“They were her bridal gift from my father.”
She looked at him in shock. “Then I mustn’t wear them.”
“They were always intended for Bryght’s bride.”
Portia suddenly felt trapped by the ornaments, as if they were chains not jewels. She looked at the smiling woman who had taken on a family under a dark cloud and brought love. “She’d want better than this artificial marriage for her firstborn son.”
Rothgar guided her to the stairs. “She wanted the best, as any parent would. The important thing is that those jewels were Gabrielle’s favorite pieces, and well known. Your wearing them will be understood by all.”
So it had been a practical gesture, not a sentimental one. That suited Portia’s mood entirely.
Rothgar led her to a gilded room where she found the Trelyns present, looking frigid. However, both applied practiced, polite smiles.
“Why, how pretty you look, Cousin!” declared Nerissa with a degree of astonishment that was insulting.
Portia replied with a wary curtsy.
Fort was present, too. “How are you?” he asked, and his gray eyes searched her for damage.
“I’m in perfect health, Fort,” Portia said firmly, but before she could say anything else, Rothgar moved her on to meet the two strangers present. She realized these were more Mallorens.
“My sister, Lady Elfled, generally called Elf,” the marquess said. Lady Elf was not a beauty, and her hair was browner than her mother’s, but Portia thought she might have much of her mother’s warmth and charm.
Portia curtsied, but Elf embraced her. “How wonderful! Not many weeks since Cyn married and I am to have another new sister! And since Cyn and Chastity will travel to Canada in the spring, it is delightful to have a sister who will keep me company from time to time.”
Portia was dizzied by this apparently genuine warmth.
“And mother’s jewels!” Elf exclaimed. “How lovely they look on you. They need brilliant hair such as yours. How clever you are, Bryght.”
Portia spun to see that Bryght had entered the room. There hadn’t been time for him to be powdered, but he was otherwise in full magnificence of green-bronze watered silk, heavily braided in gold. His earring was a golden stone to match Portia’s jewels, and he smiled at his brother. “Thank you.”
“They were always intended for your wife,” said Rothgar. “Portia, can you take your eyes off my showy brother long enough to greet another Malloren? Brand.”
Blushing, Portia hastily turned back. Brand Malloren was powdered, but he had the same unalarming degree of good looks as his sister. He smiled in a surprisingly normal manner for a Malloren and kissed her hand and cheek. “Welcome to the family. I gather we are to venture forwarden masseand conquer the world.”
“To conquer the Willoughbys will be sufficient.” Rothgar drew Brand and Elf away, leaving Portia and Bryght together.
“You look very beautiful,” he said softly.
“I don’t like this, Bryght. I don’t like any of it.”
He captured her hand and led her to a far corner of the room where a plinth surmounted by a huge urn even provided a little privacy. “What don’t you like, love?”
She snatched her hand free. “For one thing, I don’t like deception. I amnotyour love.”
“You’re upset,” he said patiently. “I understand. I’d rather we were being left alone to explore our feelings. I do love you, though.”
And I fear I love you, but this feels completely wrong.It’s all plotting, and planning, and malice.
“I want to be free,” she said. “Can’t you understand that? ”
“Marriage isn’t a prison. What upsets you about the thought of us marrying?”
Portia opened and closed her fan. “That we have nothing in common. That we don’t really want to.”
“We have a great deal in common, and I want to.”
“Why? Other than to preserve your fragile reputation?”
