Page 90

T hree weeks had passed in a whirlwind of commotion.

Much to Portia’s dismay, the twins had been sent to their paternal grandmother’s the day after she’d discovered her fate, so as to ‘not interfere in all the preparations’, and Miss Alison had been given additional duties—so she rarely saw her friend.

The worst was all the lectures she’d had to endure on how to secure a husband posthaste once the Season began.

All this on top of the rising anxiety in the pit of her stomach that she had a paltry dowry, no acquaintances, plus the constant fear that she would be pushed off onto the first man Judith found, regardless of feelings or compatibility, not to mention that her brother had not kept his word.

Holding true to form, George did not provide her with two new gowns, but merely gave her two of his wife’s hand-me-downs. Although newer in style than her late mother’s dresses, they were not fashionable in the least, and quite ill-fitting.

Thank heavens for Mrs. Darnel , Portia thought once again as she placed the pale rose walking dress in the trunk.

If it weren’t for Mrs. Darnel, she wouldn’t have had knowledge of how to sew or redesign the outdated clothes.

Over the past weeks, when the house was quiet in the small, wee hours, Mrs. Darnel had helped her prepare her dresses for the Season.

Although she knew the fashions still weren’t quite up to date, she hoped she’d done enough to catch the eye of a respectable gentleman.

There was only one dress in her trunk that was new, fashionable, and absolutely beautiful.

Mrs. Darnel had worked tirelessly on the shimmering blue satin creation.

The border had been especially laborious, but the end result was more than Portia could have hoped for.

The simple elegant lines and low neckline of the dress accentuated her womanly curves.

She’d been quite surprised when Mrs. Darnel revealed that the exquisite cloth had been intended for Hilarie, but during a full tantrum one afternoon, the girl had refused the fabric—along with a couple of other bolts—deeming them unacceptable and beneath her taste in fashion.

However, Hilarie’s rejection was very much to the benefit of Portia.

Without so much as a tap on the door to make her appearance known, Hilarie charged into Portia’s room, interrupting her task.

“I’ve come to help you pack,” her niece announced with a wide smile that suggested she had an ulterior motive.

Portia highly doubted the spoiled miss was coming to offer any aid and simply nodded, then went about her business, hoping Hilaire would tire of the silence and move on. A moment later, her reason was revealed.

Hilarie went to the bed and grabbed one of the dresses Portia had yet to pack. She held up the altered lavender creation, and in a condescending tone said, “I do not think this one is up to par for the Season.”

Portia would never let Hilarie realize that she knew what she was about. Reaching for another dress that she had modified, she questioned, “Do you think this one will do?”

She knew what the answer would be and was not surprised when Hilarie naysayed her choice of clothing. “Absolutely not. The color is all wrong, and the trim…” She scrunched her nose in disgust as if unable to continue her sentence.

Portia gently folded the dress and placed it in the single trunk she was permitted to take.

The bottom was lined with her favorite books that she’d taken with her after her father passed away and she was sent here.

She also packed all her most precious possessions, including several sketches Albert and the twins had created for her through the years.

She knew without a doubt that she would not be returning to her half-sister’s home.

“You’re still taking it?” Hilarie questioned with a wave of her hand as Portia placed the garment in her trunk.

“I have no other clothes suitable for Town, so this will have to do.”

Hilarie crossed her arms, and with a stomp of her foot, stormed out of the room, but not before announcing, “It’s not fair.” With another stamp, she yelled, “Mother!”

Portia was certain she would get an earful later over her ill behavior toward Hilarie.

From very early on, Hilarie had always tried to place blame on others, especially Portia, whenever things did not go her way, or she did not get her way.

And it had only got worse with age. Portia did not trust her niece.

The eighteen-year-old was too much like her mother, gossiping without regard for others, seemingly without remorse for her hurtful words or actions.

It didn’t matter. Soon she would be off to London and journeying into the unknown.

S everal days had passed and not even Portia’s imagination could have prepared her for the long trek to London.

Despite the pleasant weather, it had been a dreadful and tedious journey.

