Chapter 16 #2
Nerissa burst out laughing. “Loves her! Oh, you dear ninny. You are so amusing. Bryght loves her money. He needs her money. I have made it my business to learn about Bryght Malloren’s affairs, and he is virtually penniless these days.
Heaven knows where the money’s gone for he had a modest fortune when he wooed me—I would not have considered him otherwise.
His luck at the tables must have abandoned him, though I hear rumors he has sunk money in Bridgewater’s crazy venture. ”
“So, you want me to marry a broken gamester? Is that it?”
“Broken? Somehow, I do not see Bryght as broken. And he is a Malloren still, which is worth a great deal. But only the second son of the Mallorens and thus dependent on Rothgar’s bounty.
You can guess how that galls. Having lost what little fortune he had, his only door to freedom is by marrying money.
A lot of money. Marriage to you will trap him as Rothgar’s pensioner forever. ”
She was to be his prison? “Why do you hate him so?” Portia whispered.
Nerissa’s face became almost pinched. “I have my reasons, which brings me to my other motive. He has a letter of mine.”
“I know of it, and you should be ashamed.”
For once she had dumbfounded Nerissa. “You know? And I thought you such an innocent!”
“If you mean I am virtuous, of course I am.”
“How then, are you so familiar with a letter Bryght keeps by his bedside?”
Portia colored. “I know nothing of his bedchamber. I learned of it elsewhere. What has this letter to do with my marriage?”
“Who better to find a letter kept in a bedchamber than a wife?”
Portia stared. “You will trap me into a vile marriage just so I can steal a letter?”
“But of course. And to call marriage with Bryght vile is to be ridiculous.”
“Then I am ridiculous. You cannot make me marry him, Nerissa. I will walk to Dorset if necessary.”
For the first time Nerissa looked less than complacent. “If you refuse, the world will learn about Hippolyta.”
Portia shuddered but hoped she concealed it. “So be it. I am headed for a life of obscurity where it will not matter.”
“You overestimate provincial tolerance.” Nerissa looked less certain of herself, however. “And what of your brother?”
“What of him?”
“If the whole world talks of your shame, Sir Oliver will have to defend your honor.”
Portia struggled against this new loop of the noose. “He will challenge Bryght? For buying me in a brothel? Hardly.”
“It would be novel, wouldn’t it? No, I think we would conceal your wilder adventures.
He would hear slander about your behavior at the Willoughbys’, learn of it in such a way that he would have no choice but to challenge the slanderer.
Of course we would ensure that his opponent has far greater skill with a sword.
” Nerissa leaned forward, eyes hard and cold.
“You are going to marry Bryght Malloren and retrieve my letter, Portia, because if you refuse, you will condemn your brother to death.”
Portia started to tremble. “You can’t do this!”
“I assure you, I can. There are always hired swords.” Sensing victory, Nerissa lounged back, once more the contented predator. “And Bryght could be forced into duels as well. You don’t like him, but do you want his life on your conscience?”
“If I get the letter in some other way,” Portia asked desperately, “will you give up this plan?”
“Oh, no,” said Nerissa. “It is too complete a revenge.” She rose and shook out her skirts, creating a wave of Otto of Roses that made Portia feel physically sick.
“You will marry Bryght on Wednesday, Hippolyta. I will give you no time to escape. Now I must go. There is so much to do if such a hasty wedding is to be worthy of us all.”
The door clicked behind her and Portia sat frozen like a stone statue. It was too much. She could endure almost anything herself, but she could not condemn Oliver and Bryght to death. The noose had finally tightened beyond all hope of escape.
Bryght ate his breakfast unsure whether matters were working out well or badly. He had decided he wanted to win the heart and hand of Portia St. Claire and now it appeared they would have to marry.
That was not, however, the same thing.
He wasn’t at all sure that such a marriage would gain him her heart for she had appeared thoroughly alarmed at the prospect. If she’d had a pistol, she doubtless would have shot him, and before witnesses, too.
He refilled his coffee cup, smiling at the thought of his intemperate . Last night had reaffirmed that she was as fiery in love as she was in anger, and he couldn’t wait to let her burn him to a cinder.
Rothgar came in and Boudicca went to join Zeno by the fire. “You are amused by the coffeepot?”
Bryght tried to straighten his face. “I am amused by fate. You may congratulate me, Bey. I am to be married.”
