The Education of Portia (7 page)

"You must meet with Mr. Dent, Cal." Portia realized she was grateful for her friend's
sensitivity. She had rather speak with her brother alone about her step-father. "It can do no harm
to talk to him. We must know if he has some nefarious designs."

"I know, but equally I know he will be nothing but trouble."

Portia paused, though her own class would be growing reckless with her extended
absence. "We can cope with whatever difficulties he creates, Cal; we always have." She shivered
despite her brave words. There had always been a quality of meanness about Harold Dent that
had made her flesh crawl. How he could have had such a thoroughly decent, kind and intelligent
son was ever a mystery to her. And Dent's reappearance now could only harm Caldwell's hopes
for winning over Heloise.

They gazed at each in mutual agreement and dismay. What could Dent want?

* * * *

Matron burst into Portia's bedchamber after no more than a token knock. "Lord
Stadbroke has called, and we cannot locate Melicent, his middle daughter."

On Saturday mornings, Portia took a little time for herself, reading, writing or reflecting
in her bedchamber until the nuncheon was served at one o'clock. Many of the children were
taken on excursions at the week's end by a parent or a friend's parents; their proximity to London
made for more such outings than with many boarding schools. There were dancing and music
lessons in the afternoon for those students who had no other activity, but Saturday was by and
large a respite from the week day routine.

For Portia, it was a most welcome one, and on this particular Saturday, she had
embraced the solitude. It had given her opportunity for much-needed calm reflection. If her
thoughts had included the viscount, she had to admit it to no one.

Now she was caught unawares by him, her hair down her back and nothing more than a
faded blue round gown clothing her. "Stadbroke is here?
Bona Dea
, what is he about?
Why can he not give warning of his arrival? And where is Melicent? Ring for my maid if you
will, Mrs. Yaxham. Ask Mr. Dent to search for the girl. Send the other two daughters to the
parlour for Papa and discover if anyone saw Mel go out. Ask Mrs. Shap to serve tea, and make
my apologies to the viscount. Say that I will be with him shortly."

She arrived in the sitting room, appearing cool and serene, within fifteen minutes. Her
sandy hair was coiled neatly under a modestly embellished cap and her pale green kerseymere
gown was unornamented but for the
chatelaine
hanging from the silk ribbon at the
gown's high waist.

The viscount rose at her entrance, as did the handsome, rather large Old English hound
as his side.

Portia suppressed a gasp at the sight of the dog in her tidy parlour. The two girls were
obviously delighted to see their pet. She was solemnly introduced to the beast and ventured a
quick pat on his smooth head. A swift survey told her that the viscount saw and understood her
consternation and was amused by it. He was impeccably turned out--hessians gleaming, blue tail
coat fearfully well-tailored, pantaloons stretched over an admirable hip and thigh--she
discontinued her scrutiny and smothering irritation, offered her hand.

He shook it briefly. "Miss Crossmichael." An inclination of his head served for a bow. "I
am so pleased you are not too busy today to see me."

Portia could not prevent the hot colour she felt mount to her cheeks. She transferred her
gaze from his sharp, handsome features to Sabina and Penelope standing by their pet. Behind
their father's back, they were indicating their puzzlement as to their sister's whereabouts.

"I thought to take my daughters for a drive, ma'am, but it appears there is one missing."
Nothing in his voice indicated undue alarm, but his dark brown eyes were as cold as was possible
for such a warm colour. He turned abruptly and caught his other daughters in mid-pantomime.
"Have you something to tell me, Sabina? Penelope?"

"No, Papa," Sabina curtsied and sat abruptly, one hand on the dog's square head.

"No, Papa," Penny echoed, but went to her father's side and slid her hand into his large
one.

The confiding gesture touched Portia's heart, as did the look father and child
exchanged.

"Melicent is out walking," she said her calm voice revealing nothing of her
emotion.

"I would appreciate her attendance on me."

And so too would I
, thought Portia
. Where is the wretched child?
"I
have sent a servant to fetch her. Would you care to take tea?" Portia suppressed a sigh of relief as
the maid entered with a laden tray.

