Beverley,_Jo_-_[Malloren_02]_-_Tempting_Fortune_(V1.0)_[html]

by Jason

So it would be a form of salary, would it? He was neatly putting her in the position of servant rather than family, and perhaps was anxious that Portia not disgrace him.

  So be it.

  Portia curtsied a gratified acceptance, and he left.

  Nerissa immediately sent a command that her favorite mantua maker attend her. “Dear Trelyn to think of such a diversion. I adore clothes, but in my present condition there is little point to it. I tell you truly, this wifely business is quite tedious.”

  “When is the baby due, Nerissa?”

  “In May. Can you imagine how huge I will be? Already I have no waist at all!” She discontentedly smoothed her gown at the front, though under the layers of silk Portia could see no bulge. “I do not like it,” Nerissa said, almost to herself, but then shrugged. “But at least I can dress you.” She considered Portia once more. “You are rather thin. You should eat more. Gentlemen prefer curves, my dear.”

  Your limbs are slender but strong, your body supple as willow.

  The invasion of those traitorous memories loosed Portia’s temper. “But a little while ago, Nerissa, you were claiming I would have gentlemen swooning at my feet!”

  It bounced off her cousin. “Oh, dearest, your thinness is not a fatal flaw. I am merely thinking that it will do no harm to use frilling at the bodice to disguise your flatness there. And we must certainly not expose your shoulders. We will let Madame Baudelle decide. She can perform miracles. As for your hair, it is perilously close to red, you know, and despite the many nostrums advertised, I have never found anything that takes away freckles. . . .”

  Portia sighed and let her cousin chatter. She did not understand Nerissa at all. To talk of Portia attracting swarms of men was ridiculous, but she had never felt a freak. Nerissa’s artless comments were making her feel lacking in all departments.

  She could only be grateful when Nerissa lost interest in critical evaluation and moved on to gossip. Her cousin wiled away the half hour before Madame Baudelle arrived with a monologue on Society. Portia found it boring, for she did not know the people, but she listened carefully. After all, this was how she was to earn her keep, by listening to Nerissa prattle, and she would be wise to find out all about the world she was planning to enter.

  Even though Nerissa chattered of entertainments and scandals, Portia grew interested despite herself. She sensed that Mirabelle had been correct—the underpinnings of this round of pleasure was politics and power. Whigs and Tories, Crown and Parliament, City money and Society rank: all these power struggles were being played out in ballrooms and boudoirs.

  “You mentioned Rothgar,” Portia said at one point. “He is Lord Bryght’s brother, is he not?”

  Nerissa raised a brow. “I thought you had no interest in the man.”

  Portia damned her ready color. “I did not say that. I have no desire to be entangled with him, but I think it wise to know one’s enemies. Rothgar seems to have a great deal of influence.”

  Nerissa’s face turned almost bitter. “The man has a lust for power and an uncanny way of getting it. He is dangerous.”

  “Yet you wanted me to play tricks on Lord Bryght.”

  “Bryght deserves to suffer for what he has done. It needn’t involve Rothgar. He is out of town.”

  Portia had at last found a discussion that interested her, but at that moment the mantua maker arrived.

  Madame Baudelle proved to be young and sharp-eyed. She was delighted at the thought of a profitable order of gowns, particularly at this dead part of the year. Soon she and her two assistants were fluttering around Portia, measuring and assessing. Drawings and fashion dolls were produced and considered, though Portia noted that madame consulted Nerissa far more than she consulted her.

  An acute nose for where the true power lay.

  Portia began to feel like one of the exquisite mannequin dolls herself, a mere frame for lovely fabrics.

  “My cousin will require at least one gown quickly,” said Nerissa.

  With a somewhat sly look, Madame Baudelle produced a swatch of beautiful material, a cream silk embroidered with multicolored birds. “With this,” she said, “a gown could be made quickly, for it would need little trimming.”

  Portia gasped at the beauty of the fabric. It must cost a fortune.

