Page 90 of The Music of Love

Portia was seated between a local squire and a rather handsome widowed baron. Conversation with both men was lively and, after her uncomfortable grilling by the earl, pleasant.

Stacy sat at the far end of the long table between two blushing young women. Over the course of the meal Portia watched them go from terrified awe of the pale god between them to competing for his attention and rare smiles. Her husband looked magnificent. He wore a waistcoat she’d never seen before, ivory silk embroidered with pale red roses, the same shade as his eyes. He wore his dark spectacles, which seemed to be causing an almost paralyzing giddiness among the women. Portia looked at his elegant, chiseled profile as he bent his head to listen to one of them and realized her jaw was clenched. She lowered her eyes and swept the table beneath her lashes. The only person looking at her was her father-in-law, who was watching her with gleeful amusement.

Portia scowled at the extremely unpleasant old man and turned her attention to her food.

Once the last course had been removed, the women left the men to their port and retired to the big drawing room that connected to the music room.

The viscountess hovered beside her before she could sit. “I trust you are recovered enough to play for our guests tonight, Mrs. Harrington?”

Portia had asked the woman to call her by her first name at least a half-dozen times. “Of course, my lady, have you anything particular in mind?”

“I’m sure your taste is far superior to mine in such matters.” The viscountess’s eyes flickered over her dark blue gown as if to say Portia’s taste needed to be superior in some way. Portia almost applauded her performance. She really was a virtuosa when it came to casting aspersions with a smile on her face.

“Most of the house guests begin to arrive tomorrow?” Portia asked, hoping the harmless question might cause the woman to sheath her ever-ready claws.

“Yes. We shall have a full house over the next few days.” She gave a laugh that contained no humor. “Well, not entirely full. Thurlstone contains many rooms which are, I’m afraid, no longer habitable.”

The admission surprised her. Not only did the castle look well-maintained, but the haughty duke’s daughter did not seem like the kind of woman who would admit to either a lack of perfection or the money to achieve that state.

“I would love to see the house.”

Her sister-in-law’s thin lips twitched into an indulgent smile. “Perhaps I could give you a tour tomorrow?”

First the horse ride and now this? Maybe the woman really was trying to be friendly but didn’t know how.

“That would be lovely, if you are not too busy preparing for your guests.”

“I have servants to see to all that, Mrs. Harrington.” The words were spoken gently but the meaning was clear: If you were not such plebian speck you would know that.

Portia almost laughed at the stunning set-down.

Frances approached with the two young women who’d been flirting with Stacy at dinner.

“Portia, I’d like to introduce Lady Elizabeth, the Duke of Beaconridge’s daughter and Miss Jennings, Sir Jerome Staunton’s daughter. Lady Elizabeth is visiting Miss Jennings.”

Curtseys were exchanged all around.

“We are very excited to hear you are going to play for us tonight, Mrs. Harrington,” Lady Elizabeth gushed, her soft brown eyes glowing with admiration. Well, here was one duke’s daughter who did not radiate contempt for lesser beings.

“Do you play, Lady Elizabeth?” Portia asked the obligatory question, resigning herself to spending the next ten minutes engaged in a conversation that moved as torpidly as a carp.

“I adore the piano! My piano instructor says I am the most promising of his pupils.”

Portia could imagine. She’d frequently told the same lie, particularly after Ivo left and her pool of pupils began to shrink. It was Portia’s experience that a student’s skill was usually inversely proportional to their wealth.

“Perhaps you will play for us tonight?” Portia asked, aware she’d said the correct words when Lady Elizabeth smiled enchantingly.

Portia could not recall how it felt to blush in such innocuous circumstances. Once you’d begged a man to fuck you, most other situations seemed tame by comparison. Her lips twitched at the thought.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Lady Elizabeth demurred, looking at the viscountess expectantly.

“You absolutely must, my dear. You can play something before Mrs. Harrington entertains us.” The not very subtle point of her suggestion being it would be a disaster to go after Portia. Lady Elizabeth’s thoughtful frown made her look like rather like a kitten that had just been kicked.

Rowena turned to Miss Jennings. “And you, Miss Jennings?”

Miss Jennings, unlike her friend, was no fool. “I hurt my wrist riding the other day.”

“Oh? Was that the day I saw you riding Thunder?”