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“Who’d have thought the old man would get his own statue,” he drawled. “Still, he’ll probably be forgotten in a hundred years.”
Portia had stared at him. “Why do you say that?”
“My dear Portia, it is the villains whom history remembers, not the heroes.”
“There is no inscription,” Lara interrupted. “I thought there would be an inscription. A quote perhaps from one of his diaries.”
“‘Where are my bloody boots?’ He was fond of saying that,” Arnold murmured.
A moment later the ceremony began.
She’d never imagined, never in her wildest dreams, that Marcus would be there.
“I am all right,” she murmured now. Then, in a stronger voice, to convince herself as well as the group around her, “I promise you, I am all right.”
“He tried to attack you!” Victoria was outraged.
“No,” Portia insisted. “No, Your Majesty. I—I know him, a little. He saw that I was about to faint. He wasn’t attacking me; he was coming to my aid.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I think she is right, Your Majesty,” someone ventured. “He seemed most concerned to see that Lady Ellerslie was unwell.”
“What is his name?” Victoria was looking at Portia.
“Mr. Marcus Worthorne, Ma’am. His brother is the Earl of Worthorne. You may know him. The earl’s wife is sister to Lady Montgomery.”
Victoria knew the connection, but she was still not impressed by the interruption to Lord Ellerslie’s ceremony.
Lara wasn’t either. She clicked her tongue, peering over someone’s shoulder, her expression telling Portia everything she needed to know about her stepdaughter’s opinion of her stealing the limelight on this day of all days.
“Strange way to come to anyone’s aid,” the queen said, “leaping over the barriers and pushing aside innocent bystanders. Is he deranged, Lady Ellerslie?”
Portia bit her lip. “No, Ma’am. Just a little impetuous.”
There was a murmur of amusement. Someone chuckled. The queen was not amused. “The police will get to the bottom of it,” she said, as if that was the end of the matter. “Now, do let us get on! Give me the scissors, if you please, and I will cut the ribbon. Unless another of your impetuous acquaintances wishes to join us on the dais, Lady Ellerslie?”
Portia wisely kept silent.
The opening was swiftly performed, and not to be outdone by her stepmama, Lara leaned against Arnold and genteelly shed a tear or two. The statue, which was very lifelike, was admired and applauded. A few moments later they left to the cheering of the crowd and shouts of “Bravo, Lady Ellerslie!”
It was touching to be their heroine, but not when it meant Marcus—no matter how foolishly he had acted—was the villain.
Portia glanced at Victoria as the carriage bowled along, wondering whether Her Majesty was seriously displeased or simply annoyed. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now, and besides, there were far more urgent matters to be dealt with. As soon as she arrived home she must send someone to the police to explain. Did she know anyone in authority who could pull strings?
Why had he done it? What was he doing in Green Park? She didn’t believe he was there because he had an interest in the late Lord Ellerslie’s statue. No, he’d come to see her.
The arrogant, impetuous fool!
But oh, he had looked so good. She’d forgotten how handsome he was…No, that wasn’t true. But she had forgotten the intensity of his physical presence, the way it took hold of her until she ached to throw her arms around him and, in front of everyone, kiss him wildly.
How Lara, and the queen, would have loved that!
Portia shuddered at the thought of the press’s interpretation of such actions: righteous fury at her lack of self-control, the perceived betrayal of her dead hero husband…Public opinion was a fickle thing, and although at the moment they loved her, they could tumble her off her pedestal in a flash if she upset them.
Marcus must not seek her out again, she thought. She must get word to him…write to him. No, no, a letter was not enough. She must tell him face-to-face. She wiped her damp hands upon her skirts, still feeling light-headed. She would go to him and speak to him in person so there were no more misunderstandings. She’d thank him politely for coming to her aid but assure him she was perfectly well and his assistance was no longer required.
Would he believe her?
