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Chapter Text

Preamble

1817

Portia Featherington was finally, unequivocally, happy.

How impossible it had seemed, once. But she did not regret anything at all, no. For them, she would go through it all again.

Looking around the drawing room, filled with the chatter of her daughters and grand-children’s babbling, witnessing the loving faces of her sons-in-law, Lady Featherington felt her heart was so full it would burst, and for the first time in over twenty years, she felt light. She could breathe in peace, without expecting something terrible to blind-side her and put them all in danger of destitution and ruin.

It hadn’t been easy to get to this happy state, but she had managed to ensure her daughters had married well, and to good men, even, which she had not been as lucky to secure for herself. She was not one to dwell in the past and its regrets, but lately… lately she couldn’t help to fill some of her newfound idle time thinking if she had not been trying to hide just how much of her own unhappiness she had brought upon herself. Just as she had had to admit to having overlooked Penelope so badly.

She caught herself thinking of Archibald, because after all, these were his grandchildren and his daughters and there were some unavoidable traits that showed up in lips, on the shape of a pair of blue eyes, the small folds of an ear. It all worked for the better in the end, despite Archibald, the poor devil. She should have known marrying him was a terrible decision, but she hadn’t been able to see another path. She had been absolutely blinded by pain and despair, felt trapped by her circumstances, and he had offered what seemed to be the best way out at the time.

And the truth was, he hadn’t always been cruel. His vices had crept in slowly, at first, as life took him away from what he had envisioned, little by little – and then he went down all at once and it was too late. Even if it was impossible for her to tell exactly when it had been that he had lost himself so completely, she was sure that their marriage had been the first step towards the abyss.

Little Philomena grabbed at her face with a squeal, demanding her grandmother’s attention and making her smile.

She caught Mr. Finch gazing lovingly at Philippa just as he had ever since the first day he came bearing flowers for her – He had waited for the matter of the dowry, and Portia was sure he would still be waiting if it had been necessary, much to his parents’ chagrin. Mr. Dankworth took his daughter from Prudence’s arms so she could drink her tea, all while Mr. Bridgerton played with his little boy – her first male grandson.

Her heart filled with warmth. She had never truly doubted the others, but she had severely misjudged Mr. Bridgerton – thought him nothing more than a handsome boy who enjoyed the ladies’ attention but had no intention to marry. Even when the elopement Miss Thompson had planned to secure him was prevented by Whistledown – Penelope. Penelope was Whistledown, she kept forgetting.- Even if the elopement was stopped by other means, Portia had never been sure that the young man would really go through with it. She had only her own life experience to judge by, after all.

She had to admit that her opinion of Mr. Bridgerton had improved enormously, after witnessing his devotion to her daughter.

All of them – the men who married her daughters- were good men, really. They were all happy, safe and thriving.

What else could she ever want in life?

Chapter Text

“ Oh, No! Time gives increase to my afflictions.

The circling hours, that gather all the woes

Which are diffus’d through the revolving year,

Come heavy laden with th’ oppressing weight

To me...”

- William Congreve, The Mourging Bride

1790

Daniel Featherington’s carriage had broken down at a bend on the Bysing Wood road, which he was sure was too far north from where they ought to be at this point on the trip, having no memory of having had to traverse so close to the lake in the past, when making the trip from Canterbury to Ightham.

It was a very sudden, violent stop that had jerked him out of his seat, and as soon as he found himself lying on the carriage floor he felt a terrible bolt of pain on his left elbow, which had hit the opposite seat at what would have seemed an impossible angle.

His driver helped him out of the carriage, which stood half way overturned. He did so with great difficulty, having suffered a significant fall all the way to the ground himself, and having had to steady the horses before he could attempt his master’s rescue.

He could not tell how long they had been there, but it already seemed to Daniel that there was no possibility of another living soul ever appearing on that secluded section of the road. It seemed to him to be such a remote place, unfamiliar as he was with his surroundings, feeling engulfed by nature as the sun could hardly make it’s way through the canopies of the large trees that surrounded them. It was as if the accident had severed him from the real world and had launched him into a dream.

The distinct sound of a horse approaching caught his attention, and after a minute, a woman atop a chestnut thoroughbred appeared from behind the tall wall formed by the trees and vines that lined the road on both sides. The sight of her did nothing to assuage the eeriness he felt surrounding him.

Her floral skirt barely concealed her boots, the way she was wearing her cape and no riding habit only impressed on him his unusual circumstances. Under her hat, there were red curls trying their best to escape, and when to his mild surprise, she finally came to a halt at their side, he was struck by her eyes. He could not decide whether they were green or blue, but they had a truly diaphanous quality, lending a much needed softness to the sharp features of her face.

“Are you alright, Sir? Do you require any assistance?” The woman asked, after assessing the scene and noting the poor state of the vehicle.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. We are mostly fine, but I am afraid I have injured my arm quite a bit. As you can probably imagine, our vehicle stopped quite abruptly and I was not prepared for it.” He offered a pained smile “We are unable to move along, as you can see. I wonder if you could offer direction as to the fastest way to get back to the town so that we can get help?”

She smiled, seemingly amused by the request, since it was very obvious to her that to be where they stood, they had to have come directly from the town “You should simply go back on this very same road and you will find yourself in the middle of Faversham in a quarter of an hour or less, if your horse is not injured.” Then she seemed to consider something further “But being a Sunday I am not sure you will find help at the ready for any sort of repair.”

He smiled, and offered, in a self deprecating manner “Serves me right well for travelling on a Sunday, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is not wise, sir.” She seemed wary of helping a stranger.

“I apologize, Mr. Daniel Featherington, at your service ma’am- although there is not much I can do for you at the moment, I am afraid, miss...”

She made a small bow “Miss Weston” she said with a tight smile. “I am on my way home, just up that road. I will send someone to help you, since I don’t believe you’re in any condition to ride your horses are you?”

“I don’t believe I can, no.” He was holding his left forearm with his right hand, close to his chest. His hand had started feeling numb.

She nodded “I will send for you and summon the doctor. You can wait for him more comfortably there. It won’t be long, he’s not far away either.”

“I shall be very grateful for your assistance.” He bowed.

She smiled reassuringly and continued on her way. He kept looking at her as she went, noting where she turned right to take a path going further north.

Not half an hour later a gig showed up on the road and made its stop at their side. A couple of men introduced themselves as James Clarence and Arthur Druthers, one having come with tools to try and help the driver fix the carriage, the other to take the injured man back to his masters’ house. They transferred Daniel’s belongings to the gig and Mr. Clarence commenced working along Daniel’s driver, assessing the state of the broken vehicle.

“Allow me to help you, sir” The older and burlier man helped Daniel into the gig with the care one would use with a small child, as he could see that even if he tried to hide it, the young man was in pain, his face too pale and sweat beading on his forehead. He also struck Mr. Druthers as the delicate type of genteel man that had never suffered too many hardships, and was thus baffled at finding himself injured.

“Thank you, uh... Mr. Druthers, is it?” Daniel managed to say, through gritted teeth. He had not truly understood how very painful his injury was at the exact moment of the accident, but it was now evident that there was something out of place in his elbow, which had started to swell.

“Right, Mr. Featherington. Do not worry, Greenfinch is not far at all, but since the miss was not able to tell us the nature of your injury we thought it best to take you this way. It is but a couple miles away”

“Greenfinch?”

“Greenfinch Hall, sir. Doctor Thomas should be there very soon, too. He is just another couple of miles north of the house. He’ll fix you right up.”

It was truly not far at all, Daniel felt he could have braved the walk on his own, had he known where it was, although he was glad he hadn’t had to. He wondered why it had taken them so long to go back to get him, but then noticed the horse pulling the gig was the same one the woman – Miss Weston – had been riding.

The building was hidden from view from the main road by tall trees and vines, their leaves crisp and already turned red or yellow and all the colours in between, by the hands of Autumn . They turned right into a narrow path and after a while made another right through a wrought iron gat e.

The shrubbery then gave way for a more open view of the property. It was a modest but beautiful two storey house, shallow bows topped with low belvedere domes at the corners, faced in pale yellow mathematical tiles and decorated with Coade stone plaques in each of the visible corners. As they approached the verandah on the main entrance, Daniel was able to make out that the plaque on the corner they passed by depicted a bird on a branch in bloom.

Mr. Druthers once more assisted Daniel, down the gig and into the house. He found himself in the middle of a luminous foyer that looked all the way to the other side of the house through a long corridor, at the end of which one could see a tall window that allowed plenty of light in, so it was not as dark as it would have been otherwise. Mr. Druthers instructed him to stay put as he went into the corridor, stood in front of the first door on his left and knocked. Daniel watched him disappear into the room after a second, and then allowed himself to observe his surroundings.

There were no signs of the woman he had met earlier, but there was a portrait that he was sure depicted her, at the very first landing of the stairs that crept along the left side wall. The portrait was not recent, for the young girl in it looked no older than five and ten, and the woman he had just met seemed to be well into her twenties already. But the sharp cheekbones and chin could not belong to another.

It was a very quiet house, and for a moment he feared he had been forgotten, uncertain if he should follow Mr. Druthers into the room, when the same emerged followed by another, much older and far less imposing man.

“Dear Lord, Druthers! Did you not even offer a seat to the gentleman?” The older man, who seemed to be the master of the house chastised the servant, who did not utter a word “Young man, I am terribly sorry. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Leopold Weston. Welcome to Greenfinch Hall.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Weston, my name is Daniel Featherington”

“Ah, any relation to Ruben Featherington?”

“Indeed, sir. Lord Featherington is my father”

“Ah, yes, yes, marvellous! Well, Druthers here, who you have already become acquainted with, will take you to the parlour, so you can rest while we wait for our good Dr. Thomas, who should be here in no time. No time at all!”

Mr. Weston seemed unsure about everything around him, his hands fluttered around as if he didn’t know what to do with them, but his own mention of the doctor reminded him that the guest was indeed suffering from some bodily affliction.

“What is the nature of your injury, son?” He examined the young man, looking for any indication- a gaping wound, a stream of blood or missing limb that would justify the interruption of his day.

He did not allow Daniel to utter a word in response, though, he instead directed himself to his servant yet again “Druthers, you heard me, man! Take the young one to the parlour and do me the kindness to ask Mrs. Druthers to bring him some refreshment, he looks parched.” Then he turned to the man in question and asked him directly “Are you parched, son? You look like you could use a fresh drink. Or maybe some tea? People are always making displays of having tea these days, I myself rather have a lemonade or plain water in the middle of the day. Druthers, what are you waiting for, good man? let Mr. Featherington rest, take him to the parlour! He looks like he will swoon any moment now”

Daniel would have felt insulted if it were not true that he felt like he would faint indeed, and he gathered there was no point trying to interject, for Mr. Weston seemed to have the conversation covered all too well by himself “You do look very pale indeed! Druthers will take you and get you on a settee.” He nodded reassuringly and immediately turned on his heels and hastily retreated back into the room where he had come from.

Mr. Druthers indicated with his arm that Daniel should follow, which he did, with his right arm still holding the left close to his chest. They went through a dark door into a very bright room which was covered in striped wallpaper all around, the source of the brightness being a large bow window.

There Mr. Druthers simply said “Please, make yourself as comfortable as you can. Dr. Thomas should not be long. We will get you something to drink presently.”

They exchanged nods and Mr. Druthers left him alone, so Daniel deposited himself in the largest sofa, facing the fireplace. It was an odd placement for the sofa, he thought, for the situation could be improved enormously by having it facing the window, which afforded a lovely view of the oak trees outside.

He felt the pain was starting to dull his thoughts, so he tried to distract himself. He was awfully tired but would not want to fall asleep in a house where he was no more than an intruder, and he wouldn’t be able to, anyway, due to the state of his arm – he needed to keep it as still as possible. He looked around the room and found another oddity. The sconces in the wall at either side of the fireplace were sculptures in the shape of birds. The room itself did feel a bit like a birdcage, with its rounded bow and the domed ceiling, the stripes on the wallpaper now looking entirely too much like gilded bars.

“Of course, it’s Greenfinch hall” He muttered to himself. What an obsession with birds these people seemed to have! He was reminded of a bird his younger brother had befriended when they were much younger. His brother had contented himself with the bird becoming a visitor and rejected Daniel’s idea of putting it in a cage. Archie was stubborn and never heeded his advice, he thought he could predict all outcomes better than anyone. It had been such a sight when Archie found the little creature dead a while later – it had upset the young boy terribly. Daniel was faintly smiling at this old childhood memory when the door opened.

A middle aged maid entered and set up a tray with a pitcher and what looked like food.

“Would you like some lemonade, sir? I brought some bread and meat, if you’re hungry as well.”

“Lemonade would be just the thing.” He could feel sweat beads on his forehead, despite the cool weather.

“I suggest a strong brandy.” A mostly bald man let himself into the room unceremoniously.

“Doctor Thomas!” The maid greeted him, a tinge of fondness in her voice.

“I gather you are the young man that has been in an accident” The doctor was a short, plump man with round, rosy cheeks that were obscured by an unfashionable thick, grey moustache.

“Daniel Featherington, and yes” He attempted to raise the injured arm and realised immediately it had been a mistake.

“Can you remove your coat?” The doctor inquired with the air of someone who already knows the answer.

“I don’t believe I can, actually” He hadn’t even thought about it.

“Mrs. Druthers, we will most likely need a good pair of scissors, then. And a good measure of brandy if your master can spare it”

“Yes sir, I’ll be right back in a minute” She said and left in a hurry.

“The brandy is for me, you will require laudanum” He said, having approached his patient and examined his semblance. “And I am afraid we will have to ruin your fine ensemble, young man.” It was indeed a very fine suit of green wool.

“I don’t like it half as much as I do the arm inside of it, if we’re being honest.”

“Featherington, you said? What is that, a Barony?”

Daniel nodded “My Father is Lord Featherington”

“Of course!” The short old man nodded, as if it all made sense in the world. “Very well, let’s get you fixed so you can go back on your way.”

***

“You should not have gone alone, Birdie. You ought to have taken the gig and your maid with you. You were gone most of the morning! I was worried you had decided to leave for London along with the bride. How is dear Miss Reynolds? I mean... what is it now? Lady something or other…” Mr. Weston said, waving his empty fork in the air.

“I wasn’t gone that long, Papa, I just went to say goodbye and see her off – I saw no need to disrupt everybody’s morning for that. And she is Lady Cowper now.” She was always amused by her father’s disinterest in title and rank when neither was present.

“Oh, yes, Cow per. Cowper. I shall remember now, thinking of cows first might be just the trick. What is it with these noblemen deciding to travel on a Sunday?” He of course expected no answer “How is she doing? Is she very sad to leave her dear family behind to join that old man in dreary London?” He took a sip from his glass of water.

“Lord Cowper is certainly older, but not enough to call him an old man, papa! Araminta is… happy to be married.” It was too soon to say anything about the happiness of the marriage, it had only been one day, after all. “And she says London is lovely. You know how she enjoys society, and her new rank will afford her all manner of opportunities for it and all sorts of entertainment of the highest order. Or so she keeps reminding me.”

“Ah, do you envy her very much, Birdie?” He looked at her with eyes filled with the pain of a father that cannot give the world in a silver platter to a beloved daughter.

“I most certainly do not! I am simply glad for Araminta, as it is a wonderful outcome for her. She has always wanted to run her own household and be part of high society- since we were little girls, she has always dreamed of balls and fancy dresses. I do already have Greenfinch to run, and I am perfectly content with the society we keep.”

“Are you really, Birdie? wouldn’t you rather wear those fancy dresses and do the rounds with the accomplished gentle ladies, attending lavish London balls and the opera and Lord knows what else?”

Mr. Weston worried lately that he had been neglectful towards his daughter. Having had to raise her without her mother, he had not paid attention to the finer details that raising a proper lady required. Even if they did not truly belong to any aristocratic branch or had any true claims to nobility, as he felt the weight of his years pressing on his spine, he regretted not having better prepared her to improve her prospects, and with them the chance to live a comfortable and happy life, free of mundane struggles.

“I don’t know, papa. I suppose now that Araminta is joining London’s high society I might accompany her next season, if you allow it, that I may see for myself whether I am truly missing out on anything or not.”

“Ah! much as I detest Town, I think you might do well there, or Bath, even. Wherever it is, we do need to get you a husband, my dear girl. Why, I would send you to your aunt if I thought Barnsley would produce a good man for you! She would make you earn your living, though, and you’d ruin your hands.” He chuckled, but continued more earnestly.“Birdie, you have become far too self assured for your own good. You’ve grown wild, my dear!” He pointed at her with his fork, attempting a stern tone and failing, probably due to lack of practice “I have let you go on with this business of rejecting every proposal for far too long. You have to get married eventually, you know that? What was so wrong with Mr. Cunningham, Birdie?”

“Mr. Cunningham and his barley fields shall make a… less complex woman very happy one day, I am sure of it. I do not see why I should marry! I have everything I desire here, so unless you want to be rid of me, why should I suffer a husband?”

“Marriage is not a bad thing, look at me, I went for it twice!” He held his head high, in a rather petulant way.

She gently laughed “Well of course you did, but none of your wives is here to attest to their end of the bargain!” She refrained from remarking that they had in fact, both died, which was not the advertisement for marriage that he thought.

“You will need someone to help you run this place one day, my dear. I won’t be around forever and business is not as simple as choosing the day’s meals and keeping track of the linens. All those frocks or gowns and ribbons of yours have to be paid for somehow, you know? They are not inexpensive!”

She took offence at this. She had not had a new dress made in ages, and it had only been the one. It was a beautiful Polonaise skirt made of yellow silk, rose coloured flowers and butterflies adorning it – it was absolutely beautiful, but it had been made so long ago that it was already out of style, apparently. She had worn it to Araminta’s engagement party and although she had received many compliments from other guests, Araminta remarked how you wouldn’t find one like that being worn in London any more.

“Running this house is not as easy as just handling the meals! You know nothing of the rush we had to go through today--!”

“I know, I know.” He lifted his hands “I just need you to think more about your future. My only regret in life is that I haven’t done more for your prospects-”

“You have done enough, papa! Although I think we could do with another horse.”

“Oh. That reminds me, where is the young man that fell from his horse?”

“His Carriage broke down.” Mr. Weston waved his hand dismissively at the correction “I instructed Mrs. Druthers to have him occupy the blue room, so he can recover. It seems it was a rather painful procedure and Dr. Thomas gave him something for it, so he is probably asleep now.”

“Oh, yes, poor fellow. Very brave, though, he didn’t whimper when I received him in. So he will be on his way soon?”

“Dr. Thomas said he may need our hospitality for a little while.” She sighed. “I know you do not like visitors to linger, papa, but he went into too much detail about the elbow coming out of where it should be, as if to convince me it was truly necessary, too.”

“Well, if Dr. Thomas says so.” he declared, sounding not quite entirely convinced. “Didn’t you invite him to stay for dinner, Bridie?”

“I offered, of course, but he couldn’t stay. After he tended to Mr. Featherington he took care of the carriage driver. It seems he was also injured, although in a less evident way. By then Dr. Thompson was eager to go back to his family and dine with them.”

“Oh, right. We should have them over some other time, then. Make up for the disruption to his day.”

“I’ll make sure of it. By the way, I had him occupy the blue room because I didn’t want him to be bothered by the leak in the striped room if it starts to rain. We ought to get Mr. Druthers some help to look at that”

“Why doesn’t John take care of it?”

“John has left us papa. He is working at the mill now, remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course! Well, I am sure you will sort it all out, Birdie, won’t you?”

“You know I will, but I don’t want you to be surprised when you are asked to pay for it” She smiled.

“You will thank me one day for having been careful with our expenses, Birdie, when you have your inheritance.”

She shook her head at him, dismissing the thought. There was no need to ruin dinner thinking about the future and the sadness of having to part with her father some day.

Chapter Text

1790

“I am sorry I wasn’t here to help, miss” The maid said, as she helped to undo her hair for the night.

“It is quite alright, Varley. It wouldn’t have taken so much effort to get a room ready if I hadn’t had to rush to get the blue room presentable. I should have had the leak fixed already, but I was counting on John to do it and then got too distracted with the wedding.”

“The nobility really make an event out of any little thing, do they not?”

“I don’t know if they all do, but Sir William will never miss an opportunity for a grand display.”

Mrs. Varley scoffed “I’ll say! An engagement party, and the ceremony, the breakfast, and then a send-off!” she enlisted these things in a tone that would have one believe it was a much longer list.

