He picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head before saying to the grinning faces in the windows, “Begone, lads.” They responded to the command in his voice and stepped away, but he knew by their smirks they would have a field day with this later. He picked up his pistol and her spectacles from the window ledge and tapped Monty on the shoulder to step away.
Harry went outside. The day was a good one for late December. The sun shone and the air was crisp.
Lady Maclean appeared overwrought. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying. Portia’s sister, Minnie, was also among the search party, along with Mr. Oliver Tolliver and about everyone else from Glenfinnan. Lady Maclean’s questions came to a halt when she saw Harry.
She took in his bare feet and disheveled appearance. Her mouth opened. No words came out. Harry ran a self-conscious hand through his hair.
Grim-faced, Monty did not meet Harry’s eye.
Knowing there was only one way to salvage Portia’s reputation, Harry said, “Good morning, Lady Maclean. May I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Her ladyship reacted as if she had not heard him. “Colonel Chattan?” she answered, a question in her greeting as if she couldn’t believe he was here.
But someone inside the bothy had heard. “No,” Portia cried.
Harry ignored the protest, moving so he blocked the door.
“I would be honored to have your daughter for my wife.” Funny but he’d never thought he would say these words. However, now, asking for Portia’s hand, they seemed like a logical step.
Sounding slightly dazed, Lady Maclean said, “Is she all right?”
“She enjoys excellent health,” Harry responded.
The stable lads snickered. Harry would “discuss” the matter with them later. He’d allow no one to mock the woman who would become his wife—and then he received a great thump in the back as Portia literally ran into him.
Harry was not expecting an attack from the rear. He lost his balance and there was enough space for Portia to squeeze her way between.
She was a mess. Her dress was sloppily laced and her curls sprang in every direction around her head, wild and carefree. She had one shoe on her stockingless feet and the other foot was bare.
When she realized how large the gathering was, her eyes widened. She gathered her cloak around her and lifted her chin.
“Hello, Mother.”
A frown etched itself on Her Ladyship’s features. For a moment she appeared ready to fly off in hysteria, and then she glanced at Monty and seemed to gain courage. “Put your spectacles on, Portia,” she said.
Whatever Portia had been expecting her mother to say, it was not that. She appeared confused and then turned to Harry, who held out his hand holding her eyeglasses. Her eyes not meeting his, she put them on, curving the wire temples around her ears.
“I’m ready to go home, Mother.”
“Yes, I imagine you are. However, Colonel Chattan has asked me for your hand and I am going to give my blessing.”
Everyone nodded. It was what was expected.
Portia shook their complacency when she squared her shoulders and announced, “Well, I will not marry him. Your blessing or no.”
Harry made an exasperated sound. He turned to her. “Portia, don’t be obstinate. Of course we must marry.”
“There is no ‘of course’ about it,” she said. “I do not wish to marry you.”
That set tongues wagging. Many a Scot was grinning at Harry’s comeuppance, and he realized she was on her way to becoming a local hero. He knew they had not liked him because he was the “English” Chattan, but he thought them silly.
Monty jumped into the fray, taking charge. “You men, we are done here. We’ve found her. Thank you, thank you. A good day’s work,” he said. “Now off you go. There’s no more to see here.”
By the expressions on everyone’s faces, they disagreed with him. But he was waving his hands, moving them on and clearing a space around Portia, Harry, her mother, her sister, and Mr. Oliver Tolliver.
Portia said to her sister, “I’m sorry, Minnie, I would not wish to embarrass you with such a scandal.”
“I’m not worried for myself, dear—” her sister said.
“And there is no reason to do so,” Lady Maclean said, interrupting. “You shall marry Colonel Chattan.”
“I shall not,” Portia answered.
“You shall.”
“Shall not.”
“One moment,” Harry said, pulling Portia aside without waiting for permission.
Her expression was tight with anger. She crossed her arms as if not wanting to touch him at all.
Was this the woman who had so sweetly given all that she had to him?
Her attitude puzzled him.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched. He refused to back away.
“We have no choice,” he said. “If we do not marry, you are ruined, and I will not let that happen.”
She studied the ground. “I will not marry you.”
He leaned down, attempting to make her look at him. “Perhaps I’m not the man you would wish,” he said, “but we haven’t fared too badly these weeks together, have we?”
She didn’t answer. His sweet Portia had gone mute.
“And this is perfect,” he continued, realizing he was going to have to convince her to save herself. “You won’t ever have to worry about money again. I can take care of your mother and set a dowry for your sister.” He wondered why he hadn’t thought of doing that already. In fact, he was eager to make Portia’s life easier.
“You didn’t want to be my mistress, and I would never have expected that of you,” he hastened to add. “But as my wife, Portia, I can offer you so much. You have merely to ask and I will give.”
Still, she said nothing.
