“I suppose it could be,” Mother agreed but did not sound very confident that it was. “Perhaps she will host another entertainment soon, so we can show off Lavinia’s pretty manners and accomplishments.”
Catching titles for her daughters was all Mother had ever really cared about. Now that Portia was off the shelf, about to be married to a duke, she talked constantly of her hopes for Lavinia making a similar match. Mother and Father had both pushed Portia to seek the best marriage she could. But lately, she’d started to wonder if she might have chosen differently if they’d not been so particular.
“Mother, can I ask you something?”
“Anything, as long as it doesn’t involve banishing your sister to her room again because she has annoyed you,” Mother warned. “She cannot marry well if she is not seen.”
Portia laughed. “Lord Wade. Did you ever think he might have been interested in me?”
“I suppose he might have, but it hardly matters.”
Portia winced. “He has been very kind, helpful too, and we do like him very much. Did he ever offer for me, or ever hint that he might be considering it?”
“No. Not that I ever recall. Your father would never have allowed you to marry a fortune hunter, anyway.”
“Is he really a fortune hunter? He’s never acted like the other ones who came to call.”
“My dear girl, the Wade family is virtually without a penny. I could never understand in the beginning how the ton continued to embrace the family.”
“Perhaps he did someone a kindness.”
“He must have done a great many kindnesses to be so supported. He keeps no horses or carriages and never entertains. But he is still on everyone’s list when invitations are issued. How is that fair, when I have a daughter in need of a husband?”
“I don’t know that much about his past, really.” For much of her association with Lord Wade, she’d considered him a nuisance, intent on spoiling her fun. The way he had watched her, butted into her conversations while passing her by, had made her dislike his forwardness.
However, she had quickly appreciated his loyalty when there had been a murderess hunting down debutantes of questionable virtue. Portia might have been slain if not for Wade’s constant presence near her.
She had not asked him to watch over her. He had taken it upon himself to be her protector. Out of the goodness of his heart, despite his argument that he’d done nothing extraordinary. He’d become her friend, an adviser she’d come to rely upon. She probably owed him her life.
At least now she had a means to repay him through her uncle’s eclectic collection. Allowing him permission to take from her uncle’s house might even help his finances in a small way, too. Those small wins might prevent him having to sell the lease on his Hanover Square home this season. She didn’t like to think of being in London without his steady presence.
Portia poured herself a cup of tea but found it cold. She set the cup aside and stood.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mother demanded.
“I think I am done for the day, too. I was going to go up to my room and—”
“No, no, no!” mother cried. “We must wait until three for callers.”
“But you sent my sister away.”
“That is part of my plan, dear. She comes and goes so her arrival will seem unplanned. Fated. Who knows what might happen under the right circumstances?”
Portia’s heart sank. At the beginning of her first season, Mother had attempted to orchestrate several impromptu introductions. A dropped handkerchief in the park, a twisted ankle once next to a grand carriage. In retrospect, her behavior then was mortifying. She’d hoped Lavinia would be spared such nonsense
Now she thought about it, Lord Wade had been around in the early days when Mother tried to ingratiate herself with strangers, and had always shaken his head before stepping in to perform introductions. It was surprising he’d not run away from them, really. She knew a great many people in society because he had not. As a consequence of those early introductions, her family had been assured of an interesting evening of varied conversation whenever they went out.
And now, perhaps because of Montrose, they would not keep those friendships.
She glanced at her mother in consternation. “The best introductions have never happened in our drawing room, Mother.”
She had first bumped into Lord Wade on foot in Green Park. She remembered the moment clearly, because he’d opened his mouth and swore out loud for no good reason. A proper introduction had come a few days later at a ball. She’d been very surprised to see him again; she’d not known they’d had acquaintances in common at the time.
“We should go out,” Mother declared. “Your future may be settled, but we must think of Lavinia, too. Fetch your shawl and have the carriage brought round.”
Portia rose, knowing she must obey her mother for the sake of any peace. “Yes, Mother.”
“While we travel, we will give some thought to our circle of acquaintances and see who we can call upon. We cannot rest on our laurels. We must strike while the iron is hot, so to speak.”
“And try not to singe our garter ribbons in the process,” Portia quipped.
Mother glared. “Try to think of someone besides yourself for once, Portia Hayes.”
Portia moved to the window on her way to the door, just in time to see her intended’s carriage stop before their house. Grooms swarmed down from the gleaming black town carriage and smartly snapped out the carriage step. One opened the door and held it, standing at stiff attention. Montrose, however, took his time to exit. Once on the pavement, he looked up and down the street, and then strode purposely up the stairs to her front door. “Montrose has come,” she whispered urgently.
“Oh,” Mother wailed. “Oh my! Now we must stay to welcome him.”
Portia rushed to sit again, fluffing out her skirts then picking up her needlework.
She held her breath, glancing at the closed drawing room door—but soon realized Montrose had been shown to her father’s study, instead. Portia lowered her needlework when the distant door shut with a loud crack. It opened soon enough after, though, and then her father hurried in, followed by the duke. Montrose was still carrying his hat and gloves and, by the way he glowered at everyone, seemed very upset.