“There was no send-off, it was only me saying goodbye to her. Araminta is one of my oldest friends, and I wanted to be there.” She paused for a moment, as if considering her feelings carefully “I will miss her”.

“Will you really, Miss?” Incredulity dripped from the response.

“What do you mean?” She turned her head slightly, trying to look at Mrs. Varley’s face above hers.

“Only that you are often complaining about her trying to manage you.”

She laughed heartily “Well, that is true. But you see, she is more refined than I am, so she is always trying to educate me. She means well.”

“I Suppose” Mrs. Varley muttered as she brushed Portia’s hair, and seemingly deciding to change the topic she asked “So, what do you make of our unexpected guest, Miss?”

“Men are such delicate creatures! Imagine being unable to travel in a carriage simply because your arm hurts.”

“But isn’t his carriage broken, miss?” The maid asked, genuinely confused, starting to braid her hair.

“It should be repaired already, I think. But we have to wait and see, I suppose. Papa says he is the son of a Baron, so I gather we should try to be cordial and amenable.”

“Indeed! Well, you know they say marriage and shroud from heaven come...” A sly smile met her in the mirror.

“Oh, Varley, please! Not you too, talking about marriage.” She stood up and climbed into the bed.

Mrs. Varley sat down at the foot of her bed “Miss, what have you been rejecting these perfectly suitable men for, if not for a Lord’s son?”

“Dreadful bores all of them, with their sonnets and the flowers. They only want me to take care of them and their houses as I have for my father. And why would I want that, Varley? Why should I leave behind my home to bear with them and their unending drivel about the hops and barley varieties in their fields? What do I care for gunpowder or oysters? I rather grow into an old maid in this house.”

“But -Don’t you want children, miss?” The maid raised a questioning brow.

She seemed struck by the question. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Well, you don’t have much time to think about it, I am afraid. There is a certain point when women cannot longer produce a babe any more” Mrs. Varley declared, dipping her chin, a warning look in her eyes.

“Is there really?” This news alarmed her indeed.

“Why, has nobody told you this before? What are you, six and twenty?” The maid looked at her as if she had never seen a creature such as herself in her life.

Mrs. Varley had just come into the Weston’s employment a few months before, and seemed to be an extremely straightforward creature, which usually pleased her mistress. She was starting to understand that, even if she was not that much older, Mrs. Varley knew a great deal more about the world than she did.

“Three and twenty” She responded archly.

“Ah! I reckon you still have plenty of time, then, but men tend to go for the younger ladies to produce their heirs.” she said, without abandoning her warning tone.

“And here for a moment I thought you had a romantic streak, Varley, I see I was wrong.”

“No, miss.” She shook her head with conviction “I think the truest happiness will come when you have covered all of the practical necessities first. One cannot well be blissfully happy if one has to worry about where the next meal is to come from.”

“I don’t have to worry about that, at least!”

“And hopefully you never shall! Now, if you don’t need me for anything else, I will retire for the night.”

“Thank you, Varley”

***

Daniel opened his eyes and found himself having trouble to recognize his surroundings. The unfamiliar room felt like he was trapped inside a shadow, heavy velvet curtains covering the one window, only a sliver of light trickling through the gap above. As he incorporated he was reminded of his injured arm, as its movement was restricted by a tightly compressed sling that kept it bent, close to his torso. He rotated his hand, with difficulty, as he also remembered now that the doctor had recommended he tried to regain mobility that way, but not to overdo it.

He was still in the same clothes he had arrived in, except the coat, which had to be cut off to free his arm, his shirt’s sleeve also having been ripped well above the elbow. It was an appalling state to find oneself, more so as an impromptu guest in a strange house, with strange-mannered people. Why, no one from the house had so much as asked about him since his arrival. He had an inkling he had been completely forgotten about.

His head, his whole body ached, and he was unbearably thirsty and unable to locate a pitcher with water in the room. Poor manners indeed. True, he was an unexpected guest, but he was still a human being and a pitcher of water was the least of the considerations he would expect to be provided for anyone staying the night at a decent, well-run home.

He stood up and, not without difficulty, managed to put on his boots. He ventured outside of the room and as he peeked down the railing into the entrance where he had met the owner of the house the previous afternoon, he found the woman – Miss Weston--, was there, talking to the maid. Miss Weston must have felt herself observed, as she lifted her eyes towards him.

“Good morning, sir.” She said, rather sternly for his taste, but he determined that it suited her.

“Good morning, Miss Weston!” He was unsure whether he should go down to meet her. It already seemed like he had intruded. As he was formulating his next sentence he saw a maid coming up the stairs with a tray.

“Mrs. Varley is coming up with your breakfast, now. I hope you’re feeling improved already”

He nodded “Much, albeit mighty parched.”

She pressed her lips in a tight smile devoid of real humour and gave him a small nod, as if to confirm he had been understood but there was nothing more to be said, then turned back to Mrs. Druthers and he had no option but to go back into the room after the maid with the tray.

Mrs. Varley crossed the room and deposited the tray next to the pitcher of water, which stood on a table he had not noticed before.

“I should like to inform my family of the reason for my unavoidable delay, would it be possible for you to provide me with the means to write a letter?”

“Of course sir. I believe Mr. Druthers has taken your driver into the town already, so it might not get posted right away, though.”

He nodded “I see. I also require some assistance, if your master’s valet could be spared?”

“I will see what can be done, sir” Mrs. Varley gave him a courteous smile and left the room. There was no valet. Mr. Weston managed perfectly well on his own, but she could not blame the young man for needing assistance to manage with the one arm.

She descended the stairs and went directly to the parlour, where her mistress was already at work with her sewing.

“Miss, the young gentleman has required assistance”

“Assist him, Varley, by all means” She said without raising her eyes from her work.

“He has requested the assistance of your father’s valet” Mrs. Varley bit on her lips, as if to avoid laughing.

She stopped her work and raised her head, a grin of amused befuddlement on her face. “Does he believe himself at Windsor?”

“Miss, I think he could use the help, after all he cannot move his arm. I would offer to help him myself, but I reckon he might be uncomfortable having a woman do it. Should I tell him to wait for Mr. Druthers?”

“What about his driver?”

“Mr. Druthers has taken him to the town”

“Oh, right.” She started chewing on her thumb nail.

“Ah, that reminds me!” Varley moved from her place at the door and went to the little writing desk at the other side of the room, taking parchment and the rest of the writing materials the man had requested.

As her mistress followed her movements, she caught sight of the man that walked past the window outside the house. She smiled.

“Tell our visitor that Mr. Clarence will help him”

“Mr. Clarence, miss?” Mrs. Varley was surprised “But isn’t he-?”

“I’m sure he’ll agree. He’s an old friend of ours, he will not deny us such a simple favour.” She put her work aside and stood up. “I will go talk to him myself.”

“Alright. I’ll tell our guest then.”

All she had needed was a good reason to go talk to James, and now she finally had one.

It was an odd thing, really. Since he came to live with the Druthers as a young boy, they had practically grown up together, running around, adventuring into the woods, catching lizards, chasing butterflies – all very fun but very improper, she would come to learn, when her father finally got a governess to stick around. Miss Oxley was absolutely appalled at the state of her pupil’s education by the time she got charged with it.

Even though Portia had no true interest in the wealth of knowledge Miss Oxley was prepared to impart, she did have an earnest desire to make her father proud, and because her education seemed to be important to him, she made every effort to make the most of it. Which, of course didn’t mean she wouldn’t also use every opportunity to scurry away. In truth, she much rather be outside running errands alongside James, than trying to make sense of the French language.

But once James went off to school, there was no more reason to keep challenging Miss Oxley’s patience and sense of decorum. At thirteen, it might have been a tad late for her to develop the kind of passion Miss Oxley felt for literature and foreign languages, but Geography became a fascinating subject almost overnight.

As time kept its relentless march, and James’ status at Greenfinch changed from resident to occasional visitor, she suddenly found herself needing to manufacture reasons to talk to him. It was out of a self-consciousness born from that sense of propriety that tends to ruin perfectly innocent things, along with the overwhelming awkwardness of youth. They were no longer children after all, and the fact that there was a difference in their circumstances had become more and more understood with each passing year.

And then he went and joined the Navy, making the distance between them become a very solid barrier whenever he was back home. She felt much closer to him by listening to Mrs. Druthers read his letters when he was away. Listening to his tales of life at sea and the places, the people and the sights he encountered – even when this was all necessarily shared with the Druthers, felt intimate to her.

But now she had a very proper reason to go talk to him that morning, and she didn’t even have to go very far to find him, for when she opened the front door he was standing just outside, clinging to the railing on the verandah. If she hadn’t know him any better, she would have thought he had been hesitating to knock on the door. It struck her as odd, for James was not one to hesitate.

She knew him to be straightforward and daring – He had single-handedly scared away that stray dog that had found them in the woods that one time (she was eight and had been convinced that it was a wolf). James was adventurous and self assured – Like that time that he jumped into the lake, without thinking twice about it, to recover her pretty green-silk trimmed bonnet, which was new and she shouldn’t have been wearing, really. But he was not reckless, she would quickly add. He would help her climb up through the woods, yes, but only after proving the safety of the path himself first.

“Good morning James” she sang, with a full smile.

“Good morning Miss Weston” he bowed his head.

“It was quite fortuitous to have you here to help with the disruption yesterday.” She went down the steps that separated them.

“Indeed. Although I believe my uncle would have been able to manage just as well on his own” He gave her the soft smile he used when he was trying to be humble.

“It was rather gallant of you to offer to rescue an unknown gentleman. But I guess gallantry is to be expected of an officer of the Royal Navy” Her smile crooked a little bit towards the right corner of her mouth.

“Oh, so you do remember! I thought you had completely forgotten that I am a Lieutenant now, miss Weston” He teased, crossing his arms, looking exceedingly dignified in his rich brown coat and deep blue waistcoat.

“Ah, thirty already and not a Captain yet?” She asked, mockingly.

“Not yet, no.” he threw his arms up and hung his head as if in jest, causing some of his dark hair to fall out of place over his forehead. She could see there was no amusement in his eyes, though.

Her tone shifted into a kinder one “But soon, no doubt. You’re much too clever and daring to remain a Lieutenant for long” She tried to imbue her words with the sincerity of her feeling, a smile illuminating her eyes.

He chuckled “You speak with too much authority for someone who has never set foot on a ship. Besides, you got it wrong, I am only six and twenty.” he wagged his left index at her.

She held her head high “The more reason to stand by my word, Mr. Clarence. I have every confidence that you will do very well and come back to us a Captain soon. It is a matter of patience.”

“And some luck” His eyes travelled through her face as if looking for an answer that he knew couldn’t be obtained by interrogation, and yet his mouth tried to form the words.

Her eyelashes fluttered furiously feeling herself so closely observed, so she had to turn her face away, interrupting him before he could say whatever it was that had made him dither “Were you able to repair the broken carriage?”

He reclined his back on the railing, defeated, recognizing a lost opportunity perhaps. “Not yet, it is in too bad a shape. It was quite the tumble it took! How is your guest, by the way?”

She clicked her tongue in slight disapproval “He seems to be doing fine. Walked out of his room this morning on his own two feet.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought it was his arm that was injured, though?”

“It is, but Doctor Thomas seems to be of the opinion that we should let him stay so that he does not further his injury by travelling on bumpy roads” Her mocking tone did not escape him.

“Is that so?” He scoffed, used by now to see far worse injuries at sea, where the rolling of the ocean was a constant at best, and absolutely punishing at the worst, when the weather turned the waves into a battle front of its own. The sea did not accommodate for injuries or pain, it raged as it willed, uncaring.

She shrugged. “He apparently requires assistance to dress himself, too.” She tilted her head, a little pleading smile on her rosy lips.

He shook his head slowly “You mean to tell me...?”

“You will help him, James, won’t you?” There was an excessive sweetness on her voice, which meant she really wanted his help.

“Need I remind you I no longer work for you, Miss Weston?” His look was testing. Her eyes still pleaded. He sighed, defeated once more “But I will do it as a favour to your father for allowing me to stay with my aunt and uncle.”

She smiled more fully now, clearly delighted. She knew he would never deny her a favour as long as it were fully in his hands to grant it.

“Oh, thank you, James. He is waiting for you in the blue room-”

He scoffed yet again “Oh, he is already waiting, is he?”

“Thank you!” Her voice was a musical whisper before she turned back to go inside, extremely proud of herself.

***

At dinner that evening, seeing as Mrs. Druthers herself fleeted around, serving them, it was evident to Daniel that the Westons did not have more than four servants. It was entirely reasonable, he thought, for only the master of the house and his daughter seemed to live there – although it seemed it was a rather large property and a more than ample house.

“Birdie, dear, we are attending the Kelley’s ball the Friday after next, aren’t we? Or was it Saturday? I cannot keep up, I’m afraid. I am so glad I have you to manage this sort of thing, my dear.”

“Yes, papa. It is Friday next, and I am very much looking forward to it.” She seemed to be addressing the stew that Mrs. Druthers had just served her, rather than her father.

“Perhaps we should take our guest along.” Mr. Weston, Daniel had noticed, had a tendency to speak to others of him as if he were not in the room. He found no use in voicing his objection as he was sure no offence was intended.

“Oh, papa I am sure Mr. Featherington” Ah, there! She had finally deigned to look at him, as if to remind her father of his presence “will not care for such an affair, when he must be used to the refinement of the aristocratic parties in town.” Again, a quick glance and then back to her plate.

“I would be entirely happy to attend any kind of ball with you, Miss Weston. I find parties conducted in the country settings to be the most fun. The Aristocratic parties you refer to tend to be more… constraining” He fixed his eyes entirely on her, wanting to make her feel observed, just enough that she would return the glance.

“I hope you’re not implying our events are rife with impropriety, sir!” Mr. Weston protested “I will have you know that Faversham society is just as proper and refined as any you could find in London, if not, dare I say, better. For the natural sensibilities of the countryside do not service pretence but earnestness of feeling. Our young women are not used to the empty gallantries of the high society gentlemen with their polished demeanour, so they are all the most wary of it, as it does not sound natural to them.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows at the poor opinion Mr. Weston seemed to have of aristocratic gentlemen. He could have sworn she gave him a little smile in return, which encouraged him to reply “I did not mean to imply any impropriety takes place at such gatherings, sir, but as you have pointed out, that the attitude found in the countryside is often more natural and devoid of artificial affectation than what one would find in Town.”

“Then you are entirely correct, Mister Featherington, and so I apologize for misunderstanding you. Birdie, we should secure our guest an invitation to the Kelley’s ball, then. If he is still here by then, that is, and he is feeling up to it, of course.”

“I will talk to Miss Kelley about it tomorrow then, if you are sure you would like to join us, sir. We wouldn’t want you to injure your arm any further, the rooms can get very crowded.”

“That is very kind and thoughtful of you Miss Weston.” He said, with a sincere smile, even if he did not miss the slightly mocking tone and the restrained smile on her face.

There was a reluctance in her addressing him that he first had found off-putting, as it bordered on rudeness. But as dinner progressed, he found himself intrigued, and made it his challenge to make her laugh, or at very least to smile genuinely at him before he left for Ightham.

“Mr. Clarence has informed me that my carriage will probably not be fully repaired for a few days.”

“Oh, you’ve talked to Mr. Clarence?” Mr. Weston seemed surprised.

“Yes, he helped me this morning” The old man’s confusion had apparently grown deeper at this, so he clarified further “He helped me get dressed.”

“Well! That is very kind of him, of course.” This sparked Daniel’s interest.

“It is indeed” His brow furrowed, imbuing his words with doubt.

Miss Weston clarified “Mr. Clarence does not work for us. He is a guest of Mr. and Mrs. Druthers.”

“Well, Birdie, I wouldn’t call James their guest, he is as good as a son to them, they raised the lad!” Mr. Weston then turned to Daniel “His mother passed when he was very young, left him all alone in this world save for the mercy of his aunt. Mrs. Druthers is as good as a saint and took him in, of course. He grew up here, making himself useful in whatever capacity was needed. Brilliant young boy, he would learn whatever you taught him with no effort needed whatsoever. Brilliant, but so restless! So of course he had to go and join the navy.” The old man shook his head in disapproval.

“You say that like you didn’t help him join! And he is a Lieutenant now.” She informed them, as if Mr. Weston weren’t already aware.

“That is right! Lieutenant! We see so little of him nowadays, and every time he returns to us as something else entirely. A Lieutenant indeed! But when he is around he is always making himself useful again, as if he were still serving us. It is almost like he can’t stand being idle and no work is beneath him. No matter how far he’s travelled or what rank he’s achieved he never puts on airs, you know? He is helping Druthers with the roof repairs now. Salt of the earth, that boy.”

Daniel did not say anything else, but he noticed how she smiled to herself. Salt of the earth he repeated in his mind.

“Birdie, after we are done here, will you read to me for a little while, dear? I shall like to continue where we left on the John of Gaunt”

“Of course, papa.”

“You are welcome to join us, young man. Are you familiar with the book by James White?”

“I can’t say I am familiar with it, no. But I will be delighted to join in”

“Tomorrow is Tuesday, papa, do not forget.”

“Oh, and where is the charitable gossip session to be conducted this time?” He shook his head but was smiling, proud of his little jab.

She smiled and gave her father an admonishing look “It is my turn to host.”

“Must you, Birdie? Every month! Every month you fret about finding things to fix and mend and clean that no one will ever even notice, and this house is turned all around just to please these ladies who could not care less about any of it, my dear. You could have the shiniest floors and the softest cushions, the cleanest windows and drapes, all they care about is the food and the gossip. It is no wonder poor John chose to go to the mills over staying, a fear of the dreaded Tuesdays it must have been.”

Portia was not amused by her father’s jesting exaggerations “I am sure his pay had much more to do with it. The meetings are only every sixth week papa, until we find someone new to join us.”

“What about the Reynolds, are they not of a charitable persuasion? I have not seen their ladies at the luncheons”

“They will not join us, they do have their own approach to these things. You know they like their charity contributions distinctly identified, so the gratitude can be properly directed.” She raised her brows with a sly, mocking smile, which amused Daniel.

“Ah, well. Mr. Featherington you are of course invited to join us tomorrow for luncheon along the ladies of St. Mary’s do-gooders society, if you think you can bear it.”

“I’m already looking forward to it!” Daniel declared with enthusiasm and a brilliant smile that almost – almost -made Portia smile, too.

***

The charitable Ladies of St. Mary’s held their meetings at a different house every Tuesday, and this was Miss Weston’s turn to host and provide luncheon to them. This meant that the house was impeccable, that Portia was particularly tense, and that Mr. Weston would be hiding away until luncheon was being served.

Mrs. Rockwell was the first to arrive, of course. She was always early, only because she feared missing anything that would be worth sharing with all her other acquaintances later.

As Portia received her in the foyer, it seemed she had already gathered enough information to get started.

“My dear Miss Weston, how you manage to look lovelier every time I see you, I will never understand, but you do, darling.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rockwell, you do look lovely as well, that shade of green is truly one of my favourites.”

The portly woman gave a little turn to show off the dress “It is fantastic, isn’t it? Mrs. Jackson is a wonder of a seamstress”. Mrs. Rockwell was always full of enthusiasm, which lent her a youthful glow even though she was already well into her forties.

“That she is! Shall we go into the parlour?”

“Oh, maybe we should wait, I believe someone else is just arriving” The woman turned around to look out the window next to the door. Portia very much felt that such curiosity and poor manners were unwarranted, as whoever it was, they could wait for them in the parlour. “Oh! So it is true, that Mr. Clarence is here!”

“Mr. Clarence?” She was surprised Mrs. Rockwell even knew of James “Yes, he has been here for some... days already. I didn’t know you were acquainted…”

“Oh, I am not directly acquainted with him, but it is such a fascinating story, don’t you think?” She said, without leaving the window.

“Story? What can you mean?” Her friend’s appetite for gossip and fun were unmatched, and Portia knew caution was to be had around her, even though her good nature usually prevailed.

This made the woman turn her attention from the window and back to her “Do you mean to tell me you do not know?”

“I don’t think that I do” All she knew in that moment was that she felt perplexed James seemed to be involved in some sort of gossip.