  Nerissa was staring at the fabric greedily, and Portia was sure she would demand that it be made into a gown for herself, but then she suddenly relaxed. “Why not? How soon?”

  “Three days, milady.”

  Nerissa nodded and waved her on her way.

  Portia was unbalanced again, for to order such a gown was truly generous. She thanked Nerissa warmly. “I have never seen material half as fine. I’m afraid it will cost a great deal.”

  Nerissa shrugged. “It is just money. Money is nothing.”

  Portia was tempted to burst into hysterical giggles. She managed to control the urge. “For the immediate, I will have to make do with my old gowns, Nerissa. I must return to my rooms to collect my possessions.”

  Nerissa agreed, but insisted that Portia go in the Trelyn carriage with footmen to attend her. So Portia returned to Clerkenwell in state. Half the street came out to gawk at the grand equipage and liveried servants, and Mrs. Pinney almost had palpitations. Portia instructed the woman to keep the rooms in readiness and to tell Oliver, as soon as he returned, where his sister was.

  That done, she quickly packed her boxes. Then, while the men were carrying them down, she retrieved the coins from behind the fireplace. They would provide some security and independence.

  And what of the money Bryght Malloren had said he would put in a bank for her? She wanted that money, but she did not want to deal with Bryght to get it. She certainly couldn’t ask Lord Trelyn’s help, for then she would have to explain where it had come from.

  When her box was carried out, Portia looked around the dismal rooms and sighed with relief. Dresden Street had contained little but worry and pain, but in well-guarded Trelyn House she would be safe. As she traveled back to the Trelyn mansion, however, seated on satin, and with an embroidered footstool for her feet, Portia was fretted by anxieties.

  On the surface matters seemed excellent. She would be companion to Nerissa. She would listen to her chatter, share her needlework and other pastimes, and go with her to the quieter kind of social event. It would only be for a few days, anyway.

  Oliver would soon return, a member of the King’s Army. Fort would pay the odious Major Barclay. Portia would return to Dorset and her former life.

  Everything was arranging itself at last.

  So why was she sitting upright with her hands clasped, instead of lounging back, at ease?

  And why, when the coach rolled into the railed courtyard in front of the Trelyn’s house, and the great gilded gates clanged shut behind her, did Portia feel as if she were being delivered to a prison instead of to a place of refuge?

  If it was a prison, it was a luxurious one. Portia was given a charming bedroom, though in typical cool shades, and a small boudoir. The rooms were scattered with valuable objets d’artes, and the handsome white-draped bed was decorated with knots and bandings of rich silver cord.

  Two maids busied themselves in putting away Portia’s clothes and other possessions.

  Nerissa, dressed now in her usual public wear of elegant white, came to observe. “I hope you can bear these rooms, Cousin. I’m afraid the whole house is quite plain. I am trying to persuade Trelyn to indulge a little more in color, but thus far I have only been successful with my own rooms.”

  “It is very elegant.”

  Nerissa pouted. “But so dull.”

  Portia wanted to ask her cousin why she had married Lord Trelyn when they had so little in common, but it would be impertinent. Since the aristocracy seemed to marry for advantage, doubtless personal tastes did not enter into it.

  “Now,” said Nerissa, “if you are settled, we will go out. I am sure there are any number of items you need, and I have been pining for such a trip. A man
is a tedious shopping companion.”

  “Lord Trelyn likes to accompany you to the shops?” Portia asked in surprise as she took her light cloak out of an armoire.

  “The dear creature will hardly let me out of his sight! But he has agreed that we shall go today without his escort, for he must be at the House. Something very dull to do with the country’s debt.”

  “Dear Lord. Is the whole country in debt?”

  Nerissa laughed. “Oh, my dear, if you wish to discuss such matters, you must ask Trelyn. But I gather war is expensive. There is something called a sinking fund which sounds most alarming, though I am told it is a good thing. Now, are you ready? Why, what a pretty pelerine. It suits your hair and eyes quite marvelously.”

  Portia followed Nerissa down to the coach thinking wistfully that Oliver would have been pleased to hear that.

