“Portia!” he cried out, but she didn’t stop. She was already leaving the room, tears blinding her.
She didn’t trust him. All along he had felt that, known it in his heart, and now she’d confirmed it. If she trusted him, she would have told him the truth. Instead she kept it to herself as if it were some dark secret, as if she expected him to think less of her, or maybe she just didn’t consider him important enough to tell.
Despite her promises and her kisses, she had kept her own counsel. He had opened his heart to her, spilling out his dreams and hopes, and she’d held onto her secrets. What did that say about his hopes for marriage?
Marcus felt anger and hurt twist inside him.
He heard her footsteps as she ran down the stairs and into the hall. Belatedly, he rose from the breakfast table and set off after her. Whatever she’d done, whatever she hadn’t told him, he loved her. He would forgive her.
He was on the landing when the sound of a coach reached him from the courtyard below. He strode to the window, peering through the beautiful colored glass. The coach was a large black one, and there were many outriders, as if the persons inside were important.
Frowning, he watched as it drew to a halt just as Portia appeared outside in the yard. She was also staring at the coach, but there was something about the rigid set of her shoulders that made him think she knew who it was. A sense of foreboding filled him.
And then the door swung open and Arnold Gillingham stepped down. With a curse, Marcus ran down the stairs.
Portia had recognized some of the outriders, despite their somber clothes. They were the queen’s guard, which meant that the queen was inside the great black coach. Victoria, here at Duval Hall. For a moment, shock held her frozen in place and she forgot what had sent her out here.
Then Arnold stepped down from the coach in front of her, and despite his carefully controlled expression, she could see the triumph burning coldly in his eyes.
There wasn’t time to turn and run. She wouldn’t have anyway. Arnold was not someone she would ever show such weakness to; she’d learned by now that he thrived on bullying others. Portia, alone in the courtyard, straightened her back and put on her public mask, and walked toward the carriage as if she was the mistress of the house and not its prisoner.
Victoria, looking tired and irritable, was descending from the coach with the help of one of her men. “Lady Ellerslie,” she said, then raised her eyebrows when she saw Portia’s bizarre outfit, the old-fashioned dress.
Portia curtsied. “Your Majesty, I am overwhelmed.”
“I’d prefer gratitude. I have had to rearrange my schedule to accommodate you, and I am most put out. You have caused me a great deal of bother, my lady.”
“Ma’am—”
“No. We will not discuss such matters out here. Invite me inside, Portia, so that we can speak privately.” It was an order, not a request.
“Stepmama, how could you worry us so!” Lara, her insincerity plain to hear, was next from the coach.
“Privately, I said,” the queen repeated with an irritated glance toward the Gillinghams that told Portia more than words about their journey together.
Portia led the way inside.
Marcus was standing in the doorway. She ignored him, and so did the queen. Mercy, hurrying from the kitchens, stopped dead in amazement. Portia hastily ordered refreshments before leading her royal guest into the drawing room.
Thankfully, there was a fire and the queen quickly stripped off her gloves and sat down on the chair before it, holding out her hands to the warmth.
“Lady Ellerslie, your relatives are abominable. They think I will believe them sincere if they continue to tell me how much they have your welfare at heart and pull somber faces. Am I such a fool?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Portia said. “I apologize, but they are my late husband’s relatives, not mine, and I did not choose them.”
“Well,” Victoria huffed, allowing herself to be mollified. She gave Portia a hard look. “I think it is time for plain speaking, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Sit down. That’s better. Now, whatever were you thinking to go off like you did, without a word to anyone? I was concerned. The nation was concerned. And now Arnold Gillingham tells me you were here, with this man, all the time.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. It was a spur of the moment decision. I was not thinking straight. And once I had run away, I did not know how to come back.”
“This man…it was all his fault. He shall be punished. I shall have him taken back to London and arrested. There will still be a scandal, that cannot be helped, but at least the public will have someone to vent their spleen upon.”
“No!” Portia bit her lip, forcing herself to be calm. Hysteria was no way to persuade Victoria to her point of view. “Ma’am, please. It was not Mr. Worthorne’s fault. He was only trying to help me escape Arnold.”
Victoria stared at her with hard bright eyes. “Escape Arnold?”