Mrs. Rockwell gave her an assessing look, as if to make Portia believe she was trying very hard not to tell a secret. “Well, dear, I am very sure of your discretion and that you will not repeat what I’m about to tell you. I have it on very good authority, that Mr. Higgings -My husband’s steward – has come to know that Mr. Clarence’s father is a gentleman from the continent, that he is a man of some great fortune and for some terrible circumstances was not able to marry Mr. Clarence’s mother, but that he knows of him, and that is how he was able to go to school and into the Navy, and that there might be some inheritance in Mr. Clarence’s future.”

Portia could have laughed at this, it was such an absurd notion, but she was not given a chance to make any sort of reply as there was a small yelp just out the door, tumbling, and the sound of rushing steps followed shortly by Miss Gladwell entering through the door, assisted by the man in question.

“Thank you, I am quite alright, aside from utterly embarrassed by my clumsiness, I assure you.” A remarkable bright blush spread through Miss Gladwell’s freckled face.

“Very well, Miss.” He then took notice of the ladies standing in front of them “Forgive me the intrusion, Miss Weston, I only wanted to make sure the lady was alright”

Mrs. Rockwell’s amused eyes followed from one face to another, and she whispered to Portia “Aren’t you going to introduce him?”

“Mrs. Evelyn Rockwell, Miss Lillian Gladwell, this is Mr. James Clarence…” She trailed off, unsure of how to explain what James was to her. He was not a servant, although his relatives were and he stayed with them. She was about to call him a friend of her family, which she thought was the most accurate, but then she caught an eager smile on Miss Gladwell and felt the urge to clarify instead “He’s here visiting his aunt, Mrs. Druthers.”

The smile was reduced, to Portia’s relief. “Oh, are you staying for a long visit?”

He seemed uncomfortable to have been put on the spot by Mrs. Rockwell, but after looking at the mortified expression on Portia’s face he answered “Not very long, I don’t think. Although it might be up to our generous host to determine if a single day is too long to have me.” He jested “I am on leave but due to report to the Admiralty in a fortnight.”

“Are you a sailor then, young man?” Mrs. Rockwell’s delight was unrelenting, though.

“Lieutenant, Ma’am”

“Oh, I should have known! Such gentle manners are surely a trait of officers.” Miss Gladwell seemed to agree with Mrs. Rockwell’s words with nothing but a renewed, beaming smile.

“Shall we move on to the parlour, ladies?” Portia intervened, eager to let James go before more women arrived and started smiling stupidly at him.

“I believe I have kept you from getting comfortable by the fire, and I must return to Mr. Druthers now.”

“Thank you again, Mr. Clarence, for your help”

He bowed, and left as the women moved on to the parlour. Portia briefly glanced upwards as she breathed out and noticed Mr. Featherington had, very rudely, witnessed at least some portion of the scene from upstairs and upon being discovered he only offered her a cheeky smile. She frowned openly at him and turned away.

“You see, I just had these shoes re-soled and I think I will send them back, because I am now sure one shoe is slightly taller than the other. It has made me trip and fall when I was going up the verandah, and Mr. Clarence came up running to my rescue.” Miss Gladwell related for the third time as the last group of ladies arrived and they could finally start their meeting.

It went the way most of their meetings went, which is to say nothing out of the ordinary happened, and as it was now usual, Portia ended up taking the responsibility of organizing the next funding event, and of course that, given she missed the previous Sunday’s, she would stay to sort the donations after the next service.

Both Mr. Weston and Mr. Featherington joined the women at luncheon, prompting Mrs. Rockwell to remark to Portia “It is not a surprise to me now that you would not care about Mr. Clarence’s story, when you are too busy nursing a veritable aristocrat back to health.”

“Mrs. Rockwell, you make it all sound very salacious. I am no nurse, all I have done for Mr. Featherington is provide him a place to convalesce.”

“Hm. Well, he does look at you the way Miss Gladwell was looking at her saviour earlier today, so I have my doubts that it is not you who will make him better in no time.” She had the smile of someone who has just been served their favourite dessert.

“Mrs. Rockwell!” She scolded the woman, who just laughed.

“I am only teasing you, dear. I would never say such things If I thought you capable of anything untoward. I wouldn’t be here in the first place if I thought you capable of any kind of misconduct.”

“I suppose I ought to be thankful for that.” Portia replied, sardonically.

“But he is a very handsome young man, you have to admit. Miss Kelley certainly seems to think so.” She declared with a smirk.

Sure enough, Susan Kelley was all but melting as Mr. Featherington related some story about hunting. Even Mrs. Clarkson seemed charmed, and if Miss Gladwell hadn’t just accidentally toppled her glass, she might have been looking at him with the same undue fondness as the others.

Portia felt a renewed appreciation for Rowena Kelley, for she was entirely uninterested in Mr. Featherington, and kept preventing Mrs. Bradley from listening to his riveting tale with her own conversation about soap making.

Just before leaving, Mrs. Rockwell declared it to be, without a doubt, the most successful of their Tuesdays meetings in history. From that, Portia could only infer what her friend deemed to be the true aim of their gatherings.

***

The fire crackled and it was almost midnight when the old man closed his eyes “To rest them for a bit, but keep on reading, Birdie, do go on.” he said, almost in a whisper, as he repositioned himself on his favourite chair – his napping chair.

“The officers of the household shall appoint no person who hath no education and integrity to recommend him. It is monstrous that ignorant and assuming men should, by dint of money, get possession of this power…” She raised her eyes from the book and turned to look at her father. “And you are now asleep, aren’t you, papa?” No response was necessary when what came back was a resounding snore.

She closed the book and turned to look at their guest, whose gaze was fixed on her figure as if she were an interesting work of art or a difficult puzzle.

His head was resting on his hand, his good elbow on the arm of the sofa. He seemed quite at ease, like he belonged there. The light from the fireplace revealed to her the green shade of his eyes and made the slight crook on the bridge of his nose look more pronounced. It was as if she was truly looking at this man for the very first time. Some of his hair had come out of his ribbon and now framed his face. She could not picture James helping him tie it – it seemed too delicate, too intimate to do someone else’s hair. She had to look away, even though it had been a couple of days already since James had helped him. It was his own driver, Mr. Lark who had been promoted to his valet for the time being.

He broke the silence but not his stare “Birdie is such an interesting name.”

She smiled tightly “But it is not my name. Only father calls me that”.

He seemed surprised “Oh, forgive me, but I don’t think I have learned your given name yet then, Miss Weston.”

She was surprised. “It is Portia.” How could he not know her name?

“Portia?” He asked, without hiding his disagreeing frown.

“I am told my mother insisted” Her father didn’t call her that, he seemed to disagree, as well.

“Oh, so…”

“I never had the opportunity of getting to ask her myself. She died shortly after my birth” She said matter-of-factly.

“My condolences. Portia seems too tragic a name, I rather think your father is right in calling you Birdie instead.”

“Tragic? Not at all! Portia bests the moneylender and saves Antonio in The Merchant, does she not?”

“Ah, well that is true, I suppose, and it is befitting for a merchant’s daughter. But I was thinking of her earlier, more notorious namesake from Rome.”

“I rather believe my mother was thinking of the happier outcome when choosing a name for her only daughter. And my father is no longer a merchant, Mr. Featherington.”

He chuckled at her defensiveness “I did not mean anything by my mention of it. I admire hard working people that manage to improve their lives, Miss Weston.” He relaxed further back into the sofa, without changing his penetrating stare, which she now felt compelled to return in kind.

She closed her eyes for a second and let out a sigh “Forgive me, it is usually not the case with the higher ranks of society. In my limited experience it is usually remarked on as if it were an insult to have worked for one’s money.”

“People tend to deride that which they cannot comprehend. The concept of working and making ones own fortune frightens them because they don’t know how to do it! But let us not give it another thought – I am not the philosophic sort. I take it, though, that you spend every evening reading this sort of thing?”

“Ours must seem like a very dull life to you, but I assure you we are more than happy with the entertainment we get.”

“I understand your father might be, Miss Weston, but you are much too young to settle for so little. Surely you must look forward to more exciting distractions than charity luncheons and reading?”

“You mistake my meaning, Mr. Featherington. I do enjoy reading to my father, but it is hardly the only entertainment available to us. We do visit with our neighbours and attend the public and private balls, concerts and other events, just like--”

“Have you ever been to London?” He interrupted her, which sent her off track.

“I have not as my father does not like to travel. But I might visit a friend next season.”

“Oh, you must go. I think you will enjoy it tremendously!” he gave his head a little shake for emphasis.

“What makes you think so?”

“You strike me as someone who enjoys being admired, Miss Weston.” He stood up, and bowed as elegantly as he could “And you would make all other young ladies there positively envious of your extraordinary features. You have remarkable eyes.”

This response took her completely by surprise and left her without words.

“Good night” He left the room, walking calmly.

“Good night” Was all she could say, as Mr. Weston woke himself with a start, after having snored too loudly.

Chapter Text

1790

Daniel had been at Greenfinch for almost a fortnight. It was already his second Thursday there, even though the carriage had been fixed and ready to take him home since Tuesday afternoon. Mr. Weston insisted there was no reason to rush his departure, he was more than welcome to stay and so he had taken him at his word, as the old man went into his study, as usual. They had, after all, invited him to join them for a ball that Friday, and he was in no rush to depart.

He had by then made out Miss Weston’s daily routine, or most of it, at least – she seemed to be up and about at an impossibly early hour. He decided to follow her along whenever Mr. Weston declared himself too busy and locked himself up in his study, which was most of the time. It was the perfect hideout, because he could lock himself off from the rest of the house and still go out through the window door into the kitchen garden if he so pleased.

Of course when Mr. Weston chose to hide from their guest, he imagined the young man enjoying a quiet read in the library, or having a leisurely walk outdoors or whatever else young people did for entertainment, certainly not following his daughter around like a restless pup.

That morning Daniel had rushed downstairs and was now walking through the garden in the back, while she inspected the plants and some of the flowers that still dared bloom in the early winter, making notes in a little notebook, cutting some of the flowers and foliage branches and putting them in her basket.

“Hello, Miss Weston!”

“Good morning” she seemed confused at his presence. She looked around to see if anyone else was with him. “I thought you needed your rest, Mr. Featherington.”

“I’ve rested well enough during the night, Miss Weston. May I accompany you? It is such a lovely day, I’d hate to waste it cooped up inside.” He said, tilting his head in a boyish manner, his hands clasped at his back.

“You are free to roam the garden if you so wish.” She said, resuming her note taking.

“Is your maid not around?” It was perhaps the first time he had paid notice to this. It seemed peculiar, as back in London, a maid seemed to be a permanent fixture around every young lady.

“I cannot have a maid hovering about me every second of the day, can I?”

“My apologies, I don’t pay much attention to ladies’ maids, to be honest.”

She shook her head. “Or any other servant, for that matter, do you?”

“No, I admit I don’t usually concern myself with the servants, no.” He gave her a little apologetic smile.

She was about to respond to him when the sound of a horse approaching the front of the house distracted them.

“Seems like you have visitors!” He was filled with a curiosity that seemed excessive to her. “Are you not curious? Or do you not like visitors either?” He was referring, of course, to her father’s obvious dislike of having his routines interrupted by random people coming by.

She calmly said “We are not expecting anyone, but Mrs. Druthers will let me know if I am wanted”

He seemed to think his curiosity required immediate satisfaction, though, so he went ahead through the garden´s gate to inspect. As rude as it was, Portia was still grateful for it, as it meant she would be left in peace to continue with her work.

Daniel had only intended to find out who the visitor was and return to Miss Weston, but having made out who the rider was, made haste instead to meet him at the front of the house.

“Archie, what on earth are you doing here?” He said, rather sternly.

“I have come to take you home, of course!” The newcomer dismounted and stood in place as he waited for Daniel to reach him.

“Well, I can’t travel” He gestured to his injured arm “The doctor said I should not, to avoid straining my arm – the elbow came out of it’s socket, you know? It was incredibly painful and I do not wish to relieve that experience.”

“Is that really it?” Archibald crossed his arms, disbelief across his face “Or are you enjoying your time here, and away from your responsibilities a little too much?”

“I do not know what you mean, and don’t you have your little Parish to take care of? You should be tending to your flock, marrying people or whatever it is you are supposed to do now.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“I do have my own responsibilities, that is so kind of you to consider it! So I would very much appreciate it if you wouldn’t waste my time.” He sighed “Look, Daniel, mother is too worried and I will not be welcome back if I do not have you with me. Need I remind you that you are the elder brother?”

“There is no need, of course. But it is quite the trip you have made, and on horseback for heaven’s sake! Did you leave before dawn? Why don’t we stay until Saturday at least, so you can get a proper rest before having to endure it all again?”

“What is the real reason you wish to linger, Daniel?” He was suspicious as there was nothing very remarkable about the place, which he had started to inspect from where he stood, and as he looked towards the oak trees, which were indeed a pleasant feature, he caught a more beautiful sight – that of a lady coming from the same direction Daniel had emerged from.

Archibald rolled his eyes, recognizing his brother’s true motive, but he did find the idea of a proper rest before departing again to be enticing.

“Good morning, sir!”

“Miss Weston!” Daniel exclaimed, almost shouting “allow me to introduce my brother, Mister Archibald Featherington”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Weston. I must convey my family’s gratitude for the assistance you have provided my brother. I have come to relieve you of this imposition.”

“We’ve been glad to be of assistance, sir. It has been no imposition.” She said as she assessed the young man in sober black clothes that bore but a passing resemblance to the Featherington with whom she was already acquainted.

“Awfully kind of you, Miss Weston. We will depart on Saturday. I will go now and look for accommodation at the nearest inn. Daniel, you should come with me and stop abusing your host’s good will.”

“Oh, you should not trouble yourself, you are welcome to stay with us, the both of you. My father would like to make your acquaintance as well, I am sure.” Portia offered, politely. He was shorter in stature than his brother, but his demeanour was much more serious and gentler.

“You are truly kind, but it wouldn’t be fair to double the imposition.”

“As I said, it is no trouble at all” She said, with an air of finality, as she determined that his eyes were different, too. They were blue and did not look at her with the same penetrating stare of his brother’s.

“We’ll have your horse taken into the stables” She said, looking around as she knew Mr. Druthers had to be around there, working on the siding.

“Oh, there is no need. If you will point me in the way, I will take him myself. I would like to talk to Mr. Lark as well – our driver.” Archibald interjected, as he wanted to make sure Mr. Lark was in good health and to make him aware of their plan to leave on Saturday. He would not leave any details to Daniel, who left on his own would surely find a way to delay further.

She caught sight of James who was going from the other side of the house towards the servants quarters, so she called for him.

“Mr. Clarence!” He had been clearly working along Mr. Druthers, his sleeves were rolled up and was not wearing a coat. He turned back and approached them, while wiping his hands on a handkerchief.

“Mr. Archibald Featherington, may I introduce Mr. Clarence --” James gave her a quick side look and cut in before she tried to clarify what this terribly dishevelled man was to them.

“How do you do, sir?”

Archibald nodded with a tight smile. Portia, a little taken aback asked “Mr. Clarence, would you mind showing Mr. Archibald to the stables, please. He is also looking for Mr. Lark”

“Of course, Miss Weston.” Then he directed himself to Archibald “if you please, sir.” and gestured for the man to follow him.

“Thank you, Mr. Clarence” She smiled at James and he could not help but smile back with a little shake of his head, none of which was lost on Daniel.

“So, you’ve been sent a rescuer, and in a white horse, too.” Portia teased Daniel. He had, during his visit, found ways to steal her time and talk to her, so she felt they were acquainted enough to endure a little teasing.

“My mother’s doing, she worries too much.” He shrugged.

“And with good reason, I would say.”

“But you will finally be rid of me in a couple of days, so you must be very relieved.”

“We will be sorry to see you leave, I’m sure” She said, unconvincingly, as she climbed the steps to the verandah, and went inside the house.

He went after her, walking quickly to get to her side, causing her to stop. “Aren’t you waiting for your brother?”

He looked puzzled “He is a grown man, he will find his way inside, I’m sure.”

“Mr. Clarence will show him in, I suppose.” She started walking again. He followed once more.

He seemed amused “You seem to have a very poor opinion of us Featherington men, Miss Weston. I assure you, Archibald is quite capable of finding his way back from the stables. After all, he made it all the way from Ightham on his own.”

“Forgive me, it just seems peculiar to me that you don’t wish to accompany your brother.”

“Oh! Him I’ve known my whole life and I will, presumably, keep being acquainted with him for the rest of it. It is you with whom I wish to spend more time, Miss Weston. I have only just discovered you and I am already being forced to give up the pleasure of your company, and to travel with him, no less.” He grimaced, as if it were indeed a poor fate.

“It seems to me that it is you who has a poor opinion of your brother, Mr. Featherington”

“No, no. Do not mistake me. I – I love him dearly, but...” He paused, his mouth moving as if trying, unsuccessfully, to form the correct words. “I just find him a little boring.” He shrugged and his nose scrunched up as he said this, causing her to let out a little laugh. Success at last!

“Ah, so you find me entertaining, then?” She said, as she reached for the kitchen door, but he had anticipated her movements and grabbed the knob for her, making her stop.

“Interesting. Alluring, even.” He let the door open, enjoying her disbelieving face.

“Mrs. Varley?” She asked Mrs. Druthers, who was busy working on a large piece of some kind of meat. She looked more like a butcher than a Housekeeper, her straw-like hair escaping through her dust cap in a wild manner.

“She is doing the wash, Miss.” she exhaled heavily.

Portia nodded in understanding “We have an additional guest, Mrs. Druthers. Mr. Featherington’s brother has joined us and we should prepare the green room for him.”

“I’ll take care of it, miss.”

Portia nodded again and turned around, finding Daniel had waited for her at the door.

“You know, I am beginning to think that you do enjoy having visitors, after all.” He said archly, as he let her through.

“Why do you think that is?” She kept walking.

“You greatly enjoy the chance to display your command of this household.” His nose was pointed upwards, as if he was offering his most interesting theory to heaven itself.

“I do not deny it, but I will point out that you keep following me, so it is not exactly me making a display of it.” They were now in the dining room. She left her basket on the table and went to open a cabinet, taking a couple of small vases out of it.

“As I said, I find you interesting.” He rested his hand on the back of one of the chairs

She gave him a tired look. “Mr. Featherington, this is highly inappropriate.”

“Shall I fetch your maid? Or, since she seems to be busy, Mr. Clarence, perhaps?” He joked.

She kept arranging the cuttings from her basket into the little vases, without looking at him “He is also busy with your brother, whom you have so quickly forgotten about.”

He left his place and closed the distance with her “Oh, he’s barely met you and you are already no fun, Miss Weston. He has that effect, you know? Draining the joy out of life.”

She moved to arrange the vases on the table “Has it occurred to you that maybe other people’s definition of fun is not aligned with yours?”

“Isn’t that the same thing, though?” He was now standing entirely too close to her.

“Not at all.” She sidestepped him and walked out the door without offering anything else. This time he simply watched her walk away.

***

Daniel, of course, insisted on coming along to the ball, and so his brother was forced to tag along, since he felt it would be rude to decline the invitation after their hosts had endeavoured to secure a place for the both of them, and he knew it was not a sound idea for his brother to attend such an event with an injury he claimed had made him unfit for travel. Archibald had thus resigned himself to be his older brother’s keeper for the evening.

Archibald was descending the stairs to the foyer when he heard movement behind him, so he stopped and turned back. Portia was coming down as well, wrapped in a silk robe a l’anglaise, burnt orange and cream stripes complimenting her read hair and crystalline blue eyes very beautifully. It was no wonder his brother had wanted to stay as long as possible.

“Good evening, Miss Weston!”

“Good evening, Mr. Featherington”

When she reached him he offered her his arm and they went downstairs together.

“I hope you have been enjoying your stay” She said, unsure of what else could fill the silence.

“Very much. You have a delightful home, Miss Weston. I find the lively décor extremely pleasant. It is a very welcome contrast to the monotone paleness that reigns elsewhere.”

She smiled. “Thank you” She took a look around, proudly. “I love bright colours. They remind me of the flowers and fruits of the garden in the spring and summer. We should surround ourselves by those things that bring us joy, don’t you think? A bit of colour in one’s home is to me a natural start!”

“Indeed! I might have my study painted in the green shade of the room you have kindly let me occupy”

“Mine is blue!” Daniel said from the last step on the stairs, making them turn around. “Oh, Miss Weston! What a vision of beauty you make!” He bowed, graciously.

“Thank you, Mr. Featherington.” She said, very conscious that her ears were burning and her face must be the same shade of the stripes on her dress. “I will get father, since we are all ready, then.”