Rothgar was serving himself from chafing dishes, for they let no servants hover over this meal. His hand froze in the act of reaching for a spoon. “I may not, as well. To whom?”
Bryght was surprised that his brother would reveal such overt opposition. “I doubt you know her. Miss Portia St. Claire of Overstead, Dorset.”
Rothgar’s dark eyes studied him for a moment then he continued to fill a plate. “Nerissa Trelyn’s cousin.”
“How the devil do you know that?”
“I was introduced to her last night. Short, slender, red haired. Not in your usual style.” He came to sit at the table.
“That should please you. You haven’t regarded the other contenders with approval.”
“It would depend on your reasons. I have become a convert to love in marriage.”
Bryght laughed. “Am I to wish you happy?”
“A philosophical convert only. Why are you marrying her?”
“That’s none of your business,” said Bryght amiably.
It seemed for a moment that Rothgar would insist, but then he said, “True. When are you marrying her? I might have a practical interest in that.”
“I’m not sure, but soon.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of meaning in the word and the raised eyebrow that accompanied it.
Bryght felt damnably like a guilty schoolboy. “I haven’t taken her virtue, Bey. Or not much of it.”
“But enough, I gather. So be it. Honor above all. I suppose Elf should come to lend the girl credit.”
“The ‘girl’ is twenty-five years old.”
Rothgar’s brows rose. “Is she indeed? She looks younger. She will still be in need of credit and support, and I doubt the Trelyns are an unfailing bulwark. Do you not want your sister at your wedding?”
Bryght was finding Rothgar’s acceptance rather more abrasive than his opposition. “I would be delighted, of course. Why not the whole clan? Brand, Cyn and Chastity, Hilda and Steen and their family?”
“Cyn and Chastity are still newlyweds,” said Rothgar blandly, “and it’s too far for Hilda and her brood. Brand, Elf, and myself along with a few distant connections who are in town should form an adequate family presence. An aura of respectability.”
“A massing of Mallorens is hardly likely to convey respectability.”
“It will, at least, silence any troublesome tongues. What of Candleford?”
“No, thank you.” Bryght could feel his jaw tighten.
“You will need a home.” Rothgar’s dark eyes were searching, which meant Bryght could not look away.
“We will not be welcome here and at the Abbey?”
“Of course you will.”
“Then that is where we’ll live until I can afford to buy a place of my own.”
“How very bourgeois,” drawled Rothgar.
Bryght rose and stalked out of the room, Zeno hurrying to catch up.
Bryght regretted within moments letting Rothgar catch him on the raw.
It was unreasonable not to allow his brother to buy the property and give him the use of it.
He received no special reward for his work, which had increased the family fortune immensely, just the normal portion allocated to all the younger Malloren men.
By rights nearly all the Malloren property was Rothgar’s alone.
Their father had left dowries for the girls, and the marriage portion of the second marchioness went to her three sons—Bryght, Brand, and Cyn.
Her early death had meant it was sufficient to provide a start for them in whatever profession they chose to follow.
It was not enough, however, to support them in idleness for the rest of their lives.
The bulk of the property had gone, of course, to the new Marquess of Rothgar.
Rothgar, however, had chosen not to use it solely for his own purposes. He had decided that the business of the marquessate would provide employment for all the Malloren men, and all would receive a handsome income from it.
He’d devised matters according to their talents. Bryght had been introduced to the delights of finance and investment. Brand, whose tastes were more practical, was in charge of the twenty or more estates that made up the marquessate. Cyn, the youngest, had been destined for the law.
Cyn, however, had rejected the plan and joined the army. Rothgar’s one failure, and it had taught him something about people, thank God—that they could not always be shaped to his will.
Cyn had taken his portion from his mother but refused all further financial help. Even so, his part of the family profits was put aside for him. If he never touched it, it would go one day to his children.
Hilda and Elf also received small incomes.
Bryght found the arrangement agreeable on the whole, but he didn’t like to feel that he was Rothgar’s pensioner.
It was his own damn fault that he did not have the ready funds to buy Candleford and he would have to live with it.
He could hardly expect all his dreams to come true.
To have Portia as his wife would be enough.
Bryght went up to his room to change for his appointment with Trelyn. He might as well do the thing with full honors. As his valet powdered him, he pondered an additional problem presented by the current situation.