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Sebastian waited until he was gone before he spoke again. “I apologize on my brother’s behalf.”
Portia moved gracefully toward an alcove where a window seat offered some privacy. “There’s no need.”
“He’s a brilliant man, clever and kind, beneath that devil-may-care attitude, but he doesn’t see things the way the rest of us do. I blame our mad Aunt Minnie. She more or less brought him up after our mother died.”
“I have met your Aunt Minnie,” Portia admitted. “I found her enlightening. She reminded me of…of someone else I know who also lives an unconventional life. There is an honesty about them both. They do not say something just to please others, nor do they fear being out of step with the rest of society. They say what they mean. Marcus is like that, too.”
Sebastian sat down beside her and glanced through the dusty windowpane. “I haven’t been here in years,” he admitted. “When Roger Duval left the hall to my brother, I was appalled. I didn’t think for a moment he would ever live here, unless it was to sell it and use the money for some scheme or other, or to buy himself out of difficulty. But it seems to have been love at first sight.”
“The people here love him, too, so it is a perfect match.” She met his eyes, her own full of worry she could not hide. “Is it very bad in London?”
Sebastian grimaced. “Hysteria. The public are beside themselves that their angel in widow’s weeds has been stolen from them. Questions have been asked in Parliament. The queen is dashing off letters. No one seems to know where you are or why you left. Your stepdaughter claims to know nothing of your departure.”
“She must know. Arnold, too.” She shook her head and stared at her hands, twisting nervously. “I told Marcus he would be arrested, and this time he’d go to prison. Or worse.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“A week at the most. When Arnold Gillingham finds you, he will act. It would do him no end of credit to be the one to restore you to the world.”
Portia laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, that sounds like him. Cold ambition.”
“Marcus has told me what you have been made to go through recently, Lady Ellerslie.”
“Oh, call me Portia, please.”
He bowed his head.
“Yes, Marcus saved me from that. He is my hero. But I fear he has brought much trouble upon himself.” She sighed. “I need to go back. I hoped for a little longer, but…”
“You love my brother, don’t you, Portia?”
She looked up and smiled. “Yes. I tried not to, but I can’t help it. I think I’ve always loved him,” she added thoughtfully.
He frowned and tilted his head to one side. “I know you, don’t I? I know your face from somewhere else.”
That he recognized her shouldn’t be a surprise, she thought; Sebastian had been to tea at the vicarage several times when she was young. There seemed no point in denying it. “Yes, you do know me. I was Portia Stroud, my father was the vicar…”
“Good Lord, I remember now. Does Marcus…?”
She might have said more, and might have asked him not to tell, but they heard voices approaching. Portia looked up just as Mercy and her mother entered the hall from the back area of the house. Her mother was chattering away and Mercy was nodding.
“There’s your daughter, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, noticing Portia and Sebastian in the alcove.
“Oh yes. She is a lovely girl, isn’t she? Takes after my side of the family, of course.”
“My mother is not herself,” Portia murmured. “She hasn’t been herself for years and she has been getting worse.”
“But what is she doing here?” Sebastian asked, puzzled.
Portia looked at him with wide laughing eyes. “Didn’t Marcus tell you? Arnold was holding my mother’s welfare over my head and I decided I had to send her out of London. It was on the same night that Marcus came for me. He brought my mother with us. And my maid.”
“Good God,” he said, and laughed.
“Who is this gentleman?” Mrs. Stroud demanded.
“This is the Earl of Worthorne, Mama.”
