“I do. I do, I do, I do.”
“Then prove it by going in there and asking her to dance. In fact, dance with her twice. She will say yes and everyone will know she’s chosen you.”
“Your mother does not approve of my suit.”
Her mother. Disgust rose like bile in Portia’s throat.
“My mother . . .” Portia had to pause, fearing what would spill from her lips. “She is not a happy person,” she said, amazed at her considerable restraint. “She was not happy in her marriage and swears she married for love. This is a terrible thing to say of one’s dam, but I don’t believe the woman knows how to love. And since we are talking about the family, you should know my father was a feckless wastrel who I can barely remember because he had very little to do with his family for almost fifteen years. One shouldn’t criticize one’s parents, but I believe in the truth. Now, decide, sir, do you love my sister enough for her to defy her parent? Because if you don’t, say so and I shall walk away.” Portia turned as if to make good on her promise.
Mr. Tolliver caught her arm. “I love your sister with all my heart.”
“Then go into that dance, sir, and stake your claim. Make her a happy woman.”
She didn’t have to repeat herself. He went hurrying off, tearing off his hat as he did so, and Portia was very proud of her handiwork.
What she didn’t realize was that she had an audience until he started clapping.
The sound caught her off guard. She’d been so involved in her argument with Mr. Tolliver, she had ignored her surroundings. Now she realized everyone else had gone inside, save for a lone man sitting at a table close at hand.
Colonel Chattan.
He had her isolated. She could shout for help if she needed it, but would she be heard over the music?
Portia feared the time for a reckoning over her pretending to be a witch was at hand.
But when he rose from the chair, it was not to hurl an accusation. Instead, he said, “Well spoken, Miss Maclean. And now, I shall ask you, what else will you do for love?”
Chapter Six
Miss Maclean’s eyes widened at his question and Harry smiled, pleased with himself. He liked the banter of innuendo, and he liked Miss Maclean.
Loyalty, especially to one’s sibling, was a quality he admired.
He’d noticed her when she had first arrived, without realizing that here was the daughter of Monty’s infatuation. She wasn’t Harry’s usual style. She was of medium height and pleasant enough looking, but not as buxom and not as knowledgeable as he usually preferred. She could have easily been dismissed as a woman on her way to spinsterhood, if she hadn’t relegated herself to that role already. She was not comfortable in the dress she wore. She’d pulled on the neckline and had stood alone for a touch too long to show ease in large gatherings.
But what had first caught his attention had been the graceful movement of her cloaked figure. It had reminded him of Fenella, the witch. For a second, he’d thought he’d found his quarry.
And then she’d removed her hood, and he had been disappointed that she didn’t wear spectacles.
When Monty had noticed Harry eyeing her, he had beamed with pleasure.
“See? Isn’t she a paragon?” Monty had whispered.
Well, Harry wouldn’t have gone that far. Any man with a red-blooded nature would have noticed Miss Maclean’s sister first. She was truly a rare pearl. Blonde hair, huge doe-shaped eyes, full, full lips . . .
And then Harry had realized Monty wasn’t speaking about either sister, but their mother, the woman sporting the impossibly tall ostrich feathers. He’d thought the fashion silly in London and ridiculous here in the country.
For her part, Lady Maclean had noticed Monty. She had looked right at him and then she had done the cruelest thing she could, she had turned her back to his friend. It was a nasty cut direct, and Monty had not taken it well. He’d walked away to drown his sorrows in a very potent punch. Such rudeness had not been necessary, especially from a woman as old as Lady Maclean.
And then she had compounded the insult by sending word through different friends that she was most anxious to meet Harry since she was certain he would like an introduction to her younger daughter.
Harry was determined to speak for his friend this night. He’d promised Monty he would, and he would deliver. But he would not speak to Lady Maclean. Grasping, manipulating stiff-rumped people always made him lose his temper. And he knew better than to approach the younger daughter. That would free wild speculation, fueled, no doubt, by Lady Maclean herself.
Instead, he’d decided to speak to the older daughter, the woman who had piqued his interest.
The woman who had practically run from him on the dance floor.
She was no happier to see him here, but this moment of privacy gave him the opportunity he needed to speak for Monty.
Miss Maclean glanced toward the barn as if ready to bolt, and Harry was puzzled. Her reaction was more than that of a woman with a dislike of him, although he’d never known a woman who disliked him. She was almost frightened. He could sense it.
“I’ve startled you,” he said. “ ’Twas not my intention. Please, may I have a moment of your time?”
“I don’t see what I can do for you,” she replied, and would have left, except she paused to add crossly, “It was rude for you to eavesdrop.”
“Perhaps it was a lapse of good manners, but it was not rudeness.”
“Says a man who was eavesdropping,” she replied, taking a step away from him.
Annoyance froze his smile on his face. “Actually, I was awaiting my turn in line. Please, Miss Maclean, a moment of your time. That’s all I ask.”
She looked again to the barn and then turned to him with the same grim resignation on her face as he’d seen on men facing court-martial. “What do you wish to say?”
