Chapter 13 #2
Portia was thrown off balance. She was no longer sure she wanted to live here, but having come how could she refuse? “You are kind, Nerissa, but I will be happy to live very quietly….”
Nerissa ignored her. “Perhaps we can find you a husband.” She looked Portia over with a calculating eye, “In fact, you could do surprisingly well despite your lack of curves.”
Portia was horribly reminded of Mirabelle. “I don’t pretend to any beauty, Nerissa, and I am twenty-five years old and portionless.”
“But you have attracted Bryght Malloren.”
“I have not! I tell you, Nerissa, it was just some game he played in the park. Heaven alone knows why.”
Nerissa hummed thoughtfully, her eyes stripping Portia down to her separate parts. “You look younger, being small. There is a lightness to your movements which is attractive. With a softer hairstyle and clever dressing, we need not despair.”
Portia was close to despair. “I do not want to marry.”
“Marriage is every woman’s duty,” said Nerissa piously. “Think of the benefits to your family.”
Portia supposed that was true, but even if she could attract a suitable offer she had promised to take care of Overstead. “I am resigned to spinsterdom, Nerissa.”
“Do not give up hope quite yet! If you come to stay with me, you will meet many eligible gentlemen who will see the value of a connection to Trelyn. And you will be doing me a kindness.” Suddenly, she was a gentle petitioner.
“I am with child, you see, and Trelyn hovers over me so. The dear man speaks of finding me a companion, but how much better to have one like you.”
Portia was congratulating her cousin on her fertility when Nerissa rang a silver bell by her hand, and a footman appeared. “Is my lord at home?”
“Yes, milady.”
“Then ask if he would visit me.”
Portia rose and smoothed her skirts. “Nerissa…”
Nerissa laughed, a rather throaty gurgle. “Oh do not fret so, my dear. Trelyn is your cousin by marriage. He will adore you as I do.”
When Lord Trelyn entered, he showed no sign of adoring Portia, though the look he gave his wife came close. Did he always wear gray? He was dressed rather plainly today in gray cloth trimmed with silver. He suited his cool, classical house rather better than he suited this ornate room.
What a strange match this was.
“Trelyn,” cooed Nerissa. “Dearest Portia has come to call.”
Lord Trelyn took Portia’s hand and raised it to within inches of his lips, as was proper. “Enchanté. But were we not to see you this evening, Cousin?”
Portia dropped a curtsy and looked to Nerissa for help.
“Poor Portia is in a plight, Trelyn. Her brother has been called suddenly out of Town. Would it not be delightful if she were to come and be my companion for a while? We could show her London.”
Lord Trelyn waved Portia to her seat, and sat in a chair close by his wife. “I do not care to see you tire yourself at this time, my dear.”
It was as good as a refusal and Portia was almost relieved.
Nerissa pouted and laid a plump hand on his gray sleeve.
“It will not tire me to take Portia to a place or two, Trelyn, and I declare I am like to expire of tedium here alone. You are so engaged in government business, and you do not like me to go out with only servants in attendance. Please, dearest one.”
The look Lord Trelyn gave Portia was not particularly friendly, and he followed it with an interrogation. Oh, he disguised it as conversation, but Portia felt as if both her family and herself were being turned inside out. He certainly was very protective of his wife.
She was forced to admit that Oliver’s business had been the purchase of a commission, but managed to conceal all matters of debts.
“We must approve of those so keen to serve the king,” said Lord Trelyn, though Portia suspected that he considered Oliver a rash fool.
He went on to question her association with Bryght Malloren. “You were seen to walk about the park on his arm, seemingly on terms of great familiarity, Cousin Portia.”
“I did not know how to refuse, my lord,” she confessed. “As for familiarity, he paid me some attentions. I made it clear, I hope, that I did not welcome them.”
What a bare-faced liar she was becoming.
“He would be a match far beyond your expectations, Cousin.”
Portia met his colorless eyes. “Precisely.”
He nodded with a touch of approval. “You seem to be a sensible woman and of an age to be past foolishness.”
Portia wished that were true.
Lord Trelyn turned to Nerissa. “Very well, my dear. If it would please you to have your cousin here to keep you company, I am willing to have it so. I still do not wish you to indulge in too many social affairs, but those we do attend, Cousin Portia may attend with us.”
To Portia, it seemed a grudging agreement, but Nerissa smiled ecstatically and held up her hands. “Trelyn, you are the dearest of husbands!”
