Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (46 page)

He understood her misgivings, however.

He paused in the middle of a complicated letter about currency transfers to wonder how he could persuade his bride that his business dealings were not the road to ruin. Since her father had ruined himself through investments, it wouldn't be easy. It would help if his affairs were in the relatively healthy state they had been before he'd plunged deep into Bridgewater's affairs. Now, details could support her fears that he was headed for bankruptcy.

Perhaps if he took her north to see the work...

He turned back to business. He'd concentrate now on getting her to the altar. In time, she'd see that he could be trusted.

Reports arrived from the servants who were watching over Portia's affairs. Cuthbertson had apparently fled the country. Moreover, the hawk had left a number of creditors behind, some the type who would be as cruel as he if they got their hands on him. That revenge would have to suffice for now.

He frowned over one report from Dorset, for it told him that Portia's mother and sister had left to visit Manchester, and Sir Oliver had only paused at his home for an hour or so before riding on. As a result, Bryght's man had lost track of him.

Bryght cursed. He definitely didn't want Oliver Upcott on the loose and gaming again. He hoped his man had tracked him down by now.

To keep his word to Portia, he had sent off a new messenger last night, ordered to head for Overstead Manor at all speed with a wedding invitation. Even if Upcott were there he'd never get to London on time, but he had kept his word. As it was, Bryght suspected that Portia's brother had fled the country, leaving her to cope alone.

If true, it made paying Upcott's debt less hazardous, and redeeming the estate should warm Portia's heart a little. He sat back to contemplate her resistance. At times he was convinced that she felt as passionately as he. At others, such as when she had claimed not to love him, he had doubts.

Was it possible to love a woman desperately and not be able to win her? He need only look at the Trelyns to see that miserable situation.

At least Portia was no Nerissa. If she disliked him, she'd tell him so. Hell, if she took lovers, she'd doubtless tell him that, too. Grinning at the thought, he went out to visit his thorny beloved to find out who her brother's debt-holder was. This time they were permitted privacy.

She didn't look quite as haggard as at her worst, but she was clearly not a glowing bride. He noted ruefully how warily she regarded him and discarded any notions of kissing her.

"I wondered if you knew the name of the man who won Overstead," he asked her.

"Why yes. It was a Major Barclay."

"Barclay...?" Bryght felt he had fallen into a theatrical performance. After all this, the debt was held by his friend?

Her eyes turned sharp. "A familiar of yours?"

Bryght was for once unsure what to do and say. He did not like to be dishonest, but he couldn't give Portia cause to flee now. "I think I may know the man," he said as calmly as possible, then deflected discussion toward some minor matters of their wedding.

He took his leave as soon as possible before he gave himself away. Hell and the devil, what would happen when Portia discovered Barclay was one of his closest friends?

As Bryght was leaving Trelyn House he was found by one of his running footmen with an urgent message. When he read it, he cursed under his breath, ready to tear his hair out.

He headed for Barclay's rooms and demanded, "Why the devil didn't you tell me you were the one who won Upcott's estate?"

"Why should I?" asked his startled friend. "Deuce take it, Bryght, I'm not the sort of man to boast of such foolishness."

Bryght took a deep breath. "Upcott is my future wife's half-brother."

"Good lord, I had no idea. Is he here for the wedding?"

"No. I just received word that my plague-ridden people have exceeded their orders. They've kidnapped him and carried him off a prisoner to Rothgar Abbey."

"Heavens above! Why?"

"The devil only knows. They seem to have decided he was trying to flee the country to avoid paying a debt to me."

Barclay suddenly chuckled. "You're looking decidedly ragged, my friend."

"I feel it. Not unreasonably, Upcott resisted. He's somewhat battered and is walking with a limp. Even were I to restore him to his sister's loving arms, she'd hardly be pleased with me. Look, sign over that debt to me."

Barclay's pleasant face fell. "Bryght, I wish I could. Walgrave purchased the note off me yesterday."

"Damnation. She must have asked him for help."

"It can't matter, can it?"

Bryght contemplated a very ugly vase. "I don't like it, but at least he's as determined on this marriage as I am." He turned back to his friend. "Don't speak of this, please."

"Of course not. It was a lesson to me not to game with pigeons even when they insist. Damned embarrassing to have a man stake his estate, but what could I do? Refuse to play with him?"

"No, of course not. But I'll be happy enough not to take part in such matters again."

"Not to game again?" echoed Barclay in astonishment.

"Part of my wedding vows." Bryght picked up his wineglass. "Come, toast my happiness."

"With pleasure," said Barclay, "but—forgive me for mentioning it—isn't keeping your brother-in-law under lock and key likely to cast a shadow on your future?"

"If Portia finds out, it'll be more than a shadow. The worst of it is I still don't know what to do to solve the problem. I can't have him constantly gaming away his property."

"Put him on a ship?"

"Out of sight, out of mind? I don't think Portia has such a convenient memory.
She
wants him at her wedding."

Barclay chuckled. "I don't think I've ever seen you in such a tangle. What will you do?"

Bryght drained his glass. "Get married first. The rest is for later. But if you care to oblige me..."

"Yes?"

"You could go down to the Abbey and keep an eye on things. The family are all away, either here or down at Steen's place. My men had their orders, but they appear to be getting carried away. I don't care to think they might have locked Upcott in the cellars. You could make sure they're tending his wounds with loving care. At the same time, you could prevent him imitating his sister and climbing out of windows."

Barclay chuckled. "Remarkable woman, your future wife."

"I think so. Can you leave now?"

"I'll miss your nuptials."

"That's the idea," said Bryght with a wry smile. "The last thing I need is for Portia to be introduced to Major Barclay, close friend of her husband's. At least, not before the knot is tied."