  The shopping trip was unlike anything Portia had experienced in her life. It seemed that Nerissa bought everything that caught her eye and that she must do so frequently, for she was well-known everywhere. She was trailed through a succession of establishments by adoring sales clerks and groveling proprietors.

  It was as much a social occasion as a mercantile one. Nerissa was constantly encountering people and stopping to embrace, introduce, and share scraps of gossip—some of it quite scandalous. Portia uneasily remembered her visit to the park, and her sense of corruption in Society. She could not like it, but since most of the people they mingled with now were ladies, at least there was no impropriety.

  There were some men around, however.

  As they were leaving a silk warehouse, a very tall man bowed and Nerissa stopped rather abruptly. “Lora Heatherington.” Her voice turned husky. “What a surprise to see you here. You have need of silks and satins? Pockets, perhaps?”

  The handsome, dark-haired gentleman bowed low over her hand. “Who could have need of anything when you are by, dear lady?”

  Nerissa gave her distinctive gurgling laugh. “What flattery, my lord. Come, let me present you to my cousin, Miss Portia St. Claire. She is to stay with us for a while and accompany me. Is that not delightful?”

  Lord Heatherington bowed over Portia’s gloved hand. “A pleasure, Miss St. Claire.” He was already turning back to Nerissa. “A charming child. I’m sure she will prove useful.”

  “Portia is a little older than me, my lord,” Nerissa chided with a laugh. “Her apparent youth is but her delicate size and her naiveté. She is fresh from the country.”

  Lord Heatherington turned to study Portia with a raised brow. “That makes a difference, dear lady. I adore anything or anyone fresh from the country. . . .”

  Portia shuddered, reminded of the night before.

  Nerissa tapped his arm with her finger. “But being fresh and unspoiled, she has no taste for your flirtation, sirrah!”

  Lord Heatherington captured Portia’s hand. “That is cruel of you, Miss St. Claire. If we do not flirt, we die.”

  Portia tried to tug her hand free. “That is to be absurd, my lord!”

  “But so is not to flirt.” His grip on her hand was unbreakable, and he raised it to his lips, watching her closely, almost scrutinizing her. Then, he seemed to dismiss her from his mind entirely as he turned back to flirt with Nerissa.

  Portia was distressed by the incident, but even more distressed to realize that now she might as well not be there. She suspected that Lord Trelyn would not approve of this encounter. There was nothing unseemly about the conversation—it was all gossip and badinage—but the atmosphere was wicked.

  Was this just flirtation, or something worse?

  Portia was no guard, however, to object to Nerissa’s choice of companion, so she just stood by until Lord Heatherington moved on.

  As they proceeded down the street, Nerissa said pettishly, “I do hope you will learn to play the game a little, Portia. You will be a figure of fun if you stiffen up every time a gentleman pays you a compliment.”

  “I’m sorry. I just cannot find it comfortable.”

  “What a prude you are. You will have to practice. How else will you find a husband?”

  “I do not want a husband, Nerissa, but if I ever have one, I would prefer a man who does not flirt.”

  “He would have to be a dull dog.”

  Then, catching Portia unawares, they encountered Bryght Malloren. He was in casual dress again, but without his dog. Portia half expected some dramatic change in him, some open acknowledgement of what had occurred between them, but he bowed as if they were the most casual of acquaintances and introduced his companion, Lord Andover.

  Lord Andover, a loose-limbed, handsome blond, seemed far too pleasant to be friend to such a man.

  Portia was so absorbed in her thoughts that her wits were wandering. She was caught off-guard when Nerissa said, “Lord Bryght! We have just been saying that Portia must learn to flirt. You are such a master of the art, why do you not teach her a little as we go?”

  Portia stared at her cousin, but Nerissa merely smiled, captured Lord Andover’s arm, and turned to walk ahead. Portia had no choice but to follow with the man she most wished to avoid.

  Fourteen

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  “Relax, Hippolyta,” he said softly. “You are surely safe in my company here.”

