“A week! That is a great time to leave a single lady unattended.”
Portia could have delivered a lecture on the question of who had been attending whom, but merely said, “Since I have nowhere else to go, and know of no one who would come here to attend me, there is nothing to be done about it.”
“I could put you on the street,” the woman said. “This is a decent house, and I’ll not have it otherwise.”
“Nor would I,” Portia protested, “And you cannot evict me when the rent is paid.”
The woman was about to speak when her son raced up the stairs. “Ma! There’s a grand coach at the door!”
Portia’s first thought was that it was Bryght Malloren come to seize her. But when she followed the landlady into the hall to look down the stairs, she saw Fort.
He was dressed quite casually in dull blue and top boots, with his brown hair was simply tied, but it was certain this house had never seen his like. The two powdered footmen added splendidly to his ambience. He left the men at the door and mounted the stairs with eloquent disdain. Mrs. Pinney and her son melted out of his way and he ignored them.
“Cousin Portia,” he said with a friendly smile and extended hands. “How wonderful to find you in London.”
When she put her hands in his, he carried them to his lips and kissed each. “You look a little tired, which is hardly surprising given this dismal place. We must see what we can do.”
He shut the door on the gawking Pinneys and released her hands. Portia remembered then that Fort had been at Mirabelle’s, had bid on her, diced for her, and according to Bryght, would not have been able to get her completely free.
She had absolutely no idea what to say to him.
He was as tall as Bryght and a little heavier in build. He made the small room shrink even further, but he was Fort with whom she’d run wild in Dorset years ago and his slanted smile was familiar. “I thought you’d given up madcap adventures, Portia.”
“I thought so too. Oh, Fort, thank you for helping us.”
“It was nothing,” he said and eyed her warily. “I rather thought you’d ring a peal over me about the military.”
“I might have done, but I see now it may be for the best. But I do hope Oliver doesn’t see much action.”
“Don’t be foolish. The only way to keep him out of trouble is to keep him in the thick of things. It’s a damned shame the war’s about over. You have almost mothered him to disaster.”
“Are you going to put it all at my door, then? That seems unfair.”
“Not all of it. Your mother and pouting Pru have done their part. Let him go.”
She pulled a face. “It seems I have no choice. At least I am able to manage Overstead while he’s gone. I assure you you will be repaid in full in not too many years.”
“It is nothing,” he said again, and Portia found it rather irritating. It was doubtless true that five thousand guineas was nothing to the Earl of Walgrave. It had nearly ruined her.
“In fact,” she said, “we can pay off a good part of it immediately, for Bryght Malloren gave me the proceeds of his wager last night.” There. She was rather proud of the cool way she had referred to it.
“Did he, by gad? Twelve hundred? I suppose he owed you something since you must have helped him win.” His lip curled. “Rather a dishonorable bet, if one thinks about it.”
“No more dishonorable than auctioning children!”
He shrugged carelessly. “The main thing is to see what can be done with you until Oliver returns.”
“I can stay here now your visit has covered me with glittering respectability.” But then she remembered that Bryght Malloren might have been here and shuddered.
“You see it is not proper,” Fort said. “I could offer you refuge at my house, but it’s a bachelor establishment at the moment and you are not a relative….”
“I don’t expect you to house me, Fort.”
“Do you not have any acquaintance or connection in Town?”
“No. We have only been here for a few days. Oliver has friends, but…”
“But, no,” he completed with a raised brow.
