Page 92 of The Duelist for the Ton
Recognizing the belligerence that rendered any argument futile, Portia nodded and climbed the stairs, making her way to her bedchamber. By the time she reached it, her maid was already there, unpacking her trunk.
“I swear, Nerissa, you must be capable of flying.”
Nerissa smiled, then slipped across the chamber, closed the door, and pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket.
Portia’s heart lifted with hope. “The message,” she said. “Is it from Stephen?”
Nerissa raised her eyebrows at the familiarity of Portia’s address, then shook her head. “It’s truly from my brother,” she whispered. “Mr. Grimes has given him another instruction for the Farthing.”
Portia reached for the note, then hesitated. Hadn’t she resolved never to deceive again?
“I can tell him that the Farthing has decided to hang up his cloak and mask,” Nerissa said. “Sir Heath will just have to findanother proxy—or fight his own battles.” She grinned. “Perhaps that’ll make him think twice before compromising another man’s wife. And, of course, you cannot keep up the masquerade after you’re married.”
“Are you about to tell me that I must, from now on, remain quietly in the home awaiting my husband’s orders?” Portia said.
Nerissa shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But the colonel loves you—it’s plain to see—and you love him, do you not? He wouldn’t want to see you placing yourself in danger unnecessarily. And you know he’ll give you as much freedom as you want, not only with your fortune, but with your person and your life. He’ll not stifle you in a cage.”
Nerissa was right—her wisdom belied her years, though perhaps her status below stairs meant that she witnessed more of life than Portia ever could.
But there was no denying the little rush of satisfaction from knowing that someone, a man who considered himself a ruler of the world, sought Portia’s skills enough to pay for them.
And one more outing as the Farthing couldn’t hurt.
Could it?
“Very well,” Portia said. “But this is to be the last time. Tell your brother to instruct Mr. Grimes as usual, but from then on, he’ll have to find another marksman to fight Sir Heath’s duels for him.” She grinned. “If this is to be my final outing, then I must make it worth the effort. Tell him to instruct Sir Heath that the Farthing’s fee is one hundred pounds.”
“He’ll likely refuse.”
“Then he must face the consequences—or, at least, the end of his opponent’s pistol,” Portia said. “Tell him one hundred pounds, and nothing less. I can spend the rest of the summer resting easy that Dr. McIver has sufficient funds for his venture. Then, when I’m married, I can resume my donations and nobody will be the wiser. When is the duel to take place?”
“Dawn, tomorrow,” Nerissa said. “Hyde Park, the usual spot.”
“And Sir Heath’s opponent?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Very well,” Portia said. “Now go, and let me know if Sir Heath accepts the Farthing’s terms.”
“But Mr. Reeve…”
“I’ll see to Reeve,” Portia said. “Heavens! At least when I’m married, neither of us will have to deal with that pompous arse.”
Nerissa let out a giggle, then slipped out of the bedchamber, while Portia finished fixing her hair. Her brother would just have to cope with her not having changed her gown for luncheon. Not that he’d notice—no doubt now he’d returned to London, his attention would have turned to the sparkling Mrs. Scarlet and how she’d keep him occupied tonight.
All the better to enable me to slip out unnoticed.
She approached the trunk tucked away in the corner and lifted the lid. Then she plucked the item from the top and held it up, running her fingertips along the ribbons and across the black silk. The gong sounded for luncheon, and she dropped the mask back into the trunk and closed it.
One more time…
*
As Portia anticipated,her brother didn’t notice her apparel at luncheon, though he made a cursory remark about her not having arrived on time. And, as predicted, as the light faded and the day slipped into evening, he informed her that he was dining at his club and would see her at breakfast tomorrow. She hadn’t the heart to needle him over his obvious falsehood—he was wearing a necktie that Mrs. Scarlet had gifted him, most likely to flatter her into ensuring he had a pleasurable evening.
A little pulse throbbed in her center at the notion of pleasure, and she met her brother’s gaze, basking in the warmth of the memory.
To think, brother, I’ve done what you have—experienced pleasure. I am no longer a child, or your younger sister, I’m—
