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She fumbled with the rope, managing to cast herself off from the jetty and giving it a shove.
Arnold was shouting. She saw him briefly, a dark shape above her, and then he vanished again and there was nothing.
For a long time she lay in the bottom of the boat, drifting. The air was cold and clammy and she was shivering with cold by the time she heard the voices calling for her. It was several moments before she could convince herself that they were not Arnold, playing tricks, and call out in answer.
Shouts and running steps. The flare of a torch. And then someone was slithering down the bank toward her. The boat rocked as they grabbed hold of it, and then hands were feeling for her, lifting her, holding her.
“My love,” Marcus murmured, his voice hoarse with calling. “My dear love. Never leave me again.”
Portia clung to him, burying her face in the familiar scent of his jacket. “No, never…” she gasped. “I never will.”
The next day the fog was gone.
They searched for Arnold for hours until they found his body, floating in the marsh. Marcus was of the opinion that he had slipped and fallen, but Portia wondered if he’d drowned himself after his plot failed. Lara was inconsolable, but Portia thought she detected a hint of relief in her tears. After all, how did one survive the shame of being married to a live traitor? Lara was her father’s daughter in that regard, and tougher than she appeared. Victoria was already on her way back to London, but she had sworn them all to secrecy. It would do
no good to spread stories of what had happened at Duval Hall. It would all be put down to a tragic accident.
“I will inform the public that Lady Ellerslie is to be married,” she said, “and that I knew all about it. That should silence the doubters.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“I will expect an invitation to your wedding,” Victoria went on, “and your first daughter will be named after me.”
Marcus bowed, trying to hide his grin.
But Victoria had seen it and chuckled. “I think I could grow quite fond of your Marcus,” she said to Portia. “I’ll never love him as much as Lord Ellerslie, but he will do.”
Later, walking together in the garden, Portia clung to his arm and said, “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” he asked, completely at ease.
“Get your own way.”
“It’s a talent.”
She smiled, then sighed.
He tipped up her chin with his finger and gazed into her eyes. “Tell me about the vicar’s daughter.”
She didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. “I was in love with you. I had a—a girlish infatuation.”
“Infatuation?” He kept his eyes on hers, refusing to release her. “What was that story you told Minnie, about the bell ringers? Was that you…and me? Good Lord, it was, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He grinned.
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “If you laugh I will hit you.”
“I’m not laughing,” he protested. “At least, I don’t mean to. I’m happy. It pleases me to think that you were infatuated with me all those years ago.”
He meant it. He loved her madly, and to think she had loved him when they were young, even if he’d been too foolish to know it, made him proud.
She gave him a slow sensual smile, and when she had his full attention, said, “Wait until I tell you about my dreams.”
Epilogue
Portia shaded her eyes against the sun. The lane was bathed in sunlight this fine morning, perfect for a walk. She shifted her basket on her arm and set off. At first she saw only the dark silhouette, a man on his horse, but as he drew closer she realized it was him.
