Chapter Nineteen
Portia jolted awake as the carriage drew to a halt. Her brother exited the carriage then helped her out, steadying her as she caught her foot on the step.
She cast her gaze over the white-fronted facade of Number Eight St. James’s Square, then she approached the open door, where the butler stood waiting.
“Welcome home, Your Grace, Lady Portia,” he said. Then he barked orders to the footmen as they helped Nerissa down from her seat. “Do you require luncheon, Your Grace?”
Adam pulled out his pocket watch and opened it. “Have it ready in half an hour, would you, Reeve?”
“Very good, sir.”
“Are there any messages for me, Reeve?” Portia asked.
The butler turned his pale gaze on her, then shook his head.
“None at all?”
“There’s a message for your maid.”
“For me, Mr. Reeve?” Nerissa asked as she approached the steps leading to the basement.
“Your brother delivered it not half an hour ago,” he said. “Knocked on the kitchen with much insistence. Most unbecoming.”
“Surely there’s no harm in Nerissa receiving a message from her brother?” Portia said, eyeing the butler with dislike. “I can understand how his knocking on the front door might send you into a fit of apoplexy, but—”
“Portia, perhaps you might freshen up for luncheon,” her brother interrupted. “It was rather hot in the carriage, and the road’s always so dusty.” He gestured to the butler. “I’ll take a brandy in my study, Reeve, and Lady Portia will have some tea.”
“Very good, sir.” The butler bowed, then stepped aside while Adam escorted her through the doorway.
“I can’t think why you continue to employ him, brother,” Portia said. “He’s insufferably rude.”
“His family has served ours for five generations. Would you reward his loyalty by insisting I dismiss him?”
“I’m not questioning his loyalty,” Portia said. “But has nobody told him that it’s possible to be both loyal and kind?”
“He merely wishes to observe propriety, which is his duty as butler.”
Recognizing the belligerence that rendered any argument futile, Portia nodded and climbed the stairs, making her way to her bedchamber. By the time she reached it, her maid was already there, unpacking her trunk.
“I swear, Nerissa, you must be capable of flying.”
Nerissa smiled, then slipped across the chamber, closed the door, and pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket.
Portia’s heart lifted with hope. “The message,” she said. “Is it from Stephen?”
Nerissa raised her eyebrows at the familiarity of Portia’s address, then shook her head. “It’s truly from my brother,” she whispered. “Mr. Grimes has given him another instruction for the Farthing.”
Portia reached for the note, then hesitated. Hadn’t she resolved never to deceive again?
“I can tell him that the Farthing has decided to hang up his cloak and mask,” Nerissa said.
“Sir Heath will just have to find another proxy—or fight his own battles.” She grinned.
“Perhaps that’ll make him think twice before compromising another man’s wife.
And, of course, you cannot keep up the masquerade after you’re married. ”
“Are you about to tell me that I must, from now on, remain quietly in the home awaiting my husband’s orders?” Portia said.
Nerissa shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.
But the colonel loves you—it’s plain to see—and you love him, do you not?
He wouldn’t want to see you placing yourself in danger unnecessarily.
And you know he’ll give you as much freedom as you want, not only with your fortune, but with your person and your life. He’ll not stifle you in a cage.”
Nerissa was right—her wisdom belied her years, though perhaps her status below stairs meant that she witnessed more of life than Portia ever could.
But there was no denying the little rush of satisfaction from knowing that someone, a man who considered himself a ruler of the world, sought Portia’s skills enough to pay for them.
And one more outing as the Farthing couldn’t hurt.
Could it?
“Very well,” Portia said. “But this is to be the last time. Tell your brother to instruct Mr. Grimes as usual, but from then on, he’ll have to find another marksman to fight Sir Heath’s duels for him.
” She grinned. “If this is to be my final outing, then I must make it worth the effort. Tell him to instruct Sir Heath that the Farthing’s fee is one hundred pounds. ”
“He’ll likely refuse.”
“Then he must face the consequences—or, at least, the end of his opponent’s pistol,” Portia said.