  She turned sharply, intending to reproach him, but found herself silenced by something almost gentle in his expression.

  “So,” he said, easily covering the moment, “Nerissa has taken you up. You are very fortunate.”

  Portia hastily walked after her cousin. “After my shame, you mean.”

  “No, I do not mean that,” he said with an edge. “I mean that her standing and respectability are just what you need.”

  “If you want thanks for having introduced me to my cousin, you may have them, my lord.”

  “Your happiness is thanks enough, I assure you.” He was keeping pace with her without difficulty.

  Portia knew good manners dictated that she make light conversation, but her mind was blank. How could she talk of the weather to a man with whom she had been so outrageously intimate?

  “I hope you are not too much distressed by your adventure,” he said.

  The gall of the man! “We will forget it, if you please, my lord.”

  “You are always telling me to forget our encounters,” he said somewhat plaintively. “I find myself quite unable to do so.”

  “Please, my lord ... !”

  “As you wish,” he said lightly. “Then perhaps I should admit that I have skipped some important lessons during our encounters, and should now teach you how to flirt.”

  Portia was dreadfully off-balance, teetering between the attraction she always felt for this man and her fear of its power. She speeded her pace, wanting to be closer to the others. “I do not think so, my lord.”

  “Nerissa commands, and we should obey the Queen of Society.”

  “I do not think it is your habit to obey.”

  He captured her hand and slowed her pace. “You cannot totally repulse me, you know. Remember the terms of our wager.”

  Portia knew her cheeks were scarlet. “My lord, I wish you would not speak of it!”

  “Then humor me, and let us flirt and become acquainted.”

  She looked at him then. “There is no purpose in it!”

  “Why not?”

  “Our tastes differ too far.”

  “Do they?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’m not well acquainted with your tastes, Miss St. Claire. Do you like roast lamb?” She snapped an exasperated look at him, and was trapped by a beguiling smile. “I wish you nothing but good, you know.”

  “No.” It was rejection of both him and his statement. And a rejection of the effect he could still have on her.

  He frowned slightly. “Then do you like chicken?”

  Portia found herself alarmingly tempted to laugh. “My lord, cease this!”

  “You do not care for food at all?”

 
“Of course I do.”

  “I thought so. I remember that you eat like a horse.”

  Portia spoke between her teeth. “I simply do not care to discuss food with you.”

  “Then let us talk sex.”

  Portia came to a frozen halt, staring at him, her mouth half open.

  “Food or sex,” he said pleasantly. “Which shall it be?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  He appeared genuinely startled. “ ‘Struth, no. You can trust my discretion. It is, however, a topic of mutual interest, you will agree.”

  Portia dragged her hand from his arm. “You are disgusting.”

  “Devil a bit. I am just seeking a topic of conversation in which we both have an interest.”

  “The Bible,” said Portia icily and swung on her heel to catch up to Nerissa and Lord Andover.

  She thought that would be the end of it, but he kept pace with her. “ ‘How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter,’ ” he quoted. Then added, sotto voce, “Or without.”

  Portia refused to rise to his tormenting. “Is that from the Bible, my lord? I don’t recognize it.”

  “Perhaps your Bible was carefully edited.”

  “What nonsense. All I know is that my feet are not particularly beautiful, and I am not a prince’s daughter.”

  “But you are wearing shoes.”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “That, my lord, I must admit.”

  “Shall I go on?” In his deep, beautiful voice he said, “ ‘The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet—’ ”

  “Stop it!” Portia swung to face him. “That is not from the Bible, my lord, and I am appalled that you would link such lewdness with the Holy Book!”

  Unfortunately, her raised voice attracted Nerissa’s attention, and the other couple turned back to join them.

  “Are you fighting, Portia?” asked Nerissa playfully. “I thought you were taking lessons in flirtation.” Her eyes flickered avidly between them, seeking secrets.

  Portia kept her gaze fixed on the green-flecked eyes of her tormentor. “I do not care for lies.”