"Thank you, no. We will await Melicent and be on our way." The viscount was coldly
civil.

"One cake, Papa?" Penelope wheedled. "I'm dreadfully hungry. Breakfast was ever so
long ago, and Cook does make the most thcrumptiouth jam tarts."

Stadbroke considered the salver of sweets that had been bestowed tenderly on the table
at Portia's side. His dog's nose was twitching eagerly. "Well, if Miss Crossmichael starves her
pupils, I suppose you had best have a tart."

Portia bristled at the accusation, and then realized the cold brown eyes had warmed. He
was teasing her. She seated herself with a chime of keys, and poured a cup of very milky tea for
the child.

Penelope chose a tart and Sabina, with an apologetic look, did also. "Try one, Papa, they
are ever so tasty..."

The viscount's twisted smile indicated he recognized his girls' transparent attempts at
distraction. But he accepted a sweet when his eldest daughter passed the plate. Portia pretended
not to see Penny slip the hound a piece of pastry.

They were struggling for conversation still twenty minutes later when, after a quick rap
on the door, Caldwell entered with a very sulky Melicent in tow. Her cheeks were rosy with the
chill of the sunny autumn day, but she was well-wrapped up in a warm worsted cloak.

Portia almost sagged in relief, and she was aware of a relaxation of the tension that had
emanated from the viscount, as his daughter appeared.

Stadbroke greeted his middle child gravely and she hurried to stand before him after
pausing to hug the patient hound.

"Lord Stadbroke, you have met my brother, Caldwell Dent, I believe? Lord Stadbroke,
Caldwell?" The two men confirmed their acquaintance and shook hands, exchanging assessing
glances.

"Thank you for escorting my daughter, Mr. Dent. You had not too far to search, I
hope."

The viscount's urbanity set Portia's teeth on edge.

"Not at all. She had only walked to Comton Grange, my lord, one of our nearest
neighbours. The young ladies often walk to the hawthorn wood, so we sought there first, which
is why we were some little time fetching your daughter. Comton Grange is the opposite
direction..." At a glance from Portia, Caldwell dwindled into silence.

"Melicent, you may join your sisters in refreshment, then you may show us this wood. I
was going to take you all for a drive, but I have an engagement this evening, and you have taken
up much of our time."

There was a chorus of groans from the girls. They were silenced by Portia's admonitory
look.

"I am sorry, Papa. I shall hurry to wash my hands; I need nothing to eat or drink. It is
very kind of you to come, indeed it is, and I am so happy you brought Ruff," Melicent said,
anxiety replacing the sullen expression on her small face.

Portia seethed. The child had little to apologize for, in her opinion, and should not have
to thank her father for bestowing attentions upon his children. She did not like the viscount,
attractive though he was, any more on this third visit than previously.

He probably had a liaison planned with one of his fancy women this evening. Heaven
forbid that his children should interfere with his pleasures. And now she would have him on her
grounds for an hour or two--and the dog. The knowledge did not please her. In the corridor, she
could hear a discussion probably centered on the girls who wished to use the parlour's pianoforte.
She could perceive their disappointment as they were sent elsewhere. If only she could
orchestrate the viscount's departure. Her thoughts, well-concealed by a calm façade, were
interrupted when he spoke.

"Mr. Dent, I've seen your new portrait of Lady Mottingham. Fine work--in fact, I
consider you among the best of the current portraitists at capturing that indefinable essence of a
sitter."

Portia was distracted into sending her brother a proud look.

The young ladies watched this exchange with round eyes.

"Thank you, my lord. Portraits are my first love, but I paint landscapes as well. My
teaching gives me opportunity for variety. Your daughter has a rare talent."

Stadbrooke turned to his eldest child. "No one has mentioned this before. Sabina, are
you hiding your light under a bushel?"

"Not Miss Perrington, my lord, Miss Penelope."

"Penny?"

The little one grinned at her astonished father. "I like drawing, Papa."

"She shows a distinct talent and a love of drawing. Occasionally a child will display
more than an ordinary competence with brush and charcoal, and Miss Penelope certainly does.
She is a pleasure to instruct."

