Simply Perfect

  There had been a grand dinner to precede the ball. It had been a joyful, festive occasion for the family and houseguests. Speeches had been delivered and toasts drunk. The Earl and Countess of Redfield had looked both pleased and happy. Joseph would have led Portia straight into the ballroom afterward since that was where most of the houseguests were gathering, and the outside guests were beginning to arrive. But she needed to return to her room to have her maid make some adjustments to her hair and to fetch her fan, and so Joseph wandered into the ballroom alone. He mingled with the other guests. It was not really difficult to be sociable and genial, to look as if he were enjoying himself—it all came as naturally to him as breathing. The Earl and Countess of Redfield, to everyone’s delight, danced the opening set with their guests, a slow and stately and old-fashioned quadrille. Portia was punishing him, Joseph thought when the set began, by being late and stranding him on the sidelines. He had, of course, elicited the opening set with her. He went and talked with his mother and Aunt Clara and a couple of Kit’s aunts. He soon had them laughing. Claudia was not dancing either. He had tried to stay far away from her since her arrival with the party from Lindsey Hall. He had not, though, been able to keep his mind off her. And now that he was standing in one place, talking and listening, he could not keep his eyes from her either. She looked very severe even though she was wearing the prettier of her evening gowns. She was standing alone, watching the dancing. It amazed him that he had not seen through her disguise the moment he first set eyes on her in Bath. For that very upright, disciplined body was warm and supple and passion-filled, and that face with its regular, stern features and intelligent g ray eyes was beautiful. She was beautiful. Just last night, about this time… He deliberately shifted position so that he stood with his back to her. And he looked toward the ballroom doors. There was still no sign of Portia. He danced the next set with Gwen, who liked to dance despite her limp, and was pleased to see that Claudia was dancing with Rosthorn. When the set was over, he took Gwen to join a group that included Lauren and the Whitleafs. He commended Lauren on the festive appearance of the ballroom and on the early success of the evening. Should he have a maid sent up to Portia’s room, he wondered, to make sure she had not eaten something that disagreed with her or met with some accident? It was strange indeed that she would miss a whole hour of the ball. But before he could make up his mind to take action, he felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned to find one of the footmen bowing to him and holding out a folded piece of paper. “I was asked to deliver this to you, my lord,” he said, “after the second set.” “Thank you,” Joseph said, taking it. A reply to his note to Claudia, was it? He excused himself, turned away from the group, broke the seal, and opened the single sheet. It was from Portia—his eyes moved down to her signature first. He sincerely hoped she was not ill. His mind was already moving ahead to the summoning of a physician—without disrupting the ball, it was to be hoped. “Lord Attingsborough,” he read, “it is with regret that I must inform you that upon mature reflection I find I cannot and will not endure the insult of a bastard daughter flaunted before me by my own affianced husband. I also have no wish to remain longer in a home in which only the Duke of Anburey and Lord and Lady Sutton were properly shocked by your vulgarity and prepared to take you to task for it. I will therefore be leaving before the ball begins. I am going with the Duke of McLeith, who has obliged me by offering to take me to Scotland to marry me. I will not flatter you by declaring myself to be your obedient servant.” And then her signature. He folded the paper. Claudia, he noticed at a glance, was doing exactly the same thing some distance away. “Anything wrong, Joseph?” Lauren asked, setting a hand on his arm. “No, nothing,” he said, turning his head to smile at her. “Portia has gone, that is all. She has eloped with McLeith.” Which was an odd way of answering her question, he realized even as he spoke. But his head was buzzing. “Excuse me?” he said even as her eyes widened and her mouth formed into an O. He hurried from the ballroom and took the stairs two at a time up to the next floor. He knocked on Portia’s door and, when there was no answer, opened it cautiously. It was in darkness, but even in just the dim light of the moon from outside it was clear to him that she really was gone. Nothing adorned the top of either the dressing table or the table beside the bed. The wardrobe was empty. Foolish woman, he thought. Foolish woman! Elopement was not the way to go. In the eyes of the world she would have broken off her engagement to him in order to run off to Scotland with another man. She would be beyond the social pale. She would be ostracized. Portia of all people—so very proper and correct in all her dealings with society. And McLeith! Should he go after them? But they had at least an hour’s head start, probably longer. And what was the point, even if he caught up with them? They were both mature adults. Perhaps she would find some measure of happiness with McLeith. She would, after all, be married to a duke immediately instead of having to wait for the death of his father. And she would presumably live in Scotland, where perhaps the social stigma of having eloped would not attach so strongly to her. But foolish Portia, he thought, standing at the window looking out onto a darkened lawn. She might have broken off her engagement and returned to her parents and then announced her forthcoming marriage to McLeith. It was unlike her to be rashly impulsive. He liked her the better for it. Claudia’s letter, he assumed, had been from McLeith. He allowed his thoughts to dwell on her unchecked for the first time since his return to Alvesley last night. He hardly dared believe in his freedom. Even now he might go back down to the ballroom to find Portia there, come to her senses and come back to Alvesley and him. There was only one way of finding out, he supposed.