As Portia disappeared beyond the parlour door, Archibald chastised Daniel “Must you behave this way? We are leaving tomorrow, you must leave this young lady in peace.”

“Oh, If I wanted one of your sermons, I would be front row in your little church. Have some fun with me Archie, come on. Do not be sour.” Daniel said, grabbing him by the shoulder, before adding “Are you not allowed to dance any more?” Then his smile faded, as there was none in his brother’s face to replicate his “Archie, it’s been what? five years?”

This gained him a harsh look from his brother, who just said “Let us go, then” as the Westons came out from the parlour.

As a token of their appreciation, Archibald had proposed they took the Westons in the Featherington carriage, which had been fit to travel for a couple of days now and was far more spacious than their gig.

It was a very crowded event, as predicted, and as it had also been anticipated, a very lively one. They made a round, introducing the Featheringtons to their acquaintances, assessing who was in attendance and who was missing. Mr. Weston’s talkative manner made every introduction drag on and Portia was growing disheartened that Daniel seemed intent on escorting her like a shadow everywhere, with his brother right behind them. Her chances to dance were greatly diminished as their aristocratic presence seemed to intimidate the other gentlemen in attendance.

Archibald eventually came to understand her predicament, so he asked her “Miss Weston, would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a dance?” He could feel his brother’s eyes like daggers on his chest, but he didn’t care if he was upset, he was behaving like a child, after all.

“Of course!” Portia accepted and they moved on to join the other couples in the dance floor.

“We do not have to go back to my brother after the dance is over” He said, conspiratorially.

“Thank you!” She answered and quickly added “Please, do not think that I dislike your brother, it’s only that...”

“You deserve to dance with gentlemen who are fully able to do so, and he is only on your way.”

She averted her eyes to the floor and then brought them back to meet his again, in a contrite but still quite mischievous expression. He couldn’t help smiling.

“It’s quite alright, Miss Weston. But I am afraid I have rescued you from my brother only to make you suffer” She looked at him questioningly “My dancing is atrocious. I am terribly out of practice” He had a kind smile.

But kind smile aside, he was truly not a very adept dancer. She could hardly begrudge him, but still was glad when the dance was over. He kept to his word and delivered her to the side of the rooms that was farthest from Daniel, where she soon found an acquaintance and he excused himself quickly after being introduced.

She watched him go around, rather than directly through to Daniel, which she appreciated as a way to somewhat conceal her location, and smiled. The tactic worked, as soon as she was only surrounded by other women, Mr. Farfield approached her for her next dance.

As they took their places in the dance floor, she was surprised at finding James was at the end of the group, with Miss Gladwell as his partner. But of course the Kelleys had invited him, and she could imagine who had recommended him as a guest. It was still disappointing to her that she had to find out there, but with the constant presence of Daniel, and in the last couple of days, his brother, she had seldom had a chance to talk to him.

She kept an eye on them all throughout the dance, which might have caused her to step on Mr. Farfield’s toes at least once, and had to pretend she couldn’t hear him very well as he tried to talk to her, but she was simply too distracted to pay any attention to him. After being thus mistreated, Mr. Farfield accepted defeat and as soon as the dance was over, he left her be free to pursue whatever it was that really interested her.

“You seem to get along with miss Gladwell rather splendidly, James. Are you going to marry her?” She had slipped to his side, undetected by him, as soon as Miss Gladwell went to join her friends and left him on his own.

“Well, she does not seem to mind that I am only a Lieutenant. That alone seems to recommend her greatly.” She did not respond, but all playfulness had left her face as she bit her lower lip. It seemed like clouds obscured the firmament of her eyes.

She responded, quite drily “Lillian is not only pretty, but very sweet and kind as well. You know, she didn’t have to stay with me after the service last Sunday, but she offered, any way.” She wasn’t truly recommending her, but reminding him of the fact that Miss Gladwell had offered to stay and help her after learning Mr. Clarence would be driving them to deliver the baskets. She spent most of the time flirting with him while Portia dealt with the actual work. “I’m sure she will make an excellent wife, if you ask her.”

He considered Portia for a moment, with something like doubt and amusement on his face “If that is really what you want, Miss Weston, I might do it, if only to please you.”

“Oh, Mr. Clarence, don’t marry her just for my benefit! It must be for your happiness and nothing else.” She was staring deeply into his eyes, and for a moment he seemed transfixed.

He licked his lips and opened his mouth without saying anything. He had decided against saying whatever he had started on, and turned to face the crowd instead.

“Her father might disagree, though, that a lieutenant is enough for his daughter. He wouldn’t be the first one to declare so” Her eyes grew big with surprise and he closed his for a mere fraction of a second, adopting a more serious tone “I will be off to India again very soon, I am not to rush into a proposal only to have my betrothed left to wait for my uncertain return. I am not to make any marriage promises, indeed, until I have made an acceptable sum or secured the command of my own ship, Miss Weston. Seems as good as any other arbitrary deadline we impose on ourselves.”

She smiled, almost sweetly “I find that a most practical approach, Mr. Clarence. It is indeed a very sensible plan.”

There he was, hesitating again, his mouth drawing a breath as if to speak but not saying the words he meant. She noticed his face was now as flushed as hers felt. He finally managed to ask “What about you, Miss Weston? Are you finally ready for marriage, or do you intend to keep rejecting suitors until your old age?” His eyes smiled at her.

“I shall keep rejecting every man in England until the right one dares to ask me.”

“The right one? Have you met him already?” He glanced sideways at her.

“I might have” She said, lowering her eyes to her gloved hands, smiling playfully.

As he brought his eyes back up to the crowd, Mr. Clarence noticed the Featherington brothers across the room, one seemingly uninterested by anything around them and the other staring at him, raising his glass a smidgen in his direction before taking a sip. His own smile faded, so he was very serious when he asked her “Would you dance with me, Miss Weston?”

They had learned to dance together, as they were the most convenient dancing partners to each other, but this was the first time they would dance at a formal event.

“You know all you need to do is ask. I don’t believe there will ever be a time when I will deny you a dance, Mr. Clarence.” All you need is ask.

It had been years since they had danced together. But it was effortless, as if they danced together every week, so attuned they were to each other, and so easy she felt with him. Other than her own father, there was no one else in the world she trusted more than Mr. James Clarence.

Once the dance ended, James escorted her out of the floor without letting go of her hand, until she remarked “Oh, there is Mrs. Rockwell, I think we better go the other way around” His hand left hers and she glanced quickly at him, a little surprised that she had not noticed it had lingered. “You know, she has got it into her head that you are to inherit a great fortune any day now.” She had a little amused smile.

“Has she?” He said, humourlessly. “And I suppose you are dying to know, aren’t you?” He accused her with an odd sort of smile.

She tried to dismiss the subject “Why would that even matter to me?”

“Why would it, indeed?” He seemed bothered by it. He looked around as if trying to compose his thoughts and ensure no one else was paying attention “Is that rumour the reason you are suddenly alright to be seen talking and dancing with me?”

She was surprised at his tone “I pay no attention to Mrs. Rockwell’s embellishments of half truths, nobody does!”

“Except that I have been invited tonight. I wondered whose doing it was, and I thought...”

“Well, you are a Lieutenant now, I think that you have got here under your own merits.” She refrained from adding that it was only the Kelleys’ ball and it wasn’t as if they were a noble family or incredibly rich and they did not pretend otherwise.“Does it matter? Cannot you simply enjoy the opportunity?”

“Tell, me, Miss Weston, would you have me in your ball, were you to offer one yourself”

“Of course I would!”

He shook his head “I noticed your embarrassment when I helped Miss Gladwell into the house the other day and you were forced to introduce me.”

Oh, what a daft man!

“I was not embarrassed of you! How can you say that?” She looked at him as if he had lost his mind “The only reason I would care about such gossip, Mr. Clarence, is because it pertains you. I am sorry I mentioned it, I -- ”

“Miss Weston, you are a splendid dancer, and Mr. Clarence of course has proved to be up to the task” Daniel said, coming to stand at her side, almost between them, apparently having got rid of his brother “It is a shame I cannot ask you for the gig, Miss Weston, to prove myself worthy as well.”

James excused himself and left them, the cross expression still on his face. She watched him disappear among the crowd, reining in her impulse to follow after him.

“Thank you, Mr. Featherington. Some other time, perhaps.” She said, without much interest, looking around for her father.

“Forgive me, but…” He paused before continuing, in a low voice “Is there an understanding between you? Mr. Clarence and you, I mean?”

Her head snapped towards him, her expression beyond offended at the inquiry “What kind of understanding would that be?”

“A secret engagement, perhaps?” he offered in a conspiratorial manner.

“Why would that be a secret?” She seethed.

“Forgive me, but your father seems to think him below your station.”

Although he spent less time bothering her father, he still had spent some time with him in private, discussing business investments and all sort of gentlemanly affairs. She had not even considered they had any reason to discuss Mr. Clarence any further than they had already exchanged in front of her.

“If there is… such an understanding between you, you do not have to worry about me telling anyone” He pressed on.

“Oh, I do not worry about you at all, Mr. Featherington” she said, visibly upset. She marched away from him resolutely and he found himself, once more, following after her.

It was maddening to him. She was pretty, yes, but he had met plenty of beautiful girls that had all fawned over him and would be more than charmed at getting his attention for more than a minute. They would flutter their fans about and bat their eyelashes at him with devious little smiles. Yet this woman seemed absolutely uninterested in him. It could only be, he reasoned, because she was already engaged.

“You did not deny it!” He claimed, as soon as he caught up with her near the doors, where the crowd thinned.

She looked at him with contempt “I do not have anything to deny. Certainly not to you, Sir!”

He looked around to ensure there was no chance to be overheard “So you are not engaged to Mr. Clarence?”

She scoffed at his audacity “Of course not! Not to Mr. Clarence, nor to anyone else for that matter!”

He changed his tone to a conciliatory one “I am sorry to have caused you offence, forgive me. You are just so familiar with each other”

“Of course we are familiar, we have known each other our whole lives.”

He just nodded as he surveyed her face, his lips half parted, the hint of a smile on them and to his utter surprise, a sense of relief spreading through his chest.

“There is hope, then” He said, the smile fully breaking through, completely disarming her.

“What do you mean, hope?” she was taken aback.

“Miss Weston! It is so good to see you, my dear girl!” Mrs. Rockwell exclaimed quite loudly, as she approached them, so seizing the opportunity, Daniel bowed and removed himself from her side.

“Mrs. Rockwell, how do you do?” Portia said, without really paying attention to anything that was said afterwards. She knew Mrs. Rockwell had nothing to share but petty gossip, and Portia’s only interest in it at present was not to become the subject of it.

Chapter Text

The week after their visitors were finally gone went by without much else transpiring. Then it was James’ turn to say goodbye, and after that, everything seemed incredibly bland. Bleak, even. The winter biting unforgivingly, the Christmas spirit not fully reaching the soul. Twelfth night had never seemed so dull and before she could even perceive it, January was over.

It was well into February, the day that she tossed herself into bed in the middle of the day, not feeling like it had been worth getting out of it in the first place.

She kept thinking over and over about James’ departure. They had said their goodbyes many times before, but this time it felt extremely heavy in her heart. It was not a curtain temporarily descending to signal the first act of a play has finished. It felt like the closing of a heavy door after all lights have been snuffed and everyone has left, the play long over.

He had come into the garden from the kitchen door, and found her sitting on a bench which had been moved to a sunny spot. She stood up as soon as she saw him come out, as she was unsure what the neutral expression in his face could mean.

“So you have accused me with Aunt Belinda!” He said, feigning indignation. It had been a couple of days since the ball, and having grown anxious at his continued avoidance of her, she had decided to ask Mrs. Druthers to talk to his nephew on her behalf.

“I did!” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, unusually nervous, but trying to conceal it by straightening as tall as she could.

He shook his head “You didn’t need to go to her. I was quite convinced already that I should talk to you, and now it seems like it is all her doing instead of my own good sense” He said, making light of it all.

She, on the other hand was not losing a single moment on levity. “Well, I am sorry but I was quite sure you would go away before I could…”

He seemed to feel the rising sense of urgency and so did away with the attempts at humour and went straight to it “I must ask you to forgive my outburst at the ball the other night, Miss Weston.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Clarence, on the contrary, it was silly of me to bring up such a topic, it is me who must apologize.”

He sighed deeply “In all honestly I should be glad that you cared at all. And you are not at fault at all for the way I reacted, that is entirely due to my own shortcomings.”

Something had felt off between them since the day he had arrived. The air between them had felt tense with unsaid things due to the constant interruptions that did not allow them more than a couple of minutes of conversation at a time, conversations that never reached full earnestness. So much time was wasted saying unimportant, silly things. Making light of things, as if they had all the time in the world to talk about the things that really mattered later. But time had finally ran out.

The man before her was the James she used to know, though, determined and clear – not the hesitant, nervous one that had not been able to elucidate what he wanted. “Had I not have been made aware of my own insignificance earlier that day, I might have been able to laugh at Mrs. Rockwell with you, but instead I attacked you and that was unkind and entirely undeserved. I just couldn’t bear to think that you, of all people, would think so little of me... to think you would wish me to be something else entirely- it was... disheartening.”

“James, that is… there is no one I think of as highly as I do you! You must know that!”

He took a step forward, making her heart race, her breath stopped, in anticipation without even know exactly for what it could be.

“Mr. Clarence!” Her father’s voice reached them from his study’s door “You are quite ready to leave us already, aren’t you, boy? But are sure you’re not forgetting anything? Everything packed and tucked away as it must? Birdie, if you have said your goodbyes already, you should go inside, we don’t want you in danger of catching a cold, my dear child!”

His words were merry, and his tone tried to match them, but Mr. Weston’s face was as serious as Portia had ever seen it.

“I am in no danger of catching a cold, any more than any other day, papa.”

“Do not hold Mr. Clarence to the same uncomfortable state just to defy me, Portia. He must be very busy preparing for his journey, let him be in peace, go on.”

“Mr. Weston, I can assure you I have not forgot anything.”

“Are you quite sure, Mr. Clarence?”

“Absolutely, Sir.” Portia had never seen James so dreadfully serious. It did not feel right. “Goodbye, Miss Weston. I hope we will see each other sooner than… you should listen your father.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Clarence. We will be eagerly waiting for news from you. Do not forget about us.”

“Impossible!” He turned to Mr. Weston “Sir, I will never be able to thank you enough for all your kindness.”

“Nonsense, boy. Go and make us all proud, that is all I ask. On you go!”

The following morning, with the first light of day, he was gone and now, several weeks later she wondered when they would be getting any news from him.

She was contemplating the snow slowly falling through her window and how it accumulated in the dried up branches of the tree just outside. She missed the sun and it’s warmth. She wondered if it would be a sunny day in India and closed her eyes trying to imagine the mysterious land.

“MRS. DRUTHERS!”

Her father’s uncharacteristic yelling downstairs took her out of her melancholy thoughts. She left her bedchamber and descended the stairs in a hurry, to find her father standing in the hall, just outside his study, looking completely unlike himself. There were tears in his eyes, but they were the product of uncontrollable anger, his fists were half risen, as if he had been caught on the midst of looking for an object to hit with them. When he saw her standing there, appalled, his arms fell at his sides and his expression morphed into a desolated one.

“Oh, Birdie!” he wailed.

She hastened to his side “What is it Papa?” When she reached him she noticed a piece of paper crumpled in his left fist.

“I am lost!”

“What? What is happening?”

“Mrs. Druthers!” He called again.

“Let’s go inside the study Papa, you need to sit down” She took his arm, to lead him in, but he remained in place.

“No, Portia, I must go to London at once!” He seemed to be considering his options then and there and she could see he was doing an effort to revert to a calmer state, but she could see him still battling his distress.

“Will you please tell me what the matter is?” She pleaded.

“No. No, I’m sorry to have alarmed you.” He still seemed to be doing complex calculations in his mind as he said this. Then he looked at her fully in the eyes “I will fix this. I just-- I just need to go to London at once.”

Mrs. Druthers finally appeared, her face pale with worry at having had been called in such a manner, only to be immediately dismissed by Mr. Weston. “Never mind. Off you go.” She exchanged a bewildered glance with her mistress, who only shrugged and nodded for her to go.

“Will you let me accompany you? I don’t want to let you go on your own like this.”

“No, dear I will have no use for you there…” But then some new realization hit him and changed his mind “But, there should be no harm if you go and take the opportunity, I suppose, to visit your friend, the Lady Cow… Cowper. She is in town now, isn’t she? One never knows with the aristocracy. But Parliament is already in session, is it not? Her husband should be there, I don’t suppose he’s left his new bride on her own so soon.”

“Yes, I believe she is in town at present. I shall write to her at once.” She conducted him into his study, now that he was less excited and more docile. She guided him to sit at his desk and went back to the door.

“Yes, do that, write to her! And summon Mr. Barnes, please” He instructed her, pointing at her with his right hand.

“Yes, papa.” Her apprehension only grew.

It was clear to her that whatever had happened it must be a very serious matter, for Mr. Weston disliked many things, but he truly detested having to deal with Mr. Barnes, his barrister, and he loathed travelling, particularly to London.

***

Portia was not impressed when she arrived at Araminta’s London house. It seemed to her a building devoid of all charm, befitting more a prison than a home. The facade was rather plain and the building ever so square and grey, not a single plant to be seen at the front, not even a potted one. Her impression did not improve much upon entering. She was led through a long, dark hallway into a somehow darker drawing room that despite having a roaring fire going, felt impossibly cold.

Araminta, however was all warmth, receiving her with an effusive embrace.

“Dearest Portia! It is so wonderful to have you here! So, what do you think?” She said, visibly proud of her new house, her dusty blond curls bouncing, impossibly tall on her head.

Not wanting to lie outright she just said “It is very grand, Araminta, and so close to the palace, too, you must see the Queen all the time!”

This seemed to please her friend, who had never been able to resist bragging “Oh, I have met with her, dear! I was at a ball she attended not a fortnight ago!”

“Oh, you must tell me!”

“Of course, of course. Sit down!” She rang the little bell by her seat and a footman appeared. “The refreshments” and as if she had uttered magic words, the man disappeared as swiftly as he had entered. “I will tell you all about my meeting the Queen – of course I had met her at my presentation already, but you know what I mean. It is such a shame you did not have the same chance. But first you must tell me, are you finally ready to have a season in London?”

“Oh, no! No, I am only accompanying father in some urgent business. We will not stay for very long, but I wanted to see you. It has been so very boring without you already!”

Araminta smiled tightly “It can’t be all that bad, Portia. What happened to your visitor?” She smiled deviously.

“Oh, James is gone to India now.” It came out more of a complaint than she had intended.

“James? You mean Mr. Clarence? Oh, Portia, how I wish you would give up on him!” Araminta rolled her eyes, looking to heaven for guidance.

“What can you mean?” Portia straightened on the edge of her seat.

“We both know full well the reason you keep rejecting marriage offers is because you expect him to come back and ask you for himself.”

“That is preposterous!” Her cheeks turned red, she knew it, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from betraying her.

“Is it, Portia? Tell me, has he ever even hinted that he does intend to ask for your hand? Has he shown any inclination towards you to that effect at all? Has he talked to your father?”

“We are friends, Araminta, that is all.”

“Well, if that is true, I am very glad to hear it. Your grandfather was a baron, Portia!”

“Ah, Mrs. Rockwell’s job is never done, is it?” She said, recognizing the likely source of such ideas “That is a dubious claim, if anything. It was supposed to be my mother’s Great-great-grandfather on the female line. That title is long extinct.”

“Which is a great injustice! You are still his granddaughter, and you could still bear an heir.” Portia smiled but did not correct her “You ought to have all the advantages of a noble birth.”

“That is a claim we do not make, Araminta, you know it full well. Besides, my mother chose to marry a merchant, so why should I care for a title?.”

“Still, Mr. Clarence is a sailor, Portia!” She said with a look of utter disgust in her otherwise lovely face “They have mistresses at every port! A young woman will wither away waiting faithfully for one of those men, while he is away having a grand time, not thinking twice about her, making up excuses not to marry. Why, I wasn’t even thinking about Mr. Clarence when I asked about your visitor, but the one you wrote about, the Gentleman that had an accident.”

“Oh!” Her face would never not be red again, she was sure. This had been an obvious blunder on her side “Mr. Featherington, yes. He returned home even before Mr. Clarence went away, that is why I didn’t think of him first. His family sent his brother to retrieve him.”

