Nerissa had said that Rothgar's mother had turned mad and murdered her second child. In the portrait, Portia detected the shadows of that event in the husband's eyes. She thought that his new bride might be able to wipe away shadows, however. It was a beautiful face, but also a good one.

  "I wish I had known her. She looks charming."

  "She was, and very kind-hearted. She was also high-spirited and seems to have passed that trait on to most of her offspring. They give me endless trouble."

  Then Portia saw the jewels. Except for the tiara, the marchioness was wearing the jewels the marquess had put on her. Her hand went to the necklace. "They are the same..."

  "They were her bridal gift from my father."

  She looked at him in shock. "Then I mustn't wear them."

  "They were always intended for Bryght's bride."

  Portia suddenly felt trapped by the ornaments, as if they were chains not jewels. She looked at the smiling woman who had taken on a family under a dark cloud and brought love. "She'd want better than this artificial marriage for her firstborn son."

  Rothgar guided her to the stairs. "She wanted the best, as any parent would. The important thing is that those jewels were Gabrielle's favorite pieces, and well known. Your wearing them will be understood by all."

  So it had been a practical gesture, not a sentimental one. That suited Portia's mood entirely.

  Rothgar led her to a gilded room where she found the Trelyns present, looking frigid. However, both applied practiced, polite smiles.

  "Why, how pretty you look, Cousin!" declared Nerissa with a degree of astonishment that was insulting.

  Portia replied with a wary curtsy.

  Fort was present, too. "How are you?" he asked, and his gray eyes searched her for damage.

  "I'm in perfect health, Fort," Portia said firmly, but before she could say anything else, Rothgar moved her on to meet the two strangers present. She realized these were more Mallorens.

  "My sister, Lady Elfled, generally called Elf," the marquess said. Lady Elf was not a beauty, and her hair was browner than her mother's, but Portia thought she might have much of her mother's warmth and charm.

  Portia curtsied, but Elf embraced her. "How wonderful! Not many weeks since Cyn married and I am to have another new sister! And since Cyn and Chastity will travel to Canada in the spring, it is delightful to have a sister who will keep me company from time to time."

  Portia was dizzied by this apparently genuine warmth.

  "And mother's jewels!" Elf exclaimed. "How lovely they look on you. They need brilliant hair such as yours. How clever you are, Bryght."

  Portia spun to see that Bryght had entered the room. There hadn't been time for him to be powdered, but he was otherwise in full magnificence of green-bronze watered silk, heavily braided in gold. His earring was a golden stone to match Portia's jewels, and he smiled at his brother. "Thank you."

  "They were always intended for your wife," said Rothgar. "Portia, can you take your eyes off my showy brother long enough to greet another Malloren? Brand."

  Blushing, Portia hastily turned back. Brand Malloren was powdered, but he had the same unalarming degree of good looks as his sister. He smiled in a surprisingly normal manner for a Malloren and kissed her hand and cheek. "Welcome to the family. I gather we are to venture forward en masse and conquer the world."

  "To conquer the Willoughbys will be sufficient." Rothgar drew Brand and Elf away, leaving Portia and Bryght together.

  "You look very beautiful," he said softly.

  "I don't like this, Bryght. I don't like any of it."

  He captured her hand and led her to a far corner of the room where a plinth surmounted by a huge urn even provided a little privacy. "What don't you like, love?"

  She snatched her hand free. "For one thing, I don't like deception. I am not your love."

  "You're upset," he said patiently. "I understand. I'd rather we were being left alone to explore our feelings. I do love you, though."

  And I fear I love you, but this feels completely wrong. It's all plotting, and planning, and malice.

  "I want to be free," she said. "Can't you understand that? "

  "Marriage isn't a prison. What upsets you about the thought of us marrying?"

  Portia opened and closed her fan. "That we have nothing in common. That we don't really want to."

  "We have a great deal in common, and I want to."

  "Why? Other than to preserve your fragile reputation?"

