Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter
TWENTY-NINE
To Portia’s complete disgust, Piccadilly was unusually clear for the time of day and the long line of carriages waiting to be admitted into St. James’s Palace that she had prayed for were nonexistent. They arrived at the palace just five minutes after they left Berkeley Square.
Leo, sensing her anxiousness, held on to her hand the whole way and his solid presence meant the world.
He helped his mother and sisters out of the carriage and, as if he knew she needed a moment to gather her nerve, sent them on ahead before he assisted her.
Pathetically, her hand shook as he took it and he sighed.
“Tell me something—do you have any regard for our king?”
“Not really.”
“Or any respect for his privileged and entitled entourage either?”
She shook her head feeling miserable and out of her depth regardless.
“Then why do you suddenly care what they think?” He tipped up her downcast chin with a gentle finger, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“What happened to the acerbic cynic who sat in that ballroom next to me last month and claimed to be judging everyone who dared to look down their aristocratic noses at her as harshly as they were judging her?”
“I didn’t have to behave in a manner befitting the Duchess of Debden then.”
“When I told you to be yourself just now, I meant it. The Duchess of Debden can be whoever you want her to be. In fact, for the record, I would prefer it if she was more Portia than not. And the Portia I know is wily, tenacious, determined, unflappable, unbelievably stubborn, annoyingly clever, and too fearless to show any sort of weakness—even in front of a king.” Her words, some of the first she had ever said to him.
“That Portia is a prickly minx who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and fools don’t get more foolish than those that hover in there.
” He tilted his head toward the palace entrance.
“That Portia is also capable of being imperious when she wants to be and, from someone who has occasionally been at the receiving end of one of your disdainful looks, trust me, nobody glares down their pretty nose better than you do.” He tapped it and smiled.
“Furthermore, as we have both already agreed, I am not a typical duke, why the blazes would you even think that I would expect you to behave like a typical duchess?”
That got her attention. “You don’t?”
“I just expect you to be you, Portia.” An answer that both surprised and touched her.
“So straighten your shoulders, keep your chin up no matter what, smile as if you know a secret that nobody else does, and do not allow them to beat you, or you will have me to personally answer to. Do you hear me?”
Portia felt her lips curve upward for the first time today. “Yes, Leo.”
“That’s my girl.” Then, to her complete surprise he kissed her.
It was much too brief but right on the mouth, so she felt it everywhere.
She blinked back at him in shock until he grabbed her hand and dragged her forward.
“Let us go put on a show, your grace, so we can hurry up and get the hell out of here.”
Rather than allow her to take his arm like all the other couples in the receiving line, he kept her hand in his, refusing to let go even as they approached the throne.
“The Duke and Duchess of Debden,” announced the page or equerry or butler or whatever he was when their turn came.
Thanks largely to Leo’s steadying hold on her fingers, Portia managed to successfully survive the dreaded court curtsy without falling over. An achievement that stopped at least five of the ten thousand butterflies in her tummy from flapping as she smiled in forced politeness at the monarch.
The king looked a great deal unhealthier in person than any of his official portraits dared suggest, no doubt as a result of his well-documented hedonistic lifestyle.
He had ruddy cheeks and bloodshot eyes that stared at Portia with interest as they swept the length of her before he spoke directly to her husband as if she weren’t there.
“I can see why you married her, Debden.”
Leo inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Although I am not happy that I had to find out about it from the newspaper.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.” She knew enough about Leo already to know that from his short, almost curt, responses, he clearly did not hold this particular monarch in any regard either as his smile was as strained as hers had been.
The bloodshot eyes returned to her. “Are the rumors about your revolutionary tendencies true, madam?”
Portia was intimidated enough by the setting and the company to want to nod but didn’t for two reasons.
Firstly, she didn’t trust the feathers to stay put if she did and, more importantly, simply because the conundrum of a man still holding her hand and scrambling her wits had told her that he wanted her to be herself.
“It is true that I am a campaigner for reform, Your Majesty, but would prefer to see that happen without the need for a revolution.”
“Ah,” said the king with an unimpressed scowl before he turned back to Leo. “Then I shall have to trust you to keep her in check, Debden.”
“Noted, Your Majesty.” Leo inclined his head again and left it at that. Apparently, content to let the silence stretch, which took some guts here with two hundred pairs of eyes staring at them and one of those pairs belonging to the crown.
“We’ve not seen you here in forever, Debden.” The king wafted his hand and all Portia could think of was his fingers resembled sausages. The pale and raw sort that hung in a butcher’s window. “Remind me, when was the last time you graced us with your presence?”
“Just after my father passed, Your Majesty.”
The king made an odd noise that was neither a grunt nor a word but a strange amalgamation of both. “As I recall, your father was very lax about his court duties too.”
“The Debden estates are very far from here, Your Majesty, and sadly keep me in Bath, just as they did my father.”
The king gave a sniff, glanced at Portia, and sniffed some more. “You need to try harder, Debden.”
“I shall endeavor to do that, Your Majesty.”
As the king clearly couldn’t think of anything else to say, and with Leo making no effort to fill the void and Portia too overwhelmed to speak, they were ushered along by a palace aide.
“Is that it?” she whispered as Leo led their backward shuffle into the opulent reception room that was filled with people who were all, to her relief, as and if not more ridiculously dressed than she was.
“Hopefully.” He wrapped her hand around his arm when they could finally turn and maneuvered her deftly through the crowd toward his mother and sisters who had already found the refreshments.
“Now we just have to make excruciating small talk until the king decides to leave to gamble and drink with his cronies and we can escape.”
“How long does that usually take?”
“You might as well ask how long a piece of string is because it could be one hour and it could very well be six.”
“Six hours wearing this tower of feathers doesn’t bear thinking about when my scalp is already screaming in protest. I swear your mother has secured it with at least five million pins.” All of which were digging into her skin. “Never mind that I look like an idiot.”
“You look beautiful, Portia, just as you always do—despite the feathers.” And since that lovely compliment wasn’t enough, he then slanted her a glance and a sinful secret smile that revealed just the merest hint of his distracting dimples.
“You did well just then, by the way. You didn’t dodge the question, looked him dead in the eye, and didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by his disdain. I was proud of you.”
“Thank you.” That final compliment somehow meant the world. “But to my utter disgust, I will admit only to you that I was intimidated.” She took a moment to properly take in her grand surroundings and all the bejeweled guests. “I’ve never been in a palace before nor met royalty.”
“Now that you have, what do you think?”
“I think the palace is lovely.”
He chuckled. “A very diplomatic and reassuringly Portia-like answer.”
“Leo…” Because her lips still tingled from his kiss, she searched for the right way to casually ask him why he had done it, but the dowager beckoned them over.
“There’s the happy couple!” To Portia’s complete horror, her mother-in-law was now surrounded by a flock of feathered ladies all sporting superior expressions as they stared at her as if she had two heads. “So many people are dying to meet your lovely new wife, Leo.”
“I’ll just bet they are,” he replied for Portia’s ears only.
His warm breath causing wholly improper goose bumps to erupt on her skin before he escorted her into the lions’ den.
“Just remember, as my duchess you now outrank almost everyone in this room.” His hand slipped softly to the small of her back in a proprietorial gesture he had never used before, and she could not help hoping that it wasn’t just part of the show he wanted to put on.
“Do not be afraid to use that rank and look down that pretty nose of yours to remind them of it, should the need arise. Which it will, my darling.”
My darling.
Two words that somehow held the power to unsettle her as much, if not more, than his out-of-the-blue kiss just had.