Page 104 of The Music of Love

“I’m sorry, old man,” Robert said. “She didn’t want to make a fuss. She said she was going to have a rest before dinner and the ball.”

Stacy gestured toward the twittering collection of females. “They want another game. Will you step in for me?”

Robert gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Of course. If you take the same shortcut you took to get here, you’ll most likely get there just about the same time she does.”

Stacy was taking his leave of the players when Kitty approached. “Is everything all right, Stacy?”

“I want to check on Portia. She hasn’t been feeling up to snuff, even though she does a good job of hiding it.”

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.” She looked significantly at Robert’s back and Stacy understood. They spoke very little on their way to Thurlstone. Stacy was worried about Portia and he knew Kitty had concerns of her own.

He encountered Daisy leaving Portia’s chambers. “Is she in?”

“She just dropped off to sleep, sir. She was exhausted.”

Stacy nodded, torn between the desire to go to her and relief he would be spared from having to divulge this mess with Kitty for a little bit longer. He knew she would’ve noticed his awkward behavior and cursed himself for not pulling her aside earlier. But Kitty had been a wreck, so he’d gone off with her.

Once back in his room Stacy poured himself a hefty brandy and dropped into the nearest chair with a groan. What a bloody, unbelievable, coincidental disaster.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sleep was impossible. Instead, Portia lay in the dark, her mind churning. If only she could leave—run away. But there was this wretched ball to be endured and two more days after that. She refused to give Rowena the satisfaction she so clearly desired. It was obvious the woman had invited Katherine Charring for her own twisted amusement, although how she’d known about Stacy and the woman was a mystery. Or perhaps it was mere coincidence and she was imagining things? Could she really be so paranoid?

She knew her dislike of Rowena was petty, but at least it gave her something to think about other than the agonizing knowledge that her husband was in love with another woman.

Portia bit her lip to keep from sobbing like a child. Instead, she tossed and turned, her mind an endless blur of questions with no palatable answers. Did she stay with him, knowing she was a duty to him? Knowing she would be a burden for him to bear if he wanted to know his child? Or did she leave, taking the child with her? Because she could never leave her child, she knew that.

Where would she go? Back to London? Portia knew her friends would take her in, but what would happen to their reputations—their lives—to have a divorced woman with a child living with them?

She couldn’t stay, and she couldn’t go.

By the time Daisy came to dress her for the evening she was far more exhausted than she’d been hours earlier. She took strength in the knowledge that she only needed to maintain a convincing façade for another few days.

Daisy chatted happily as she dressed Portia’s hair, thrilled beyond anything to be preparing her mistress for a ball in a castle with actual peers. Portia closed her eyes and let the sound of her maid’s excited voice wash over her. A knock on the door a few moments later made Portia’s entire body stiffen. Please don’t let it be Stacy.

“Good evening, my dear.”

She opened her eyes. Stacy looked even more godlike than usual. He wore a black coat and pantaloons and his waistcoat was ivory silk embroidered with mauve birds that matched Portia’s gown perfectly.

He smiled. “Do you like it? It is Daisy’s doing.”

Portia’s eyes became unaccountably hot and she was afraid she would begin weeping.

She swallowed convulsively. “Daisy, you truly are a wizard.”

“’Twas nothing, ma’am,” she murmured, her face red as she rummaged through the jewel box looking for the earrings Portia would wear.

Stacy came to stand behind Portia, facing her reflection. Of course she couldn’t see his eyes. He held a black velvet box toward her.

“What is it?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended.

The corners of his mouth turned down. “You sound so . . . fierce. Am I not allowed to give my wife a gift?”

Portia couldn’t look at him, she was afraid she would collapse into a puddle of tears. Why was he doing this to her?

“You shouldn’t have.” Her voice broke on the last word but at least she wasn’t crying.

Stacy’s hand settled on her shoulder, his brow furrowing with concern. “Will you excuse us, Daisy?”