She was as direct as his sister, Margaret, who was also too shrewd to be teased or charmed. So he launched into the speech he’d been mentally rehearsing in his mind all evening.
“It is my great honor to count amongst my friends General Alastair Montheath. Do you know him?”
Her brows had come together in puzzlement. “You wish to speak of Montheath?”
“I wish to speak for him. I value his friendship and admire him as an officer and a gentleman.”
Miss Maclean’s whole stance changed. Her shoulders softened and she released her breath as if in relief.
Harry thought it a very odd reaction. What had she thought he was going to say?
“I know General Montheath,” Miss Maclean said. “Or at least, I know of him. We have not been introduced but I am aware he has strong feelings for my mother. He follows her.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said. “His is odd behavior.”
“Decidedly,” she agreed with a lift of her brow. “And you are going to tell me that he would like to call on my mother?”
“Yes, I was, or I am.”
“He is wasting his time, sir. My mother is set against him and has been since they were children. She married another man. What more proof does the general need?”
“I can only say in his defense that the heart is a persevering organ. Not that I know. I’m as fickle as they come, so perhaps that is why I’m touched by his steadfastness. I knew your father.”
That statement brought out a reaction in her. She crossed her arms, sidled a step away.
Harry hurried to continue, “I say this because I want you to know that Monty does not share the same character as your sire. He truly loves your mother.”
“How can he?” Miss Maclean answered. “She is not very lovable.”
Harry felt his jaw drop at such a bald statement and caught it in time before he appeared a yokel. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m being honest, Colonel. If you do value your friendship with the gene
ral, persuade him to avoid my mother at all costs.” She held up a gloved hand to stave off comments. “She can be very difficult. And although she is my parent, I rarely admire her. My conversation with Mr. Tolliver is because of my mother. She is attempting to make my sister’s life as miserable as her own has been. I know I sound like the most perverse of children, and perhaps I am.”
“I find you refreshingly candid,” Harry admitted and had to laugh. “I, too, had a mother that was not pleasant.”
“There is a wealth of meaning in that word ‘not pleasant,’ isn’t there?” she guessed.
“A wealth of misery. She was not a happy person.”
“Are any of us?” Miss Maclean asked, and then sighed. “I should guard my tongue. However, be a good friend to the general, Colonel. Warn him off Mother. She’s too selfish to consider anyone besides herself.”
She started to walk away, but Harry found he didn’t want her to leave just yet. He stopped her by being provocative, curious as to how her mind worked. There was a great deal of pride in this woman. “And what of you, Miss Maclean? What advice do you have for yourself?”
His words brought her to a halt. She turned. “What do you mean, sir?”
Harry closed the distance between them. “I mean no insult, but I can’t help but wonder if you should take your own advice. You obviously care for your mother because you’ve set aside your life for hers.”
Miss Maclean lifted her chin. “You are right. You are being presumptuous.”
“It’s a fault of mine.”
A hard glint appeared in her eyes. “I wouldn’t brag on it, sir. ”
Miss Maclean wasn’t one to back down. He liked that.
At that moment, a great roar of approval sounded from inside the barn, carrying with it the name “Tolliver.”
Her manner changed. She went on alert and he was not important. “Excuse me,” she said, already moving toward the building, her hips swinging with feminine determination.
Harry followed her at a slower pace. He sensed a mystery about Miss Maclean. Prickly people usually were hiding something. But what would she have to hide?
He found himself intrigued.
As Portia headed for the barn doors, she overheard the Maclean name being shouted. Tolliver and Maclean. What was going on?
She also had needed to escape Colonel Chattan. She preferred the man as the scowling horseman who had almost run her over. She hated the image of him as the kneeling supplicant before her, begging for a solution for his brother, or this other man, the one who was as direct as she was and who valued his friends enough to speak for them.
He was also uncommonly handsome. She found it hard to concentrate when he placed all his attention on her.
One of the reasons she’d been able to accept being a spinster was that she stayed away from men like him. Men who made her pulse race a touch faster and who challenged her and who aroused her curiosity about them.
But she had yet to meet a man who actually seemed to understand her sacrifice for her family and that made him all the more threatening.
Mr. Longacre came out of the barn’s door. “You aren’t inside, Miss Maclean?” he said with his broad brogue. “Your sister has just accepted Mr. Tolliver’s request for marriage. Hurry up or you’ll miss it all.” He lowered his voice to add, “Lady Maclean has swooned. Some of the lads caught her but she isn’t right happy.”
Portia flew into the barn, where Minnie and Mr. Tolliver were standing in front of the assembly, beaming at each other with undisguised joy. Her sister had never radiated more beauty than she did in this moment beside her beloved.
Everyone was offering congratulations. Of course, almost everyone had drunk a wee bit too much, so the very popular physician received many hearty slaps on the back as he helped his future bride down from the stage. Even the young men who had only moments ago vied for Minnie’s attention seemed pleased for the couple.
The one person who was unhappy staggered toward Portia. “Are you ready to leave?” her mother said, her proud ostrich feathers now flopping forward. She pushed them to one side. “I am.”
