He did not care about her fortune, or how horrid she might have been to him in the past. They had moved beyond that, apologized, and she had discovered a man worthy of her unbridled admiration. Quite frankly, she was smitten, and she had a hard time keeping the smile off her face.
Realizing she’d been rudely staring off into space and ignoring her mother’s discomfort, she reclaimed the cloth and wet it thoroughly.
Mother touched her arm suddenly. “Are you in love with him?”
Portia started, shocked by the blunt question. She looked at her mother quickly. Was she speaking of Montrose or of Julian?
Mother smiled gently. “I only ask so I might know for certain that you will be happy with Lord Montrose.”
Portia let out a sigh of relief. It was too soon to reveal her feelings toward Lord Wade had been irreversibly changed that day. Where Lord Montrose was concerned, she feared disappointing her mother, though. Mother had dreamed that her daughter would marry well and had made her feelings very clear.
However, conscience warred with the truth. The truth won in the end. She did not wish to lie to her mother any more than was necessary. It would be best to prepare her for what Portia would eventually admit. “No. I don’t love him, and I don’t believe I ever will.”
Mother’s face clouded with confusion. “I had hoped there was a good reason why he keeps pressing to marry by special license.”
“What?”
“He came earlier today to ask again for an expedient wedding. Your father was quite upset about the way the duke will not take no for an answer on that subject.”
Portia bit her lip. It was not love that compelled the duke to press for an early wedding. It wasn’t even desire, because she’d seen little evidence that he wanted her. Not the way Lord Wade did.
Her heart sank a little more to realize she had badly misjudged the duke. He didn’t want her, really. He wanted to possess her—like a painting or a fine horse. The sooner the better as far as he was concerned. “Wade said he was used to getting his way. Since school he’s been something of a bully.”
Mother worried her lip. “We will stand firm and make him understand our decision is final. If he does not respect us now, he never will.”
“I do appreciate your support, Mother. I know it cannot be easy to deny so powerful a man.”
“We Hayes women must stick together. And don’t imagine your father could buckle under the pressure. Your father will do as I wish unless he wants to live alone.”
“Surely you would not leave Father,” she teased.
Mother’s face darkened, and she draped a hand across her forehead. “Why not? He leaves me alone all the time.”
Portia wet her lips. “Where would you go?”
“I always thought I would like to live in Oliver’s house, but your father would not consider it before. I suppose now you are to marry it remains impossible, since the duke will have the care of it until your son is old enough to inherit.”
Portia smiled at the thought of having a child. A son for Lord Wade. Motherhood would increase her happiness, but only if she was to marry Julian.
She imagined living with him in Hanover Square but yearned for Soho instead. He seemed to like Uncle Oliver’s house, and it was very large. Julian had once assured her there was room enough to house two families inside. Of course, she’d not considered the possibility of combining their families under the same roof until now, but perhaps there was a way to accommodate everyone. Soho Square was not that far away from Mayfair.
“Perhaps there might be a way. When I am married, I will speak to my husband about it.”
Mother smiled sadly. “I don’t believe the duke offers too many boons to his acquaintances.”
“I imagine he doesn’t,” Portia agreed. Julian, however, was a very different man, and he did seem to like her mother. He might be persuaded to share. “Let’s talk about this another time, after we see Lord Montrose again.
“That could not be too soon as far as I’m concerned. People are beginning to talk about his lack of attention to you.” Mother closed her eyes. “I’d like to sleep now.”
“Of course,” Portia murmured and pulled a light blanket over her shoulders. “Rest and we’ll talk later.”
“Could you send a note to Mrs. Lenthall on my behalf?”
“Why?”
“There was something she wanted to talk to me about the other day, and I was so worried about the duke coming to dinner that it completely slipped my mind.”
Forgetting so good a friend was not done and absolutely must be apologized for. In person might have been better than a note. “Perhaps I could go in your place.”
“Oh, could you?” Mother sighed and rolled over onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek. “I’d be forever in your debt. Do remember to take your maid. The little carriage, too.”
Portia smiled and smoothed her hand over her mother’s shoulder. It was Portia who should be grateful. She’d never had reason to call at the Wade residence before.
Portia left the room quietly, rushed to her own to change, and ordered up the small town carriage. With her maid at her side, they undertook the short trip to Hanover Square very quickly. Her heart was beating fast as she looked up at the façade. There was no hint that the family were in dire straights from the outside. The townhouse looked much like all the rest around the square.
An aged butler welcomed her and led her toward a sparsely furnished sitting room, while Portia motioned for her maid to settle on a chair in the hall to wait for her.
Portia froze a few steps into the room. Mrs. Lenthall appeared to be dozing. She glanced quickly for the butler, but he was already backing out again.
Uncertain what to do, Portia affected a sneeze.
Mrs. Lenthall startled awake and, upon recognizing Portia, smiled. “I suppose you’ve come to see if the rumors are true.”
“I’m here on my mother’s behalf,” Portia promised. “She sends her warmest wishes and apologizes profusely for not being able to come today.”
