The cat purred approval.
Portia would have gone down the stairs, but Owl jumped from her lap and ran back to the window as if to remind her that she had almost forgotten the book. Portia laughed at the cat’s almost humanlike sensibilities and at herself for imagining them.
“Thank you, Owl, I don’t want to forget it,” she said. “How else shall we know what to chant when we see a bat?”
The cat purred her approval and followed Portia down the stairs.
Chapter One
“Portia, take your eye spectacles off your nose right this minute. You know I don’t like you to wear them around me. Or around anyone,” Lady Maclean complained as she fluffed her pillows so that she could sit up in bed before Portia set the breakfast tray on her lap. Her ladyship’s blonde hair was tucked into a lace cap, and her lace Spanish vest—a short jacket that served no purpose that Portia could tell—covered her lace nightdress. She rarely rose before noon.
“I need to see them to see, Mother,” Portia responded dutifully. They had this conversation practically every day.
With an impatient sound, Lady Maclean declared, “You see fine without them. They age you, my girl. Not that you aren’t old enough, but a woman shouldn’t want to call attention to thefact. I don’t understand why we haven’t received our invitation to the Christmas Assembly,” she announced, her mind shifting into another sequence of thought without pause. “They couldn’tnotthink of inviting us.”
Oh yes, they could, Portia thought as she walked over to the window to open the draperies.
When the Macleans had first moved to Glenfinnan, her mother had made it clear she thought herself better than the Scots even though they undoubtedly knew all too well what a scoundrel her husband and Portia’s father, Captain Sir Jack Maclean, truly was. After all, Black Jack Maclean had grown up in these parts, and one thing Portia was learning about country society was that there were no secrets.
Lady Maclean sighed wistfully, “I always adored Christmas. The parties, the dinners, the gaiety.”
Portia didn’t remember the parties, the dinners or the gaiety. As far back as her memory went, they usually spent the season being shuttled back and forth among relatives who didn’t really want Black Jack’s family. “I like not having all those relatives around. It is good to be under our own roof.”
“Even in Scotland?” Her mother sniffed her opinion and sipped her tea.
The day outside was overcast with the threat of rain. Portia wondered what the weather would be like in mid-January, when, she’d been told, it finally, truly would go cold. Would the rain change to sleet? She could go out in the rain but sleet was not to her liking. She began straightening the room.
The family only had one servant, a local named Glennis who did the cooking and the wash. Portia and Minnie managed the rest of the house. Minnie saw to the garden and Portia took care of the chickens, cow and pony. It was a good life, far better, to Portia’s thinking, than the one they’d left behind in England.
“Your eyes are weak because you read too much,” Lady Maclean said, returning to her earlier complaint. “If you would stop reading, you wouldn’t need them.”
“Minnie reads as much as I do and she doesn’t wear spectacles,” Portia argued.
“Poor Minnie,” her mother said in another lightning-quick change of thought, “how are we going to find her a suitable husband if we are not invited to the Assembly? We must go.”
Portia smiled at that concern. “Minnie hasfounda suitable husband,” she reminded her mother. She crossed to the bed. “Her affections are fixedon Mr. Tolliver. You may not think him suitable enough—”
“He is not. I will not let her throw herself away on a mere physician.”
“He is well respected and comes from a good family.”
“He is ugly,” her mother pronounced, munching on her toasted bread.
This was dangerous ground.
Minnie was a true beauty, with the round, guileless blue eyes and the blonde hair that had once made their mother famous. Wherever Minnie went, heads turned. When they had first moved to Glenfinnan, the sitting room had been full of young bucks, until they’d realized Minnie had set her cap for Mr. Tolliver.
Oliver Tolliver was of middling height, had a pouch around his middle and had a hairline that was receding rapidly. He was also one of the kindest men Portia had ever met. She understood how he could capture Minnie’s affections. Portia believed them made for each other.
It would also be hard to find a man as handsome as Minnie was beautiful. Portia thought this without jealousy.
Of course, life could be difficult being constantly compared to such a beauty—especiallyby one’s mother. Portia’s hair was brownish with untamable curls she could only manage by pulling them back to the nape of her neck. Not even braiding brought them under control. Her nose was straight, her eyes were blue—but there wasn’t anything remarkable about her features. She was also far less buxom than her sister.
And she wore spectacles.
In spite of their contrasts, she was proud of her sister and loved her dearly. “Minnie sees the measure of the man beyond his looks,” Portia said. “And I think better of her for it.”
“And I think she has an obligation to her family to marry well,” her mother muttered before taking another drink of tea. “She’s our one chance, Portia. Without a good marriage from her, we are sunk. How thoughtless of your father to leave us without anything.”