“Tell him one hundred pounds, and nothing less. I can spend the rest of the summer resting easy that Dr. McIver has sufficient funds for his venture. Then, when I’m married, I can resume my donations and nobody will be the wiser. When is the duel to take place?”
“Dawn, tomorrow,” Nerissa said. “Hyde Park, the usual spot.”
“And Sir Heath’s opponent?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Very well,” Portia said. “Now go, and let me know if Sir Heath accepts the Farthing’s terms.”
“But Mr. Reeve…”
“I’ll see to Reeve,” Portia said. “Heavens! At least when I’m married, neither of us will have to deal with that pompous arse.”
Nerissa let out a giggle, then slipped out of the bedchamber, while Portia finished fixing her hair.
Her brother would just have to cope with her not having changed her gown for luncheon.
Not that he’d notice—no doubt now he’d returned to London, his attention would have turned to the sparkling Mrs. Scarlet and how she’d keep him occupied tonight.
All the better to enable me to slip out unnoticed.
She approached the trunk tucked away in the corner and lifted the lid. Then she plucked the item from the top and held it up, running her fingertips along the ribbons and across the black silk. The gong sounded for luncheon, and she dropped the mask back into the trunk and closed it.
One more time…
*
As Portia anticipated, her brother didn’t notice her apparel at luncheon, though he made a cursory remark about her not having arrived on time.
And, as predicted, as the light faded and the day slipped into evening, he informed her that he was dining at his club and would see her at breakfast tomorrow.
She hadn’t the heart to needle him over his obvious falsehood—he was wearing a necktie that Mrs. Scarlet had gifted him, most likely to flatter her into ensuring he had a pleasurable evening.
A little pulse throbbed in her center at the notion of pleasure, and she met her brother’s gaze, basking in the warmth of the memory.
To think, brother, I’ve done what you have—experienced pleasure. I am no longer a child, or your younger sister, I’m—
“Portia, is anything the matter?”
She shook her head. “No, brother. Have a pleasant evening.”
Rather than continue to interview her, he nodded, then placed his hand against her cheek.
“All will be well, I assure you,” he said. “If Reid hasn’t called on us by tomorrow, I shall break down his door myself. Or…” He hesitated. “Would you prefer it if I didn’t go out tonight?”
She shook her head. “No, brother, I would not deny you the pleasure.”
He patted her cheek. “I confess I shall miss you when you’re married. I trust you’ll not forget your bad-tempered older brother.”
“How could anyone forget you, Adam?”
He let out a laugh. “I’d wish you luck, but I rather think it’s Reid who’ll be in need of it.”
“Anyone marrying into our family will need luck on their side, brother.”
He smiled, then took his leave. His orders echoed through the house until the front door opened and closed behind him.
Rather then disturb the staff, Portia chose to take supper in her bedchamber while Nerissa set out the Farthing’s and Gerard’s attire.
That way she could refrain from taking any wine without Reeve noticing.
Doubtless the butler viewed a woman who spoke her mind as akin to a harpy—one who deserved to be bound and gagged until she learned her place.
By the time she slid into bed, her body seemed to thrum with excitement. Not the usual sense of anticipation that beset her on the eve of a duel, but something more—a sense of having reached a pinnacle, the completion of her quest, in knowing that this duel was to be her last.
As she rose an hour before dawn, Nerissa already moving about her chamber, a sense of completion filled her soul. Rather than regret not being able to continue as the Farthing, she felt a sense of relief.
I’m ready to bid you goodbye.
“Beg pardon, Lady Portia?”
“I realize that I don’t mind giving all this up as much as I expected,” Portia said, holding up the mask.
“It’s only natural,” Nerissa said. “You’re different now you’ve…
” She blushed and averted her gaze. “I-I mean…everyone changes. Our wants and needs change. You’re about to embark on a new life—one that will give you new freedoms and challenges.
And you are doing the right thing by stepping toward that life with the determination to succeed. ”
Portia laughed softly. “Since when did you become so wise, Nerissa? Or is it that I’ve only noticed it today?”
Nerissa blushed, plucked the Farthing’s tricorn hat out of the trunk, and brushed it.