He took both hands and kissed them, and this time his lips did touch the skin. A suppressed passion in the gesture sent a shiver down Portia’s spine. It was clear that Lord Trelyn adored his wife, and yet she would not care to be adored like that.
He was cool again when he turned to look over Portia. “If Cousin Portia is to share in our life, my dear, we must order her some new gowns.”
“Oh, but I have enough clothes,” Portia protested.
Lord Trelyn smiled coolly. “I doubt it. You must permit me this small indulgence, Cousin. You are to be Nerissa’s companion, and we would want to repay you in some way.”
So it would be a form of salary, would it? He was neatly putting her in the position of servant rather than family, and perhaps was anxious that Portia not disgrace him.
So be it.
Portia curtsied a gratified acceptance, and he left.
Nerissa immediately sent a command that her favorite mantua maker attend her. “Dear Trelyn to think of such a diversion. I adore clothes, but in my present condition there is little point to it. I tell you truly, this wifely business is quite tedious.”
“When is the baby due, Nerissa?”
“In May. Can you imagine how huge I will be? Already I have no waist at all!” She discontentedly smoothed her gown at the front, though under the layers of silk Portia could see no bulge.
“I do not like it,” Nerissa said, almost to herself, but then shrugged.
“But at least I can dress you.” She considered Portia once more.
“You are rather thin. You should eat more. Gentlemen prefer curves, my dear.”
Your limbs are slender but strong, your body supple as willow.
The invasion of those traitorous memories loosed Portia’s temper. “But a little while ago, Nerissa, you were claiming I would have gentlemen swooning at my feet.”
It bounced off her cousin. “Oh, dearest, your thinness is not a fatal flaw. I am merely thinking that it will do no harm to use frilling at the bodice to disguise your flatness there. And we must certainly not expose your shoulders. We will let Madame Baudelle decide. She can perform miracles. As for your hair, it is perilously close to red, you know, and despite the many nostrums advertised, I have never found anything that takes away freckles….”
Portia sighed and let her cousin chatter. She did not understand Nerissa at all. To talk of Portia attracting swarms of men was ridiculous, but she had never felt a freak. Nerissa’s artless comments were making her feel lacking in all departments.
She could only be grateful when Nerissa lost interest in critical evaluation and moved on to gossip.
Her cousin wiled away the half hour before Madame Baudelle arrived with a monologue on Society.
Portia found it boring, for she didn’t know the people, but she listened carefully.
After all, this was how she was to earn her keep, by listening to Nerissa prattle, and she would be wise to find out all about the world she was planning to enter.
She grew interested despite herself. She sensed that Mirabelle had been correct—the underpinnings of this round of pleasure was politics and power. Whigs and Tories, Crown and Parliament, City money and Society rank: all these power struggles were being played out in ballrooms and boudoirs.
“You mentioned Rothgar,” Portia said at one point. “He is Lord Bryght’s brother, is he not?”
Nerissa raised a brow. “I thought you had no interest in the man.”
Portia damned her ready color. “I didn’t say that. I have no desire to be entangled with him, but I think it wise to know one’s enemies. Rothgar seems to have a great deal of influence.”
Nerissa’s face turned almost bitter. “The man has a lust for power and an uncanny way of getting it. He is dangerous.”
“Yet you wanted me to play tricks on Lord Bryght.”
“Bryght deserves to suffer for what he has done. It needn’t involve Rothgar. He is out of town.”
Portia had at last found a discussion that interested her, but at that moment the mantua maker arrived.
Madame Baudelle proved to be young and sharp-eyed.
She was delighted at the thought of a profitable order of gowns, particularly at this dead part of the year.
Soon she and her two assistants were fluttering around Portia, measuring and assessing.
Drawings and fashion dolls were produced and considered, though Portia noted that madame consulted Nerissa far more than she consulted her.
An acute nose for where the true power lay.
Portia began to feel like one of the exquisite mannequin dolls herself, a mere frame for lovely fabrics.
“My cousin will require at least one gown quickly,” said Nerissa.
With a somewhat sly look, Madame Baudelle produced a swatch of beautiful material, a cream silk embroidered with multicolored birds. “With this,” she said, “a gown could be made quickly, for it would need little trimming.”
Portia gasped at the beauty of the fabric. It must cost a fortune.
Nerissa was staring at the fabric greedily, and Portia was sure she would demand that it be made into a gown for herself, but then she suddenly relaxed. “Why not? How soon?”
“Three days, milady.”