The viscount looked thoughtful, but Melicent, who had slipped from the room, now
returned in a spencer and bonnet that declared her readiness for their outing.

"I should like to see more of your work, Mr. Dent. May I hope you will indulge
me--perhaps after I have walked with my daughters?"

"I should be honoured, my lord. But not today, I am sorry. I have an engagement at four
o'clock in town and must be on my way," Caldwell was apologetic, but no more than good
manners required.

The viscount nodded. "I understand...another time then." He stood and swept his
daughters and the dog before him from the room.

Caldwell took his own leave, and Portia left the parlour. She sent the maid to find the
young ladies who had wished to use the pianoforte, listened to the sounds of singing above stairs,
and heard the harp in the main floor classroom being played. Feeling shaky, she entered her
study and sank into a chair near the warming fire glowing there. The lowering sun played across
her desk. She found herself quite done up, from the rush of preparation and the tension of
Melicent's absence. That Stadbroke's presence had unstrung her, she would not admit. She
wrapped a mohair shawl she kept in her study closely about her.

The viscount occupied her thoughts without her permission though. She could see the
young man who had fascinated her eleven years earlier before in his now mature face. She had
no doubt that he was the 'ornament of society' that Penelope had once dubbed him. She was
unlikely to experience his charm however, and in any event, she could not respect his levity and
devotion to frivolity. Life, especially when nurturing a new generation, was a serious
business.

She did not know how long she had sat deep in thought when a peremptory rap sounded
on her terrace door. Startled, she leapt to her feet to discover the viscount, with a face darkened
by temper, staring in at her. She hurried to turn the key and open the door.

He burst into intemperate speech without preliminaries. "How dare you lie to me,
ma'am?"

"I do not lie, my lord. State your meaning!" Portia was mortally offended and prepared
to be as abrupt as he.

"In simple terms, ma'am, I wish for nothing less than your complete honesty in the
future. Nay, I
demand
it. I have entrusted the care of my children to you, unwillingly, I
confess it. If I cannot trust you for the truth, I will remove the girls regardless of their wishes.
Melicent has told me that she went to Comton Grange to see their horses, and that it is not the
first time she has caused you concern with her disappearance. I would have expected to be told
of her unsanctioned absences, ma'am."

Portia stirred. "Where are your daughters now, my lord?"

"Out there, in your gardens, ably guarded by Ruff!" The viscount held up a silencing
hand. "I am watching them, Miss Crossmichael, which is more than I can say for you. I am
informed that my youngest daughter attempted to walk to London. I would also expect to have
been informed of that escapade. I want to know these things. For God's sake, ma'am, what do
they have to do to warrant your concern?"

The injustice stirred Portia to unaccustomed fury. She strove to keep her voice level and
her anger contained. Her fingers clenched around her
chatelaine
. "Your daughters have
been carefully supervised and scrupulously cared for, Lord Stadbroke.. I care about all my
pupils, and I do not retain staff who are not equally concerned. Melicent was very clever in her
disappearances and yet we knew where she was at all times, until this latest start. We have been
discussing how to satisfy her 'equine needs'. As for Penelope--well, I simply did not think her
mistaken attempt at a journey to London important enough to inform you of it. I circumvented
her intentions because I am alert and I care. There was no harm done. She understood her error
and all was well."

"If there is a problem with my daughters, I wish to be informed of it immediately." The
viscount was vigorous in his anger, striding about the room but pausing to thump his fist on her
desk for emphasis. "A woman will in such matters of course be less analytical and more
variable--even unreliable and capricious--than a man. But I will have honesty."

Portia stiffened. He made his opinion of the female character very clear; there was no
doubt he believed it no more than a compilation of wiles and machinations. Likewise he made no
secret of his distaste for the supposed shortcomings of women. "You have a low opinion of your
daughters' natures, my lord."

He obviously did not expect her counter-attack. Briefly he was silenced, struck either by
the temerity of her accusation or by the truth of her criticism. He rallied after a moment. "My
daughters are children. They have not yet displayed the unfortunate weaknesses of their
sex."