“I came to this room, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “on the understanding that that dreadful blind child would never be mentioned to me again. I agreed to resume my engagement to you and prevent your utter disgrace in the eyes of thetonon the condition that all would be as it was before you spoke so ill advisedly at the picnic this afternoon. Andthatwould not have happened if that incompetent schoolteacher had not set her sights on adukefor a husband and neglected her charges.”
He drew a slow breath.
“I see it will not do,” he said. “While I understand your reasoning, Portia, I cannot agree to your terms. Imusthave my child with me. Imustbe a father to her. Duty dictates it, and inclination makes it imperative. Iloveher. If you cannot accept that fact, then I am afraid any marriage between us would be un-workable.”
She got to her feet.
“Youare prepared to break our engagement?” she said. “To renege on all your promises and a duly drawn up marriage contract? Oh, I think not, Lord Attingsborough. I will not release you.Papawill not release you. The Duke of Anburey will disown you.”
Ah, she had had time for reflection since late this afternoon, then, as he had rather expected. She was not a young woman as far as the marriage mart went. Although she was well born and wealthy and beautiful, it would be an uncomfortable thing for her to be single again, with two broken engagements behind her. She might never have another chance to make such an advantageous match. And he knew she had set her heart upon being a duchess at some time in the future.
But to be willing to hold him to a marriage that would clearly bring both of them active misery was incredible to him.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I think what we need to do, Portia,” he said, “is speak to your father. It is a shame he and your mother did not stay longer. It must be dreadful for you to be without them today. Shall we call a truce? Shall we put a polite face upon things tomorrow for the anniversary celebrations and then leave the day after tomorrow? I will take you home, and we will discuss the whole thing with your father.”
“He will not release you,” she told him. “Do not expect it. He will make you marry me, and he will make you give up that dreadful creature.”
“The centrality of Lizzie to my life is no longer negotiable,” he said quietly. “But let us leave it for now, shall we? Soon you will have your mother for moral support and your father to argue and negotiate for you. In the meanwhile, may I escort you to the drawing room?”
He offered his arm, and she set her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her from the library.
And so officially he was engaged once more. And perhaps—who knew?—he would never be free again. He very much feared that Balderston might agree to his terms and that Portia might marry him and then not honor them.
All of which he would deal with when the time came because he would have no choice.
But for now he was not free and might never be.
Ah, Claudia!
He had not dared think of her since setting foot inside this house again.
Ah, my love.
Lizzie sat at a little table in Joseph’s bedchamber the next morning, dressed neatly in her picnic dress, which a maid had brought to the room earlier, neatly cleaned and ironed, and with her hair freshly brushed and caught up in her white hair ribbon, also newly ironed. She was eating breakfast and holding court.
She was to return to Lindsey Hall after breakfast, but in the meanwhile she had a string of visitors. Kit and Lauren came with Sydnam and Anne Butler and her son, and then Gwen came with Aunt Clara and Lily and Neville, and they were closely followed by Susanna and Whitleaf. All wanted to bid Lizzie a good morning and hug her and ask if she had slept well.
All had smiles for Joseph himself.
Perhaps they were only smiles of rueful sympathy, of course, because they all understood the ordeal he had been through yesterday, though most of it had been kept behind closed doors. But even so, he wondered why he had kept the secret for so long. Society had its rules and expectations, it was true, but he had always belonged to a family that had love to spare.
And then his mother came. She hugged him wordlessly and then went to sit on a chair at the table while Lizzie lifted her face, knowing that yet again there was someone in the room besides just her and her father.
“Lizzie.” His mother took one of her hands in both her own. “Is that short for Elizabeth? I like both names. You dear child. You look quite like your papa. I am his mother. I am your grandmother.”
“My grandmother?” Lizzie said. “I heard your voice yesterday.”
“Yes, dear,” his mother said, patting her hand.
“It was after I went walking with Horace and got lost,” Lizzie said. “But Papa and Miss Martin found me. Papa is going to train Horace so that he does not get lost with me again.”
“But how adventurous you were,” his mother said. “Just like your father when he was a boy. He was forever climbing forbidden trees and swimming in forbidden lakes and disappearing for hours on end on voyages of discovery without a word to anyone. It is a wonder I did not have a heart seizure any number of times.”
Lizzie smiled and then laughed with glee.
His mother patted her hand again, and Joseph could see tears in her eyes. She was not without courage herself, coming here like this in defiance of his father. She hugged and kissed both him and Lizzie, and then it was time to leave for Lindsey Hall. She and Lady Redfield came outside onto the terrace to see them on their way.