“Featherington? Oh, very well.” Araminta bit her lower lip, “How would you like to dine with them this Saturday?”

“I don’t know if we will still be here by then. As I said, we’re only here on an urgent business errand”

“You must convince your father.” Portia could tell Araminta was scheming as she gave her an assessing look that must have found something wanting in her attire. “I will have to lend you a dress for the occasion, of course. It will be a tight fit, but we will make it work.” She smiled, very pleased with herself.

The refreshments were brought in, so Portia was not able to protest to any plans for Saturday, any dress lending, and later on she found herself equally unable to protest her friend’s offer to take her to her father. That was the way with Araminta, she always found the way to persuade her, and this was particularly true now that Portia had to concede she might actually know better – about what was to be done when in Town, at least.

That was how Portia found herself that afternoon riding through the streets of London onboard Lady Cowper’s carriage. Araminta had decided to give her a little tour of sorts before heading to the Strand, where her father had taken rooms for them.

“That my dear, is the Featherington house, if I am not mistaken” Araminta was referring to a building with a classical facade, which at least had some potted plants outside, lending a more cheerful tone to the pale stone walls. For that alone Portia already liked it better than the Cowpers’ residence.

The park on the square was much more to Portia’s liking, and beyond it she could see there were some beautiful gardens in the surrounding properties. She could not imagine a home could be called that without a properly sized garden.

“Imagine living there, Portia, being able to visit each other with such ease!”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and you should stop it!” She said, indignantly.

“At least agree to dinner on Saturday? I am inviting them, regardless, it will be almost rude of you not to be there.”

Portia was puzzled at this but Araminta gave her a knowing look.

“I will ask father if we will be staying that long.”

“That is all I ask, dear.” But she had a triumphant smile on her face as she fixed a rogue strand of blonde hair back into her bonnet.

Araminta did not accompany her inside, she was already running late, apparently, to prepare for some other engagement. Portia climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor where their rooms were – two bedrooms and a small area between them that served as a sitting room. Her father was not yet back, so she went into her room and threw herself onto the bed.

The view from her window was of the Thames, and had she not been so filled with worry and uncertainty, she would have been happy to stare at it for hours. There was something about large bodies of water that she found very peaceful, even a busy one full of boats and noisy people. She let herself be hypnotized by the shadows and tenuous reflections of sunlight hitting the ceiling above her, instead.

She did not yet know what they were doing in London, exactly. But she knew it was important and that much had to depend on it going well, because she had never seen her father in such a state ever before. He had been furious and descended quickly into sheer, agonizing worry. More than anything, she feared for his health.

And then there was her conversation with Araminta, and what she had told her about sailors. It didn’t matter – she repeated to herself, as she had so many times before, and more and more often every passing day - If her hopes were in the wrong place, she still had Greenfinch to spend her years comfortably, as a spinster.

But was that really what she wanted? Varley said she didn’t have much time if she wanted children. Could she really wait years without any assurance that he would come back for her? Why had she been such a coward and let him go without making things perfectly clear? They had only joked about it, that he would come back for her when he was a Captain, and they had been children then, hadn’t they? He had never made an actual promise – He had not knelt before her like Mr. Morris or stood awkwardly as he stated the reasons why he thought her suitable to be his wife, like Mr. Cunningham had.

No. All there was between James and her, if anything, had happened long ago. He had carved a little bird into the tree branch they sat on to look at the sunset, the day before he went away to the Navy.

“I wish I were truly a bird, to be able to fly and see the world, like you will.”

“I don’t think a bird could go so far away – you would get very tired at least. But I could take you in a little cage!”

“Oh, that sounds horrid! It would be so much worse being able to fly and have to stay inside a cage.”

He had looked at her with eyes full of dreams and a smile,“ When I’m a Captain, I will come back for you, then, and take you wherever you please, how about that?”

She laughed “I shall wait impatiently, then !”

Perhaps she had imagined the hopeful look in his eyes, but every time he was back she would tease him about not making Captain yet, and he would tease her back for not having yet married. Maybe it was just that – she had misconstrued it all to mean more than it really did.

They were used to communicating through teasing, as if they dared each other not to be the one to break down and be sincere first. Such a childish, stupid game!

Was it possible he had truly been talking about marrying Miss Gladwell? No, it couldn’t be.

She had fancied herself in love at thirteen with the one boy with whom she had formed an enduring friendship. It was perhaps time to accept that it had only been a dream. A prolonged childish infatuation, nothing more.

She was surprised when she felt a rogue tear escape her eye and roll down into her ear and realised the room had become darker as the sun started to disappear in the horizon.

She heard t he door to the receiving area open and close , so she hastened to wipe her tears away with her bare hands, and stood up to get her candle lit.

“Birdie, are you in? Have you eaten already or should we go down for a bite of something, dear?”

“Yes, papa, allow me to rearrange my hair and I will be with you in a minute.”

She took a look at herself in the mirror. What a mess she was!

***

Much to Portia’s surprise, her father agreed to stay and attend dinner at the Cowpers’ that Saturday. Araminta had lent her a dress, which was entirely too muted for Portia’s taste, who would rather wear a brighter colour than the pale pink satin Araminta had chosen for her.

“Mr. Weston, I must say how grateful we are to you for helping our dear Daniel in his moment of need” Lady Featherington addressed the old man, who was sitting to her left.

Lord Featherington added, from across the table “Indeed, We are truly in your debt, sir.”

“Nothing of the sort, my Lord” replied Mr. Weston, causing Daniel to turn and exchange a quick glance with Portia. In his brief acquaintance with the man, this was the most succinct he had ever been in expressing himself.

“It is truly Miss Weston’s kindness in offering help to a stranger and her exemplary command of her household that allowed for my expeditious recovery” He addressed the upper side of the table, where Lord Cowper presided.

“I see” said Lady Featherington with a tight smile and a nod.

“Greenfinch Hall is such a beautiful house, Lady Featherington. Very charming, with a very handsome garden. Miss Weston has managed it admirably, I am sure Mr. Featherington will attest to that” Araminta offered with a kind smile.

“Indeed, Lady Cowper.” Daniel seemed to purposefully avoid moving in the direction Lady Cowper pushed for, and instead continued addressing Mr. Weston “At the very least you must accompany us to a concert, Mr. Weston. Haydn himself is in Town this season, and we have a subscription to all twelve concerts. We are told he has composed new pieces for each night and will be executing them on the Harpsichord himself!”

“He is?” This did indeed sound like a wonderful opportunity to Portia, who tried, but failed to conceal her excitement. Daniel caught the glint in her eye, feeling proud of having caused it.

“I am afraid I cannot accompany you, Mr. Featherington, as my business is in Faversham and I cannot leave it unattended for so long”

“That is certainly a shame!” Said Lady Featherington, without much true feeling in her face, quite content with having the offer made and refused in such an efficient manner.

“Oh, but Mr. Weston” Araminta intervened “you can surely spare dear Portia for a fortnight or two? I am so delighted in her company and nothing would bring me more pleasure than having her as our guest a while longer.”

Mr. Weston looked defeated, something very much like a shadow of worry darkened his eyes for an instant as he glanced at his daughter. “I wouldn’t want to impose, my lady.”

“It would be no imposition at all, isn’t that right, Lord Cowper?”

“Not an imposition at all. Miss Weston is more than welcome to join us.” Lord Cowper declared with a condescending smile.

“Aram… My Lady that is very kind of you, but as you said, I do have my responsibilities back at home.” Araminta had been very clear that she should address her by her title in company, lest she be thought of as ill-bred.

“We will manage in you absence, my dear.” Mr. Weston offered calmly, looking at her in such a way that invited no protestations.

This baffled Portia, but she did not want to betray herself in such company, so she limited herself to respond “Very well. If you’ll truly have me, I will be honoured to stay and accompany you, Lady Cowper.”

Araminta smiled smugly “Oh, Splendid! Do not worry, Mr. Weston, we will take very good care of your daughter.”

Daniel was too pleased with the outcome, to his mother’s discreet annoyance “Marvellous! Although I am sorry you won’t be able to join us, Mr. Weston, I will be very glad to be able to pay back some of your kindness to your daughter.” He then turned to Portia directly “You will accompany us to at least one concert, Miss Weston, and I will not accept a negative.”

“That sounds quite delightful, Mr. Featherington!”

He could tell she was still making an effort not to show how happy she was at the prospect. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt prouder of anything in his life.

After dinner the ladies removed themselves from the dinning room into the drawing room, leaving the men to have their drinks and discuss the elevated matters of the world women were not privy to.

Not a second after she had taken a seat, Lady Featherington addressed Portia with such intense curiosity, that the answer to the question seemed to be a matter of great importance “Are you musically inclined, Miss Weston?”

“I do enjoy music, Lady Featherington.” Portia responded as she carefully sat down in the sofa opposite to her Ladyship’s chair. “Although I am not sure I would call it a particular inclination. I always assumed most people do.” She could not tell if her answer had pleased her so she added “I do play the piano forte.”

“Ah! You see, I do not care much for music. I enjoy silence and being able to hear my own thoughts. I much prefer reading, I find it fortifies the mind.” Araminta seemed deflated after having anticipated asking Portia to play for them. “Do not take me wrong, I do not dislike music at all, but I am perfectly content without it at all times.”

“I see!” She could not think of what else to say, exchanging nervous glances with Araminta.

Lady Maria Featherington was, despite her small stature, an imposing woman. What she lacked in height she more than made up for with her cold demeanour. Portia had not seen a straighter back in her life and every single detail of her dress was impeccably elegant but sober. Her face was full in the cheeks the way younger women’s are, but it did not posses any hints of the cheerfulness of youth. The eyes that Portia recognized to be the same green of Daniel Featherington’s had in her a steely quality, completely opposite to the warmth of her son’s.

“Lady Cowper has told me that you have rejected multiple marriage proposals. Is that true, Miss Weston?” Araminta’s face grew red, she clearly did not anticipate her revealing she had talked about it behind her friend’s back.

Portia did her best effort not to show her irritation “It is true, my Lady” Araminta did not return her freezing glance.

“Oh, and are you expecting to find a husband in London, now that you are to stay among us?”

The way the woman looked at her, down her nose irritated her even more than the line of interrogation itself “Not at all, my Lady! I had no intention of staying, and I do not have any designs to find a husband.”

“Do you intend to remain unmarried forever, then?” Her tone was surprised, almost annoyed.

“Well, not exactly-”

“A word of advice, Miss Weston.” She interrupted her, clearly not a woman of great patience. “There is no such a thing as a perfect man, waiting for one is a futile endeavour, as is aiming one’s sights too far above one’s reach.”

“Thank you, my Lady. I will keep it in mind” Portia could only hope she had managed to sound sweet and grateful and not at all as truly offended as she was.

Having settled the matter, apparently, Lady Featherington turned her attention to Araminta. “Now, Lady Cowper, should we play cards?”

“Oh, of course! What a splendid idea!” Araminta offered a conciliatory smile to her friend, relieved that the awkwardness had hopefully passed.

***

Both Westons were silent during the trip back to their rooms. It had been a mixed bag of a night. She had not expected her father to allow her to stay behind and now she was both excited at the prospect of attending one of the concerts Mr. Featherington had invited her to, and uncertain of what to make of Lady Featherington’s attitude. Araminta clearly had her own plan – she had convinced herself that Portia ought to be married to a Lord or a Sir of some kind at the very least, and thus become her constant companion forever.

She was the one to finally break the silence once they were inside, removing their hats and gloves.

“Papa, I have been meaning to ask you something” She said, her voice awash with unease.

“Yes dear?” His serious and uninviting tone made her even more nervous, but as it convinced her that there was something amiss, she felt pressed to ask before letting more time pass by.

“Before he left, did… Did Jam – Mr. Clarence talk to you about…”

“Good Lord, Portia!” He scolded her, taking her aback “Do not waste your time thinking about Mr. Clarence now, do you hear me? You must marry a man that can truly support you, who can offer you a semblance of security!” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders “And you must marry soon, do you understand? I will not allow you to keep throwing away your future. I regret I have let it go on for this long. I should have known better!”

He could see her pained expression at having her unfinished question responded to with such harshness, so he let go of her and turned around, walking to the other end of the dark room to allow himself to regain his composure.

“But papa, why are you suddenly-”

“He did not ask for you, if that is what you were wondering.” He interrupted her, before turning back to face her again “Use your time here, Birdie. Find yourself a good, wealthy man that can really take care of you, not one that can only imagine he eventually could in some uncertain, distant future, but one who can actually take care of you from the very beginning!”

His words were urgent, almost pleading, and a sense of dread filled her. She did not know how to respond to him, so she simply left him standing there and went into her room, without saying a word. Her blood felt cold, her heart hollow.

They were childish dreams, and clearly, she must let go of them.

Chapter Text

1817

As the seasons start changing and the cold weather of winter battles with the warmer air of spring, there will be days, sometimes, when you can tell that the sun is shinning with all its might on other people, in some part of the world where the clouds have not formed thick blankets of dirty-looking cotton. Those days are usually on the warmer side, and uncomfortably bright – and if you’re particularly unlucky, there is an unpleasant wind that does nothing but blow dust around.

Lady Featherington had been inside the shop for long enough, and much too distracted by the choices of muslin and silks in the most beautiful floral patterns that were presented to her, so by the time she had placed her order and went for the door, she had completely forgotten that it was indeed one such awful day, and upon exiting the shade of the building, she was momentarily blinded.

Of course none of this would be of any great interest, except that, as she tried to adjust her eyes and fight a strand of hair that pressed against them, she caught a glimpse of a tall figure across the street, a gentleman in a deep blue coat who was opening the door for a young lady. He let her go in and turned around to call to another young lady who had ran across the street to pick up a stray bonnet. Said piece of head covering had flown away from this scrawny, brown haired girl, and had only stopped it’s valiant escape when it collided with Portia’s legs.

“I am so very sorry, Ma’am!” The flustered young girl uttered, before hastily picking up her adventurous hat and rushing back across, without waiting for a response from the aggravated Lady in the colourful dress.

Portia had not even noticed the hat, but she was still filled with unease by the encounter. Such poor manners, she thought, as she kept her sight on the girl, with the full intention to give her or her companion, or the lot of them a proper scolding look. She could only manage to squint, though, so she quickly gave up and decided it would be better to let it go and get out of the horrible weather. She was turning away already when she felt a jolt in her heart. She needed to see the girl’s face again.

The girl had already entered the shop at that point , the man was just turning to go in himself and for the briefest moment, Portia was sure she recognized him, even if she hadn’t seen him for more than twenty years.

It was surely a product of her imagination, a visual illusion caused by the dust, the bright sky and her ever increasing tendency to revisit the past. She shook her head and went into the carriage.

When she looked through the window, there was no sign that anyone had been standing there. They were all inside, or maybe they had never been there at all. 

This won’t do. She thought, annoyed at finding herself reminiscing. She had worked exceedingly hard to forget. Forgetting the happiness of the past was necessary because it caused her to long for something that could never be brought back, and erasing the bad, because once she had learned what she needed from it , there was simply no use for crying about it.

Life was built in the present, and if one must look beyond, it ought to be to prepare for the future. Melancholy was for the weak.

1791

Mr. Weston had departed back to Faversham, leaving his daughter in the care of the Cowpers, instructions had been sent with him for her better dresses to be sent to London, as she had travelled without having any idea of attending high society events during what was initially supposed to be a short stay.

Araminta would not be stopped by such trifling matters, however, and seemed intent on parading her friend all across town, no time to be wasted waiting for her gowns to arrive, so she had her borrow her own.

Not a day was wasted in London, it seemed. Her first day staying with the Cowpers they had dinner with the Hartigans, then Luncheon with the Fifes the very next day, and after that they attended a fancy tea affair at Lady Livingston’s garden, where they were served the most delicious pastries Portia had ever tasted.

By the end of that week Portia felt more like a pet than a friend of Araminta’s, but she did not care too much as, in truth, she had never had so much fun in such a short time. The Ladies all had intriguing stories to tell about people she had never even heard about, and the men seemed to know a great deal about many fascinating things, all of which they seemed eager to explain to her.

For the first time in many years, she felt young and truly carefree.

She had always, since she could remember and perhaps without thinking anything of it, been in charge of something. Having no other lady in the house had naturally positioned her to take on the household management even before she was out in society, and truly, she couldn’t even remember at what point she had started taking care of her father as well.

It did fill her with pride to know herself capable and useful, but as she enjoyed herself during those days of early spring, she got a glimpse of what a truly unburdened life felt like. There seemed to be dedicated servants for every single need or want and money did not ever seem to be even considered when making plans – and there were many young, lively people everywhere. She loved her father, and the Kelleys, and even Miss Gladwell were dear to her, but their company dulled by comparison.

She had, as all novelties do, been enjoying a good measure of attention, but of course popularity brings with it scrutiny, as she learned at the Hylton ball, one night on March.

She had been dancing for the last half hour and was now looking for Araminta, as she had been warned not to stray too far away from her. It seemed Araminta was intent on making it a challenge for her however, as she didn’t ever stay in the same spot long enough. As Portia looked around trying to locate her friend, she couldn’t help but to stop completely, to admire the intricate decorations. She was sure she had never seen so many different flowers together, not even in an actual garden.

She was inspecting the way how a particularly lavish arrangement managed to make the flowers appear to fall down in a spiral, suspended next to a marble clad column, so the whole thing seemed to be floating freely, when she heard a woman on the other side of the arrangement say “...It is clearly the same one Lady Cowper wore to the Atwell ball last season.” She looked through a gap in the flowers, to see it was a dark haired woman in a group, telling the others “I remember it distinctly because the colour was not within Lady Atwell’s theme for the night.”

“Oh, yes. I remember it, too! And I am sure you are right. It wouldn’t surprise me. Have you noticed her hair?” Portia could not see which of the women had found something of note on her hair, as it was clear that they must be talking about her.

“Good heavens, who hasn’t noticed that mess?” A shrill laugh followed the hypothetical question.

Portia felt her face go red with embarrassment and instinctually tried to cover her face, even when the women could not see her, since she was standing behind their backs and mostly hidden by the flowers.

A tall and dark skinned woman felt it her turn to chime in “I don’t know why Lady Cowper is so intent on showing her around. Does she really think she will find her a husband among us?”

“Not a chance for a penniless spinster!” A tiny blonde woman scoffed.

“And with those manners, too. She could never belong – which is why I have made a bet with Lady Cowper” Portia’s heart sank as the first woman told the others, obviously savouring every word, “She is truly convinced she can get her a husband here this season.”

The women laughed at the notion and Portia could not keep listening, so she moved away, her hands trembling with anger. A bet? The indignity of being mocked by strangers dwarfed by the humiliation of being the subject of such a low form of entertainment. Had these people nothing better to do with their time?

Penniless Spinster they had called her! Oh, why had she let Araminta convince her to wear one of her dresses instead of her own? Her Yellow Chinese silk would have been a thousand times better than this dour pink thing that made her look... penniless, apparently! But Araminta had insisted that hers was a better fit for the occasion and she had let herself be persuaded.

And what was so wrong about her hair? There were other ladies wearing theirs in a similar way… weren’t there? Spinster. She had had to contain herself from going in front of the woman and notify her that she had turned down more than one proposal of marriage, so it was not that she was undesirable at all. She was not a broken thing, and she was not less than anyone in that room!

She was marching resolutely along the edge of the ballroom when she was stopped by a familiar voice calling to her.

“Miss Weston!” Daniel Featherington approached her, an unknowing smile plastered across his insultingly handsome face.

“Good evening.” She tried to sound cheerful, without much success, and unsure of why she would want him to think she was in anything other than the foulest mood.

“Allow me to say you look incredibly beautiful tonight”

She was definitely not in the mood for empty compliments “Are you not embarrassed to be seen with me, Mr. Featherington?”

“Embarrassed? To be seen with the most beautiful woman in London? Impossible!” But he could tell there was something upsetting her, as her bright eyes kept looking away.

“The one with the borrowed gown and the most unfashionable hair in Town, you mean?” She was clearly, absolutely crestfallen, which he found utterly unacceptable.

His face grew serious with understanding. “Ah, the vultures have made you their prey! I told you that you would be envied, Miss Weston, did I not? You must dismiss them all. They are jealous because you outshine them, and without any of the great efforts they put on!” He said with a light smile, which she found strangely comforting. “You threaten them greatly. Right now, there is no one as powerful as you, see? You are full of potential, unknown and beautiful. And you are dancing with me!”