She’d been cooped up in a carriage with Judith and Hilarie with nothing to do but stare out the window at the passing countryside, while enduring their complaints and disgruntlement about every topic imaginable.

Nothing was good enough for them. At every stop, they complained about the quality of food and accommodations, and once back in the carriage, they revisited every negative thing they’d just endured.

The only reprieve was when the pair discussed who might be in Town.

Portia’s thoughts drifted to Titus. After all these years, she still wondered why he hadn’t written back. She supposed she shouldn’t dwell on the past. It was something she couldn’t change, but no matter how hard she tried, thoughts of him always found their way into her present.

Would he be in Town? He was an earl, after all, so she supposed it was a possibility. She wondered if she would ever see her childhood friend again. What did he look like now? Would he even remember her?

By the time they reached London and the rented townhouse, Portia was exhausted. All she wanted to do was sleep for days. How would she ever endure an entire Season with these two?

“B ut you have to come to Town this Season,” Flora whined sweetly, the afternoon sun streaming into the parlor, highlighting her blonde hair and endearing features.

“Yes, please, Titus,” their great-aunt begged.

“At eighty, I am too old to make the journey, nor do I want to spend any remaining days I may have on this earth in London. No, staying right here in the country suits me just fine. Not to mention, how will Flora know which gentlemen are sincere in their pursuit, and which are fortune hunters, or worse…” her words trailed off and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and without a doubt Titus knew she was referring to rakes.

Titus did not believe his great-aunt suspected he was one of those .

Despite being known as such about Town—a reputation he’d embraced after the heartache he’d suffered—he’d always tried to keep his affairs secret, especially after the fiasco with the provocative actress, Louisa Rawkes, who’d announced at the end of one of her performances that she was in love with him.

Titus had swiftly ended their affair, but only after many dramatics and even more declarations of undying affection.

Eventually, the actress found a more willing—and wealthy—bed partner.

“Please,” his older relative added with a hopeful smile.

Great-Aunt Lucy was the sweetest and most na?ve woman he’d ever known. And the complete opposite of Mother . Damn, why did thoughts of her still randomly enter his mind at the most inconvenient times after all these years?

Because you want to know where she is, and if she ever held any affection for you .

Titus knew, without a doubt, his mother did not care about him. Why else would she have rejected her only child? He shook those unpleasant thoughts away. She was not worth his time. He had more important things to think about at present, namely, his cousin’s first season.

He was about to mention that Flora would be under the watchful eye of Aunt Adeline, when, most likely fueled by his silence, his cousin pleaded with renewed determination.

“Titus, please say you’ll come. And…” She drew the single word out for a moment before continuing, “Perhaps you will find love.”

Flora was always the romantic. Even as a young child, her dolls had forever found their knight in shining armor after being rescued from some incident, usually a kidnapping. Through the years, her stories had been most entertaining. She believed that everyone should have a chance at love.

“I doubt that,” he muttered under his breath. He was not destined for love. Didn’t believe it existed, at least not for him. And, he had absolutely had no intention of marrying, with or without love. He would not risk his heart… again.

Flora ignored his skepticism and reaffirmed her declaration. “I think you will find love. It’s as simple as that.”

He could not hide the sarcasm from his voice.

“As simple as that?” He crossed his arms and launched into a fairy tale scenario.

“And I suppose it will be love at first sight?” His cousin and great-aunt nodded their heads in unison.

He inwardly shook his head, then continued on with his tale.

“It will happen at a ball, perhaps. I’ll have done my duty and stayed the minimum time deemed appropriate, but as I take my leave, I spy a beautiful woman from across the room.

I do not know who she is, but the intensity of her mystère is a siren call, luring me.

I cross the room, and just as I reach her side, the first chords of a waltz caress the air.

I take her in my arms and sweep her across the dance floor in elegant maneuvers.

And when the dance ends, I whisk her out onto the moonlit veranda and declare my love. ”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Flora said with a dreamy sigh, as she swayed from side to side as if she’d been dancing. “I hope that’s how it will happen for me.”