“Perhaps. You’re not to worry, because I intend to look into it, but I have a letter here you should read.”
“A letter?” Portia’s first thought was of Nerissa’s letter. That had surely burned, so what was this? A suggestive perfumed missive from a lover to her husband? The paper Fort passed to her, however, was plain and addressed to him.
She concealed it in her hand. “What is it?”
“It’s from my steward. Find a private place to read it then tell me what you want to do.”
With creeping unease, Portia went to the lady’s withdrawing room. Finding it deserted, she unfolded the paper.
She skimmed over the salutations and general business, seeking something that concerned her.
I have to report some funny doings at Overstead, my lord. The family have left, for a visit north so it is said, but rumor reports that they are all rolled up. That young Sir Oliver has lost all at gaming.
Her mother and sister had gone to Manchester already? Hannah must have given up hope, but what must she be thinking about Portia’s absence? And what was she going to think when Portia turned up married?
This wouldn’t have alarmed Fort, however.
Portia read on.
A few days since, the young squire came back here, and in a pother they say, though perhaps just to find his mother and sister gone. He gathered a change of clothes, some money, and his favorite horse then dashed off toward Salisbury. He hasn’t been heard of since. But a hat that seemed mighty like his was found on the road.
Round about that time, there were men here asking questions about him, and one of the pot-boys at the Bald Abbott heard them mention Rothgar. Knowing as I do that your father thought poorly of that man, I thought it wise to bring this to your attention, my lord, for I haven’t been able to find word of Sir Oliver in these parts, and the marquess’s men, if such they were, disappeared about the time the young squire did.
For all his foolishness, I would not like to see harm come to Sir Oliver, him being the old earl’s godchild, and known to us all from birth.
Portia stared at the letter. Surely the marquess would not hurt Oliver. Surely Bryght would be no part of such a scheme.
But Bryght had said he would take care of her family’s problems and make sure their home stayed safe. He might think disposing of Oliver was part of the solution.
She could be married to the man who had killed her brother….
She hurried back into the reception, which was now beginning to appear positively macabre, and found Fort standing alone. She slipped the letter back to him. “What should we do?”
“There’s nothing you can do. I’m going to post down tomorrow and look into things. It might all be nonsense anyway.”
She gripped her hands together, feeling the unfamiliar rings. “Oh, why did you not say something before the ceremony?”
“Because I knew you’d create a fuss.”
Portia stared at him. “Youwantedme married to him, even with this possibility?”
“Of course. Don’t look so dismal. Perhaps Bryght will hang for it and you’ll be free.”
Portia was glad there was no lethal weapon within reach. “You kept this from me, then gave it me here hoping to destroy any chance of harmony in this match. How can you be so cruel?”
Color touched his cheeks but he met her eyes. “I do what I must.”
She was appalled at the depth of his hatred. “Why, Fort?”
“I have my reasons. They are none of your concern.”
“But they are ruining my life! Have you thought of that? What am I supposed to do tonight?”
He smiled then. “Are you going to refuse him? Gads, this is better than I thought. I wish I could witness it.” With that he walked off, leaving Portia in despair.
She tried to persuade herself that it wasn’t possible, that Bryght could not have been party to harming Oliver. Fort’s malice to the Mallorens was so naked that she shouldn’t believe a word he said.
And yet, she didn’t think he would go so far as to make up that letter.