“I am?” She wanted to resist, not only because her mood had been so altered but also on principle, because he had made it sound like it was the greatest prize of all, to get to dance with him.

“Oh, but you must!” He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. “It is a shame we can only dance twice this evening.”

“You mean once” She corrected him.

They took their places and just before the quadrille started, he said “Oh, I would dance all night with you, if it wasn’t a scandalous thing. I want all of your dances to be mine, forever.”

She looked at him – she stared, dumbfounded. Her previous embarrassment replaced by a rush of warmth, an excitement she had only ever felt when… but she must not think about him, her father had been clear about that.

She dismissed him with a tilt of her head and a raised brow “You can’t be serious”

“I am” His eyes penetrated deep into hers and there was no doubt in her mind and her heart too, if the flutter in her stomach was any indication, that he was sincere.

She was at least distracted for the duration of the dance, and for a brief moment afterwards since Daniel kept trying to make her laugh by noting how precariously positioned a woman’s wig stood on her head, and how visibly drunk a rubicund man was, who kept ever so slightly losing his balance.

As much as it vexed her to admit it, she could notice the stabbing eyes of other women on her while Daniel was at her side. As other people approached them and made conversation, she kept an eye on the other women and noticed that while the young ladies did look at her with curiosity and perhaps some with envy, it was definitely the mothers who seemed dangerous.

By the time she was reunited with the Cowpers, she had managed to convince herself to wait before talking to Araminta about the supposed bet she had made – Why would she ruin her stay if there was a possibility that it had been nothing but a lie from an ill-intentioned woman? Araminta might be offended that she paid any heed to an unnamed stranger instead of her dear old friend, might she not?

As for the venomous lot, they could all talk and think whatever they pleased while she enjoyed herself a little longer. She would be back home soon and never have to see any of them ever again, after all.

***

They did not share more than one dance at the Hylton ball, of course, but they kept finding each other at almost every other event to which Araminta managed to secure an invitation. The sight of Daniel Featherington had thus become common and welcome to Portia, as he helped her feel more confident in the knowledge she had an ally other than Araminta and her ulterior motives.

Portia’s spirits lifted even more once she stood her ground and did not let Araminta convince her to wear anything but her own dresses. She felt much more at ease in her colourful gowns – they were armour protecting her from the world. The men seemed to agree with her that her appearance was much improved and if the women kept talking, they did a better job of not being overheard.

She was feeling particularly confident in a lovely yellow muslin dress she sported at a garden party celebrating spring in full bloom, when the contrasting sight of the other Mr. Featherington surprised her. He and his dark garments, unlike his brother, was not a common sight at all.

“Mr. Featherington, what an unexpected pleasure to see you!”

“Miss Weston, it is good to see you, too.” Of the two of them, he was the one who looked genuinely surprised, shocked, really. He looked at her as if her presence there was nothing short of an impossible thing. “How are you enjoying London?”

“It has been lovely, thanks to my hosts” He looked on the verge of asking so she clarified “Lord and Lady Cowper. Your brother, too, has been most kind to me, he’s made me feel truly welcome.”

He nodded and let out an almost imperceptible sigh “I am glad to hear it. London can be a bit harsh without friends.” Archibald, she found, had a very easy, unpretentious air about him. He seemed rather out of place with the rest of the guests, but in a refreshing sort of way.

“Is your father in attendance, too?” He looked around as if trying to find Mr. Weston among the crowd.

“No, he has departed back to Faversham. I must confess, Mr. Featherington I am genuinely surprised to see you.”

“Well, Miss Weston, I am no longer immune to societal expectations, I am afraid.” his eyebrows raised and head tilted in the most playful gesture she had ever seen from him.

She was intrigued “Were you ever?”

He grew a tad wistful, his sight apparently lost somewhere beyond the tall shrubbery that surrounded the grass filled grounds “I was born a third son. We had the terrible misfortune of losing my brother, Liam, five years ago.”

“Oh, I am terribly sorry! I did not know that.” How, she thought, was it possible that she wasn’t aware of such an important detail already? With the amount of time she had by now spent talking to Daniel, it was truly an oddity that it had never come up.

“Thank you. He truly was the best of us. But you see, there was a time when I was a mere third son and could get away with hiding away. Now I am a spare and have completed my education, so a modicum of social interaction is demanded of me, however much I rather be left alone.”

“Oh, I see.” She was immediately embarrassed having come to interrupt him.

“Oh, no!” His eyes grew big and his face reddened “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Miss Weston, I didn’t mean I would rather be alone right now, not at all, it is only that…”

“Is my brother disturbing you, Miss Weston? I shall not allow it!” Said Daniel, joining them. The look on his face much more serious than his words. “You shall join me for shuttlecock and leave him this instant!”

“Always a pleasure to see you, brother!” Archibald said, with a tilted head and an almost smile that didn’t quite show in his lips.

Daniel laughed heartily “You know I am only teasing you! You are welcome to accompany us, Archie, if you are so inclined.”

“Well, thank you, but I have no desire for sport. I shall be content with observing you from the comfort of a chair in the shade”

“Do you not practise any sports, Mr. Featherington?”

“I do not really care for any, except for riding.”

“Ah, yes.” It made perfect sense for someone who preferred solitude “Horses are so much better companions than people, are they not?”

“I dare say they are!” Archibald agreed with her.

“Come, Miss Weston” Daniel insisted, impatiently. “Lest they start without us!”

“Daniel, I hope you haven’t forgotten we’re having dinner tomorrow with the Earl of Mulgrave”

Daniel turned to face Archibald again, visibly annoyed, but trying to conceal it. “Why, thank you for the reminder, Archibald. If you ever tire of the clergy you will be welcome as my secretary.”

“Enjoy your game. But be careful, we wouldn’t want Miss Weston to be injured”

“Of course not!” Daniel made a show of being offended by the idea.

Portia found this remark a bit odd, but then again, everything about Archibald felt a little out of place, so she gave it no further thought and left with Daniel to have a grand time in the sun, laughing as she didn’t remember laughing in months.

She was, all things considered, still grateful to Araminta for allowing her the opportunity to enjoy what she considered nothing more than a holiday, but in all honesty, she was even more grateful to Daniel as his friendship had allowed her to feel like she deserved to be there. Unlike Araminta, he never felt the need to remind her she must be grateful, or make an annoying noise when she went for a second biscuit, so she had finally had to admit to herself that she liked Mr. Featherington. She liked him very much indeed.

"Tell me, Mr. Featherington, what is this rift you seem to have with your brother?” She asked Daniel, as they walked back towards the house after their game was over.

“There is no rift, Miss Weston! Archibald and I are simply brothers, which you of course have no experience in dealing with.”

“Oh, you are quite right that I do not have personal experience, but I have known siblings from other families, and I do think your interactions with your brother seem rather strained.”

“I must say, I am flattered that you take such an interest in my family.” He seemed unusually serious now.

“I am sorry if I am being impertinent. I was only curious.” She shook her head slightly, trying to dismiss her curiosity.

“Let’s only say that Archibald could benefit from recognizing I am the older brother.” He offered.

“Is he not aware of that?” She smiled.

“He does not take my advice, never has. He always thinks he knows better but – he lacks resolve and determination.”

“What you mean is that he lacks your impulsiveness.” She teased.

“I rather be found impulsive than to lose my love to indecisiveness” he gave her a side look, trying to assess her reaction without fully turning to look.

“Oh?” He had indeed piqued her interest.

“When a man is in love, Miss Weston, he should not wait to secure the object of his affections for himself. There must be no room for doubt or chance to have it taken away by fate. I rather be impulsive than bitter for the rest of my life.”

“But there could be reasons why a man cannot propose to a woman, like their financial circumstances or their families’ approval.”

He wagged his index in the air “That to me is the sign of a man who does not love truly. How can he claim to be in love if he will allow such trivial matters to come between him and his beloved? When one is sure to be in love one must secure it immediately, nothing should delay it from being declared.”

“That is very romantic, but not practical at all” she laughed soundlessly.

“There is no room for practicality in matters of the heart.”

“There might not be in your version of the world, Mr. Featherington, but I assure you, there is in all others.”

“Do not say that!” he shook his head, apparently disappointed.

“Women cannot afford to be entirely romantic, when we depend on men just to live.”

“Oh, but I am talking about love, not marriage.”

She laughed, fully now “That is such a cynical thing to say for such a romantic!”

“I might be a romantic, but I live in the real world, my dear.”

“I rather think you live in a world of your own” He stopped and so she had to herself, and turned to face him with an amused smile.

“Be it as it may, I want you to know that no matter how many worlds there might be, I love you in all of them.”

She felt a rush of blood through her body “What?”

“I love you, Birdie, and I will not let you fly away.”

“Mr. Featherington!” She seemed to be addressing the grass beneath them, as she could not bring herself to look at him directly.

“Daniel” He corrected her, chasing her eyes.

“I…”

“I have not asked you any questions, so I do not expect an answer, I simply needed you to know.” He offered his arm again and they continued marching up towards the house, in silence, but he could feel her eyes on the side of his face the entire way.

***

She could still feel Daniel’s eyes on her during the carriage ride back to the Cowpers’. It was a bewildering sensation, to know herself to be the object, not only of his attention but his affections as well.

Love.

She didn’t think she would ever possibly forget the look in his eyes when he said it, there had been something sweet but pressing in his gaze, and the shape of his lips, the warmth in his voice, the smell of the grass under their feet...

Receiving attention from men was of course nothing new to her, but something about Mr. Featherington felt entirely different now.

It didn’t feel like a transaction.

He was not asking anything of her – he hadn’t in fact asked her to marry him, he had simply expressed that he loved her. He did not need a wife to tend to him, to look after his house, did he? – he had an army of servants at his disposal. To be loved just for her, what a marvellous, novel idea.

What a wonderful feeling!

Portia was coming out of these thoughts when she noticed the suspecting glances her friend was directing at her. Araminta smiled at her husband, but he rolled his eyes dismissively, confusing Portia.

Lord Cowper was not a very affectionate man, from what Portia could see as a guest living in their house for the past few weeks, but he was polite and while he was not affable, he was at least… accommodating to his wife, so having him be so out-right dismissive of Araminta seemed to her very odd indeed. However, she would find out his reasons not much later that same night.

She was on her way to the drawing room to get the needlework she had left there when, once more, she overheard a conversation about herself.

“I do not care, you must desist of this little charity venture of yours, you are making us the laughingstock of the Ton” Lord Cowper cut her coldly.

“But, my Lord, did you not hear me? I am sure she will be married very soon”

“Whatever position you have deluded yourself into thinking your friend holds, my dear, is entirely gone, without hope for recovery. You will distance yourself immediately. Ask her to leave as soon as possible.”

“Why, what has happened? I cannot just cut her off like that, how ever will I-”

“She will have to understand that circumstances change”

“But this is quite abrupt, my Lord!”

“Circumstances do change overnight! Her father has lost a great deal – if not everything - to a scoundrel of man that made away with thousands of pounds of other gentlemen’s money.”

“And how is that her fault?”

He sighed heavily, clearly exasperated “That is completely immaterial. I do not want to be associated with that scandalous situation, nor be the butt of everyone’s jokes for having a wife intent on marrying a pauper girl to any aristocrat with a pulse. Come up with an excuse and send her back home.”

“But I have -”

“For Heaven’s sake! Better to lose your stupid bet than to be further embarrassed. I am not discussing this any further. Good night.”

Portia hurried to move back from where she had been standing, trying to appear as if she had just arrived, but was barely able to respond when Lord Cowper bid her good night, she was too full of a violent anger that would burst out, she thought, if she so much as opened her mouth.

She knew she had to remain calm and collected, despite the tumultuous mix of thoughts and feelings coursing through her. She was not only angry at Lord Cowper for belittling her and at Araminta for parading her around only for her own amusement. She found she was also unable to comprehend how her own father had deceived her. Had he trusted their situation to her, she would not have stayed and been exposed to this terrible humiliation.

Portia gathered her courage and stepped inside the drawing room, to find Araminta hunched miserably on the sofa, with her head in her hands, surely trying to come up with a good enough story to get rid of her. Portia almost felt sorry for her, since she had very seldom seen her look this defeated.

“Portia!” She said, apparently horrified to be witnessed in a vulnerable moment.

She could be kind to Araminta and spare her the trouble, but she chose not to. The least she could do was suffer through the awkwardness fully.

“I was on my way to the library” She lied, having entirely forgotten why she was there in the first place. It didn’t matter, it might as well have happened to someone else a million years ago for how irrelevant it was now “Are you alright?”

“Please sit” Araminta gestured to the place next to her in the sofa. She seemed to be on the brink of tears.

“What is it?” Portia pressed, feigning sweetness but full of ill intention.

“Life in this town has proved to be a lot more challenging than I expected, Portia. Ever since I moved in, I have found I’m under constant scrutiny. Everybody here disapproves of every single thing I do, including my husband. I can’t seem to do anything right! There is always someone waiting around a corner ready with a thinly veiled dig or a mean comment. I never knew there were so many ways to ruin ones reputation or standing…”

Araminta looked at her pleadingly, searching for her understanding and support, probably. It was such a pathetic look that Portia felt compelled to kindness, so not to fall for it, she decided to attack.

“I do know what you mean, Araminta, having been subjected to ridicule all this time thanks to you!”

This changed Araminta’s expression from sadness to astonishment “What can you mean?”

“I know of your bet!” She leaned in, as if making sure she would hear her.

“Oh, Portia!” Araminta’s hands flew to cover her face.

“I cannot believe you would subject me to such humiliation. Particularly after this sad tirade of yours. We have not always seen eye to eye, but I truly thought we were friends, sadly I have come to learn that I am nothing but a pet to you.”

“No, don’t say that! I was just – I am so confident that you can do better, Portia. I allowed Mrs. Harlow to get on my nerves, she was being so snide that I just wanted to shut her up, you see? I am sorry. I wish I could take it all back, I have not only subjected you to this but also got myself into trouble with Lord Cowper, apparently.”

“I see he disapproves of your charity work. And please, do not try to pretend that you have been doing this because of how much faith you have in me. I’ve seen your life, Araminta, I know you are simply too bored and needed the distraction.”

“You are right” Tears were now escaping her eyes, despite all her efforts “I needed a distraction.” She looked at Portia directly in the eyes, her voice became just a trickle “It has been six months, Portia and it is not happening." She sniffled "I have not been able to conceive a child. I am afraid now that it will never happen.” A full, painful  sob escaped her, doing away with the last shred of composure she had been holding onto.

Portia reached out to grab her hands, despite her previous resolution for coldness “Why didn’t you tell me before that you were in such distress?” She was by no means forgiving her behaviour, but she did feel less inclined to press for reparations.

“I was trying so very hard not to think about it. Truly, Portia, you are my only true friend, and I hope you can still see me as yours”

“But you need me gone now, don’t you?” 

“Lord Cowper… I am very sorry, dear. It is not what I want.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is all my own fault for having trusted you.”

“You will understand me better when you are married!”

“I sincerely hope that I won’t” Portia stood up, letting go of Araminta’s hand. “I will pack and be gone tomorrow”

“Do not be silly, I will not let you go on your own. We will go together. I will visit my family and deliver you to your father myself. We’ll make the arrangements tomorrow and depart in a couple of days, I think.”

“As you wish, my Lady” She said coldly and left the room.

***

While Araminta sorted out her agenda to accommodate travel arrangements, Portia was not to accompany her anywhere any more. Araminta told everyone that asked that her guest had unfortunately contracted some mild affliction and was resting. Portia would have rather departed home on her own immediately, but did not wish to cause any more rumours to spread about her with a hasty departure.

The morning before they were set to depart, Portia found herself alone in the house. Lord Cowper attending some business – Portia could only assume, it wasn’t as if he would care to explain his plans to her – and Araminta attending a charity event, which, if she were honest, Portia was glad to miss.

It seemed the servants had not been given any instructions to treat her any differently now that she was out of favour with their master, so there was no opposition to her roaming the place out of boredom. She settled on the music room and decided to practise at the pianoforte, with a smile in her face at how it would have displeased Lady Featherington that she chose that instead of the library.

She was trying her best at one of Mozart’s variations when she was interrupted by a footman informing her of a visitor calling on her.

“Miss Weston, I am very glad to find you well enough to enjoy music” She discovered that his half smile had become incredibly endearing without her noticing it.

Who can tell, exactly, when one’s feelings for someone transform from one thing into another? Where she had once seen unbound arrogance and pride, she now found sweetness and charm.

“Mister Featherington, this is certainly a surprise” she managed to say, as for some reason she felt very self-conscious in his presence now.

“Please, call me Daniel, Birdie”

“That is not--” She started protesting but he interrupted her before she could remind him that only her father called her that.

“We have missed you these last couple of days. Lady Cowper said you were ill” He seemed genuinely worried.

“It is true, that I am not feeling well.” She was, in a way.

“Is there anything I can do? We do have a very good doctor that can see you”

“It is nothing of the sort... I am going back to Faversham tomorrow.”

"Tomorrow! But you owe me one more dance-”

“I cannot stay any longer, Mr. Featherington.” Maybe it was best if she was honest. Let him recoil and be done before… “I cannot keep getting insulted, I may not be a Gentle-bred, aristocratic lady, but I do have my dignity, and no measure of fun or entertainment is worth my losing it.”

“What has happened? Who has insulted you?” He said very seriously, as if he had been insulted himself, and as she did not seem to want to respond, he pressed “You must tell me!”

“You will understand that I can no longer feel welcome in a house when its master himself has called me his wife’s little charity case! It was beyond humiliating!”

“Shhh” He reached out to her with both hands posed to take her face in them “This is why you must accept me, my dear Birdie, my darling. With me at your side, no one will ever even dare to think of humiliating you ever again.”

She shook her head “You don’t understand – I do not know the details of it all, but it seems… I may be as well as destitute, if what Lord Cowper has said about my father is true. You should not want to associate yourself with us any more.” She had never looked more vulnerable, saying this as if it was something she had done wrong and were asking for forgiveness.

He lowered his head and looked away “I have heard the rumours, yes, but I do not care about any of it. I only care about you.”

A fire lit in her eyes “Do you really mean that?”

He nodded “I do”. That. It was sincerity, he truly meant it, she was sure of it.

She nodded then, as well, and his expression softened, not into happiness exactly. There was a tinge of wistfulness. He kissed her, softly, slowly. “I love you, Birdie.”

She was surprised to hear it but did not have a chance to say anything, he held her into a tight embrace and his warmth enveloped her. She felt secure with her face buried in his strong chest, hearing him breathe.

She looked up, her lips parted and he took it as an invitation. He kissed her again, and again, each time more deeply, his hands enveloping her body, hers hesitating at first, now firmly grasping at his neck, now digging at his coat. The smell of his skin, the sensation of his tongue, his warmth and his hands’ touch overpowering her good sense.

He pulled away, cupping her face with his hands. His eyes seemed to be trying to capture the memory of her every feature forever. He slid his hands down to take hers and kissed them.

“You will go back to Faversham, as you have planned, and wait for me. It shall not be a long wait. I need to make some arrangements and talk with my father before following you.”

She nodded and he kissed her again, in the lips and then on her forehead.

“This will be goodbye, then, for now.”

“How long do you think you´ll be kept?”

“A week, at most.” He seemed worried but he quickly wiped the expression off his face.

She smiled, full of hope “I will be waiting”

He pressed her hand before letting go, turning at the threshold to look at her again, a joyful smile on his face.

“One week!”

Chapter Text

1817

It had become increasingly clear that Portia would need to remove herself to a dower house. She loved being able to dot on her grandson, but she could not keep pretending she did not hear what went on between Mr. Bridgerton and her daughter.

It had caught her completely by surprise - In her experience the kind of racket they raised took years of learning, but from the very first night Mr. Bridgerton spent there, she decided she would have to re-arrange her bedroom so that her bed might be as far as possible from theirs.

Although she was glad for her daughter’s more than evident happiness, she still could not feel comfortable and it was obvious her son in law was less than thrilled at having her there, accidentally walking in on them when they forgot themselves and started on their amorous activities in the most inappropriate settings, like the drawing room – where she found them on the settee she no longer contemplated sitting at ever again, the library, where she was sure more than one book had to have been ruined, or the dining room – which was more than she could bear to find her daughter sitting on the table, in the spot she would make sure was occupied in the future by undesirable guests only.

There was simply no room that was safe for her to walk into without having to announce herself well beforehand.