“He’s a good man, Mother.”
Her mother snorted her opinion. “I must leave. General Montheath has been a nuisance all night.”
“I think it is dear that he has carried strong feelings for you all these years,” Portia said, thinking of Colonel Chattan’s request.
“If I’d wanted him years ago, I would have encouraged him. He was nothing like your father. Not half as handsome.”
“But, perhaps, the much better man?” Portia could not resist saying. “After all, he has position and fortune. Two things Father lacked at the end of his life.”
“Your father was a gentleman.”
“So is General Montheath,” Portia answered. “Of course, Father was more handsome, but handsome can’t take care of a woman.”
Those ostrich feathers quivered as her mother’s head snapped around to her. “And what would you know of it? What man do you have following you around? I will wait for you and Minerva outside.”
Several people around them heard Lady Maclean’s charge and now couldn’t help but look at Portia with sympathy.
Feeling humiliated, Portia wished she had bitten her tongue. No good came of ever talking sense to her mother. Lady Maclean refused to see Black Jack Maclean realistically. Not that Portia doubted that her father had been dashing at one time, probably much like Colonel Chattan whom, she noticed, had rejoined the company.
Dear God, she hoped he didn’t hear of this small scene with her mother.
At that moment, thankfully, Mr. Tolliver led a beaming Minnie over to her. Portia gave her sister a huge hug. “I’m so happy for you.” She then turned to Mr. Tolliver. “Sir, you do not waste time.”
“I took your words to heart,” he confessed, his cheeks turning bright with color. “I walked right up to Minnie, apologized, and declared myself. I said I wanted to marry her, just bold as you please. There was a line of men waiting to dance with her. They all heard me.”
“And they heard me shout yes.” Minnie had hold of Mr. Tolliver’s arm in a display of unbridled affection. “I am so fortunate. Thank you, Portia. Thank you.”
“I dislike spoiling the moment,” Portia said, lowering her voice, conscious that many ears were listening, especially after the dust-up with her mother, “but Mother is waiting for us. She wishes to leave. I imagine neither of you said anything to her in private before agreeing to marry?”
Mr. Tolliver started to color, but Minnie quickly declared, “No, we didn’t and I wouldn’t have. She would never have given her approval, Portia. You know that.” She moved closer to Mr. Tolliver. “Understand, I will not let her insult this man. I love him. She should never have interfered in the first place.”
“Agreed,” Portia said. “However, she is waiting outside for us to take her home.”
“Of course I’ll come,” Minnie said. She turned to Mr. Tolliver and gave him one more happy smile. He squeezed her hand.
“I shall call on the morrow,” he promised.
“I shall be waiting,” she answered.
“I am so happy.”
“I am happy as well—”
Portia stepped between them, or else they would be there all night. “Come, dear. We must face Mother.”
“Yes, we’ll be listening to an earful on the ride home.”
Mr. Tolliver made a commiserating sound but let them go.
As she was leaving, Portia had to steal one last look at Colonel Chattan. He stood by the punch table. He didn’t hold a glass in his hand, which was unusual for any of the males in this group. He was temperate and was still sober. The majority of the other men were not. After having a father such as hers, Portia admired that quality.
And then Lady Emma walked up to him.
Portia looked away.
>
They were barely out of sight of the barn when Lady Maclean launched into her recriminations. “How can you throw yourself away on a doctor? A mere doctor.”
“No, he’s not a ‘mere’ doctor,” Minnie said. Portia had to admire the patience in her sister’s voice. “He’s a very special doctor. He has a heart as large as the valley and I am lucky to say that it is mine.”
“But Colonel Chattan was at that dance,” their mother said. “His brother is Neal Chattan, the Earl of Lyon, one of the wealthiest men in England. You were presented with a remarkable opportunity to make a brilliant match with Colonel Chattan if you had impressed him in the way I know you could. Instead, you are settling for a physician, and a country one at that. What sort of opportunities will your children have with a doctor for a father?” she demanded, a plaintive note in her voice.
“Happy ones,” Minnie said. “Well-loved ones. I can’t wait to hold them in my arms.”
Lady Maclean shouted her frustration, a sound that echoed in the woods around them.
“Oh, Mother,” Minnie said, using a coaxing tone. “Think about how nice it will be to have me close at hand to you and not running around London. Oliver will always live in this valley.”
“I wanted you to run around London.” Lady Maclean pulled her cloak closer around her. “And you needn’t worry about caring for me. That is Portia’s responsibility. That is her purpose in life.”
Both Minnie and Portia looked to her in surprise. “Yes, it is,” their mother insisted in her defense. “Every family needs one child who dedicates herself to her parents. After all, now that I’m a widow—”
“You have been alone for a long time, Mother,” Portia interjected, indignation coloring her tone. Her mother’s statement echoed Colonel Chattan’s assessment, and Portia discovered, in this moment, she didn’t like being so predictable.
And suddenly, she discovered she didn’t want to be bundled off to spinsterhood. Yesterday, yes, maybe she had thought of herself ready to be set aside. Even before the dance she had thought of herself as on the shelf.
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