The Education of Portia (14 page)

"She has been relieved of all needlework classes and reassigned to an advanced
mathematics class--one given to the fourteen year olds," Portia completed the tale.

"She will enjoy that," Stadbroke nodded. "You don't miss a trick do you, ma'am. Except
where love is concerned."

Portia froze in the act of straightening the papers on her desk. "Love?" She was aware
that she made the word sound like something vile and loathsome.

"Your brother and my daughter?" he reminded her, his acute gaze alert on her face.

She bent her head so that she did not have to continue to reveal her commonplace
features to his examination. "My brother does suffer from unrequited love, my lord, but not for
your daughter. Since he met her five years ago, Caldwell's affections have all been engaged by
my school's French mistress Mme. Montlucon who, you will remember, is a widow."

"So my daughter is to suffer a broken heart?"

"It is preferable in my mind to a disastrous association. She is altogether too young to be
thinking of any such emotion. In any case, they all--the older girls--fall in love with Cal. He does
nothing to encourage them, and much to discourage, and they are none of them harmed by the
experience."

"Good, then I need not worry. As with everything, you have the matter well in hand and
you have no need of my interference." He pushed away from the mantel and returned to stare
from the window.

Portia thought of Harold Dent, and how little control she had over that situation. And
how much she longed to pour out the tale to someone--no, particularly to this man--and have him
take the burden of the problem from her. She realized suddenly that Stadbroke was watching her
reflection in the window glass. Once more she concealed her face by staring at the papers on her
desk.

"And Penny?"

His soft-spoken words drew her back from her worries. "Penelope?" she managed to
say. "Penny is planning a raid upon the larder followed by a midnight feast in the junior
dormitory. But the girls will find nothing in the larder that might be too rich or filling, only a
substantial cake suitable for consumption in the middle of the night. As I assume they will be
adventuring with their candles, they will be closely observed for safety."

"You make it dashed hard for a man to fault you, ma'am. And a knight errant could
starve for want of derring-do because of your omniscience." He invited her participation in his
laughter.

Little does he know, she thought, how much I need just such a hero. If only I could
bring myself to confide in him.

"I had another small matter, Miss Crossmichael." He drew her from her thoughts with
quiet words and an enquiring glance.

She pinned an expression of mild curiosity to her face; she had to conquer this longing
to be rescued from her difficulties she scolded herself. Deliverance from her problems would
occur only by her own efforts, as always.
"Your brother accepts portrait commissions, does he not?"

"He does," she confirmed.

"I wonder, would he accept a commission from me to paint my daughters and I,
en
famille
?"

"You would have to ask him, my lord. I am in no way his agent."

"Of course not. I do apologize. Would it be possible to speak to him now?"

Portia glanced at the long case clock that rested near the door to the corridor. "I believe
he will be in his studio at the moment. I shall summon Penelope to guide you to him. That way
they can also show you her progress in drawing, as you have not had opportunity to see her
talent."

He lifted his hands in a graceful gesture. "I am rebuked. I admit I have not made the
effort to view Penny's work. I do love my daughters, Miss Crossmichael."

Portia stepped to the terrace door and, opening it, called to Penelope. The child did not
hear her, but Melicent did and paused in her capers to find and direct her younger sister. Portia
turned back to the viscount with a guileless look upon her face. She had only a moment before
Penny would arrive. "I know you do, Lord Stadbroke. It was very apparent when they were ill.
That is why I know you will wish to attend our Christmas ball, to see Sabina make her small
come-out in our restricted society. You should receive your invitation within the week." She
could have laughed long at the expression of horror on his mobile countenance.

"Christmas Ball?" he uttered in horrified accents.

"Christmas Ball," she reiterated. "We hold it every year for our pupils aged fourteen and
older and their parents. Sabina is the only one of your daughters old enough to attend. We find
that a little exposure to polite gatherings helps the older girls to make the transition to what will
surely be their futures."