But what was even more unforgivable, was that Penelope had taken to re-decorating. This truly aggravated Portia, as she could see her own tastes being erased from her home in favour of a sedate scheme of muted blues that she could only blame Lady Bridgerton for. Her once vibrant spaces had become dark and dour and she simply could not feel at ease surrounded by so much melancholy.

“Penelope, dear. I would like to speak to you, if you can spare a moment” She cautiously announced before fully opening the door to the drawing room.

“Of course mama, what is it?” Penelope still had some trouble adjusting to how sweet and accommodating to her needs her mother had become since they had moved back in with her.

Portia took a seat beside her daughter on the sofa. “I have given it some thought, and I believe it is time for me to find a dower house and let you and your husband to have your... privacy” the way she arched her brows and tightened her lips in a half amused smile made her daughter blush instantly.

Penelope knew full well what her mother was alluding to. “Mama, there is no need, truly. I have talked to Colin and we are…” she had started talking to her skirts.

“Don’t be absurd! This is your house now, Penelope.” She sighed “I remember what it was like living with your father’s mother once” Her grimace told Penelope more than words could. “I would not wish that for you, so I can certainly understand your husband. It is only that- well, I am entirely at your disposal, as you know. I have nothing left to my name, after your father.…” She raised her hand as if to stop herself, and closed her eyes for a second “You know.”

“If that is what you really want, mama” She nodded “We will find something, do not worry” She had made Portia give up to charity the money she still had from Jack Featherington’s scheme, so Penelope had to recognize that her mother depended entirely on her daughters now, at least financially.

“Thank you, dear. I hope you don’t mind but I already made some inquiries and there are a couple of houses I have made appointments for. I would like you to come with me to look at them.”

“Of course!” She was touched by the fact that her mother would want her opinion.

“Wonderful. I will be in my quarters if you need me” Portia smiled contentedly and left Penelope alone.

Her mother, Penelope realised, was a mystery to her. She was vain and arrogant, her conversation could be painfully banal at times and she made extraordinary efforts to present a cheerful demeanour when in company, which probably made people think her silly and vapid – she certainly had thought so at some point. She could be selfish, and cruel, but in the past few years Penelope had come to learn that her mother was also quite cunning and, in the very rare occasions when they had had honest conversations, she had got to see behind the facade and discovered that behind it, there was simply a woman.

A formidable woman that had certainly struggled and clawed her way out from a place that would have surely been the end of a meeker person. She had come through for her daughters, at such a great risk – her father was the gambler but Portia had really been the one to knowingly risk it all for them. There was no manner in which Penelope could reconcile the idea of that same woman depending on anyone, even as she knew it to be -to have always been true.

Perhaps it was that motherhood had shifted her way of thinking, or that the different approach she had adopted for her writing made her question things more deeply, but she was now acutely aware that she simply did not know much about her mother, beyond her marriage to her father having been a loveless, difficult thing to endure.

Having spent so much more time with the Bridgertons now, she had come to realize that she knew a lot more about Violet Bridgerton’s life than she did about Portia’s. For someone so well known for spreading gossip, Portia rarely talked about her own past.

It was not that Violet loved to talk about herself so much, but that her children kept asking her all sorts of questions that she answered earnestly and in detail – when appropriate. In contrast, Penelope admitted that she and her sisters had not shown too much interest in their mother’s life, so there was never much opportunity to discuss any of it.

She hadn’t, for example, paid much thought to the fact that Portia had not been the lady of the house during the time they lived in the Featherington house in Ightham, least of all that she had minded. Penelope couldn’t even remember her grandmother at all, and had only a vague notion of the old Lord Featherington as a benign, but honestly irrelevant figure.

And she knew just as little about her father, come to think about it. She knew he had studied theology at Cambridge – which had always seemed like a joke to her, since she could not picture a more faithless, ungodly man than her dissolute father. She found that, for the first time, it bothered her enormously that she knew Edmund Bridgerton’s favourite flower but no more about her own father than what could be learned by reading Debrett’s.

Her parents were complete strangers to her as persons on their own rights, with their own personal stories, dreams and feelings. How could someone spend seventeen years under the same roof with their own flesh and blood and not know them at all?

Penelope felt suddenly uneasy and found herself walking towards her father’s study. Colin’s study now, of course. She still didn’t like the room, which had not been much altered because Colin wanted to make sure to inspect every single piece of paper in it that he could find, in the case it could be related to the estate, but he had not had the time to actually do it yet. She could have done it herself, of course, but she had avoided the room since her father’s passing.

No, that’s not right, she reflected. She had started avoiding the study much earlier than that.

As she thought about this, she felt a vague memory coming back to her. It was a faint, nebulous thing, shrouded in shadows. She was a child still -about seven, perhaps-, so the memory had long been stowed away in that space of her mind where memories mingled with dreams. She could remember going downstairs, at night, looking for her father – it was around the time he still sometimes would read with her in the evenings, which she looked forward to more than ever since she was having a hard time getting used to the new house, where she no longer shared a bedroom with her sisters. Her new bedroom was full of unfamiliar shadows and she did not recognize the creaking sounds that came from outside her door when the unknown servants passed by.

The shouting coming from her father’s study had made her stop just outside, clutching her book to her chest as if it would protect her, somehow, from the monstrous anger she perceived in the voices of her parents. They were arguing, and as she listened she realised it was a truly vicious fight, and even if she could not now remember the words exactly, she could remember the hurt vividly. It had seemed to her that if she were to look at them, they would have each other’s blood on their hands.

Penelope had not been able to move from her spot even when she had wanted to run back upstairs, she found herself paralysed by fear. She would always remember her father storming out of the study without even noticing that she was standing just a couple of feet from the door, her mother reduced to tears over something he had done. It was such a rare occurrence to see her mother crying that it had of course stayed with her – it was the one thing she could remember with absolute clarity.

Mrs. Varley had come running as soon as her father left the study. It seemed she too had been listening from some hiding spot. She did see Penelope and gave her a pitiful look before going into the study to help her mother.

Penelope had stood there, the fear still hot in her veins, but soon she had felt someone pulling at her arm – Prudence took her upstairs, in silence. Philippa was waiting for them at the first landing. They all slept in Prudence’s room that night, but did not acknowledge the fight, as if saying anything about it would make it more than just a nightmare. It was a shame, because she would have liked to ask if they, unlike her, understood what the fight had been about. For some reason, it had sounded to her like they were arguing over a bird, which even then had seemed a ridiculous idea.

Nobody acknowledged this fight or any that followed, so with time, they became nothing but nightmares.

She decided against entering the study and decided to go see her son instead, the memory still heavy in her mind when she reached the nursery. Colin was sitting there with Thomas in his arms. He looked up and smiled at her when he heard her open the door, but then continued what he had been doing, which was relating a story to his son.

“So, you see Thomas, your grandfather Edmund was then faced with a conundrum, because he had to choose between the admiration of his children and avoiding your grandmother Violet’s eventual revenge.”

She took a seat next to them, reclining her head on Colin’s shoulder, holding his arm tightly, so he turned to look at her.

“Is everything alright my love?”

She was surprised at the question “Yes, why do you ask?”

“You seem contemplative” He kissed her head, as if he could cure her of any problematic thoughts that way.

“That is indeed a very accurate assessment.”

“Do you want to share your thoughts with us?” He shifted in his seat a bit, to better face her.

She smiled at his inclusion of their son “You know so much about your parents, Colin. Even about your father, who left you when you were so young! I cannot say the same, I really do not know much about either one of my parents.”

“Oh, I see. I had wondered about that, Pen. None of you ever talk about your father. Is there a… particular reason?” He said as if testing the depth of troubled waters.

She tilted her head, as if he were asking something terribly obvious. “You met him, Colin, did you not?”

“I know he had his problems, but…”

Penelope guessed what her husband was having trouble skirting. She lowered her voice “I know he was-” She sighed heavily “I know the circumstances of his death, that he was poisoned.”

Colin felt a surge of worry for her “How did you...?” She gave her another one of the looks she used when he was asking an inane question “Never mind, my Lady. Of course you were bound to find out. But what I have been meaning to ask…” He reached with his free hand to hold his wife’s “Did he ever do anything... to you, Pen?”

Her face went pale “No! No, it wasn’t like that at all, Colin. He was… a sad man. He wasn’t always the neglectful man you remember- that everyone in the ton remembers.” She was surprised at the sting of tears that had begun forming in her eyes. She smiled “He used to read to me when I was little, you know?”

“He did?” He let go of her hand as Thomas had started bending backwards, menacing with wriggling free out of his other arm, head first into the floor, so he repositioned him over his shoulder.

“He would take my sisters to ride in the middle of the day, but I didn’t like it as much so they would leave me behind. He would make it up to me by reading before retiring to bed. That was before we moved in here. Something happened, Colin, something changed him because he stopped spending time with us shortly after we started living here, and... I had never given it much thought before, but I believe--” She paused because she was growing worried. “I think the title changed him.”

Thomas was quietly nuzzled against his neck now, so Colin got up from the sofa and walked over to the bassinet, depositing him there, with little resistance. “Pen, you do not have to worry about me.”

The way this man had learned to read her thoughts! “I can’t help it”

“I have you to steer me right, don’t I? And, if for some reason your love for me blinds you to my many failings, Anthony and Benedict will never let me go unscathed. If only because they would enjoy pointing out my every wrong-doing too much. And Eloise!” He turned his head to the heavens as he remembered his sister “Eloise would never allow for anyone, let alone her own brother, to cause you unhappiness of any kind.”

“I am not worried about you causing me any unhappiness. I worry about this responsibility causing yours.” She stood up and went to look at Thomas.

“It is not an easy job, I will concede that, particularly after the state in which things were handed to me, but it gives me great pleasure to know all this work will secure our Son’s future and well-being. It is work worth doing and I am happy for it, Pen.” He took her hands on his.

“You must let me know when it is too big of a burden. I am capable enough to help, you know?”

“Oh, I know you’re very capable, Mrs. Bridgerton, of a great many things” He said, with a mischievous smile, bending down to kiss her, reaching out to grab her back to press her against himself.

“Colin!” She whispered in weak protest “This is the very thing that has my mother asking about getting her a dower house.”

“Are you trying to encourage my conduct? Because if you’re trying to dissuade me” He said, kissing her neck “You’re doing it wrong”

“You impish man!” She laughed.

Colin rolled his eyes, but straightened up and offered her his hand “Come. Thomas is asleep”

She looked at her son, soundly asleep indeed. “I am very lucky you are such a talented father, Colin.”

“I, too, have many talents.”

“I am fully aware” She said, sliding past him, turning to give him a sly smile.

1787

If everyone were just like you
What a wonder to live
A song in the air
A woman singing
A city singing

To smile, to sing, to live
The beauty of love
Like the sun, like the flower, like the light
To love without lying or suffering

- Translated from “Se todos Fossem Iguais a Voce” by Antonio Carlos Jobim.

Archibald Featherington had been instantly bewitched by Miss Wetherby’s beautiful eyes, as they had captured light in a way that made them look like precious amber. It had been but an instant, but it had been more than enough. He felt it was divine intervention, that in that single instant, her existence should be revealed to him and that it was the most precious sight he had ever beheld.

It was the summer of 1787 when he and his brother Daniel were riding back from Fairlawne that they encountered a couple of ladies out on a walk ahead of them. The ladies’ heads were turned low into each other, obviously sharing some intimate secret, as young women tend to do, while a maid trailed discreetly behind them. The young women had been engrossed in their confidences so they got startled when the horses approached them.

Even though it was Daniel who was at the front, Miss Wetherby’s surprise-filled eyes landed on Archibald’s and, for a heart beat, as their eyes met, he felt the world dissolve into light and warmth. They did not fully stop, only offered the courtesy of slowing down and exchanged “good mornings”, touching the tips of their hats.

As they moved away past them, he could not help but to turn his head back to take another look at her before they got too far. She was looking at them go, too. He could see she was smiling and delight made something in his chest flutter- joy. This would be forever a memory he would associate with unadulterated, pure joy. He was immediately filled with determination to do two things: First, find out who she was and second, get her to marry him.

He did not have to wait for too long or search as far and wide as he had imagined, for they were properly introduced but two days later, as his mother, Lady Featherington invited Mr. Wetherby and his family for dinner, to welcome them as their new neighbours.

As it turned out, Miss Wetherby was graced not only with the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, but a true talent for music, too. She played the pianoforte perfectly well and, as they listened to her, her cousin informed him that she was very dedicated to charity work. Miss Lawson was both Miss Wetherby’s cousin and her most intimate confidant, in a way that made them closer than sisters. He also got to notice that Miss Wetherby was very modest as she had blushed very prettily and set her sight on her lap while her cousin sang her praises.

“You seem to be very close to Miss Wetherby, Miss Lawson”

“We are as good as sisters! I am very grateful that my uncle has allowed me to come stay with them, as I would be miserable missing my dear Eleanor back home.”

“You have your sisters, Meredith, who are surely missing you right now.” Miss Wetherby’s voice was full of tender reassurance.

“Nonsense, Ellie! We’ve been apart only a fortnight, they have not yet got a chance to start noticing my absence. And once I start feeling for theirs I will be, perhaps, more willing to part from you.”

Daniel had been observing them from across the room and decided to join in their conversation “I hope my brother is not boring you ladies, with talk of Wesley’s or some other sermons”

“Oh, are you really familiar with Wesley’s sermons, Mr. Featherington?” Daniel’s words seemed to have the opposite effect to what he had intended, Miss Wetherby was now looking at Archibald full of renewed interest.

“Well, they have of course, come up in my studies” He said with a smile

“Truly? Are you to be ordained?”

“I hope to, in the coming term, if all goes well.” This seemed to please her exceedingly, her eyes were full of something truly alien to Archibald – admiration.

“And what do you think of Wesley’s Sermon on Angels?”

He was delighted, being asked for his opinion outside the academic arena “Well, I find it very astute how he begins by addressing the Greek demons and the Roman geni and then moves on to Socrates. It is a remarkable introduction to establish that their presence has been felt even by pagans, that their influence is universal and not limited, as the passage itself might imply, to those who are already followers of the Christian faith.”

“Of course he later goes on to say that unbelievers are granted their ministry because our world is one of mercy! Do you agree with that?” She said, her head tilted in an inquisitive manner.

“I do. Redemption is possible for the wicked and it stands to reason that they would be the ones who require angelical assistance the most in order to achieve it.”

She smiled “I myself am partial to the idea he poses about God acting through other men to help us endear us to each other, so that good can beget good.”

“Oh, are you a Methodist, Miss Wetherby?” He said, teasingly. And she was about to respond when they were called to go into the dinner room.

He was overjoyed that she had shown genuine interest in his conversation, but it was made all the more encouraging to Archibald as she later seemed to have no interest whatsoever in his brother’s talk about Cricket and Thomas Lord’s new field. Not that Archibald had anything against the sport, but it was usually Daniel, the older, more charismatic brother – the heir- that captured young women’s attentions.

“Archibald, will you do me the honour to drink a glass of wine with me?” Daniel asked his brother, who had been glorying in the good luck of having been seated next to Miss Wetherby, and enjoying her conversation.

Archibald was quite surprised and felt the awkward pressure of the table, acutely aware of miss Wetherby’s polite smile and her sweet eyes fixed on him. He hesitated for an instant “I am afraid I will have to disappoint you, brother. I fear a drink will not sit well with me tonight.”

“Oh, so you will be retiring with the women, after dinner as well?” Daniel laughed, while the other men at the table exchanged amused smiles.

Archibald seemed surprised and a bit offended, but tried to make light of it “I am perfectly capable of maintaining a conversation without a drink in my hand, Daniel” but he couldn’t stop his hand from forming a nervous fist beside his plate.

Miss Wetherby said, just for him to hear “Well said!”

After this dinner, there were multiple occasions for Miss Wetherby to form a theory about Mr. Archibald Featherington, which she decided to share with him on a fine Tuesday afternoon, as they walked arm in arm along the pond, taking in the flowers of late summer, while the rest of their group played lawn games or lazed about in the shade.

“Mr. Featherington, I have been meaning to tell you... that I find it admirable that you have found the strength to refuse alcohol”

Archibald’s stomach dropped “Miss Wetherby, I…”

Knowing that it was a delicate topic that he might want to dismiss, she was quick to interrupt him “It must not be easy for you and admire your strength.”

He scoffed “It is not strength, I assure you. I just do not wish to...”

She stopped to look at him “It is alright, Mr. Featherington. I am not ignorant of it, I have seen your struggle.” She had noticed his deep breaths and the fidgeting, the clenching of his hands that at times seemed painful.

He grew deeply mortified “I do not know what you mean” He started walking again, to avoid her piercing eyes digging into his.

“I am sorry! it was not my intention to cause any embarrassment, but to show my support and that you are not alone.”

He forced a smile “You have quite the imagination Miss Wetherby, I am sure I don’t follow your line of thought!”

She turned her sight to the ground in front of them “Forgive me. It is only that… well, my uncle Lawson is a very good man, I can assure you, he is!” She returned to look at him “But, whenever he drinks, he becomes an entirely different person. It is like day and night, Mr. Featherington, and it causes his family such great distress! It must be incredibly difficult to fight it, because he would never, in his good senses, want to cause this harm to his family. But it overpowers him, and… I have witnessed how he regrets not stopping himself.”

Archibald’s face had grown ashen, his heart sank. “It must be terrible.”

“And we don’t love him any less for it. I pray for him every day that he finds the strength to stop, just like you seem to have done for yourself.”

He felt as if his blood had stopped in his veins, as if he were falling from a great height to be swallowed by a great darkness. He swallowed with difficulty “Aren’t you repulsed by such lack of character?”

“No! We all have our weaknesses and faults, we all fall down. To me the true measure of someone’s character is how they react to the hardships we must confront. If we all could just be more understanding and support each other in our low moments, I think the world would be a much better place.”

“It would be a perfect world, indeed, if everyone were like you.”

She blushed profusely “I only wanted you to know that you do have a friend that understands your hardship”

“Thank you, Miss Wetherby, it means the world to me, truly. I had someone like that and we lost him just over a year ago – my brother Liam. He helped me through the worst of it, and it is thanks to him that I am here today and not floating down a river somewhere”

“Oh, please do not say such terrible things!” She said, horrified at the thought.“I am very sorry that you have lost your brother, but I have every faith in you” And as she said this, she pressed his arm, reassuringly. “Would you mind telling me what happened to him?”

“He fell gravely ill. He was the kindest man you could find. Jovial, and full of spirit, but quite mature for his age” He added, looking at her, before turning his sight far into the horizon"I could rely on him without hesitation. He saved me from myself, Miss Wetherby and I could not do anything to help him. It is indeed, not an easy task, but I try everyday, to honour his memory.”

“I am sure, he is very proud of you, Mr. Featherington.” She said, earnestly.

Archibald felt that this was another sign that Miss Wetherby was sent from heaven itself for him, Liam himself must have chosen her to be his ally in life. But if she knew this about him, it was more unlikely that she would be willing to tie his life to his.

He decided that, no matter what happened between him and miss Wetherby, he would honour her and Liam in equal measure.

After this conversation, his intentions became fully evident, as he started visiting the Wetherbys or championing activities that would bring them together almost daily. The more time he spent with her, the more his certainty grew that she was all he could ever hope for in his wife.

She was sweet and kind, generous and affable and despised all manners of pretence and superfluousness. She was already a favourite with his family and so he could imagine already their married bliss. He would assume the Wrotham rectory after completing his doctorate, and she would surely delight in running the Parish charities for the poor. A heavenly match indeed.

“I see you are quite taken with the lady, Archie” Daniel told him from the front door one afternoon, as Archibald climbed the last couple of steps back, having seen the Wetherbys out.

“She will be your sister soon, Daniel, I am sure of it” Archibald smiled proudly, hope shining in his eyes.

“You are sure!” Daniel scoffed “Why, she might have a different opinion. Have you asked her already?”

“I have not yet, but I’ve no doubt about it, we are of the same mind.” It was the sort of understanding between souls that required no words. But he could not say this to his brother, he would only mock him as he did any time he brought up his more spiritual or sentimental notions.

“Do you plan on asking her anytime soon?”

“At the ball this Friday, I think.” His heart fluttered at the prospect.

“You think? Brother, we are talking about marriage! You are either sure of it or you aren’t.” Daniel gave him a bewildered look and after a brief pause added, as if to make him think of it under a different perspective “Are you willing to bet on it?”

“You’re being an arse!” They used to bet on all sorts of things as young boys for a bit of fun, but they were no longer boys and this was too serious a matter to bet on. He found it in poor taste that betting had even been suggested.

