Page 105 of The Music of Love

Portia watched her servant leave the room as though she was bidding farewell to her last great hope. The door closed and she turned back to the mirror.

“Are you sure everything is all right, Portia?”

“I’m sorry I was sharp. I’m afraid I have been experiencing the most exhausting swings in mood.” That was true enough, at least.

“Are you sure you want to go downstairs?”

Anything was better than sitting alone in this room. She smiled. “I’m looking forward to it,” she lied.

He nodded, and then turned to the box in his hand. “I commissioned this for you when I was in Barnstaple. It took the man longer than he expected. When I learned of this ball I sent him a message requesting that he make haste to finish it.”

Portia took the box as though it were a live snake, her hands trembling. She lifted the lid and gasped. It was more pearls, but unlike any she’d ever seen. She glanced from the beautiful necklace to her husband’s reflection. “Why, they’re almost . . . black.”

He smiled at her amazement and reached into the box. “Yes. Black pearls, uncommon, precious, and beautiful. Just like you, Portia.” He draped the double strand around her neck and clasped it. It fit snugly. “This is called a collar.” His elegant white fingers stroked the pearls, the contrast between black and white arresting. “Now you wear my collar, Portia.” He bent low and nuzzled the side of her neck, his mouth hot against her skin. “You belong to me.”

Portia felt as though he’d reached into her chest and crushed her heart. How could he be so cruel? Just what game was he playing?

He saw her stricken expression in the glass and frowned. “What is it, why—”

A knock on the door interrupted whatever he was going to say.

“Come in!” Portia called, beyond grateful for whomever was on the other side of the door. Frances stood in the doorway, her eyes flickering nervously from Stacy to Portia before settling on the necklace and widening.

“My goodness,” she breathed.

Stacy took a step back and clasped his hands behind his back. “Good evening, Frances. You look lovely.”

Portia was momentarily distracted from her misery by Stacy’s kind words. But he was right, Frances did look striking in a gown of verdigris silk, an unusual shade which brought out the gold in her hair and made her blue eyes look almost turquoise. Her high cheekbones tinted at his words and she came forward, one of her hands outstretched.

“This is for you, Portia. It belonged to my mother and I would like you to have it.”

Portia glanced from the small velvet covered box to Frances and could no longer hold back the tears.

“Here! What is this?” Stacy was beside her in an instant.

Portia shook her head, capable only of making gulping sounds like some sort of fish.

Frances placed the box on her dresser and held out a handkerchief before taking Portia’s free hand. “It is normal for a woman in your condition to be emotional—especially with this most recent shock.”

Portia gave the other woman a startled look. Did she know about Kitty Charring?

“You might not have taken physical harm from the incident with the balcony,” Frances continued, stroking her hand, “but it would have been a terrible stress on you.”

Portia didn’t know whether to be happy or miserable that the other woman didn’t know the worst of it. Oh, how she wished she had somebody to confide in. Instead, she dabbed her eyes and nodded. “Thank you, Frances. You are correct, it has been a strain.”

“You don’t need to do this tonight, darling. Everyone will understand if you decide to rest,” Stacy said.

Especially Rowena.

Portia shook her head. She’d endured years of misery at Ivo’s hands; surely she could endure a few hours of this wretched evening. She turned to Frances and smiled. “I would love to see what is in the box.”

The huge drawing room was filled with beautifully dressed, coiffured, and bejeweled house guests when they entered a short time later. While Stacy wished Portia had taken his suggestion and stayed in bed, he could not deny he was pleased to have her beside him.

“Will you both excuse me?” Frances asked. “I promised Rowena I would speak with the new pastry chef. He is a bit . . . temperamental.”

Stacy nodded and then said, “The ring was a lovely gesture, Frances.”

Portia held up her right hand and the diamond ring sparkled. She smiled at his sister. “Yes, thank you. It is beautiful.”