the room. “It’s not fair.”
Acid burned in his stomach. “It is what it is, I’m afraid. We needed the money,” he explained before he leaned down to kiss her wrinkled cheek.
His aunt was silent a while. “My pearls. You could sell them, too.”
“No, absolutely not.” The pearls were a treasured possession of hers, a gift from her husband on her wedding day, but not worth very much. Better that she keep them for as long as possible. “We’re fine for now.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.” Julian glanced around. “I need to finish this in case someone comes to visit. Why don’t you take a seat by the window while I find a servant to help me move my desk to this room.”
“Very well, dearie,” she agreed as she shuffled to the new seating arrangement. She tossed the crumpled newssheet onto one chair before claiming the other.
Wade found the fellow easily enough below stairs, pulling him away from helping Cook prepare luncheon. Together, they got Julian’s favorite furniture arranged nicely in the larger space, and then he closed up the adjoining empty room. “One less room to heat and clean for the winter,” he murmured, pleased with that.
“Yes, my lord,” the man agreed. “Can I assist you with anything else?”
“No, that will be all,” he promised. “Thank you.”
The few servants he had remaining we
re kind enough to have held their tongues about the strict economies he’d been making this past year out of some misplaced affection for the family. Unfortunately, he would have to let another man go later today, and he wished he didn’t have to take such a step. He’d no need for a stable hand, since he’d already sold his last horse. He’d been putting the matter off in the hope that things could be turned around. The stables were empty now, and the fellow without chores to earn his keep.
“My poor brother would be turning in his grave to know the troubles he’d brought down upon you,” Auntie whispered as he rejoined her in the newly organized study.
Julian actually liked the change of scenery and having money in his pocket for once. He would have a view of Hanover Square now. He could read by the window, too, and see who came and went without ever bothering to get up.
Julian headed for the liquor cabinet and unlocked it. He poured two small measures of whiskey and handed one to his aunt. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Father never gave the future a second thought. He was having too much fun being scandalous.”
“It was fun while the money lasted,” she murmured. “But this is deplorable. We should do something.”
Julian agreed. “I have tried numerous times to sell the lease on the townhouse, but you keep pretending it’s haunted when I bring anyone around.”
“This is my home,” she whispered. “And it is haunted, too.”
“It is not. And home is where your heart is, and where your family resides. Wherever that may be, I will always look after the living. If I cannot sell the lease, I was thinking of subletting the place next season. We could spend spring and summer with friends.”
Julian took a sip, aware that the melancholy of their situation was worse for his aunt. She remembered when things had been good, when they had entertained and traveled widely. She hated that the family fortunes were in decline.
“You will have to marry,” she announced suddenly.
They’d had this discussion before. It was unnecessary. He knew what choices he had left. Just the one—but the timing had to be right. For now, he chose to make light of the situation and his fears. “Or turn to thievery,” he countered.
Lord of Sin Page 3
