Page 74 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“Honestly, Minerva, leave off,” Julia said, making Portia grateful for the rebuke. “Poor Portia is turning as red as an apple. Not everyone is as comfortable as you discussing such intimate topics.”
“But we should be. There should be no shame in our bodies or the way they function. It’s part of life, to be celebrated really.”
“Would you care for more tea?” Portia asked, ready to move on to something less personal.
“I hope I didn’t offend,” Minerva offered.
“No, not at all.”
“Oh, there they go,” Julia said.
Portia looked to the window where her guest was gazing out. She saw Locksley and the others galloping off over the moors. “You say that as though you expected it.”
Turning back to her, Julia smiled softly. “They usually ride out shortly after we arrive. I think it reminds them of when they were young and wild, although I suspect back then they were hoping to sight a ghost.”
“Julia knows them better than anyone,” Minerva said. “Well, I know my husband better than she does, of course, but she’s known them longer.”
“I’ve been in the family longer,” Julia conceded. “Although they may not be related by blood, they are a family. Albert and Edward were only seven when their parents died. Ashe was eight. Locke was six when they moved here.”
Portia eased up to the edge of her chair. “It must have been strange for him. He told me that he was alone before they arrived, had no other children with whom to play, not even from the village.”
“As I understand it, yes, he was quite isolated here. The marquess was still in the depths of his despair over the loss of his wife, even though it had been years since her death. He never abused them, though. You won’t hear a one of them say a bad word about him.”
Still, she tried to imagine what it had been like for Locksley. Perhaps he climbed walls to gain his father’s attention. “What was he like when you met him?”
Julia laughed. “Younger than he is now. I suppose it’s been eight years or so since I met him. He was always more contemplative than the others. Quieter. Not one to engage in idle conversation. Not that the ladies seemed to mind. As long as he danced with them, they didn’t care if he didn’t speak at all. Although actually he seldom attended a ball.” She shook her head. “To be quite honest, he hardly ever spent any time in London. I think he prefers the solitude and barrenness of this place.”
“Although I daresay there probably isn’t quite as much solitude now that you’re here,” Minerva said. “By the by, how did you manage to capture his attention and lure him into marriage?”
Portia released a deep sigh. She didn’t really want to go into the details. “The marquess arranged it. I required security; he required an heir. Locksley obliged. I don’t think you’ll find a marriage in all of Britain that is based on more convenience than ours.”
“But you love him,” Minerva said.
Portia felt as though Minerva had slammed her balled fist into the soft area just below her sternum. She was no longer a young, naïve girl foolish enough to fall in love with a man who would never truly love her. “No.”
She did wish the word rang truer, sounded more firm.
“You do realize he cares for you,” Julia offered.
Once again, Portia was feeling warm, almost dizzy. She forced out the words. “I assure you that he holds no deep affection for me.”
Julia and Minerva exchanged a knowing glance.
“My dear, I believe you’re wrong there,” Minerva said. “Based on the way Locksley looks at you, I’d say he was besotted.”
She shook her head. He couldn’t love her. It would make things more difficult if he did. She’d married him because she’d known he’d never love her. It was so much easier when he wanted from her only one thing, when he viewed her as merely a bedmate, a body to be used. That her silly heart might long for his love was merely wishful thinking. It wasn’t practical, and her head knew it to be a terrible notion.
“You’re wrong,” Portia insisted. “He has sworn to never love.”
“She has a point, Minerva,” Julia said. “It is his favorite mantra to repeat.”
“He can repeat it all he likes. The heart hardly ever listens to what we tell it. It has a tendency to go its own way. He might not be madly in love but I’d wager my entire fortune that his heart is not locked up as tightly as he might wish.”
Contrary to what Minerva might believe, Portia knew that did not bode well for her future.
Locke couldn’t remember ever being with a woman who made his chest swell with pride. He’d certainly not expected it of Portia when he’d married her, but then nothing about his marriage to her was as he’d predicted. Well, except for what passed in the bedchamber. He’d judged her abilities correctly there.
But he hadn’t anticipated that she’d be an outstanding hostess. During dinner, the fare had been splendid, the wine excellent, the conversation pleasant. It didn’t matter who was discussed, Portia was familiar with them—not personally but based on their exploits captured in the gossip sheets. She’d mentioned before that she read them, but now he was beginning to think the woman devoured them. He made a mental note to begin having some delivered to Havisham Hall from London.