“Her head again?”
“Yes, I’m afraid. She feels simply too dreadful to leave her bed.”
Mrs. Lenthall nodded. “The worry of marrying off a daughter causes a remarkable number of ladies to take to their beds at some point,” Mrs. Lenthall confided. “I suppose Montrose is not helping.”
“I’m not sure what brought it on,” Portia said quickly, realizing that she really did not want to talk about the duke even a little bit. “A few hours of rest and a good supper should improve her health.”
“We could all do with a good meal now and then.”
On a sudden impulse, Portia switched seats to sit beside the older woman. “I’ve wanted to come and see you many times before today.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Lenthall squinted at her.
“I might have been a little dim-witted. I’ve come to understand that you and Julian have helped pave my way in society without me knowing it. Introductions, parties, and knowledge I’d never have come across on my own. I should have thanked you both long before now for your assistance.” She placed her hand on the old lady’s, feeling the cold of her skin, and frailty, too. “Thank you so very much for all your help over the years since I’ve known you.”
Mrs. Lenthall sniffed and patted her hand a few times. “It was for a good cause. You’re a bright gel. There are not that many Originals left, really.”
Portia heaved a sigh and grasped Mrs. Lenthall’s hand more tightly. “I do miss the ladies who were taken from us, too. Did you help them the way you helped me?”
A little smile tugged up her lips. “In some ways, perhaps, but they were never in your league.”
“I was raised almost the same as the others. A gentlewoman by birth and well dowered.”
“If you think your dowry had the slightest influence on my mind, then you are indeed still as dim-witted as you were before.”
The lady turned to the side table and poured a small measure of wine into an em
pty glass. There was but one glass on the table and Portia was offered nothing. She took a sip, and then sighed. “Be a good gel and pull that bell over there. I should at least be able to offer you tea.”
“You are very kind,” Portia murmured and rushed to do her bidding.
An elderly maid appeared some time later and brought with her a tray of tea and a few biscuits. The tea was very weak, she noticed. Portia said nothing about it, and she declined to take a biscuit but held the plate out to the older lady.
Mrs. Lenthall took one and bit into it with a grimace. “We used to have friends come for tea every Tuesday afternoon when I was married.”
“Could you not do that still?”
Mrs. Lenthall raised a glass. “All my friends are dead. What is there to talk to anyone about anymore?”
“Your family.”
“Those nephews of mine cause me nothing but heartache.”
Portia did not know Nigel, Lord Wade’s younger brother, all that well, only that he had gone to the army recently, and that was something to worry over and talk about. “The oldest is very worried about you.”
Mrs. Lenthall suddenly raised her lorgnette and studied Portia in more detail, until she began to squirm. “When are you going to tell him the truth?”
“Who?”
“Montrose, of course. You really should put him out of his misery.”
Portia fidgeted. “It is complicated. My father—”
“Is a fool, and much too afraid of losing Montrose’s favor, little good it will ever do him. But then you know about Montrose’s failings, now, don’t you?”
Portia nodded quickly.
“Arrogance, impatience, ghastly temper like his father.” The older lady smiled sadly. “Old Montrose married three times in his life. Wore out each woman one way or another. Personally, I think they were happy for the peace of the great beyond in the end.”
Portia shivered.
“At least my nephew has never tried to tie you down. He always respected your opinion and let you run your own race since the moment he first saw you at your court presentation.”
Portia blushed. “He never told me he saw me there.”
“Well, of course he would not admit to falling in love at first sight. Men, in my experience, never do.”
Portia could feel herself grinning widely, even though she tried not to react. How much she appreciated Julian’s restraint now. She hadn’t liked him following her, but at least he’d never truly stood in her way. How it must have hurt him when she’d accepted Montrose.
“I take it the news pleases you, dearie,” Mrs. Lenthall said as she reached for her wine glass again.
Portia took it from her and set it aside. “You need to stop drinking.”
The old lady frowned severely. “I occasionally find you entirely too opinionated. You are not a duchess yet, young lady.”
“And I never will be,” Portia promised. She leaned forward and kissed Mrs. Lenthall’s cheek before whispering in her ear, “Dear Auntie, don’t argue with me. I refuse to be less than I am. But remember, you cannot hold a baby and a wine glass at the same time. I will forbid that. So will Julian, too, I suspect.”
She sat back and watched the impact of her words on the older woman’s face. It took a very long time, but the lady grinned widely until there were tears standing in her eyes. “You didn’t come all this way to lie to an old woman, did you?”
“No,” she admitted. “Actually, I came to ask you to help me one more time. I will soon end my engagement to Montrose, and I should not like my sister to suffer for my decision.”
The old woman blinked furiously, and then wiped her eyes dry. “You have no idea what good it does to this old heart to hear that you will prove me right. I was afraid you had lost your chance to be happily married.”
Portia clasped the older woman’s hands. “So you’ll help me with Lavinia?”