Portia hastily dipped into a curtsy. “Your grace. What a pleasure to see you.”
“Miss Hayes,” Montrose said as he bowed smartly, and then looked at her father.
“Yes, yes, of course.” He hooked Mother by the arm and dragged her from the room. “Come along, my dear.”
Surprised and pleased to be left alone with her betrothed, she smiled warmly up at him. “We were not expecting you to call today, your grace.”
“Needs must.”
She stared at his face and saw not an ounce of pleasure there for her warm welcome. She gulped. “Is something wrong?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask that?”
“You appear most upset.”
“I am not upset.”
Portia nodded quickly. The man was lying. He was incredibly angry, she thought. What about, Portia could not imagine, but she decided that jollying him out of the mood was to be her first duty as his future wife. “Perhaps we might sit and talk. It has been a few days since we have seen each other. I trust you have been in good health and that your business went smoothly while you were away.”
He nodded and sat in an opposite chair, flicking out the tails of his coat. He leaned forward, studying her face. “I have not known you very long, but I believe you to be an honest woman.”
“I am,” she assured him.
“Your father has made me aware that the house formerly belonging to Oliver Quigley is part of your dowry.”
“Yes. I used to visit Uncle Oliver as a child, and since he did not have children of his own, he left it to me when he died. He was the best of men.”
“An unusual decision, but I assumed your father had the managing of it.�
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“Until I marry, yes. Afterward, I hoped to have a say in what was done with it. My son will, after all, inherit the house. I want it to be left to him in a proper condition.”
His stare became hard. “Your father had intended to clean out the house completely and to lease it before we married, but it seems someone else may already be doing so for him. Without being asked to.”
Outside of family and servants, only Wade and his aunt and brother had been in the house since Uncle Oliver’s death, and Anna and her husband, too, but they were far away right now. She remembered Wade’s warning to hide their friendship from the duke very clearly and did not want to stir up trouble for anyone, including herself. “That cannot be. Nothing has been removed without permission.”
“I see.” He squinted at her. “And yet, an item known to be in your uncle’s possession before his death has reappeared in a most unseemly fashion.”
She blinked several times. “I beg your pardon.”
“I will not burden you with the particulars, but suffice to say it caused considerable embarrassment to a number of acquaintances of mine.” He tilted his head, his expression hard as ice. “How recently were you at the house in Soho?”
Several things suddenly clicked into place, and she almost groaned aloud. Oh, Wade. Why didn’t you tell me Montrose was involved in the wager? Lord Wade had taken two things from Uncle Oliver’s house. Both were scandalous. He’d claimed to have burned one and would return the other to the painted lady soon, if he hadn’t done so already. But which item was Montrose talking about now? The portrait or the phallus. It did not please her that he might want either one of them in his possession. Especially the latter.
“Sunday,” she said, lifting her chin, determined not to leap to conclusions. “I was looking through some old sheet music in Oliver’s collection to give to my sister.”
“What time of day was this?”
Portia lifted a finger to her chin, pretending to think about her answer. But her mind was racing. What did it matter when she was there or what she did with anything she found? The contents of the house would be disposed of anyway. Surely he couldn’t want a painting of a naked woman to hang on his walls, a replica of another man’s cock. Her cheeks grew warm that she’d even thought that word to herself. “It was after my visit to the dressmaker you recommended, but before luncheon.”
“Did you meet anyone at the townhouse? See anyone leaving or acting suspiciously nearby?”
She’d met Wade there, and he’d made her promise never to mention that to Montrose. “Of course not. I was with my maid.”
And thankfully, Mary would keep her lips shut about the hours they had been apart in between. Father would dismiss Mary if it was ever known she routinely visited her sister, who lived and worked a short distance from Uncle Oliver’s home. It was their secret, and Portia wanted it to remain that way forever.
Montrose nodded slowly, then his features softened. “I would appreciate it if you would keep the topic of this conversation between us.”
“Of course,” she promised him.
His gaze swept over her body then back to her face. There was a glint in his eyes she’d never seen before. “You look very pretty today,” he said suddenly—before darting forward and planting a hard kiss on her lips.
Startled, Portia did not immediately respond to the kiss. She was too busy keeping to her seat. Montrose swept his hands over her back, and he locked her into his arms. Portia pressed her hands to his shoulders, but never considered moving them up to embrace him. She shoved a little when the kiss went on too long and she needed to breathe.
He drew back with a grunt. “Forgive me, it has been a trying few days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered, and then tried to smile as she comprehended the man kneeling before her did not kiss well. He took and plundered, and she felt very unsatisfied. “I’m very glad you came today. Please, won’t you sit and talk about your trip. Where did you go so suddenly?”
Perhaps if Montrose was calmer, more in control, he might present her with a much better kiss if given a second chance. She licked her lips but he frowned instead of obliging her with even a smile.