  "Damned if I know," he said lightly, "and that's the most persuasive argument of all. If you were a raving beauty whom all men would envy me—like Nerissa, or if you were rich—like Jenny Findlayson, then it would be easy to explain. I just want you, Portia."

  "Passion will fade."

  He shook his head. "Don't debase what we have. I want your companionship. I want your spirit. I want your children."

  It was dangerously sweet. "Why?" she demanded again.

  "Where did you get the notion that love is logical? Why do you love me?"

  He took it for granted. The only possible response was, "I don't."

  She saw it shock him, and perhaps hurt as well. "Ah. I'm sorry, then, that I haven't worked harder to avoid this." Almost wistfully, he added, "I can be quite a pleasant companion, given the chance. What will you want in this marriage?"

  This marriage. Despite her protests, he would have his way.

  "Respect," she said.

  "I respect you."

  "I mean," she said, looking straight at him, "I want to respect my husband."

  He sucked in a breath. "In what way do I not deserve respect?"

  "You're a gamester." Before he could speak she carried on, "Don't deny it. You're as bad as Oliver, just luckier, and luck never lasts. I'll never be sure my house won't be wagered away."

  "Portia, I would never do that."

  "That's what gamesters always say."

  "I'm not a gamester."

  "Ha!"

  He looked as if he would retort sharply, but then he frowned. "Amazon tears again..."

  Portia turned away, brushing at tears she had not been aware of spilling.

  "From this day forward," he said quietly, "I will not play games of chance for more than minor stakes."

  She turned back. "What?"

  "You heard. I do not lie, and I keep my word. Trust me."

  "But...?"

  He captured her again and kissed her. "Hush. You will never lose your home through me."

  She stared up at him, trying to believe, wanting to trust. "But how will we survive if you give up the tables?"

  He grinned. "Bird droppings and such." Before she could protest, he explained. "Investments. My income comes mostly from dealing in imports, exports, mining, and manufactories."

  Portia was confused but not reassured. "My father ruined himself at that, and put a pistol ball in his head."

  He would have responded, but the meal was announced.

  He sighed. "I can prove what I say, Portia, but there's no time now. You will have to take me on trust." He took a ring out of his pocket and slid it onto her finger.

  It was the square golden stone bordered by tiny diamonds that matched the others that she wore. "This should mean love," she said sadly.

  "It means commitment. That will have to do for now. The meal is ready. Come."

  * * *

  It was a meal of elegant competence, with witty and erudite talk flowing around the table. No one would guess that there were bitter enemies present. No one would guess that Portia was a sacrificial victim.

  Had Bryght been honest when he'd said he loved her? It should mean so much, but it foundered on the fact that he was a gambler in every aspect of his life. If he kept his word about cards and dice, he'd risk all on investments.

  Portia's father had truly loved her mother—he would not have married so much beneath him otherwise. It had not staved off disaster in the end.

  Portia was determined to evade the Laocoon tails that tangled her. She looked around the table and assessed her enemies.

  The marquess merely wanted his brother's safety.

  Nerissa wanted the marriage, but she mainly wanted that letter. Perhaps Portia could get it in some other way.

  Fort was the biggest problem because he wanted the marriage itself, wanted it in order to harm Bryght, even if he had to use her as implement. How could her friend so ill-wish her?

  She must find an opportunity to talk to him and make him see that he would be hurting her as well as Bryght. Looking at him, however, seeing how cold and cynical he'd become since his father's death, she had doubts.

  Eventually there were toasts and then Elf led Portia and Nerissa away to take tea in her boudoir.

  "The men won't be long," Elf said, "for we are to be at Lady Willoughby's soon. At least, I hope they won't be long. The last thing we need is for them to be in their cups."

  "I can't imagine the marquess in his cups," said Portia, sipping tea, wondering if she could recruit Elf to her cause.

  "Oh, it happens," said Elf with a chuckle. "Sometimes at the Abbey, they all relax and become very silly."

  "And do you become drunk, too?" asked Nerissa.

  "Why, no."

  "You should. It's delightful. Is it not, Portia?"

  "I have never been drunk either, Nerissa. It's not ladylike."

