“Yes, he did tell me,” she replied levelly. “It is late, Lara, that is all, and I am tired,” she added, following her into the drawing room.
“Is it so very late?” Lara replied artlessly. “I was at the Fenshaws’ ball and decided to see you on my way home.” She had her father’s nose, the poor girl, but she was still a handsome woman, or could have been if discontent and resentment had not begun to draw lines around her mouth and creases beside her eyes.
“Where is Arnold?” Portia sat down, forcing a polite smile.
“He had someone or other to visit at his club. You know men.” Lara plunked herself down onto the opposite chair with a throaty laugh.
No, thought Portia, surprised, I don’t.
Her father was a stern man who had little time for his daughter’s flights of fancy, and her husband, though kind, was of a different generation. In her life, she had only known two men intimately, her husband and Marcus…And did she truly know him? She doubted it. Apart from being dangerous and careless, more interested in his own pleasure than anything else, he was as much a mystery to her as the rest of mankind.
“You are looking very grand,” Lara said.
Her rise in tone seemed to imply that she thought her young stepmother was overdressed. Portia, long used to such barbed comments, no longer felt the need to justify herself. Tonight she didn’t even bother to answer.
“How is Her Majesty the Queen?”
“Victoria is well. The baby is well. They are both healthy.”
Lara clicked her tongue. “You should not call her that. It shows a lack of respect.”
“I don’t do it to her face, Lara. And I respect her a great deal. We are friends, I think. As much as a queen and a commoner can ever be.”
“You are friends only because of my father.” Lara’s voice was sharp, all pretense at manners suddenly gone.
The two women were of a similar age and could have been close. But Lara did not want to share her father with anyone, especially a new wife. Portia assumed that was why Lara resented and disliked her so much. Yet it was not as if his marriage had made him treat his daughter any differently, for he had always loved her. Unfortunately, it was the guilty love of a father who was disappointed in his only child and had never been at home long enough to discover her finer points. And instinctively Lara had always known it.
“It is my father Her Majesty thinks of when she looks at you,” Lara went on with a curl to her lip. “It is my father the people loved. You are just a reminder.”
Portia was tired, her head ached, and she was fed up. She had troubles enough of her own without listening to Lara’s. For the first time in their rocky relationship her patience deserted her.
“What do you want, Lara? Tell me so that we can stop pretending we enjoy each other’s company.” Her own words shocked her and she almost wished them back, but it had been so good to say the truth out loud for once and not pretend.
Lara’s eyes widened. She didn’t appear to be insulted. In fact there was almost a hint of admiration in them for such plain speaking. “Very well,” she said slowly, “I will tell you. I came here to ask you a favor, Portia.”
“What sort of favor?”
“You needn’t sound so suspicious. If you can house and feed all those Ellerslie relatives, as well as your own, you can surely grant your stepdaughter one request.”
“I only have one relative and that is my mother, as you well know, Lara. And your father would not want me to turn out his family when we have more than enough room to keep them. Can you see Aunt Jane in the workhouse?”
Lara gave a mocking laugh. “I had forgot you were a parson’s daughter.”
“I am not ashamed of that.” Portia lifted her chin.
Lara probably was, though. She was a snob, whereas her father had been a humanitarian, boasting that he judged a man by his actions rather than his birth. All very well, Portia often thought, and easy enough to say when your own breeding was
impeccable. But this time she kept such disloyalty to herself.
“What is the favor you want to ask of me?” she said again, curiosity getting the better of her.
Lara glanced away as if embarrassed, but more likely hating having to ask Portia for a favor at all. “Arnold will not ask so I must. He has heard that there is a vacant position in the royal household…secretary to Prince Albert. Arnold would be perfect for the post. Perhaps a word from you in Her Majesty’s ear…?”
Portia sighed inwardly.
Lara’s eyes narrowed. “And don’t tell me you don’t have any influence, because I know you do!”
“Lara, Victoria has her own mind. She does not listen to me. Why should she? As you say, I am nothing but a parson’s daughter.”