“I must go, unfortunately,” he said as he gained his feet.
Portia jumped to hers. “Already? But you have only just arrived.”
He shook his head firmly. “I’m afraid I must pay a call on an old acquaintance that cannot wait.”
Portia swallowed at the hard edge that had crept back into his tone. “Who?”
But Montrose shook his head again, planted another, somewhat gentler kiss on her lips and drew back.
Neither kiss stirred her passions in any way, she realized.
“Wear white the next time I see you,” he demanded, before striding out of the room.
Portia glared after him, but Mother swept into the room the next moment, holding up a letter and smiling widely. “I knew it must have been a terrible mistake!”
“What?” Portia snapped.
“Mrs. King has sent us an invitation to join her tonight, with her most humble apologies for the oversight and late delivery of the mail. It seems Lord Wade called upon her and mentioned in passing how disappointed he was not to have us there, too. A search was conducted, and our invitation found in her morning room. How wonderful that we have such good friends! Oh, has Lord Montrose gone already?”
Portia nodded, unwilling to speak of the duke right now.
“Well, no matter, he’ll find his invitation soon enough.”
Thankfully, Mother left her to begin her preparations for the coming evening.
Portia covered her face when she was finally alone—horrified and deeply troubled by what she had learned of Montrose today. That thing Wade had taken must have belonged to Montrose and been returned despite Wade’s promise to the contrary. What else could have angered Lord Montrose more?
Wade! she shrieked silently, wishing he was here to rail at.
If Montrose ever learned who had been responsible for his embarrassment, she feared how he would react. She hoped the person Lord Wade had given that object to could be discreet about the viscount’s involvement—and hers too. She couldn’t bear it if Montrose and his friends ever caught Wade alone again. They were no longer in school. Disagreements between gentlemen were often settled by duel—with pistol or sword.
Chapter 13
Julian kissed Martha King’s wrinkled cheek. “You’re looking lovely tonight, Martha,” he promised.
“That is what you said to me yesterday.” Martha King wrinkled her nose. “Sweet words won’t change anything. You owe me for this.”
“I will owe you if you smile and say nothing about it to anyone.”
The lady scowled at him. “It’s a good thing I like you so much. You know it’s not too late to put you over my knee again.”
Martha had been Julian’s family housekeeper when he was a boy, but had married very well for herself. “I’d like to see you try.”
Martha laughed and sent him on his way to greet the next couple coming through the door.
Julian had liked Martha very much, and he’d been pleased when she had married a man who adored her and given her children of her own. The families had kept in touch over the years.
She was influential now, too.
Julian escorted his aunt into the drawing room. “She will hound you until you give her what she wants,” Aunt Hesper warned in a low tone.
“Don’t you dare tell her, but I like the opera. She thinks I’ll be pulling out my hair.”
Auntie looked at him with a worried expression. “Have you given any thought to how you’ll pay for the box?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something eventually.” There had been no fixed date when he must take Martha to the opera, though, so he had some time to work everything out.
“I hope the Hayes family appreciate your sacrifice,” Auntie complained.
“I’m sure they would if I planned to tell t
hem. You keep your lips buttoned about it, too.”
Aunt Hesper grumbled and wandered off to speak to friends nearby.
Julian saw Sullivan not far away and strolled over to him. They shook hands. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
“Your aunt said I had to come, or she would never speak to me again,” Sullivan complained.
Julian grinned at his friend. “Some men might have welcomed that silence from her.”
“Nonsense, I like your aunt. She’s not the same battle-axe she used to be, though.”
“The years have definitely mellowed her, that and the wine she constantly consumes,” he grumbled quietly.
Sullivan laughed. “She used to lecture us about the perils of overindulgence. I should send her a barrel of it to see what she says in response.”
She’d probably thank Sullivan, and mention she’d be happy to receive the rest of his wine cellar as well. “I’m pretty sure she’d blister your ears,” Julian murmured as his eyes snagged on a welcome sight—new arrivals.
Mr. and Mrs. Hayes had arrived, Lavinia standing between them. Following was Portia, looking as lovely as ever…on Montrose’s arm.
Julian stared across the room in consternation. “What the devil is he doing here?”
“Mrs. King neglected to mention he was coming, but this should make for an interesting evening,” Sullivan murmured. “She could have warned us.”
“She certainly should have,” Julian agreed. He hoped he could keep his dinner down. He was very hungry tonight, but looking at Portia’s hand anywhere on Montrose made his stomach rebel.
Aunt Hesper was suddenly at his side. “What is he doing here?”
“We were asking ourselves that very same question,” Sullivan suggested. “Perhaps he’s come in the hope of being laughed out of this dining room, too.”
Julian kept track of him and Portia, mostly. “What are you talking about?”
“Surely you heard the latest on-dit.” Sullivan leaned close to whisper. “Last night, Lord Windermere served up Lord Montrose on a platter. He found it, Wade! He found the wagered item and gave it back in front of everyone. Montrose was so embarrassed and stormed off.”
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