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
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
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