“Try it,” said Bryght, “and learn to live one-handed.”
Fort took a precise pinch of snuff. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m only interested in gentle, well-behaved young ladies.”
Bryght’s hand went to his dress-sword. “If you’re suggesting my sister isn’t—”
“Bryght.” Portia put her hand over his. “I’m sure Fort meant no such thing.”
“Of course not,” said Fort, dusting his fingers with a silk handkerchief. “I was referring to age. A young bride has so many advantages.”
Bryght’s hand didn’t leave his sword. “Are you insulting my bride now? She is of an age with my sister.”
Fort reddened. “Devil take it! I’ve no desire to insult Portia. I’m talking aboutmypreferences. Portia is fortunate to be making such a fine marriage at her age.”
Portia would have liked to skewer him herself. “I regard a fine marriage as more than rank, Fort.”
“So do I,” Fort said cynically. “Rankandmoney. Which allows me to hope that you and Oliver will make life hell for the Mallorens.”
With that he stalked off, and in minutes left the affair entirely. Portia could only be glad of it.
Other than that small contretemps, the evening progressed as planned. Portia danced with a number of men, then sat by Bryght to listen to excellent music, then sat with him and the Trelyns to eat supper. There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was well and happy, that all was harmony, and that the strange stories circulating had been malicious rumors.
At the end, however, she found she was to return to Trelyn House.
“No!” She turned instinctively to Bryght.
“There’s no help for it,” he said quietly. “They are sponsoring your wedding, and as far as the world is concerned you have never left their protection. Nerissa cannot harm you.”
“She’s vicious and spiteful.”
“Only with words. Ignore her. “I’ll send over a pistol if you’d like.”
Portia refused to smile at his teasing. “After all this effort, I don’t want to end up a murderess.”
He kissed her quickly on the lips. “Good. I’ll sleep easier beside you.”
The mere thought had Portia’s face flaming.
Bryght escorted her down to her chair and she remembered something else. She turned to him. “I know we must marry, Bryght, but can we not delay matters? I would like my family at my wedding.”
“Portia, truly, it wouldn’t be wise. After Nerissa’s meddling and Fort’s rashness any delay would start new speculation. We can travel to your home for our wedding trip.”
“Perhaps if the fastest messenger were sent, Oliver might be able to be here in time.”
“Do we know where he is?”
“I suppose he might be on the road, but if a messenger rode to Dorset and asked along the way…”
“You think he went to your home and is now returning?”
There was something strange in his tone that she could not interpret, but the chairs were ready and she had to go. “Please,” she said. “I would like someone from my family at my wedding.”
He settled her in the chair. “Then of course I will send the messenger. Good night, my bride.”
As Portia traveled to Trelyn House, she achieved a state of balanced resignation. She had burned her bridges when she surrendered to Bryght. She had lost her virtue, she could be carrying his child, but more importantly she had let down some barrier in her mind and soul.
She could no more put him out of her mind and life than she could Oliver or Fort, but her feelings towards him were not those of a sister.
Her battle now must be to make their marriage work despite the gap between their ranks and his mad taste for speculation.
