“He’s a good man.”
“Yes, he is,” Portia said, buttering a slice of Glennis’s fresh bread for her breakfast.
“Now we need to find a husband for you who is just as good.”
Portia almost laughed. At least there was one person who didn’t see her as completely on the shelf. “You’d best start on that task, Glennis,” she teased. “It might take you most of your life.”
“Och, it won’t be that hard.”
“We shall see,” Portia said, and slipped out of the kitchen. She threw on her cloak and went to the stable. There was a chill in the air but the sky was blue with only a few clouds, and Portia felt her spirits lift.
Honey was ready to be turned out into her pasture, the goats trotting right alongside her. Glennis always milked the cow when she first arrived and before she left.
Portia took down the pitchfork to muck out the stalls. It wasn’t unpleasant work. She enjoyed thefresh air and even the smell of hay and the animals.
Because the day was so fair, she started doing a bit of cleaning and tidying up, and it was at this task Lady Emma discovered her.
Portia heard the hoofbeats coming up the drive. They rarely had visitors. She was surprised to see their visitor was none other than Lady Emma, accompanied by a groom. The girl was dressed in a silver gray riding outfit with a sophisticated, brimmed hat, decorated with a white ostrich plume that would have made her mother proud.
Now if Portia envied anything, it would be Lady Emma’s horse. The mare was a dainty dappled gray that made Honey appear a lumbering ox. She had a kind eye, big ears, and a smooth gait.
Instead of going to Camber Hall’s front door, Lady Emma had spied Portia and came trotting up to the paddock. “Good morning, Miss Maclean.”
“Good morning, Lady Emma,” Portia said, feeling at a disadvantage with her hair curling wildly around her head in spite of the braid and her person covered in dust and straw.
She and Lady Emma rarely spoke other than a passing nod of acquaintance. Then again, Portia was nine years older than the girl and as far fromsociety as one could be—especially wearing her work shoes and mucking out the paddock.
“I was out for my morning ride and thought it would be nice to call,” Lady Emma said.
Camber Hall wasn’t anywhere close to the duke’s sprawling estate. Lady Emma had ridden out of her way to visit, and Portia’s suspicions were confirmed by how lathered Her Ladyship’s horse was.
Noting the direction of Portia’s gaze, Lady Emma said, “Yes, he does need to be walked out. Marvin,” she called to the groom, “help me down and then walk my horse.”
The groom, a dark, brooding sort who wasn’t much older than Portia, jumped to do Her Ladyship’s bidding. Having helped Lady Emma dismount, he took the horses off to walk up and down the drive.
Alone, Lady Emma glanced over to Honey with a critical eye. “What is it?”
“She’s a pony.”
“What sort?”
Portia’s earlier good mood started to vanish. There was only one reason she could think of why Lady Emma would be here—the back rent. But why would the girl bypass Mr. Buchanan, who knew the rent was coming?
“She’s of undetermined lineage,” Portia said, resting the pitchfork she’d been holding on the ground, hoping that Lady Emma’s appearance didn’t portend bad news. “May I offer you refreshment?”
“I don’t have time to linger.” She faced Portia, her smile hardening on her face. No, thiswasn’ta social call. She still carried her crop, a feminine thing with a beribboned handle.
“Is there something the matter, Lady Emma?” Portia dared to ask.
“Yes, there is. I don’t want you to have anything to do with Colonel Chattan.”
Portia almost laughed. A duke’s daughter believedPortiawas competition?
“You need not worry, my lady,” Portia said.
“But I do,” Lady Emma said. She had the softest voice and liked to smile as she spoke as if she was being pleasant, but Portia sensed behind that smile were sharp, tiny teeth. “We all noticed his marked attention to you last night.”
“Marked attention?”
