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“I would have thought of something,” Portia said, hurrying to dress.
“You would tell lies to the queen?” Hettie retorted. “This is what comes of mixing with such persons as Marcus Worthorne.”
“As I recall, you thought it amusing to tell lies to Victoria the last time.”
Hettie gave her hair a vigorous brushing and began to pin it back up. Portia hoped she would now drop the subject, but it was not to be.
“He is no good. He cares only for himself. He is like a…a gigolo. He will abandon you when he is weary of you, I know it, and soon.”
Portia turned to her with a cool stare. “I believe he has. Wearied of me, I mean. So you need not worry anymore.”
“It is only that I worry for you—” Hettie began, but Portia turned away.
“See if the carriage is ready,” she said, her voice still chilly. “I will be down in a moment. I must see if my mother is recovered.”
Swiftly, Hettie left her alone.
Portia stood before her mirror, inspecting her appearance. She was pale, and there were weary smudges beneath her eyes, but these could be explained away by the shocking circumstances that greeted her on her return. And they were shocking. When she’d looked up and saw her mother and thought Victoria had been killed, she received a very severe jolt indeed.
It was enough to bring her to her senses without Hettie’s nagging.
There were more important things in the world than Marcus Worthorne. She had a role to play, a duty to fulfill, and it was time to put aside her selfish desires of the flesh and concentrate on doing that duty.
Her mother had taken to her bed with a dose of laudanum. She was already half asleep.
“Mama? Are you feeling better?”
Her mother’s eyes opened, the pupils large and dark from the drug. “I’m weary,” she murmured. “Shocking news…”
“It is. I am going to the palace now.”
“Sometimes I get so confused. I couldn’t remember where you had gone when they asked me. I tried but I couldn’t remember. It was Deed who told them.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mama.”
Her mother squeezed her hand. “I did not mean to be cross with you just then. You’re a good girl, Portia. You’ve always done as you were told.”
“Have I?” Her mother meant it as a compliment, and it should be so—a dutiful daughter was a noble thing—but Portia wondered if Minnie Duval would see it that way. If Minnie had been a dutiful daughter and always done as she was told, would she ever have left the country for her marvelous adventures?
“I told your father, when I heard Lord Ellerslie was staying with my friend: Just give the old man one glimpse of our sweet daughter and our fortunes will be made. There’s nothing like a vision of spring when you have your foot in the grave. And he fell for you, didn’t he? My beautiful, dutiful daughter.”
Portia didn’t want to hear this, not now. She moved toward the door, but again her mother’s slurred voice stopped her.
“You have a touch of the sun, Portia, and your hair smells of the sea. Have you been to the seaside? I thought your school friend lived near Oxford?”
Trust her mother to remember the details now!
“That’s right, Mama. Dorothy lives in Oxford. You must be dreaming.” Another lie. But her mother was already asleep, her mouth ajar, her breathing thick.
Portia loved her, she knew she did, but just now it would be quite easy to hate her.
Victoria was pacing up and down, angrier than Portia had ever seen her. The swelling and bruising on her forehead, and the discoloration around her eye, were growing more evident by the minute. “How dare that creature strike at me in such a cowardly way! An unarmed woman! That he should strike at any woman is disgraceful, but his queen…I will not have it…I will not!”
“As the carriage passed through the gates at Cambridge House,” the prince said, “the crowd came around her in a rush. The man who did this was among them. It was not just my dear wife in the carriage, there were also Eddie, Alice and little Albert. We must thank God none of our children were killed.” The prince was pale and clearly suffering from shock, but as usual his voice had that reasonable calm that Portia so admired.
“Do you know who the man was, Sir?” she asked.
“We have discovered his name. He is Robert Pate, and he has lately retired his commission from the Tenth Hussars. He will not speak about his reasons for what he did.”