“There is nothing I won’t do for you, my dear. We’re almost family. What a remarkable gel you’re turning out to be. We need—” The old lady shot to her feet, and then tumbled back to the chaise in an untidy heap.
Portia straightened her up and wedged pillows around her. “You need to sleep first, I think. Lie back and close your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“No, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself for much too long.” She cast a scathing glance at the wine bottle, and her expression firmed. “Fetch me my writing table from over there, and my copy of my Debrett’s Peerage, too. It’s time to call in a few favors owed to me, and I know which families hide the best scandals. They’ll help you and your sister if it silences me.”
“I don’t want to blackmail anyone,” Portia protested.
“We are going to need a plan if we are going into battle with the high sticklers of the ton.” She squinted at the writing table when Portia set it on her lap, and then at her hand. She moved it back and forth, squinting as if she couldn’t see clearly. “On second thought, you had better summon the butler, first. We’re going to be at this for a while. This is a job for coffee. A vat of it should be brewed poste haste.”
Chapter 22
Julian assisted Auntie out of the carriage, noting her pallor was somewhat green. “I say, are you unwell?”
Auntie scowled severely. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” he questioned, preventing her from taking another step. “You usually tell me more than I ever wanted to know. Don’t start keeping secrets now.”
She looked around quickly and drew herself up straighter. The rented carriage was drawing away, and the Hayes family butler stood waiting on the stair. No one should hear a word they said if she kept her voice low enough. If she were not fit to sit down to dinner, he would try to hail a hack and take her back home again. Portia would understand that his family came first.
Julian drew closer. “Tell me what’s wrong with you?”
Auntie sniffed and adopted a haughty expression. “If you must know, I gave up drink yesterday. My head already pains me.”
Julian almost cheered. He currently couldn’t afford to buy her more wine, and he hated to disappoint her. “I’m so pleased to hear that. Not about the sore head but the other.”
“Do keep your voice down, boy,” she complained, lifting her fingers to her brow and massaging her temple. “No need to shout it out for all to hear.
Julian struggled not to laugh. He’d been in her condition a few times, not lately of course, but when he was younger. He understood how every noise was amplified. He captured her hand and slid it onto his arm. “You’ll feel better after you eat something substantial.”
“The gel promised me roast pork for dinner. I haven’t had that in such a long time.”
“Hmm, and it is your favorite, which makes tonight your lucky night,” Julian murmured—and then looked at Auntie sharply. “When did Portia promise roast pork for dinner?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you saw her?” Julian would have liked to talk to her about Montrose, find out if she was still engaged or not. There hadn’t been a whisper about the break so far, and he was getting worried that she’d changed her mind. If she wasn’t engaged, he’d be delighted to kiss her witless as soon as they were alone. If she was, Julian wasn’t sure what to do, or if they should even be dining with her family tonight.
Auntie took a step forward, dragging him along. “She called to see me. It is hardly my fault that you were busy elsewhere all day.”
Julian swallowed and winced. He’d been with the Duke of Exeter, discussing how he might be of service. Their talks had been exhaustive but his thoughts had never been far from Portia.
He glanced up at the house and saw Portia in profile, standing at a window. She was not looking outside but his heart thudded a little faster. “I trust she only saw the drawing room.”
Auntie smiled quickly. “The gel is not the least bit interested in your wealth, my boy.”
“That’s good because there is no
ne. She’s marrying a duke and will want for nothing,” he warned. He wasn’t about to tell Auntie that he’d made love to Portia Hayes until…well, never. He was disappointed in himself. He had taken something from Portia that he could never give back. He sighed deeply. “I imagine this might be our very last dinner with her and her family, too. Montrose has not changed, so I doubt we will have the dubious honor of an invitation to dine with her after she marries.”
“I think you might be surprised how often you see the gel for dinner.”
Julian shook his head and they mounted the stairs slowly.
They were taken into the drawing room, a pretty chamber filled with rich furnishings and flowers. A room fit for a lady and her family. The Hayes family was there to greet them—the mother looked tired, the father cross, the little sister oblivious to all as she entertained them on the pianoforte from afar. It also appeared that Lord Sullivan was to be dining with the family again that night, as well.
But Julian’s eyes were drawn to Portia and her wide smile of welcome. He ached to rush over to kiss her.
He bowed, she curtsied. There was nothing he could do openly to prove that he had missed her like the very devil without drawing attention to them.
“We are so pleased you could join us tonight,” Mrs. Hayes announced.
“It is our pleasure, as always.”
“I have good news,” Mrs. Hayes whispered for his ears alone. “We have received an invitation to the event of the year. I am beside myself with happiness!”
He had no time to ask what she meant because the butler suddenly announced Montrose had arrived.
Julian schooled his features to hide his dismay and stepped back to allow Montrose room to greet Portia.
If Montrose were here, she was still engaged to the duke.
However, the duke’s greetings toward Portia’s parents were perfunctory at best, almost rudely done. Mrs. Hayes was a good woman, albeit a little shortsighted where her daughter was concerned. The father, exceedingly ambitious.
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