“Just in time to answer a great many questions.”
“Your friend begged you to stay overnight,” Marcus said with a shrug. “She has been ill and you couldn’t say no.”
Portia tilted her head. “I wager you even have a name for my fictitious school friend.”
Marcus smiled, and although it was a subdued smile, it was the first one he’d given her all morning so it was worth having. “Dorothy Mickeljohn.”
Portia nodded gravely. “Good old Dorothy. What is wrong with her? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten that, too.”
“Scarlet fever as a child weakened her constitution. She’s a great reader, though, devours a book a day, and enjoys music. You told her all about Jenny Lind. She was in tears.”
“I feel as if I know her,” Portia murmured. “How do you do it?”
“A wild and unfettered imagination,” he replied. “I was caned for it many times at school, but they never beat it out of me.”
“My lady?”
A little girl was standing before her on the platform. Her dark hair was tied neatly back with ribbons, and she was smiling shyly and clutching a hastily assembled bouquet of flowers. The station master and his wife hovered behind her, beaming with pride as they watched their child perform a wobbly curtsy.
Portia bent down with a delighted, “Oh, how pretty!”
“They’re for you,” the little girl said shyly.
“And what is your name?”
“Daisy, ma’am.”
“Then you’re a flower, too. You’re certainly as pretty as one.”
Daisy swayed closer, her voice dropping confidingly. “Are you the queen?”
“No, but I know her. Should I give her your flowers?”
Daisy gave it some consideration. “No, my lady, they’re for you.”
“Thank you. I shall take them home with me to London.”
The train had slowed as it approached the platform, and the station master hurried to do his duty, while his wife recovered her daughter and hastened her away. It was nearly over. Portia turned and looked at Marcus.
“Good-bye,” she said, holding out her hand.
He raised it to his lips.
She expected him to insist on another meeting, or at least to mention it. Of course, she’d have to turn him down. If she’d learned one thing from this disaster it was that she must put a stop to their affair. Now and forever.
“Portia…” He was looking deep into her eyes, and she realized then that, perversely, she wanted him to ask. She wanted him to want her. Even though she would turn him down.
The train with its line of carriages had shuddered slowly to its unscheduled stop. Hettie was already hurrying toward their carriage—not private this time, but first class. Portia began to follow her. She thought he’d stop her, call out…but he just stood and let her go. She still hoped he’d stop her with a word as she climbed the steps, but nothing.
Hettie fussed about her, getting in the way of the window. By the time she’d sat down and Portia was settled in her own seat, the flowers still clutched in her hand, the platform outside was empty.
Marcus was gone.
The train jolted forward, hissing steam, and they were on their way back to London.
“Thank goodness for that!” Hettie said.
“Yes, thank goodness,” she murmured.