  Nerissa laughed. "What a dull stick you are. Poor Bryght. He'll probably shoot himself of boredom."

  "Lady Trelyn!" protested Elf.

  Nerissa laughed again, but then the tone of it changed and she dissolved into tears.

  "Oh dear." Elf hurried to her side.

  Portia had never seen Nerissa in such a state. "She's increasing...."

  "That may explain it. Perhaps we should let her lie down next door."

  So they supported the distraught Nerissa into the green bedchamber and laid her on the bed. "I'm sorry!" Nerissa gasped. "I don't know how I could.... Oh dear, Trelyn will be so displeased!"

  "We won't say anything," said Elf soothingly. "It's just your condition. It disorders some women. Would you like your tea here?"

  Nerissa shook her head. "Perhaps if I lie quietly for a while. I must be ready to play my part later." She looked at Portia. "I never meant you ill. I could not bear the thought of you languishing a spinster, and this will be a brilliant match...."

  Portia almost believed her until she added, "But, oh, poor Bryght!"

  Elf pulled Portia out of the room and back to the tea. "She is the most complete cat. I was terrified for a while that Bryght would marry her. So was Rothgar. Well, not terrified. But disturbed."

  "I assume that if the marquess did not want Bryght to marry Nerissa, they would not marry."

  "Well, perhaps," said Elf dubiously. "Bryght is past being ruled by Rothgar, though, and he has money enough to snap his fingers at him if he wishes."

  "He does?" From speculation, Portia. Remember that.

  "Oh yes. We all have handsome allowances, though Bryght has made even more through his investments. He is very clever at it."

  "He must lose money sometimes, though."

  "Rarely. There was something to do with a new kind of steel furnace which proved completely unsafe. And there's Bridgewater's canal, which most people think will be a disaster. I understand that the duke has signed an agreement that he will sell coal in Manchester and Liverpool for four-pence a ton for forty years. No one believes he can make a profit at that."

  Deep inside, Portia had hoped her fears groundless. "I wish there was no necessity for such a hasty wedding," she hazarded, watching for Elf's response.

  "But there is, isn't there?"

  Portia turned red. Bryght's sister had a pleasant, comfortable face and a light manner that seemed almost silly at times. When she posed her question, however, there was a shrewdness in her eyes that reminded Portia of Bryght and Rothgar.

  As much to escape the question as anything, Portia went to the adjoining door. "I had best check that Nerissa is all right."

  She walked into an empty room. After a puzzled moment, she remembered Nerissa's disordered health at the Willoughbys'. "That woman is doubtless healthy as a peasant," she snapped to an astonished Elf, and headed for the corridor.

  "Where are you going?" Elf gasped from behind her. "She may have gone downstairs."

  "Why?" Portia demanded, and let instinct guide her. "Where are Bryght's rooms? I've forgotten."

  "This way," said Elf, picking up her skirts to run around the corner into the next corridor. She opened a door and they burst in to see Nerissa watching a paper shrivel and burn. She turned with a glowing smile. "Too late! I am free of the Mallorens at last!"

  "What was that?" Elf asked in confusion.

  But Portia knew. It was that horrible letter from Maidenhead and she was glad to see it go, though she felt as if somehow she should have prevented the destruction.

  Nerissa moved away from the fireplace. "I need never dance to a Malloren's tune again, and I'll do my best to ensure that Trelyn thwarts them at every turn."

  "Then there is no reason to push for this marriage anymore," said Portia, eager to see one toil cut free.

  "Still reluctant?" asked Nerissa in surprise. "Alas, cousin dear, the damage is done. We can whitewash you at the Willoughbys', but the world will still believe you ruined. If you do not marry, it will be disastrous. If you stay in London, you will always be the focus of scandal. If you leave, it will be believed you have fled to escape it. Or perhaps even to bear a child. Is that not so, Lady Elfled?"

  Elf looked at Portia with compassion. "It is, Portia. Truly."

  "And Bryght would never live it down," added Nerissa. "Is that not true, Lady Elfled?"

