Page 23 of The Music of Love

Portia had been winding the thin thread Nanny used to crochet and looked up. “But I thought Mr. Harrington was an only child?”

The old lady’s brow wrinkled and her lips parted.

Just then her housekeeper, Mrs. Fant, entered. “I hope you’re not overtiring yourself, Mrs. Kemble?” The Fants were the only people who did not call her Nanny.

“Eh?” Nanny appeared startled by the sudden appearance. Indeed, sometimes Portia thought the Fants listened at the door.

“You did not sleep well last night, did you Mrs. Kemble?” Mrs. Fant asked rather loudly. Portia knew the question was meant more for her benefit, as if to say Portia’s visit was tiring the old woman and she should take her leave. She glanced at the small watch pinned to her dress.

“What a lovely watch,” Nanny said, just as she’d said the first time they met.

Portia gave the same answer. “Thank you, Nanny, it was my mother’s. I’d better go if I am to make it back for Mr. Harrington’s lesson.” That was a bit of a fib. She had at least an hour, but she did not feel comfortable with Mrs. Fant standing watch.

“Will you come back tomorrow, my dear?” Nanny’s face was pinched and hopeful.

“Of course I will.”

Mr. Fant was doing something beside the cottage as Portia left. He didn’t meet her eyes, but she felt his gaze on her back. It was quite gothic the way the Fants drifted about the property, their eyes always narrowed with suspicion. They really belonged in a big, draughty castle.

Portia was still smiling at the vision of Mrs. Fant as the castle chatelaine when Miss Tate came over the rise on a magnificent white horse—some of Mr. Harrington’s bloodstock, she supposed.

“Hello Signora Stefani. You are quite a walker to have come so far.”

Portia would have sworn her presence at the old nurse’s cottage discomposed the other woman.

“I enjoy Nanny’s company.”

“Yes, she is a delightful old lady but her mind, unfortunately, is not what it used to be. I believe all her charges run together on some days.”

“Yes, she mistook me for an old friend and a deceased sister and told me about Mr. Harrington’s siblings.”

Miss Tate gave a nervous high-pitched laugh and her mount fidgeted. “Well, she is very well taken care of; my nephew treats her like a queen.”

“Yes, he does. That is commendable.”

Miss Tate looked pleased by her comment. “I should get along. Selene is quite restless today.”

The horse wasn’t the only one who was anxious.

Portia smiled. “Selene, goddess of the moon. The name is perfect.”

“My nephew has his fanciful side. There is a Hecate and Artemis, as well.” She nodded at Portia. “Good day, Signora. I shall see you at dinner.” She urged her mount into a canter.

Frances Tate was as good a rider as her nephew and dismounted gracefully when she reached the cottage. Both Fants came to greet her and Portia was just about to turn away when all three looked in her direction. They stood grouped together, unmoving until she gave them a jaunty wave. Miss Tate waved back but the other two stood like statues. Portia shivered, almost afraid to turn her back on them.

She laughed at her fanciful thoughts. Really, she did tend to let her imagination get the better of her sometimes.

Portia was reading in her room a few evenings later when she heard voices below her balcony. She set aside her book and went to the casement window, which she’d left open. Her employer stood below. He’d changed from his dinner garb into riding clothes and was talking with Hawkins, who turned and walked toward the stables. Mr. Harrington glanced up at her window, as if he knew he’d find her there.

“Ah, Signora Stefani. Did our chatter disturb you?” His lips curved into a knowing smile that reminded her that she was wearing a concealing and remarkably ugly dressing gown.

Portia’s face heated. “It’s still too light out and I was not sleeping yet.” She tugged on her sash—even though it was already tight—and glanced toward the stables, where Hawkins was now talking with another man.

He saw her inquisitive look. “Hawkins and I are preparing to introduce Geist to Snezana, my new mare.”

“You are breeding horses tonight?” She stuttered a little over the word breeding.

His enigmatic face shifted into an expression she’d not seen before: mischievous.