Page 100 of The Music of Love

“I met her a few moments before you did.”

His hands tightened on the reins. “Ah, I see. I thought Stacy seemed to know her.”

“Yes, he does.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Do you know how they met?”

“No, I don’t. But surely Lady Pendleton must have invited her, so she must know her?”

His lips twisted into a smile that sent a chill through her. “Oh yes, my wife certainly knows her.”

Portia waited for more, but he remained frustratingly silent and she changed the uncomfortable subject. “Will it be difficult to find the craftsmen to repair the minstrel’s gallery?” she asked, keeping the conversation for the remainder of the ride centered on the safe subject of maintaining an ancient building.

When they reached the drive to Hillcombe Park they saw several other carriages already parked on the verge. Robert turned the horses over to a groom and lifted Portia down.

“I’m afraid it’s all by foot from here. Do you feel up to the task?”

“I’m ready for a walk. I am also, I’m disgusted to confess, quite hungry again.”

“Well, it is your lucky day as a feast awaits.” He led her toward a narrow, stepped path. “The lake is in the shape of a swan, yet another homage to West Wycombe Park in Buckinghamshire,” he said.

“The owners do not mind us trespassing?’

“We’ve always been amiable neighbors, although relations have been scant these past years as the family is rarely here. The new Lord Bishop is around my age and we were slightly acquainted at Eton. My father was a contemporary of his grandfather and the two locked horns on more than one occasion. Even so, we’ve always availed ourselves of each other’s properties.”

The park was nothing short of spectacular, even if it was rather neglected. They followed the trail in companionable silence, passing a small reflecting pond, complete with stone benches, enormous goldfish, and an ancient-looking grotto.

When Portia commented on the structure Robert chuckled. “It’s probably not much older than I am, but the last Lord Bishop was an expert at reproducing antiquity.”

The path meandered through a small glade and on the other side were the shores of the picturesque lake. Guests strolled near a generously sized pavilion set with comfortable-looking chairs, colorful awnings, and food enough to feed ten times the crowd. Portia could not see her husband. Or Katherine Charring. Misery and fury surged inside her but she forced them down.

You promised to think before you became overly emotional, her inner, hectoring voice reminded her.

I did promise him that, but he’s not making the promise easy to keep.

Remember the last time you made a fool of yourself—mere weeks ago.

Portia gritted her teeth. I’m trying. And she was; she couldn’t recall trying to restrain her temper quite this much. Ever. But he deserved the benefit of the doubt.

“Let’s get you something to eat before you expire from hunger,” Robert teased, breaking into her annoying thoughts.

“Are you rested, Mrs. Harrington, or has my husband been exerting you?”

Portia turned to find Rowena had come up behind them, her smile sly. “I am quite rested, thank you. What a lovely display.” Not that Portia could take any enjoyment from it.

“You really must try the liver mousse and our very own ham, sliced tissue thin. It is far superior to what is offered at Vauxhall Gardens.”

A young couple approached. “Where should we set up the croquet, my lady?”

“I’ll leave you in my husband’s care.” Rowena gave Portia a lingering look before turning to the young man.

Portia heaved a sigh of relief; she was not in a mood to deal with Rowena’s cutting, oblique comments just now.

Robert cast a cool, speculative glance at his wife’s retreating back before turning to Portia and smiling. “Why don’t you have a seat while I wait on you?”

Portia did not demur and he left her in a chair beneath one of the striped awnings, her mind racing until he returned a short time later with a heaping plate.

Portia laughed. “You plan to share this with me, I hope?”