Portia was very tempted wake her brother and demand an accounting, but what was the point? Whatever had happened had happened.
The hours dragged by. Portia tried to settle to needlework or reading, but failed at both. She paced the room restlessly, feeling she must be wearing a hole in the thin faded carpet.
What were they going to do if he had lost all the money?
What if he’d lost more, much more?
Again the image came to her of Oliver raising a loaded pistol to his head….
“No,” she said out loud and another faint snore reassured her.
Fort. Fort was their only hope. Not only might he lend them the money, but he might be able to persuade Oliver to give up his madness and return to Dorset. Needing to act, Portia swung on her heavy cloak and went in search of the new Earl of Walgrave.
As she approached the grand house, her heart lifted. A baggage-laden coach was just leaving the door, presumably to go to the mews to unload. Someone had arrived. She ran lightly up the steps and used the shining brass knocker.
Portia knew it was unusual for a woman to call upon a man unescorted, but she hoped to carry it off with a grand air. When the door opened, she informed the footman that Miss St. Claire was here to see the earl.
His expression was not welcoming. “The earl is not at home, ma’am.”
Portia stood firm. “I just saw a coach arrive.”
“That was his lordship’s servants and baggage, ma’am.”
He began to close the door, and Portia said quickly, “So he is expected?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Then the door was firmly closed.
Portia turned away, deflated but still hopeful. Fort would surely be here today or tomorrow. Despite her prickling concerns, nothing too terrible could happen between today and tomorrow. After all, Oliver already owed five thousand guineas. Any extra sums he had thrown away last night were just raindrops in a barrelful.
Portia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She didn’t want to go back to their depressing rooms to listen to Oliver snuffle and snore, so she walked around this handsome area of London.
These were wide, well-ordered streets with houses varying from grand to simply elegant. Generally the pavements were flagged with stone, and sturdy metal posts bordered them, offering some protection to pedestrians from the carts and carriages which rolled past. The people she passed were ladies and gentlemen or their servants and children. The gin-alleys and whores could be from another world.
Scattered among the houses were shops filled with goods likely to appeal to the wealthy. Portia peered through small panes of glass at items from around the country and the world, wishing she could take some back to her family. Pru would love that lacy ribbon and it would only cost a shilling a yard.
She squashed the temptation. She was as bad as Oliver, wanting to spend money they did not have.
Retracing her steps to Dresden Street, she suddenly realized she had lost her way. She was not alarmed for she was equipped with Sayer’s Map Of London, and she paused to study it. Ah yes, if she went through Marlborough Square she should be back on course, and she would like to see the famous square. It was supposed to be the finest in town.
It was. Bordered by handsome houses of many types, the square included a railed park containing handsome trees, flower beds, and even a duck pond. Even at this bleak time of year it was lovely. In spring and summer it must be delightful.
Portia heard laughter and saw some children and their nurse feeding the ducks.
London had many faces, she mused. Squalid in one aspect, vicious in another, it could also be gracious, and even charming.
She went over to the railings to enjoy the antics of the four young children. One young lad caught sight of her and waved shyly. Portia waved back. The nurse was watchful, but did not interfere and so Portia paused to wistfully enjoy the little ones.
There had been suitors for her hand, but none she had been willing to accept. Her mother thought her unreasonable, but Portia needed to feel absolute trust in a man before she would give her life into his keeping. She had expected Hannah to understand this after her disastrous first marriage, but Portia’s mother seemed to think that any man was better than none.
If Portia had accepted one of the offers, however, she might have had children of her own. Now her chances were gone, for she was past her prime and without any kind of dowry.
She had been resigned to her spinster state for years, but she had hoped to be aunt to Oliver’s children. She had thought to live on at Overstead, working to make the estate prosper, enjoying nieces and nephews. Her mother expected to be there to enjoy her gardens and her grandchildren….
One of the children looked up and Portia thought the child had noticed her distress. But the girl looked beyond Portia and shouted, “Zeno!”
Portia turned and found herself looking at Bryght Malloren across the width of the street. It took a moment for her to notice the large dog at his side, dark silky coat shining in the sunlight. The dog was still as a statue except for a lazily waving tail, but its bright eyes were fixed on the children.
