Chapter One
“Portia, take your eye spectacles off your nose right this minute. You know I don’t like you to wear them around me.
Or around anyone,” Lady Maclean complained as she fluffed her pillows so that she could sit up in bed before Portia set the breakfast tray on her lap.
Her ladyship’s blonde hair was tucked into a lace cap, and her lace Spanish vest—a short jacket that served no purpose that Portia could tell—covered her lace nightdress. She rarely rose before noon.
“I need to see them to see, Mother,” Portia responded dutifully. They had this conversation practically every day.
With an impatient sound, Lady Maclean declared, “You see fine without them. They age you, my girl. Not that you aren’t old enough, but a woman shouldn’t want to call attention to the fact.
I don’t understand why we haven’t received our invitation to the Christmas Assembly,” she announced, her mind shifting into another sequence of thought without pause.
“They couldn’t not think of inviting us. ”
Oh yes, they could, Portia thought as she walked over to the window to open the draperies.
When the Macleans had first moved to Glenfinnan, her mother had made it clear she thought herself better than the Scots even though they undoubtedly knew all too well what a scoundrel her husband and Portia’s father, Captain Sir Jack Maclean, truly was.
After all, Black Jack Maclean had grown up in these parts, and one thing Portia was learning about country society was that there were no secrets.
Lady Maclean sighed wistfully, “I always adored Christmas. The parties, the dinners, the gaiety.”
Portia didn’t remember the parties, the dinners or the gaiety. As far back as her memory went, they usually spent the season being shuttled back and forth among relatives who didn’t really want Black Jack’s family. “I like not having all those relatives around. It is good to be under our own roof.”
“Even in Scotland?” Her mother sniffed her opinion and sipped her tea.
The day outside was overcast with the threat of rain.
Portia wondered what the weather would be like in mid-January, when, she’d been told, it finally, truly would go cold.
Would the rain change to sleet? She could go out in the rain but sleet was not to her liking. She began straightening the room.
The family only had one servant, a local named Glennis who did the cooking and the wash.
Portia and Minnie managed the rest of the house.
Minnie saw to the garden and Portia took care of the chickens, cow and pony.
It was a good life, far better, to Portia’s thinking, than the one they’d left behind in England.
“Your eyes are weak because you read too much,” Lady Maclean said, returning to her earlier complaint. “If you would stop reading, you wouldn’t need them.”
“Minnie reads as much as I do and she doesn’t wear spectacles,” Portia argued.
“Poor Minnie,” her mother said in another lightning-quick change of thought, “how are we going to find her a suitable husband if we are not invited to the Assembly? We must go.”
Portia smiled at that concern. “Minnie has found a suitable husband,” she reminded her mother. She crossed to the bed. “Her affections are fixed on Mr. Tolliver. You may not think him suitable enough—”
“He is not. I will not let her throw herself away on a mere physician.”
“He is well respected and comes from a good family.”
“He is ugly,” her mother pronounced, munching on her toasted bread.
This was dangerous ground.
Minnie was a true beauty, with the round, guileless blue eyes and the blonde hair that had once made their mother famous.
Wherever Minnie went, heads turned. When they had first moved to Glenfinnan, the sitting room had been full of young bucks, until they’d realized Minnie had set her cap for Mr. Tolliver.
Oliver Tolliver was of middling height, had a pouch around his middle and had a hairline that was receding rapidly. He was also one of the kindest men Portia had ever met. She understood how he could capture Minnie’s affections. Portia believed them made for each other.
It would also be hard to find a man as handsome as Minnie was beautiful. Portia thought this without jealousy.
Of course, life could be difficult being constantly compared to such a beauty—especially by one’s mother.
Portia’s hair was brownish with untamable curls she could only manage by pulling them back to the nape of her neck.
Not even braiding brought them under control.
Her nose was straight, her eyes were blue—but there wasn’t anything remarkable about her features.
She was also far less buxom than her sister.
And she wore spectacles.
In spite of their contrasts, she was proud of her sister and loved her dearly. “Minnie sees the measure of the man beyond his looks,” Portia said. “And I think better of her for it.”
