“I can’t help that. He’s out and Mrs. Gillingham says she will see you. Well, make up your mind. It’s late and I want to go to bed.”
Hettie realized she had no choice.
Lara Gillingham was dressed in a yellow and green patterned dress with a plunging neckline and lace-trimmed sleeves. Jewelry sparkled at her throat and her hair was entwined with pearls. Hettie noticed that her eyes were particularly bright. Too much wine, she thought scornfully, but kept her manner respectful as she made her curtsy.
“You have come from Lady Ellerslie, Hettie? Why did she not come herself? She is well, isn’t she? The Green Park incident was a week ago. I thought she was recovered from all the unpleasantness.”
“Yes, ma’am, she is recovered. It isn’t that.”
“Then what is it, Hettie?”
Hettie bit her lip and looked awkward. It was an act, of course, but she had decided upon a certain way of playing her part to Arnold, and now she would have to convince Lara.
“I am concerned about Lady Ellerslie, ma’am. I don’t know what to do, and I thought that you could help.”
Lara’s attention was caught and she leaned forward. “What is it?”
“My lady is most beloved by the people, ma’am. It’d be a shocking thing if she were to do anything that might put their love for her in jeopardy.”
“Why would she? What on earth could possibly cause her to jeopardize her position? Hettie, tell me at once!”
Hettie assumed a pensive pose. “She is lonely, I think, and that can make any woman vulnerable to the manipulation of a clever man—”
“Portia has a man!” Lara shrieked, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
Hettie was beginning to have serious doubts about coming here tonight, but it was too late. She must make the best of it, and pray that it did her mistress some good. Portia could not be in any worse straits than she was right now.
“I am very concerned that she has fallen under this man’s spell,” she said, sticking to her script. “If he makes her forget her position, and her family and friends do nothing to save her, then it will not be just her reputation that suffers. Will it, Mrs. Gillingham?”
Lara stared at her. “Then we must stop her. Immediately. Before this stain spreads to all of us.”
“Yes.” Hettie tried not to breathe a sigh of relief.
“And no one must know. Dear God, imagine if the queen found out…”
Hettie did not think it necessary to answer that. Lara Gillingham finally understood the full gravity of the situation.
“Where is Portia now?” she asked, eyes sharp and narrow.
“She has gone to meet him, ma’am. But she will return home before too long. She never stays away for the whole night, except—” She stopped herself, biting her lip. Best not to mention St. Tristan, it would only complicate matters.
Luckily, Lara didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, Hettie, you have acted correctly in coming to me, and I won’t forget it. Like my father, I reward loyalty. And say nothing to anyone else, especially not to Lady Ellerslie. I will deal with the matter from now on.”
“Very good, ma’am. You will not tell her? That it was me who…who…”
Lara arched an eyebrow. “I will be as discreet as necessary, Hettie.”
Was that a yes or a no? Hettie didn’t have the courage to ask her a second time. She had to hope that Lara told Arnold and he took over “the matter.” Arnold had promised discretion. That was what had drawn her to this cause of action.
As Hettie left the room she told herself she was relieved it was all out of her hands. But she wasn’t. Guilt was already niggling at her, making her feel squirmy and uncomfortable. She hadn’t realized that Lara would be quite so gleeful at Portia’s expense, and if Portia found out who had told…her mistress would never forgive her.
Hettie had been her personal maid since she married Lord Ellerslie. The queen had a hand in getting her the position—Hettie was from Saxe-Coburg, where Victoria and Albert’s own family originated. But that was a long time ago. She considered herself English now, and Portia was her family. And now she had betrayed Portia, even if it was for her own good.
She didn’t know if she was going to be able to live with that.
Portia was lying in Marcus’s arms. The passion, the wild attraction between them, was still there, and there was no point in denying it. If the feelings had faded, even a little, she could have believed their affair was dying a natural death. But it wasn’t. As soon as he kissed her, Portia knew matters were as intense as ever.
She should have been disappointed, but she was glad. Glad! Even though her passion for him would make her life miserable when he was gone.