The Perfect Lover (Cynster 10)

She blinked. “Report?”

“Precisely—tell me what you’ve learned.” Lady O waved with her cane. “And for goodness sake, sit down. You’re almost as bad as a Cynster, towering over me.”

Her lips not entirely straight, she sat, her mind whirling.

“Now, then!” Lady O leaned on her cane and fastened her black eyes, gimlet-fashion, on her. “Tell me all.”

She looked into those eyes; she couldn’t think of words in which to tell even half of it. “I’ve learned that things are . . . not as obvious as I’d supposed.”

Lady O’s brows rose. “Indeed. What things?”

“All sorts of things.” She’d learned long ago not to let the old harridan unnerve her. “But never mind that. There’s something else—something I’ve just learned that I think you should know.”

“Oh?” Lady O was fly enough to know a distraction when she heard one, but curiosity, as Portia knew, was her besetting sin. “What?”

“I was just strolling in the shrubbery . . .”

She recounted as accurately as she could the exchange she’d overheard. When she finished, she studied Lady O’s face. Quite how she managed it, Portia didn’t know, but the old lady succeeded in conveying supreme disgust while her expression remained otherwise inscrutable.

“Do you think Kitty’s really pregnant? Or was she making it up to hurt Winifred?”

Lady O snorted. “Is she stupid enough, immature enough, for that?”

Portia didn’t answer. She watched Lady O closely, glimpsed the possibilities being weighed behind her black eyes. “I’ve thought back—she hasn’t been down to breakfast since we’ve been here. I didn’t think anything of it before, but given her liking for male company and the fact the gentlemen gather in the breakfast parlor every morning, perhaps that, too, is a sign?”

Lady O humphed. “How did Kitty sound?”

“Kitty?” Portia replayed the exchange in her mind. “The second time she spoke, she was like a nasty child. But now you ask, the first time, she sounded a touch hysterical.”

Lady O grimaced. “That doesn’t sound promising.” Thumping her cane on the floor, she heaved herself out of the chair.

Portia rose and went to take her arm. “So what do you think?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say the foolish gel really is increasing, but regardless of the truth of who the father is, she’s unfortunately witless enough to use the question in her mad games.” Lady O halted while Portia opened the door. Gripping Portia’s arm again, she met her gaze. “Mark my words, that gel will come to a bad end.”

She could hardly nod; she inclined her head a fraction, then steered Lady O to the stairs.

Cranborne Chase, with its towering oaks and beeches, provided a welcome respite both from the weather and the constraint that had gripped the party.

“If circumstances had been otherwise, I’m sure Lady Calvin would leave.” On Simon’s arm, Portia strolled beneath an avenue of beeches.

“She can’t. Ambrose is here on business, so to speak. He’s been busy sounding out Lord Glossup and Mr. Buckstead as well as Mr. Archer—”

“And Lady Calvin will always do right by her son. That’s what I mean.”

They were far enough from the rest of the party, all ambling in the cooler air beneath the thickly leaved trees, to speak frankly. As a group, dispersed in a handful of carriages, they’d spent the late morning driving slowly down the winding lanes threading through the ancient forest, before turning aside into a tiny hamlet that boasted an excellent inn for a prearranged meal. The inn was just down the lane up which they’d wandered, directed by the innkeeper to a small dell from which numerous walks radiated, a gentle landscape for a postprandial stroll.

Lord Netherfield and Lady O had declined the delights of the forest and remained at the inn; all the others were stretching their legs prior to piling into the carriages once more.

Halting, Portia swung about and looked back down the slope. They had chosen to walk up the steepest path; none of the others had followed. Everyone was still in view, spread out here and there below.

Locating Kitty, flanked by Lady Glossup and Mrs. Archer, she grimaced. “I don’t think what they’re trying to do with Kitty will serve.”

Simon glanced down at the trio. “Sequestering her?”

“There’s not much she can do about it here, but I’ll wager she’ll be even worse when we get back to the Hall.”