She looked as if she was going to argue. She drew breath. But Sutton cleared his throat and took her by the elbow, and she turned without another word and stalked back in the direction of the house with him.
Portia, still in the primrose yellow muslin dress she had worn to the picnic, looked as fresh and as lovely as she had at the beginning of the afternoon. She also looked calm and poised.
He stood looking down at her, feeling his dilemma. Hehadwronged her. He had humiliated her in front of a large gathering of his family and friends. But how could he apologize to her without somehow denying Lizzie anew?
She spoke first.
“You told Lady Sutton and me to hold our tongues,” she said.
Good Lord!Hadhe?
“I do beg your pardon,” he said. “It was when Lizzie was missing, was it? I was frantic with worry. Not that that was any excuse for such discourtesy. Do please forgive me. And, if you will, for—”
“I do not wish to hearthat nameagain, Lord Attingsborough,” she said with quiet dignity. “I will expect you to have her removed from here and from Lindsey Hall by tomorrow at the latest and then I will choose to forget the whole unfortunate incident. I do not care where you send her or the others like her or the…womenwho produced them. I do not need or wish to know.”
“There are no other children,” he said. “Or mistresses. Has this afternoon’s revelation led you to believe that I am promiscuous? I assure you I am not.”
“Ladies are not fools, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “however naive you may think us. We are perfectly well aware of men’s animal passions and are quite content that they slake them as often as they please, provided it is not with us and provided we know nothing about it. All we ask—allIask—is that the proprieties be observed.”
Good Lord! He felt chilled. Yet surely the truth would make her feel somewhat better, make her less convinced that she was about to marry an animal in the thin guise of a gentleman.
“Portia,” he said, gazing down at her, “I believe very firmly in monogamous relationships. After Lizzie was born, I remained with her mother until her death last year. That is why I have not married before now. After our marriage I will be faithful to you for as long as we both live.”
She looked back at him, and it struck him suddenly that her eyes were very different from Claudia’s. If there was anything behind them, any depth of character, any emotion, there was certainly no evidence of it.
“You will do as you please, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, “as all men are entitled to do. I ask only that you exercise discretion. And I ask for your promise that that blind girl will be gone from here today and from Lindsey Hall tomorrow.”
That blind girl.
He strolled a few feet away from her and stood looking at a bed of hyacinths growing against a wooden trellis, his back to her. It was a reasonable request, he supposed. To her—probably to everyone at Alvesley and Lindsey Hall—it must seem that keeping Lizzie close was in extremely poor taste.
Except that Lizzie was a person. She was an innocent child. And she was his.
“No,” he said, “I cannot make that promise, I’m afraid, Portia.”
Her silence was more accusing than words would have been.
“I have observed the proprieties for all these years,” he said. “My daughter had a mother and a comfortable home in London, and I could see her whenever I wished, which was every day when I was in town. I told no one about her except Neville, and never took her where we would be seen together. I accepted that that was the way it must be. I never had real cause to question society’s dictates until Sonia died and Lizzie was left alone.”
“I do not wish to hear this,” Portia said. “It is quite improper.”
“She is not quite twelve,” he said. “She is far too young for any independence even if she were not blind.”
He turned to look at her.
“And I love her,” he said. “I cannot banish her to the periphery of my life, Portia. I will not. But my worst mistake, I realize now, was not telling you about her sooner. You had a right to know.”
She said nothing for a while. She sat as still as any statue, delicate and lovely beyond belief.
“I do not believe I can marry you, Lord Attingsborough,” she said then. “I had no wish to know of any such child and am only amazed that you think now you ought to have informed me about that dreadful creature, who cannot evensee. I will not hear any more about her, and I will not tolerate knowing that she remains here or even at Lindsey Hall. If you cannot promise to remove her, and if you cannot promise that I will never hear of her again, I must withdraw my acceptance of your offer.”
Strangely, perhaps, he was not relieved. Another broken engagement—even if it would be obvious to thetonthat she was blameless in both—would surely render her almost unmarriageable. And she was no young girl. She must be in her middle twenties already. And in the eyes of society, her demands would appear quite reasonable.
But—that dreadful creature…
Lizzie!
“I am sorry to hear it,” he said. “I beg you to reconsider. I am the same man you have known for several years. I fathered Lizzie long before I knew you.”