* * *

The next day—and far too soon—Portia found herself preparing for her wedding.

At least she had hardly seen Nerissa. Once assured the wedding would go ahead, her cousin had thrown herself into the arrangements with enthusiasm, and appeared to be enjoying herself mightily. It appeared that Nerissa's love of entertainment and display had overwhelmed her bitterness. Or perhaps it was just the destruction of that letter that had her so merry.

On the other hand, Nerissa was cunning. Her enthusiasm for this wedding was convincing Lord Trelyn that she had absolutely no interest in Bryght Malloren. He was once more the proud, indulgent spouse.

Portia had moments when she positively longed to go to the earl and tell him all she knew about his wife. She wasn't sure she would be believed, however, and it would be an act of pure spite.

Portia had just finished her bath and was drying herself when Nerissa came into the room preceding a maid carrying a large cloth bundle. "See!" Nerissa declared, and unraveled the linen herself to reveal the dress made out of the embroidered silk.

Portia was clutching her towel for modesty, but she stared at the lovely gown.

"It is perfect for your wedding!" Nerissa declared.

"It is too fine. It is an evening gown."

"Nothing is too fine for a wedding. I wore silk embroidered with silver and pearls. Chastity Ware wore the most ridiculous confection of white lace. When one thinks... but no more of that. You must wear this gown. The king is to be present, you know."

"What?" Portia clutched the towel more tightly.

"You are to be married in the Chapel Royal. Rothgar's work. He is determined to cover you with respectability. Oh, and there was another package. From Bryght." She dispatched the maid to find it then turned to Portia with a smirk. "Judging from the seamstress who sent it, however, I am not at all sure it is proper."

"Then I will not wear it."

"No? You are going to vow obedience, Cousin. Shouldn't you perhaps anticipate the wedding?"

Portia fought it, but at the words "anticipate the wedding" color rose in her face. She turned away to dry herself further.

"I wonder if you are still a virgin," Nerissa mused behind her. "Rumor says that Bryght did not deflower little Hippolyta at Mirabelle's. But what happened when you went running to him two days ago?"

Portia ignored her and sat at the dressing table, still swathed in the towel. She would not take it off in front of Nerissa. She unpinned her hair.

"As the matron present, perhaps I should prepare you for the dreadful shock of the marriage bed." Nerissa came up behind so that Portia could see her beautiful, wicked face in the mirror, and smell her cloying perfume—a perfume that took her back to Maidenhead and a diabolic intruder.

How could she ever have imagined that her rashness that day would lead to this?

Nerissa smiled. "Does your silence mean you prefer ignorance? Or that you are no longer ignorant?"

Portia made herself meet the avid eyes. "It means that I need no assistance of yours in my marriage."

"You have experienced his bed?"

"No," Portia said, strengthened by the fact that it was true. "Until I chased you, I had never entered Bryght's bedchamber."

Nerissa's brows rose. "But what wonders are to be revealed! It will go better, though, if you are well prepared." She leaned forward, so her face was next to Portia's, and even slid her hand onto Portia's bare shoulder. "Ignorance is not bliss. I have some most instructive books concealed from Trelyn."

Portia shrugged the hand off. "Why conceal them? Perhaps your husband would find them instructive and you would not then need a lover."

Nerissa flinched back as if hit. "Very well," she snapped, standing straight. "Linger in ignorance and suffer for it. I merely sought to help. Your bible-reading ways will not serve in bed with Bryght Malloren."

The maid returned then with a box and opened it. Without asking permission, Nerissa pawed through it then laughed. "Jupiter, but I wish I could be a fly on the wall!" She blew Portia a malicious kiss and left.

Under the intrigued eyes of the maid, Portia went to see what was in the box, though she could guess. Suggestive, wicked undergarments.

She was wrong.

The delicate items were not risqué at all. The shift was finest silk edged with precious lace, but decently opaque; the stays were prettily embroidered with flowers, but ladylike. The stockings made her smile a little, for they were identical to the ones they had found in Elf's chest, silk lace and very fancy garters.

With Bryght Malloren, nothing was ever as she expected.

There was another knock, and Portia turned, expecting Nerissa back to taunt.

It was Elf, however, in magnificent amber silk and fairly bubbling with excitement. "I love weddings." She saw the gown and gasped. "Portia! That is the most
exquisite
fabric. Oh, I am consumed with jealousy. Come. Let us see you in it."

Portia was caught up in a whirlwind. First, she was helped into the beautiful, discreet underwear. She noticed Elf hesitate at the sight of the stockings and garters, but nothing was said.

The maid tied the wide but light cane hoops around Portia's waist and added a petticoat. Then she put on the gown and fastened it at the front.

It was an exquisite fabric, light but heavily textured. The cream silk was the perfect background for the jewel-like birds in blue, yellow, and green. As the mantua-maker had said, with such rich fabric there was no point in ornament. The design was simple—full skirted, low bodiced, and with elbow-length sleeves. The lovely lace of the shift flowed out there to almost cover Portia's forearms.

She wished her bosom was as well covered.

The stays were designed to push up her breasts and make the most of their modest dimensions. Now the bodice of the dress ended a fraction lower so that the narrow lace frill of the stays showed.

Along with a great deal else! She hardly felt it was decent for church, but Elf's bodice was as low.

Portia had given the jewels to Lord Trelyn to take care of and now his valet brought them to her. Portia thought them too grand for day wear, even if royalty were to be present and only put on the earrings. She gave the rest into Elf's care.

All the activity had distracted Portia from the occasion, but when it was time to go downstairs to enter the coach, panic hit her. She started to tremble.