“It means commitment. That will have to do for now. The meal is ready. Come.”
It was a meal of elegant competence, with witty and erudite talk flowing around the table. No one would guess that there were bitter enemies present. No one would guess that Portia was a sacrificial victim.
Had Bryght been honest when he’d said he loved her? It should mean so much, but it foundered on the fact that he was a gambler in every aspect of his life. If he kept his word about cards and dice, he’d risk all on investments.
Portia’s father had truly loved her mother—he would not have married so much beneath him otherwise. It had not staved off disaster in the end.
Portia was determined to evade the Laocoon tails that tangled her. She looked around the table and assessed her enemies.
The marquess merely wanted his brother’s safety.
Nerissa wanted the marriage, but she mainly wanted that letter. Perhaps Portia could get it in some other way.
Fort was the biggest problem because he wanted the marriage itself, wanted it in order to harm Bryght, even if he had to use her as implement. How could her friend so ill-wish her?
She must find an opportunity to talk to him and make him see that he would be hurting her as well as Bryght. Looking at him, however, seeing how cold and cynical he’d become since his father’s death, she had doubts.
Eventually there were toasts and then Elf led Portia and Nerissa away to take tea in her boudoir.
“The men won’t be long,” Elf said, “for we are to be at Lady Willoughby’s soon. At least, I hope they won’t be long. The last thing we need is for them to be in their cups.”
“I can’t imagine the marquess in his cups,” said Portia, sipping tea, wondering if she could recruit Elf to her cause.
“Oh, it happens,” said Elf with a chuckle. “Sometimes at the Abbey, they all relax and become very silly.”
“And do you become drunk, too?” asked Nerissa.
“Why, no.”
“You should. It’s delightful. Is it not, Portia?”
“I have never been drunk either, Nerissa. It’s not ladylike.”
Nerissa laughed. “What a dull stick you are. Poor Bryght. He’ll probably shoot himself of boredom.”
“Lady Trelyn!” protested Elf.
Nerissa laughed again, but then the tone of it changed and she dissolved into tears.
“Oh dear.” Elf hurried to her side.
Portia had never seen Nerissa in such a state. “She’s increasing….”
“That may explain it. Perhaps we should let her lie down next door.”
So they supported the distraught Nerissa into the green bedchamber and laid her on the bed. “I’m sorry!” Nerissa gasped. “I don’t know how I could…. Oh dear, Trelyn will be so displeased!”
“We won’t say anything,” said Elf soothingly. “It’s just your condition. It disorders some women. Would you like your tea here?”
Nerissa shook her head. “Perhaps if I lie quietly for a while. I must be ready to play my part later.” She looked at Portia. “I never meant you ill. I could not bear the thought of you languishing a spinster, and this will be a brilliant match….”
Portia almost believed her until she added, “But, oh, poor Bryght!”
Elf pulled Portia out of the room and back to the tea. “She is the most complete cat. I was terrified for a while that Bryght would marry her. So was Rothgar. Well, not terrified. But disturbed.”
“I assume that if the marquess did not want Bryght to marry Nerissa, they would not marry.”
“Well, perhaps,” said Elf dubiously. “Bryght is past being ruled by Rothgar, though, and he has money enough to snap his fingers at him if he wishes.”
