“Portia, may I make you known to my Aunt Cornelia, Lady Evers, daughter of the third Viscount Frotheringale,” Lucasta said.
Cornelia acknowledged Portia’s graceful curtsy. “And what title shall we address you with, then?”
“Title?” Portia startled. “My—if we are calling him my husband, his title was Lord Payne, but I?—”
“I believe there’s a Lady Payne who just removed herself from the room,” Aunt Cornelia said, “but I am confident she will accept her dowager status with dignity, eh?” A smile lifted one side of her mouth. “We shall address you as Portia, Lady Payne, and leave it at that.”
“Lady?” Portia looked dazed. In the span of a day she had gone from being a captive of the Falstead family to possessor of one of their courtesy titles. The jump would be near as dizzying, Lucasta thought, as her going from poor, plain Lucasta Lithwick to the Marchioness of Arendale.
“The children will take the name Falstead, if Lady Payne consents,” Jem added.
“And they will be free,” Portia whispered fiercely. “Free.”
Jem nodded. “I will have papers drawn up saying as much, and we will record their births in the parish register at Arendale.”
Portia sat up. “This is Selene,” she said, indicating one of the exquisite children who stood beside her, “and this is Hyperion,” indicating the other. She nodded to the babe. “And you are holding Phoebe.”
Lucasta looked wonderingly at the babe in her arms, who was mere weeks old. A bubble formed between the tiny bowed lips, and when it popped, Phoebe’s eyes widened in surprise. Lucasta laughed, but there was an ache in it.
Portia had traveled for miles with two small children and a babe who looked as if she might have been born aboard ship. An act of infinite bravery. And desperation.
“We wish to be made known to Lady Payne,” Annis announced. Lucasta looked up in surprise to see that the other girls had gathered around the settee, Judith holding the hands of the two new arrivals, getting acquainted with her new brother and sister.
“And I should like to hold my cousin.” Bertie held out her arms.
Mrs. Cadogan bustled into the room flanked by the butler and two footmen carrying trays of refreshments. The group sat long, laughing and talking and making arrangements for Jem’s marriage, Portia’s future, and provision for the Falstead children. Portia hugged Judith and shed tears on her shoulder when Judith welcomed her into the family. It was late when Lucasta helped Aunt Cornelia withdraw to her room, for Jem insisted that Lady Evers put up with them for the night.
“I’ll remove to Frotheringale House tomorrow,” Aunt Cornelia said with a yawn, “and that fool nephew of mine won’t say a word against me.” At the door to her room, she took Lucasta’s hand in both of hers, and her smile was sweet and sad.
“My little Lucasta,” she said. “Singing in the Foundling Chapel and playing Handel’s organ. How proud your father would be of you. And your mother, too.”
For the hundredth time that day, Lucasta’s eyes welled with emotion, but for once she didn’t mind being buffeted by the currents. It was the measure of her joy.
“Make certain your young marquess consults me about settlements.” Aunt Cornelia yawned again. “I won’t simply give him everything. I want some put in trust for your children.”
“Good night, my favorite aunt,” Lucasta said fondly. “And thank you for welcoming his family, for they will be mine now as well.”
Jem waited for her at the end of the hall when she turned from her aunt’s door. Lucasta recognized the same alcove where they had embraced the afternoon of his grandfather’s death, the same niche with its marble bust, the same portrait of some stern ancestor on the wall.
A deep warmth surrounded her when she stepped into his arms. Safety, wonder, passion, and something she groped to name—a sense of stepping into a place that had been shaped and ready for her. Waiting for when she was brave enough to enter.
“My condolences on the loss of your father,” she murmured. She gathered that Jem did not much admire or respect his father, but it must be a heavy blow nevertheless. She had been devastated to lose her parents, and still missed them both.
“Naught but good can come of it,” Jem said, stroking the back of her neck. “Portia is here and the children are safe. I can start at once to repair the ills he has wrought.”
“And you are the Marquess. Do you still mean to travel to the West Indies?”
“Not unless I must. I should be able to make out the manumission papers here for all the people on his estates. I will direct my father’s solicitors to break the land into parcels and gift a portion to each family, so they have a place to live and means to support themselves.” He moved his lips along her ear, and she shivered.
“We can wed in unseemly haste,” he went on. “Or wait a few weeks to allow Josie to make up your wedding clothes.”
“We ought to make some allowance for mourning,” she answered, resting her head on his shoulder. “What is unseemly is the season’s most eligible bachelor, compelled to surrender his hand by one unadvised kiss.”
“That was averyadvised kiss.” He rubbed his cheek over her hair, which was quietly shedding powder on his beautiful coat. “I was courting you from our first dance, Lucasta. I don’t think you knew that.”
“That was a courtship?” She lifted her head to gaze inquiringly at him. “Engaging me to give music lessons to your sister and cousin?”
“A brilliant tactic which I would advise all ardent suitors to adopt,” he confirmed. “And I rescued you from your errant cousin, did I not? Both of them, in point of fact.”