“Perhaps it is I who has changed,” Portia said. “I’m more willing to heed the counsel of others rather than assume I know the best course of action.”
She crossed the floor and glanced out of the window.
Through the thin mist, she could discern a diffused light—fingers of pale blue stretching across the sky.
Birdsong filled the air, the first rush that came as the birds, having woken, began their day by asserting ownership of their territories and calling to prospective mates.
“It’s going to be a hot day,” Nerissa said.
“Yes, and by the time the sun has risen, the Farthing will be no more.”
The mist had almost completely dissipated by the time Portia entered the park, Nerissa at her side.
The crunch of their boots on the gravel echoed across the park.
But there wouldn’t be anybody about to hear, save Sir Heath, his opponent, and their seconds.
Anyone else wandering about at this hour was unlikely to wish to be seen—ruffians meeting to trade items obtained through nefarious means, illicit lovers conducting clandestine liaisons among the rhododendrons…
Portia smiled to herself. To think, at last, she understood not only what activities those illicit lovers engaged in, but why. Such wonderful, wicked pleasures were hers for the taking.
Now he’s changed me forever—from a girl into a woman.
Then the little voice of doubt slithered into her mind.
Why has he not called?
“There you are!”
A sharp voice cut through the haze in her mind, and Sir Heath Moss appeared before her. Beside him stood his second, and Portia recognized Lord Maybury.
A lone man stood a little way back, beneath a tree, his features in shadow.
Sir Heath’s opponent—but where was his second?
“It’s about bloody time,” Sir Heath said.
“We’re here at the appointed hour, Sir Heath,” Nerissa said, lowering the pitch of her voice.
“Insolent creature, your manservant is, Mr. Farthing,” Sir Heath sneered. “I’d have thought, given how much you’re extorting from me this time, you’d at least behave like a gentleman and arrive on time.”
A snort came from the lone figure, and Sir Heath let out a laugh.
“Despise me all you like, old sport, but you’re the one who challenged me. If you lacked the foresight to employ the Farthing’s services, then you must suffer the consequences.”
The figure turned and approached in long, slow strides.
A blackened knot of horror twisted in Portia’s gut as her gaze wandered over the form, taking in his gait, the precision with which he took each step…the lean, powerful build, the broad shoulders, and the thick head of hair, softened by the haze of the first rays of dawn light.
And his eyes…eyes that she knew were capable of a warmth that soothed the heart and caressed the soul—eyes that were now almost black, lacking that spark of desire and affection that had captured her heart; eyes that now glistened with pure hatred and the soldier’s resolve to kill his enemy as he glared at her, his mouth set in a firm line.
No. It cannot be…
She blinked, willing the nightmare to recede—but instead, the image of him filled her senses, until nothing else in the world existed except him, the man who would, in less than a few heartbeats, aim a pistol at her with the intent to kill.
Sir Heath chuckled, and bile rose in Portia’s stomach as she fought to temper the nausea.
“I don’t believe the two of you are acquainted,” he said, “though, of course, you may have come across one another at White’s.” He turned to his opponent. “That is, if you stopped hiding yourself away in your lodgings playing at nursemaid and bothered to attend White’s like a gentleman.”
Then he let out a laugh. “It matters not.” He gestured toward Portia. “Mr. Farthing, let me introduce you to your opponent—Colonel Reid.”
Portia bit her lip to focus on the pain to prevent the world from shifting out of focus around her, as Sir Heath confirmed what she’d feared, and what her eyes were telling her, though she tried to deny it.
Stephen curled his hands into fists.
“At the very least, you can shake my friend’s hand like a gentleman, Reid,” Sir Heath said. “Most unseemly.”
“I’ve no intention of shaking that blackguard’s hand,” Stephen said, his voice quiet and cold.
Portia flinched as pure hatred dripped from his words.
“There’s little point in acquainting myself with a creature whom I intend to stamp out.
” Then he stepped closer, his body seeming to vibrate with pure, unadulterated hatred.
“Make peace with your maker, Mr. Farthing,” he said, his lips curled back in a snarl, “for I intend to ensure that you’ll not live to see another dawn.”