“And I think she has an obligation to her family to marry well,” her mother muttered before taking another drink of tea. “She’s our one chance, Portia. Without a good marriage from her, we are sunk. How thoughtless of your father to leave us without anything.”
“We’ll manage fine, Mother. Let Minnie marry the man she loves.” And hopefully he would call again soon. It had been almost two weeks without a word from him. Portia continued to assure Minnie that her gentleman had not forgotten her.
Lady Maclean gave a snort. “That will not happen.” She set her cup down on its saucer and smiled. “You see, I had a private conversation with Mr. Tolliver when last he called.”
All of Portia’s senses went on alert. Her mother could be very resourceful when she wished. “She loves him, Mother,” Portia restated. “In fact, she is quite concerned that he has not called lately. I tell her that he has probably been very busy. His profession is not one with regular hours.”
The self-satisfied smile spread across Lady Maclean’s face, and Portia’s suspicions grew. “You warned him off,” she accused her mother.
“He’s not worthy of her.”
“How did you do it?” Portia demanded, spreading her arms wide. “You are either here in this room or in our company at all times.”
“You girls are not as attentive to me as you wish to believe. I had a moment alone with him the last time he called. It did not take long for me to say what I wished to express to him.”
Portia let her arms fall to her side in exasperation. “How could you do that to Minnie? She loves him.”
“Love is not for those of our class, my daughter. We each have obligations. We marry for the benefit of family. God gave Minerva beauty for her family’s benefit. She needs to marry rich. After all, I want my sugar.”
The last statement startled Portia. “Your sugar?”
“I like sugar in my tea,” Lady Maclean announced as if stating the obvious. “We have not been able to afford it since we moved to Scotland, and I find that unacceptable.”
“So Minnie must be unhappily married so you can have sugar? This is beyond selfish, Mother.”
“This is being practical.”
“But she loves him,” Portia all but shouted. “And he loves her.”
“Obviously not as much as you assume. It only took a word from me to set him off her. Trust me, Portia, it pains me to cause any of my daughters the slightest bit of unhappiness, but we must be sensible.”
Portia looked at her mother, who was dressed in lace and lounging on a bed that had seen finer days. They lived in a house that was cold and drafty, and so she dared to ask something they had never discussed before, “Didn’t you marry for love, Mother?”
Lady Maclean’s gaze shifted away from her. She reached down and picked at the shawl around her shoulders, rearranging it before raising guileless eyes and admitting in a quiet voice, “And so I know of which I speak.”
Crossing her arms, Portia looked away. “When were you going to tell Minnie what you’d done?”
“I see no reason to do so. If he doesn’t call, she will forget him, especially when we go to the Christmas Assembly and all the men flock to her.”
“But how will she dance with a broken heart, Mother? Minnie isn’t shallow. She cared deeply for him.”
“She will learn to care for another” was the tart reply.
There was no answer to that.
Suddenly, Portia couldn’t stay in her mother’s presence one more second. She picked up the overflowing laundry basket and left the room.
“Please shut the door,” her mother called. “I hate the draft in the hall.”
Portia was happy to comply, slamming the door behind her.
However, alone on the other side, she all but collapsed against it.
Her mother exhausted her.
“And poor Minnie,” Portia whispered to herself. She must tell her what their mother had done.
At that moment, a door opened and Owl came down the hall, her tail high in the air as she trotted up to Portia.
So far she had managed to keep the cat’s presence from their mother.
Of course, Owl was a very independent creature.
She could disappear for days at a time and then present herself whenever and wherever she wished.
Portia knelt to gather her pet up in her arms, asking, “What am I to say, Owl? How will I tell Minnie that Mr. Tolliver has deserted her? And all because of what Mother said. She’ll be heartbroken.
Then again, what sort of true love is he to abruptly drop her just on Mother’s say-so?
He probably understood our circumstances and ran.
After all, how can he support all of us?
” She hugged the cat close, feeling her heart beat.
“I don’t know what we shall do, Owl. Things are not good—”
“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.