“Portia, is everything all right?” Minnie asked from the doorway.
Portia looked at her lovely sister, whose brow was furrowed in concern. “All is well, dear.” She turned back to Mr. Buchanan and gave him a ferocious frown. “Two weeks?” she demanded.
“One,” Mr. Buchanan answered. “I value my position and can’t have too many questions asked. Contact your relatives. Sell something. Do what you must. The duke will hold off Lady Emma’s demands if you are right with him.”
“I shall be.”
“I did not mean to be a burden to you, Miss Portia.”
“I understand.” She found it difficult to unbend toward him. He was speaking out of kindness and with the truth. It didn’t make his message any more palatable.
“I shall say good day to you then.” Mr. Buchanan left the room.
Minnie saw him out and then returned to the sitting room. “We need money, don’t we?”
“Oh yes. It seems the duke’s daughter is jealous of your beauty.”
“My beauty?” Minnie scoffed. “What nonsense. I’ve seen Lady Emma. She’s lovely.”
“But you are lovelier, dear, because you are beautiful inside as well. Lady Emma would like you banished from anyplace near her.”
“You are jesting.”
“I’m not.”
Minnie’s face had gone pale. “I can’t leave. I can’t leave Ollie.”
“I believe there is something else I must tell you,” Portia said. Owl was wrong. Minnie needed to know. She drew her sister over to the settee. As gently as Portia could, she explained what their mother had done.
Predictably, Minnie did not take Mr. Tolliver’s defection lightly. She burst into tears and then tore up the stairs to confront their mother. In the sitting room, Portia could hear the angry argument. Moments later, her sister still noisily crying, she slammed the door on the way out of their mother’s room and then slammed her own bedroom door.
Lady Maclean came downstairs. She was still wearing her lace dressing gown. She stopped in the doorway when she saw Portia, and smiled, pleased with herself, before turning and climbing the stairs for the haven of her room.
Owl jumped up on the settee beside Portia.
Portia ran her hand over the animal’s silky fur. “You warned me not to tell her,” she confessed to the animal. “But she had a right to know. She was waiting for him, Owl. She loves him.” She paused and asked, “Why isn’t life easier, Owl? Why must Minnie and I always be the ones who wait. I just wish something would happen. I’m so weary with all this worry about money and Mother and Minnie’s happiness. I can’t continue like this. I don’t want to.”
The sting of tears in her eyes surprised her. She angrily brushed them away, frowned at her cat, and confessed, “I just wish life held something more. I can’t believe this is all there is, one day just like another ...”
Owl nudged her hand with her pink nose as if in commiseration.
“I know, I shouldn’t wallow in pity. It’s just sometimes, Owl, I wish my life wasn’t the way it is. Maybe sometimes, I wish there was a man by my side who could deal with Mother and Mr. Buchanan and Uncle Ned. A man with heart and courage and kindness, but not too gentle. Not like Mr. Tolliver. He is sometimes fastidious. But I’d want a man of a more robust measure. Someoneexciting.” She shook her head at her silliness. “I’m being foolish, but yes, there are times I long for someone. Times I’m lonely.” She pushed the bridge of her spectacles. “I’m old. I’m what I am. This is my life.”
She looked around the bleak room with its worn furniture and bare floor. “It is not so bad.” She stroked the cat’s back. “It’s good actually. All is good,” she repeated to convince herself.
Owl arched her back, wanting to enjoy every inch of Portia’s pat.
“I should be like you and savor each moment as it is, shouldn’t I? The best thing to do right now iscarry on ... and write myuncle.” Portia put all her frustration about the situation in that last word. He was far from a loving relative.
She rose and walked over to the writing table. She hated begging.Hatedit. But what else could be done?
Her letter to her uncle was not a newsy, pleasant one. She’d written those before to no avail. This time, she was direct. She let him know the family was in desperate straits and reminded him of the sum of fifty pounds a year he’d promised them when last they had a serious discussion. It should be enough for them to live in Scotland.Otherwise, we may need to return to London and become a burden to your household, she penned thinking that might be threat enough for her bachelor uncle.
Portia took a coin to frank the letter, put on her cloak, and went out the door to walk to the Glenfinnan House to post the letter. The clouds in the sky had grown heavier. There would be rain, but after so many months in Scotland, Portia never let the weather stop her from doing anything. Owl followed her to the end of the drive before disappearing into the woods.
There wasn’t much to Glenfinnan other than the Glenfinnan House, the home of Laird Macdonald. However, the Scots in the River FinnanValley around Loch Shiel considered it a village, and so Portia had come to think such as well. The community itself was spread over the countryside. The Christmas Assembly would be held in Borrodale’s barn. Portia had never seen the building but had been informed it was a fine structure and unlike any barn she could imagine.
Portia had also discovered, after so many years of living in town, that she liked country life. Yes, Scotland was damp and cold, but the air was clean and there was freedom here as well. She’d not be able to walk the road unescorted in London, even considering her age. She also liked that the Scots didn’t stand on ceremony. Clan alliances were more important than titles, and so the children of Jack Maclean had been, albeit somewhat tepidly, welcomed even though they spoke with English voices.