Portia had initiated the ball when first she had assumed directorship of the school. She
would herself have benefited from such an introduction to social events eleven years earlier. Her
awkwardness and confusion on her brief foray into society at seventeen would have been much
alleviated had she been introduced to the niceties of such occasions before being thrust into
them.

"The young ladies all take a hand in decorating our music room; we lay supper in the
dining room, and have just enough space for the fifty or so guests and staff who attend the ball
each year."

"Dancing?" he asked, with faint reproach.

"Dancing, and conversation, as with any
ton
party. The young ladies enjoy it
immensely and their parents seem to appreciate an opportunity to see how their daughters present
themselves."

She eyed the viscount who, she fancied, had paled and rested again against the mantel.
"Are you well, my lord?"

"I am overcome by the thought of fifteen or so giddy, capricious schoolgirls, giggling
and preening, dancing with each other's fathers and such of your masters as you can coerce into
attendance."

"My pupils are neither giddy nor capricious, Lord Stadbroke."

He gave her a slightly scornful look, and gestured to the open door and the shrieking
mass of femininity that was streaming over the sun-lit gardens.

"High spirits do not equal unreliability. You malign them and reveal your own sad
prejudices by such a statement. I pity the ladies of your association if you have such a poor
opinion of them. Or perhaps you associate with the wrong sort of women?"

Portia was suddenly furious; he could irritate her more violently than anyone she had
ever met. "I hope you will do Sabina the courtesy of attending. Yes, you will be expected to
dance with the young ladies. And for your information I coerce my masters into nothing. If they
chose to attend, I do ask that they dance with the mothers of my pupils, otherwise those ladies
would have a very dull evening." She heard the ice in her own voice, and was delighted to see
the viscount narrow his eyes in a manner that said her barbs had gone home.

He opened his mouth to retort but the arrival of his daughter interrupted whatever he
might have said.

"Come in Penelope," Portia said. "I'm sorry to take you from your revels, my dear."

The child gave her a beaming smile. "I had rather be with Papa, Mith
Crossmichael."

The viscount flung Portia a triumphant look.

She ignored it resolutely refusing to be drawn into an acrimonious exchange. "Well he
would like to see your art, and talk with Mr. Dent. Will you take him upstairs to Mr. Dent's,
please?"

She dismissed the viscount with a pleasant nod. "Do watch for your invitation to the
ball, my lord."

The viscount looked to be seething over her abrupt dismissal, but he went with his
daughter without further comment. As the child ushered her father from the room, Portia
prepared to enter the gardens to bring order to the delighted chaos that reigned there.

An hour later, all was calm and returned to contented quiet. The viscount and his hound
had gone, and the girls were busily occupied in making decorations for the ball as the November
dusk closed in.

When Portia returned to her study, she found her brother waiting for her. His expression
was happier than it had been for weeks, and grudgingly she thought she must thank the viscount
for that.

He burst into speech before even she had closed the door. "I'm to do a portrait of
Stadbroke and his daughters, Port! And the viscount is desirous of being a sort of patron to me.
He will also have portraits of each girl, and recommend my work--if he is satisfied--to his
friends."

"This is good news indeed!" Not without difficulty, Portia forced herself to pleasure.
"And no more than you deserve. What did he think of Penelope's work?"

"You never saw a chap more astonished. He kept asking her 'did you indeed do this?'
Penelope was become quite irritated with him at the end and demanded if he thought she would
gammon him. Or if I would. He was at last convinced and wonders what will best foster her
talent. I suggested that more lessons and unlimited materials and opportunity would be the best
thing for nurture of her talent. She is very young of course."

"Very young," Portia reflected on the child to whom she was becoming much too
attached. She had not previously found herself drawn to any of her pupils in quite this way. They
all were good girls, nice girls, every year but they had none of them the wit nor the charm of the
Perringtons. She was quite enchanted by them and pitied their motherless state. That Lord
Stadbroke was their father had nothing to do with her attraction to them, she assured herself.

"Portia?"

She drew herself from her impromptu reverie. "I beg your pardon?"