But he was warming to the idea. What had started off as a matter of honor was taking hold as a very sound, likable plan. He wanted to care for Portia. He wanted to keep her—forever, if need be.
“There is a good side to all this,” he said. “With you as my wife, I won’t have to worry about falling in love. You understand the curse. You know I could never love you. And we won’t be disagreeable the way our parents were. We’re friends, companions, and will be watchful so that we’ll never love each other. You will never be a danger to me.”
She raised her head then. Silent tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late, Harry. I already love you.”
Her declaration bowled him over.
He didn’t know what to answer.
She knew what he was thinking because she nodded her head as if confirming she understood the dangers. And with that, she left him, crossing to her sister’s horse. She put her foot in the stirrup and heaved herself up to sit behind Minnie. She said something to her sister, and Minnie kicked the horse in the direction of home. They rode away.
Portia did not look back.
Lady Maclean heaved a sigh filled with regret. “I suppose we are done here,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I’m not done,” Harry vowed. “She needs to listen to reason.”
She’d left him. She’d confessed that she loved him and then left. No woman had ever just walked away. Or if she had, Harry hadn’t given a care because he couldn’t remember.
“If you can reason with one of my daughters, please help yourself,” Lady Maclean answered. “I fear she’s made her choice. She would rather be ruined and the talk of the valley than with you, Colonel Chattan.”
With those words, she took Monty’s arm and together they returned to their horses. The dogs went charging after Monty.
The others walked or rode off as well.
And Harry was alone.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m sorry,” Portia said after she and Minnie had dismounted in front
of Camber Hall. Mr. Tolliver—Ollie—had taken their horses with the intention of returning them to General Montheath.
“For what?” her sister asked.
“For everything,” Portia whispered. She’d thought she’d cried enough over Harry the night before, but now she realized she had fresh tears to shed. “This will cast a terrible shadow over your wedding.”
Minnie put her arms around her sister. “I’m more worried about you. This has been a frightening morning.”
“What do you mean?” Portia asked as they climbed the front steps.
“Mother was beside herself when we realized you were missing. We searched everywhere and then when we couldn’t find you, we panicked. Mother sent for General Montheath and he organized the search party.” Minnie placed a hand on Portia’s arm. “I wish I had known what you were about. If I had, we would never have alerted everyone. I fear we have not done you any favors.”
Portia shook her head. “It is fine, Minnie. I kept it secret. Having clandestine meetings with one of the most notorious rakes in all England is not something one shares with her mother and sister.” She didn’t wait for Minnie’s response but ran inside the house and up the stairs.
She shut herself in her bedroom. The bed, the draperies, the two chairs by the window near her desk looked the same but now everything was different. She placed her hand on her belly. Yes, very different. She should never have left this room. Being publicly humiliated was what she’d deserved . . . but what of the future? What of the child she was certain they had created?
Need for Harry stabbed through her. They had been apart from each other not even an hour and already she missed him. Was this what the rest of her life would be like? She couldn’t imagine ever forgetting him. He was a part of her.
She’d turned down his offer of marriage.
The realization robbed her of breath . . . and then she remembered the happy way in which he’d told her that they would never love each other.
There might have been a time when Portia would have claimed she could love him enough for both of them . . . but then she thought of her father, of her mother, whose disappointment in her marriage was so very clear.
No, Portia was better off alone.
Sitting on the bed, Portia was overwhelmed with fear. She looked around the room, wishing Owl was there. The cat was nowhere to be seen. She was alone. Completely alone.
Portia lay down and surprised herself by falling asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
A light knock on the door woke Portia. She sat up and looked around the room. She’d not closed the curtains, and the weak morning light filled the room. She must have slept all day and all night. She felt good—until she remembered all that had happened the day before.
The knock sounded again.
“Come in,” Portia said, expecting her visitor to be Minnie. She reached for her spectacles on the bedside table and was surprised when the door opened and her mother entered the room.
Lady Maclean was dressed for the day, something she’d only recently started. Always before, she’d lie abed until the evening hours, and by then, why change? She’d have Portia bring up a tray and that would be that. However, lately, her mother had been joining them for dinner as well.
“How are you feeling?” her mother asked, closing the door behind her, a sign that they were going to “talk.”
Portia was not ready to talk. “I’ve been better.” She put her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The world seemed to spin a moment. She crossed over to the washbasin and poured cold water into the bowl. She splashed it on her face.
Her mother was watching her with great concern in her eyes.
This was not what Portia wanted or needed. She faced her mother. “I know you believe it would be wiser if I accept Colonel Chattan’s offer of marriage. I will not.”
“I realize that,” Lady Maclean said. She walked over to one of the two chairs by the window and took a seat. “Come sit.”
“Why?”
Her mother smiled. It appeared genuine. “I’ve already told you—we must talk.”
