Chapter Sixteen #3
Minnie came several times to her room, begging her to see him. “He’s remorseful,” she said. “I’ve never seen a man of his stature struck so low.”
Portia would huddle deeper in her corner and refuse to go. No good could come of it.
And then Minnie informed her that he had left the house. “He is gone. You are free.” Her words were etched in bitterness.
Portia ran to a window overlooking the front drive then and watched him ride away. She pressed her hand against the glass as if she could pull him back.
But she must not.
Nor did she halt her quest to find some hope for both him and herself.
It wasn’t until midnight that she finally gave up. That’s when she found herself on her knees praying. “Dear God, please help Harry. Please keep him safe. Know that I love him.”
She studied her clasped hands a bit and then added, “I once wished for something more in my life without knowing for what I was asking. I now know what was missing was love, and I thank you for sending Harry if you are the one who brought him to me. Now protect him. Please. And please, give Rose peace. I understand now why she felt as if her world had come to an end. I shall not take my life, Lord, but please help me be brave enough to continue living without him.”
As is too often the case, the response was Divine silence.
Portia climbed into bed, exhausted, knowing she had done all she could.
Christmas dawned on what promised to be an excellent day. It was also Sunday and services were definitely in order.
“You don’t have to go, if you wish to stay home,” Lady Maclean offered.
“Do you wish me to stay home?” Portia asked. She was wearing the dress she’d worn to the Christmas Assembly. She’d combed her hair out and wore it curling and loose.
“I wish you to do what makes you comfortable,” her mother answered, taking a moment to straighten Portia’s spectacles on her nose.
“I won’t be comfortable until I go out in society the first time. I must be done with it. At least in church, Reverend Ogilvy can remind the others that gossip is a sin.”
“Is it?” her mother asked, and then reached for her hand. “You are very strong.”
“I’m only doing what must be done,” Portia said. “Besides, I plan on being a guest at your dinner.”
Her mother smiled, tucking her hand in her arm. “And so you shall.”
Portia hooked up the pony cart and drove them to the chapel. She squared her shoulders as she caught sight of the crowd gathered there. Since it was Christmas morning, well, of course more people than usual would be in attendance.
She noticed that her mother and Minnie squared their shoulders as well. The Maclean women were not short on pride and they held hands as they went forward.
Their appearance created a bit of a stir, a sign that they were the topic of discussion. People tried not to stare and smiles grew forced.
One person who avoided Portia’s eyes was Mr. Buchanan.
He stood beside the Duke of Montcrieffe and Lady Emma, whose open hostility in her expression would undoubtedly fuel more gossip.
The duke’s man would probably be paying them a visit sooner or later to evict them because Lady Emma would want Portia gone. Her pride would demand it.
Of course, that no longer mattered, not now that her mother and her sister would be married women. Both General Montheath and Mr. Oliver Tolliver had been anticipating their arrival. The two gentlemen fell into step beside them, flanking them as if to gallantly ward off any attacks.
And then Mrs. Macdonald and Robbie, the gardener, joined them. “Good Christmas to you,” Mrs. Macdonald said.
Her words were echoed from all around the Maclean women, the greetings coming from even the Scots who had usually kept their distance. “Good Christmas,” they said in greeting. “Happy Christmas.”
They gathered around the women to escort them to the chapel doors, and Portia realized they were protecting her. Was she still considered English? Yes, probably, but she was also one of them and they were letting her know it.
Still, Portia was relieved when they’d taken their seats in the pews. General Montheath sat at the end of the pew, her mother beside him, then Portia, Minnie, and Mr. Tolliver.
Portia bowed her head, letting the opening words of the service flow over her. She studied her hands folded in her lap and remembered her midnight prayer—
“Stop this service.”
Harry’s voice rang out over the congregation, interrupting Reverend Ogilvy’s reading from the Gospel.
Harry. Portia closed her eyes. He could not be here. She was too fragile to resist him. Too emotionally drained.
Heads turned to the back of the church. Minnie reached over and squeezed Portia’s gloved hand.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Reverend Ogilvy said, “but this is a place of worship. You are welcome to sit and join us but your outburst is not acceptable.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said. He’d been in the back of the church. He now marched forward. “And I apologize, but what I have to say can’t wait.”
He stopped when he reached Portia’s pew. She could feel him, smell him, almost hear the wild beating of his heart.
“Portia Maclean, I love you.”