  "I fear so. To have a mistress is one thing. To ruin a lady is another."

  "Then all is settled." Nerissa strolled to the bed, and ran a jeweled hand across the brown brocade cover. "I will enjoy thinking of you here, Cousin. I'm sure Bryght will be very understanding of your awkwardness and ignorance...." With a throaty laugh she carried on her way.

  "Ugh," shivered Elf. "Despite her beauty, Nerissa Trelyn makes me think of the slimy things one finds under stones. But what was she doing in here?"

  Portia stirred herself to go look in the fire, but there was no longer even a scrap of ash as evidence. "Bryght had a letter of hers. A letter to her lover. He must have been using it to control her actions for she was desperate to get it back."

  But her mind was on other things. Was it possible that marriage was the only way to clear Bryght's reputation?

  Elf came to put an arm about Portia's waist and draw her out of the room. "Don't let her upset you, my dear. She throws darts purely for amusement. We must tell Bryght and Rothgar, though."

  "They'll be annoyed. If she chooses to, she could damage me."

  "They'll take care of it," Elf said with confidence. "Truly, having such formidable brothers can be tedious at times, but they are useful when problems need sorting out. Nothing is allowed to thwart them."

  Such as a reluctant bride?

  They found Nerissa composedly drinking tea, and they all went down to join the men who awaited in the hall. Elf had a quiet word with her brothers and Bryght came over to Portia. "Don't worry. The letter doesn't matter anymore."

  "I should have remembered her trick that other time."

  "You have enough on your mind. It's a shame Zeno was in Rothgar's rooms—he'd have set up the alarm. On the other hand, he might have bitten her and died of poisoning."

  A laugh startled Portia, and she looked at him, wanting to surrender to the optimistic view of the future. But then she saw Fort watching them with grim satisfaction, and was reminded that for him and the Trelyns, she was a millstone to tie around Bryght's neck.

  Marriage would be a prison cell for both of them, and surely the mighty Mallorens could avoid the minor scandal she had created.

  "It will be all right," he assured her. "I suspect Nerissa will be content to see us married."

  Having confirmed her bleak thoughts, he wrapped a cloak around her—not her own serviceable garment, but one of rich blue velvet lined with fur—and kissed her cheek before escorting her out.

  The ladies traveled by sedan chair, the men walking alongside. Portia was grateful not to have to chatter, especially to Nerissa, and she needed some time of cool thought. She needed time. She needed time.

  A child was a disastrous possibility, but it was only that. The main thing was to avoid being married on Wednesday.

  That meant she must speak with Fort.

  Chapter 21

  The Willoughbys' house was exactly as it had been, but the haughty lady was almost avid as she greeted the new party of guests. Portia suspected that despite her cool dignity, Lady Willoughby was ecstatic to be the center of such a notorious affair.

  She grasped both Portia's hands, her hooded eyes taking in the betrothal ring. "Miss St. Claire. How happy I am to see you in such fine state. You look amazingly well."

  Portia kept her chin up and a slight smile on her lips. "I am completely well."

  "And of course," added Bryght at her shoulder, "completely happy."

  "I do not doubt it," Lady Willoughby said with a cynical edge which told Portia that she, too, thought the match unequal. "And dear Lady Rothgar's jewels. I remember her wearing them. They suit you almost as well, my dear."

  She led them into her principal saloon and Portia was immediately the focus of inspection. She froze.

  Bryght took her hand and stepped in front of her. "Talk to me and ignore everyone else."

  "I don't like this," she said, but managed a smile. "I hate London."

  "You will grow accustomed." He was smiling, too, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell me how much you love me."

  She raised her hand, her fingers a scant inch apart. "That much."

  He suddenly laughed, and the chill fled. "Something to build upon, at least. Come and talk to the Chivenhams. They are not given to low gossip."

  Indeed, the older couple gave no indication of knowing any scandal at all, and Lady Chivenham commented favorably on the jewels. Other people were not so discreet. Some reassured Bryght that they had been sure it was all gossip, going on to complain of the wicked stories that flew around London like the wind.

 

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