Portia considered her mother a moment. She’d changed. Certainly, she was calmer than Portia would have imagined under the circumstances. Her guard still up, Portia crossed to the empty chair beside her mother’s. She sat.
“General Montheath has asked for my hand in marriage and I said yes,” her mother said.
For a second, Portia wasn’t certain she’d heard her correctly. She waited, expecting some excuse or complaint to follow. She had assumed this conversation would be about her. It wasn’t.
“Aren’t you going to wish us happy?” her mother asked.
“Oh, yes,” Portia said, still thrown off balance by this conversation. “I am happy for you.”
“I shall expect both of my daughters to stand as witnesses for us.”
“I will be honored,” Portia murmured, and then realized she had a new concern. What would become of her? “When did he ask?”
“Yesterday evening. You seemed to need your sleep or else I would have woken you.”
Portia pressed her lips together, feeling the worst daughter. Then again, since when had her mother become so independent? “You were set against him,” she said. “What happened?”
“Actually, it was something you said. I realized I’d mourned your father long enough. Indeed, I mourned for him when he was alive. I wanted him to be the sort of man I thought he should be. You accused me of not seeing Black Jack Maclean clearly. You were right.”
Leaning back in her chair, Portia saw her mother with new eyes, and was a bit embarrassed by her own callousness that evening after the dance. “I was a bit harsh.”
“Sometimes harshness is what one needs to make a change.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Do you not think it wise to consider marriage to Colonel Chattan?” her mother suggested.
Portia hardened her jaw. This was the conversation she’d expected.
Before she could answer, her mother said, “I understand you are upset with him, although I don’t comprehend why. If I think back on your activities over the past two weeks, you have been seeing him, have you not? Alastair suspects the two of you have been together.”
“Alastair?”
“General Montheath. Monty.” Her mother blushed with fondness as she said the names.
And Portia had a sense that she herself had been absent while the rest of the world had changed.
“Being Colonel Chattan’s wife would not be such a bad thing,” Lady Maclean continued. “He’s wealthy, well connected, very easy on the eyes—”
“And cursed.”
“What?” Her mother frowned as if she hadn’t heard correctly.
“He’s cursed, Mother.” Portia crossed her arms. “You haven’t heard of the Chattan Curse? All the locals know it. When a Chattan male falls in love, then he will die.”
“I doubt if such a thing is true. You know how these country folk are—full of superstitions.”
“It’s true, Mother.”
Lady Maclean lifted a brow at the conviction in Portia’s voice and then reconsidered. “Is he in love with you?”
The question lingered in the air a moment.
I won’t have to worry about falling in love. That was what he’d said yesterday.
Portia wished she could go back to bed, pull the covers over her head, and forget those words.
“No, he isn’t,” she said to her mother.
“Interesting. He’s called on you several times since yesterday. He’s been most anxious to see you.”
“He has?” Portia said, her traitorous heart almost singing with the possibility that Harry cared.
Or was he calling because of guilt?
For all his faults, he was an honorable man. He certainly felt duty bound to ma
rry her, but Portia didn’t want to be a duty. Her love for him was such that she’d rather live without him than be a mere obligation.
Or be the cause of his death.
“Does that not move you?” her mother asked.
Portia shook her head as she studied the grain of the wood on the floor.
“People here have long memories. They will not forget,” her mother warned.
She was saying that Portia was ruined. Forevermore when they talked of her, they would bring up the story of her foolish affair with a man most definitely above her touch.
Her mother sighed. “Well, so be it. Alastair has assured me you will always have a place under his roof.”
Now she had Portia’s attention. “You are moving?”
“I must if I marry him.”
“Why can’t we all live here?” Camber Hall was home to her.
“I don’t like this drafty place overmuch,” Lady Maclean said. “The house Alastair is living in is better suited to servants and the stable is larger.”
“You never cared about the stable before,” Portia said.
“Oh yes, I did. I want a coach and team. Alastair has promised to give them to me as a wedding present.”
And her mother would be the grand lady she’d always wished to be. “Are you just marrying him for security?” Portia asked.
“A bit.” Her mother smiled at her. “It will be nice. But I’ve grown fond of Alastair. He’s not handsome. And certainly he is not as dashing as your father was. However, I find his looks are growing on me. Furthermore, it is nice to be adored.”
Yes, it would be. “I’m so happy for you, Mother.” Portia meant those words. “You are going to be at peace with all of his dogs?”
“Alastair and I will reach a compromise. I told him no dogs in the dining room and the bedroom and he thought that acceptable. To be honest, that beast Jasper is rather sweet. The wedding will be in February. I thought it best we settle Minerva and Oliver first.”
“That’s wise.” And Portia would be alone.
Portia shook her head to clear it. She was sinking into self-pity, a trait she did not admire. She must be practical. Soon, she would be thinking for a child as well.
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