“Are you talking to your cat again?” Minnie asked, her voice light with teasing as she came up the stairs. At the top step, she paused and tilted her head, her smile turning to concern. “Portia, are you feeling all right? Your face is very pale.”
Owl struggled for release and Portia set her down before turning to her sister. “Minnie,” she started, ready to confess what their mother had said to Mr. Tolliver, when Owl gave a loud, forceful meow as if in warning and bumped into her leg.
Portia looked down at her pet in surprise. The cat’s expressive eyes seemed to urge her to silence. It was the most unusual impression.
“What is the matter?” Minnie asked.
“Nothing,” Portia answered. She pulled her gaze away from Owl.
“Dear, I worry about you,” Minnie said with great concern.
“You needn’t,” Portia answered. “I’m fine, or I will be.”
“Perhaps not. We have a visitor. Mr. Buchanan is here and he is being very formal.” Minnie lowered her voice as if not wanting it to carry where their mother could hear. “Are we behind in the rent?”
Mr. Buchanan was the Duke of Moncrieffe’s man and managed all of his properties, including Camber Hall. It was a bad sign when a man was formal around Minnie. Usually they doted on her. Portia handed the laundry basket to her sister and untied the apron at her waist. “This will not be pleasant,” she muttered.
Minnie understood that the answer was yes. “How far behind are we?”
“A month, so far. Uncle Ned will send money soon. I know he will,” Portia repeated, more to reassure herself than anyone else. Their mother’s brother Edward was their sole source of income and he was more than a bit unreliable in keeping his promises. It was he who had suggested the move to Scotland. She thought he believed that her father’s relatives would be willing to help. However, although many had known Black Jack, few admitted they were related to him.
Portia forced a smile on her face and went downstairs.
Mr. Buchanan waited in the sitting room. He stood by the cold hearth, his hat in his hand. He still wore his heavy coat, and his boots were caked with mud. She’d have to sweep the wood floors once he left.
He was a head shorter than Portia and had a balding pate. He tried to hide his baldness by combing his hair from one side of his head to another. Portia thought it silly but tried not to give away her thoughts in front of the man.
“Mr. Buchanan, what a pleasure that you have come to call,” she said, entering the room. “Please, have a chair.” She indicated the two chairs and settee that were the room’s main pieces of furniture. There were also several side tables.
“This is not a pleasure call,” Mr. Buchanan answered in his thick burr. He took a step toward Portia. “I am so sorry, Miss Maclean, but I must have the rent. Your family is in arrears.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Buchanan, that we have fallen behind. Certainly you can understand how precarious a position we are in. You know my father was a war hero—”
“ ’Tis why the duke offered you this establishment, Miss Portia. He knows your difficulties, buthe means to be paid his rent. I need something, coin, household goods, something. I don’t want to throw you out.”
“Perhaps I should speak to the duke himself,” Portia suggested, putting the right note of hauteur in her voice. Her mother wasn’t the only one who could put on airs. Granted, Portia’s workday dress might be frayed at the hem and her hands rough from housework, but her pride was intact.
“I wish you would,” Mr. Buchanan said. “Frankly, I don’t believe he would receive you.” He shifted a glance toward the hall where Minnie hovered anxiously. “If I may speak plainly?”
“I pray you do.”
He sidled over to Portia, lowering his voice. “I don’t believe Lady Emma is happy you are here. Your sister is too attractive.”
Portia frowned. “Lady Emma has no grudge against us,” she said, knowing that was not true. “And Lady Emma is attractive as well.”
“But not as lovely as Miss Minerva. It is embarrassing how headstrong and jealous my employer’s daughter is. She is also his one weakness. He cannot deny her anything. There has been talk since you all arrived in the kirk that Miss Minerva outshines Lady Emma.”
Portia was aware of this. “But my sister is nothreat to her. Her affection is fixed on Mr. Tolliver.”
“That’s not the word being bandied about in the valley. They say your sister rejected Mr. Tolliver. There are many hard feelings toward your family. Mr. Tolliver is very well respected, and, pardon my saying this, Miss Portia, you are English. We expect the English to be fickle.”
“Minnie isnotfickle,” Portia shot back at him in an angry whisper. This is what her mother’s meddling had wrought. “ ‘They’ are wrong in what they say. My sister is steadfast in her character and her affections and you can tell them that. As for your rent, tell the duke he shall be paid.”
“When?”
Portia hated that word, especially from landlords.
“May I have two weeks? We are expecting funds from family members. I don’t know what has delayed the mail,” she lied, suspecting Uncle Ned had not sent a shilling. “It will arrive any day.”