"You were a million miles away just then," Caldwell eyed her curiously. "I said, wait
until Heloise hears of this. Surely it will convince her of my worth. "

"I think it is not your worth that concerns her, but your youth. And the secrets you keep
from her."

"You keep the same ones from Lord Stadbroke."

"That is totally different. You wish to marry Heloise! Stadbroke is no more than a client,
the father of three pupils. There is no reason why he should know anything of my private
business."

"No reason at all."

"None at all," she confirmed bleakly.

* * * *

There was never a question in his own mind, but that Ingram would attend the Christmas
Ball at the Mansion House Establishment. Despite that he understood his daughters less as they
matured, and expected them to display the characteristics he deplored in every other women of
his intimate and casual acquaintance--foolishness, manipulativeness, and greediness--he loved
them and wanted only their happiness.

From Sabina's letters she was not happy, and he was glad of an opportunity to observe
Caldwell Dent's manner towards the older pupils. That he would be equally glad of the chance to
meet Miss Crossmichael in a purely social setting, he would not admit.

He drove himself to Hornsey on the prescribed day in the last week of November for the
cold was dry and the ground suitable for tooling of an open carriage under a clear sky. The ball
was to begin at five o'clock and end at nine so that the parents of the young ladies would have no
difficulty in finding their way back to London. In addition care had been taken to schedule the
party with an eye to the full moon, a benefit supported by the lack of cloud.

He did not really know what to expect from Miss Crossmichael, on such an occasion.
He had become accustomed to consider her possessed of qualities he had long believed to be in
the masculine domain: forthrightness, business acumen and an impressive intelligence. If she
could likewise display a feminine talent to entertain a company with a comfortable party, he
would consider her a paragon among women.

Before the massive door of Mansion House, he gave his curricle into the care of his tiger
and trod up the steps. Every window of the house's substantial façade showed a light, but
there were no sounds of merriment to be heard. He was ushered in by the porter who gave him a
respectful bow and a sympathetic grin. He responded with a slight shake of his head, allied in
masculine understanding with the man. After all the poor old chap had to deal with the throng of
silly females day in, day out. He deserved every kindness, and Ingram pledged to himself to
bestow a handsome vail on the man when he departed.

A maid he had seen on previous visits took his greatcoat and his beaver and directed him
to a short corridor at the back of the hall. It led to an open door from which spilled light and
scent and the sounds of excited voices.

When he approached the doorway he could see that Miss Crossmichael stood just within
with her brother at her side. He would have owned himself surprised that the schoolmistress
could look so well. He had previously set her down as a woman of no more than passable
looks--her nose slightly too long, her mouth too wide, her face too elongated for beauty. There was the
glorious though undeniably flaxen hair, but it was always covered by utilitarian muslin caps. But
this day, all was changed. Her hair displayed a lively curling habit in its loose, crowning knot
and plentiful waves and the candlelight teased out golden gleams from the pale colour. Miss
Crossmichael displayed an unexpectedly elegant figure--and a handsome bosom--in a
high-waisted silk gown in a shade of blue that enhanced the azure lights in her grey eyes. The dress
was fashionably ruched about its hem and she wore with it golden earrings and a delicate gold
necklace set with moonstones.

Stadbroke noted absently that her brother presented a very gentleman-like appearance in
a good evening coat and pantaloons. He reflected once more that he had seldom seen a brother
and sister so little alike, but then perhaps a half relationship was all they claimed and so the
difference might be explained away.

He bowed politely before them both, and when Miss Crossmichael offered her hand, he
raised it teasingly to his lips. He met her eyes as he did so, and was struck with a completely
unexpected surge of longing. Oh, there had been an awareness between them before, certainly
the 'corridor encounter', as he thought of it, had confirmed that. A small current of cognizance
had swirled around their every meeting. He had believed it was because she disliked him so
much. Now he wondered anew. And wondered how he could have been so blind. Miss
Crossmichael was a very attractive woman, not beautiful, but with a combination of intelligence,
womanliness, charm and understanding made her well-nigh irresistible.