“You said you’re sure of her, yet you hesitate asking!” Daniel’s face was both questioning and mocking.

“This is too important to trivialize it by betting” Archibald frowned.

“Well, I bet you won’t propose!” He defied.

Archibald shook his head and entered the house, without acknowledging Daniel’s bet. He sometimes had trouble understanding his older brother. Daniel would offer him advise, as expected from an elder brother, but his advise would often feel contrary to Archibald’s very principles. As he went on with his studies, he became more and more sure that his brother had a view of the world and ones’ duty to it that differed greatly from his own.

By Friday, though, there was no doubt left in his mind, the certainty having grown in it now matching his heart’s. As soon as she took his arm to be led into a dance, he knew there was no point in delaying. They would have to wait until he was done at Cambridge to celebrate the wedding, but they might as well wait as an engaged couple, which would at least allow for the exchange of correspondence. It was only one term and after that they would be able to wed and begin their life together.

After they completed the dance, before parting with her he asked “Miss Wetherby, if you so please, I would like to talk to you...”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Featherington.” She had an excited smile on her face “I am engaged for the next dance, but I will be free after that.

“I will be waiting impatiently” He looked at her adoringly, a soft smile on his lips.

“As will I” She said unable to stop smiling, her otherwise pale skin all blush, unable to hold her eyes to his, lashes aflutter. How he longed to reach out and kiss her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the freckles on her cheekbones. And her lips, so full and inviting. Just one dance and he might get away with it that night and forever.

Just one dance and he was sure happiness would fill his future. Their future.

But he was not able to find her afterwards. He had found himself surrounded by a group of men in animated discussion of the next cricket match, which he really did not hold any interest in, but they kept asking him questions and made him lose her from his sight. The dance she had been engaged for had come to an end a few minutes ago already and he grew anxious that she would be waiting for him, so he just abruptly left the group, quite rudely, and went in search for her.

He couldn’t find her among the party in the garden, so he went through to the courtyard and there were no signs of her still. He heard a door open, followed by the sound of someone running down the hall to his left, so he went there quickly. It was dark, but he saw a woman running out the back door at the end of the hall. He was sure it was Eleanor, he wanted to run after her but out the door that had been left ajar came Daniel.

“Why, Archie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Daniel said, affably.

“What have you done?” Archibald’s blood felt suddenly cold in his veins, the darkness of the dimly lit hallway engulfing his thoughts, pressing on his chest.

“Me?” he had an odious little smile that did nothing to reassure Archibald.

He did not want to waste time arguing, he ran in the direction of the lady that had escaped. But there was no trace, in his surprise at encountering his brother in the hallway he had lost precious time. He turned back inside and found Daniel had followed him, keeping his distance.

“Archibald, whatever is the matter?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

Archibald walked towards him, but pointed towards the outside door where he had lost trace of the woman “Was that Miss Wetherby that went out running as if someone were chasing after her?”

“How the devil am I to know who it was that you are talking about?! I did not see anyone, and if anyone was chasing after a woman here, that is you!”

“I swear to God, Daniel, if you have done something…” Archibald’s face looked, perhaps for the first time in his life, fearsome. It was an unsettling mixture of wildness shining in his eyes and the stillness of his tensed muscles, his teeth bare and nostrils flared.

Daniel straightened himself up, rising his head proudly, refusing to be intimidated by his little brother “Careful Archibald, they might deny you your living if they hear you swearing like that.” But Archibald did not back down, so he raised his palms in a peace offering “I did not cause any woman to flee from me tonight, Archie. I don’t know where your Miss Wetherby is, but if that was her, it wasn’t me that caused her to run”

Archibald removed his sight from Daniel for a moment, thinking, and deciding that there was still a possibility that the woman had in fact not been her, and Eleanor was still waiting for him in the garden, he left Daniel there and went back.

She was nowhere to be found. Once he realised her family was gone, too, he didn’t know what to make of it. They had all left without a word, which left him feeling extremely uneasy – had she ran and somehow rejoined her family? He was unable to sleep that night, wondering what could have gone wrong but decided against going to their house right then to look for immediate relief.

He went to visit the Wetherbys the next day, bringing flowers, but she was unable to receive him. The refusal was on account of her feeling a touch under the weather, Mrs. Wetherby had said, providing no further explanation. He surmised they had probably had to leave early because she had felt ill. It was understandable, and a relief of sorts. But a week went by and Eleanor kept to her house and they kept claiming she was still ill – something minor, nothing to worry about, proper rest should cure her.

He was extremely relieved at the end of that miserable week, when she was finally better, apparently, and accepted to receive him.

“Mr. Featherington, how good of you to come” She had said, not fully meeting his eye, her tone of voice listless, devoid of the warmth he used to delight in. The room felt suddenly cold.

“Miss Wetherby you have had all your friends worried about you, we have been deprived of your company for too long. I hope you are fully recovered.” He noticed her lips were not the usual rose colour, but were dry and chapped, and the rims of her eyes were red, the soft skin under them sagging. “Are you still feeling unwell?” He felt an unknown pressure in his heart.

He grew afraid that her ailment was not of the body, for it seemed clear to him that she had been crying, profusely. She gathered the strength to look at his face but almost immediately broke down crying. The maid that had been stationed at the door hurried beside her.

“I am so sorry, Mr… Archibald. I’m so sorry” She sounded repentant, as if she had done unto him something evil, which was incomprehensible to him.

She offered nothing more and left the room, supporting herself on the arm of the maid that almost seemed to carry her. Mrs. Wetherby came into the room, the living embodiment of mortification, her hands a knot.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Featherington, it seems dear Eleanor is still not feeling as well as she thought”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He was perplexed and flushed with anguish.

“I am afraid not. The physician has recommended sea air, so we are retreating to Dover. We will make sure to say goodbye properly before departing.”

His heart sank, but he nodded. “Yes, the sea has wonderful restoring properties, I am told, of course.” He felt a little lost “Do you know when is it you will be back?”

“There is no telling. We will be there as long as our dear Ellie needs to recover in full”

“Of course! Yes” He suddenly felt all the awkwardness of being on the way “You must be awfully busy with preparations for your trip, Ma’am, I will leave you and get out of your way”

“Oh, please don’t say such things, you are not on the way” She was very polite, but her hand wringing told him differently “We really do appreciate your friendship and that of your family, of course” she offered him a tight smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Wetherby, I’ve grown very fond of your family as well, and I will be waiting impatiently until we can have the pleasure of your company and Miss Eleanor’s again.” He bowed and left, his heart full of unease.

Archibald had always had a knack for predicting outcomes. He had a keen eye for the little details that others often overlooked and which helped him form what he though of as crumbs of truth, which were all the small things that joined together to take something from one point to another, when otherwise a development might seem illogical.

When they were younger, he would often entertain his brothers by telling them what developments he expected to see in their acquaintances’ relationships, and they would often place bets on whether the barmaid at the inn would really end up getting a proposal from the milliner’s son, or how long it would be before the new kitchen maid announced she was with child and that it was the cook’s doing. He had grown to find this form of entertainment reprehensible, and stopped taking their bets long ago, but he still kept the habit of looking for clues.

It was clear to him that something was afflicting Eleanor’s soul, not her body.

He usually took pleasure in having his predictions come true, but because this time it would mean she would not return to Ightham any time soon, he wanted to be wrong. It would be fine, though – he reassured himself-, he would go to her as soon as he was done at Cambridge. He had been so stubborn to complete his studies, despite having unexpectedly become the spare, he could not drop it all just for a presentiment.

The only other time he had wished for a prediction of his to be wrong, in fact, had been when his bother Liam fell ill two years before. Archibald knew, as soon as he saw the dullness in his brother’s eyes and the odd colour in his fingernail beds, that he would not last much longer, no matter how optimistic the doctor and the rest of his family had been, he felt it in his heart that he had to make the most of his time with him. Sadly, he had been right, and so his family lost their second son, and Archibald lost his best friend in the world.

He decided to put his fears aside and returned to his studies, receiving his updates on Miss Wetherby through her father. It was a warm spring afternoon full of birdsong and distant, jovial chatter from the young men on the campus at Trinity College, when he learned Eleanor had drowned.

As planned, he completed his studies and was ordained into the church, but he had no faith left in his heart any more, if he had ever.

The only angel, the only saint, the only good in the world was gone forever.

Chapter Text

1791

It had been more than three weeks since Portia’s return from London, and there was no sign of Daniel. No response to the letter she sent. Life carried on in her part of the world as if nothing had changed since she left, even though she felt the world could not possibly be the same.

She almost regretted her distancing from Araminta, who was just going back to London herself. If they were in good terms she would have found a way to get her to obtain an answer. She had been considering all this since her eyes opened in the morning, unable to go back to sleep.

He had told her that he would go after her, as soon as he could. He had things to take care of before he could make the trip and talk to Mr. Weston, apparently. His eyes had been filled with certainty, no hesitation in his voice. It would be a matter of a week at most, he had told her. And she had believed him.

She didn’t know where the strength came that helped her get out of bed that morning, for she felt crushed under the weight of realization. Doubt had crept slowly in the last few days, and that morning it had become unbearable.

She was tired of guessing at the reasons for his not having come, and most of all, for his silence. She needed certainty. She needed to go back to London and see for herself. A letter would take twice the time to bring her clarity. No, she would convince her father to let her go and within a couple of days she would know, with absolute certainty.

“Miss!” She turned around to face Mrs. Varley who was looking at her, having entered her room after not receiving an answer from her. “You have not changed yet!”

Portia had lost track of time, having allowed her thoughts to wander, without noticing the day creeping in. The sky was completely grey, after all, and it had started raining at some point.

The maid hurried to her and started helping her change her clothes. Portia let herself be worked on, almost like a doll. Mrs. Varley growing more and more worried for her as her despondency was clear.

“Perhaps it is better if you rest today, Miss.” Portia just shook her head.

“No, I must go, I cannot--” She was interrupted by a commotion coming from downstairs. Both women hurried out of the room to the stairs.

Mr. Druthers was carrying Mr. Weston in his arms, dripping wet, a puddle of watery mud trailing behind him as he made his way through.

“Papa!”

“Miss, Mr. Weston has suffered a fall! My Belinda is fetching Dr. Thomas now”

“Bring him to his room, Druthers” She instructed, running to her father’s room herself and taking out a stored blanket to wrap him and help dry him up.

Mr. Druthers deposited the old man on the settee next to the bed and Mr. Weston just flinched as an indication that he had indeed suffered an injury, although it was not evident what the nature of it was.

“Oh Birdie, do not fret so, my dear!”

“Papa!” She kneeled beside him. “What has happened to you?” She could now clearly see how terribly pale he was and what a great effort he was making not to submit to the pain.

“It is nothing Dr. Thomas cannot take care of, Birdie, do not -” He had to stop, clearly a wave of unbearable pain overcoming him “do not worry your pretty head, my dear. Your silly father has taken quite a tumble in the muddy field, ended up at the bottom of a badly placed ditch” He tried to laugh but he made a terrible sound instead. “Leave us, Birdie, I need Druthers to help me out of these muddy clothes.” He waved her away. She took his hands between hers and kissed them, before getting up and leaving him.

Dr. Thomas arrived about an hour later, and determined the problem to be a broken leg. She felt some relief that it didn’t seem to be anything more serious, but the doctor’s face did not reflect the ease of good news.

“It is still a significant injury, most of all due to your father’s age, Miss Weston.” His expression was pained “I will be very frank with you, because you posses the strongest character of any young woman of my acquaintance, by far. It is very rare for a man of your father’s age to recover from a fall, particularly when a bone has been broken.”

Her heart sank “I understand, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Anything for your father, Miss Weston. He has been a true friend for more years than you’ve been on this earth” She could see a hint of tears on the doctor’s eyes. “Well, I shall be on my way now. Call for me at any hour if -” he shook his head, but she understood.

“Thank you again!”

She went into her father’s bedroom and looked at him sleep under the effect of the laudanum. His face seemed impossibly white, and for the first time she could clearly see all the signs of his advanced age. His hair now mostly white, the many wrinkles on his face, the spots on his hands and how thin and translucent the skin on them looked, allowing the veins to protrude, like the roots of ancient trees. How had she not noticed how frail he had become?

She had been dismissive of his attempts to talk about a future where he no longer was there to protect her, but it was now evident it was closer than she had ever allowed herself to believe. How could she have considered leaving him alone like that? She would have to send another letter and wait for the response, even if it took twice the time to understand what had happened to Daniel. She would not leave her father’s side in pursuit of a man that had not shown up for her.

Five more days came and went without an answer from Daniel. And on the sixth, finally a letter arrived from London, but it was from Araminta, not him.

Dearest Portia,

I am very sorry to hear about your father’s ill health, and for the way we were made to part. I do miss your company terribly, I find London even colder now that I am truly without a friend to share it with. At least I hope we can still call each other friend.

It is because I do still consider myself your friend indeed, that I hope I am not too late in communicating the following piece of news. I hesitated since I do not know if it is my place to make any assumptions, but I have made up my mind that either way, you should know that a month ago, it seems, your friend Mr. Daniel Featherington proposed to Lady Juliana Landsdowne, and they have already married last Sunday.

Do not despair, Portia, if a woman as plain and boring as Lady Juliana has managed to get married, you shall find a husband soon, if you follow my advice. Granted, she is the daughter of an Earl, but you are not without your charms, which is all a young lady truly needs to succeed.

Please give your father my well wishes for his prompt recovery.

Love, Lady Araminta Cowper.

Portia had to read the letter multiple times. They have already married! It couldn’t be. It must be the brother, Araminta got it all wrong Mr. Daniel Featherington. No, there was no confusion. A month ago. He had already proposed to Lady Juliana a month ago. Well, of course… that was surely why the younger Mr. Featherington had been summoned to London and why he had been so shocked to see her there.

It confirmed what she already suspected. Daniel had never really intended to come for her.

He had deceived her.

And she had fallen for it.

She was quickly consumed in equal parts by fury and agony at finding herself deceived so cruelly. She had let herself be fooled. He had offered her protection from humiliation only to immediately turn around and betray her, to humiliate her himself most foully.

But she could not allow herself the luxury of wallowing in self pity, now that her father had taken a turn for the worse. He grew weaker every day and his mind had started to falter, he would fluctuate in and out of consciousness and when he was conscious, he made little sense. He did not eat or even drink enough and she could see him slipping further and further away from her, until one night Mrs. Druthers woke her up. She didn’t have to say a word, the housekeeper’s face was tear-stained and her lips trembled.

“What is it?” She asked from the chair next to his bed. But she knew the answer even before turning to look at him.

“He has left us, Miss” She responded, giving Portia the permission she needed to finally break down in a million little pieces, engulfed by the most terrible current of emotion, an insurmountable, unabatable grief.

***

It had been a gruesome endeavour to take care of her father’s final affairs. The funeral arrangements, the burial. And now the legal matters and the settling of accounts, which she had never prepared herself for. She had been listening to the solicitor for a good half an hour, unable to make much sense of most of it.

It all seemed to boil down to her father having deposited his faith in a man who turned out to be a fraud and had made away with most of his funds. A bad investment at best, her father had found himself forced to borrow money to make up for his losses and keep Greenfinch up. That had been the business that had taken them so unexpectedly and in such a hurry to London. And through it all, he never thought of informing his daughter of any of it, sending her to try and find a husband instead. Pride, most likely, had prevented him from revealing to her the true state of their accounts.

“I do not understand how any of this is possible, Mr. Barnes. My father was extremely careful with money”

The man looked at her with little more than pity. “I will leave the books here so you can review them yourself later, at your leisure.” The man turned around the number filled ledger so that she might inspect it herself. “Now, luckily, you do have to your name an amount that was set aside on your parent’s marriage settlement. Currently...” He referenced a couple of pieces of paper and made some calculations on another “That comes up to two hundred pounds per annum. It is a decent sum, but I am afraid that with the current state of affairs, it means you will have to make adjustments so you can live comfortably within your true means”

“My true means?” She was trying to make calculations in her mind as they talked, but it had never been her strongest suit.

“I advise you to economize so that you can live in comfort. Currently Greenfinch’s expenses far exceed its income, what with the money lost and the accumulated debts... I suggest you try to let Greenfinch and retire yourself to a smaller accommodation where you might not need as many servants.”

A wave of despair spread through her, fully comprehending the inadequacy of her education. Men were sent to schools for years to learn about these things, did they not? She understood the arithmetic of it all, of course, but how to make the numbers improve without retrenching was beyond her capabilities.

She knew full well the expenses of the house -she was after all, its mistress. But she had no clue as to how the money was actually made, and her father never thought of educating her on that subject. She hadn’t ever asked or been curious about any of it. She had been perfectly content in her little life with her father, safe in the knowledge that he cared for her and that she had a sum secured as an inheritance. She had not been aware her inheritance was so meagre.

She waited until the solicitor was gone and she was in the privacy of her own room to lose her composure. When Mrs. Varley entered, her hands were covering her face, pressing on her eyes, trying to stave off yet another crying spell. She was sick of all the crying. She lowered her hands and took a deep breath, still trying to get a hold of herself, she brought a fisted hand to cover her mouth, casting a side glance to the maid.

“Even my father failed me, Varley.” She shook her head as her attempt proved futile and tears once more filled her itching eyes.

“How do you figure, Miss?” The maid was concerned.

“I am found to be near destitution. I cannot even afford to live in my own home any more! Oh, Valery, I should have never gone to London!” her left hand covered her right fist, close to her chest.

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with what happened to your father, Miss. And as for the other affliction of yours, it is a good thing at least that you learned the truth before you went and ruined yourself for that man” Varley made the word man sound like the most bitter insult.

Portia’s face looked like she had tasted the bitterness of the insult and her jaw began to tremble.

“Oh, miss!” Instant understanding worried Varley’s face “Oh, miss, you did not!”

Portia let herself fall forward into the bed, and hid her face into the pillows. “I have been such an idiot! I have truly lost all”

“Not everything is lost, miss. You can still get yourself a husband”

She scoffed “Why would I want a husband of all things? I am done with men and their deceptions.”

“Well” Mrs. Varley started thinking as she paced around the room “Did you ask about your dowry, miss? You might have some additional money there. And of course…” She looked at her, assessing her every feature. “well, miss, there is the matter of -” She inhaled deeply and decided to just say it plainly, as one decides to jump into cold water after trying to just dip a foot and finds it unbearable “If you really… you might be with child!”

Portia’s eyes widened and all colour rushed from her face, her hands flew to cover her mouth.

“We only kissed!”

“Oh, thank the Lord! You had me truly worried for a good minute, Miss. That is not quite ruinous. Did anyone see you?”

“No, I don’t think so”

“No real harm done, then.” She took pity on the sad look her mistress gave her. “I know you fine young ladies are taught to avoid any sort of touch from a man and they tell you it will be your ruin, but… unless someone saw you kissing, there is no way anyone can tell you have done it.”

Portia was looking at her filled with confusion, so Varley decided it was time someone educated the poor girl, and the task had apparently fallen to her. She was not paid enough, she thought.

***

Lady Featherington had summoned Archibald with great urgency, which he took extremely seriously since the summons got to him with the first light of day. He was thus very surprised, on his arrival, to find a very discomposed Lady Juliana seeking comfort in his mothers’ arms. He feared the worst.

“Has something happened to Daniel?” His heart was racing.

“Ah, good! You are here at last. Please Juliana, get a hold of yourself.” Lady Featherington scolded the young woman who was crying in a very noisy manner that made Archibald question how genuine her feelings really were “We’ll make this right. Archibald, come with me.”

Not dead then, that was certainly a relief.

She incorporated, leaving a sobbing, red-eyed Juliana looking entirely discomposed. Archibald gave her sister in law what he hoped was a reassuring nod before following his mother out into the corridor and into the study across the hall.

“Close the door” She instructed and he complied, still extremely concerned. “You surely remember the Weston girl?”

“Of course. What about her?” Now he had an idea of what the trouble might be.

“Her father has passed away.” She said this without an iota of emotion in her voice and a wave of her hand, as if she had just mentioned there was no rain after looking through the window on a sunny day.

“Oh, that’s--” He, in contrast, was genuinely sad to hear about it. They seemed like good people, after all.

“Unimportant. The problem is that your brother, as a mad man, has rushed to her side in her time of need.” She said bitterly. “You must go after him at once and bring him back immediately, before it becomes public knowledge.”

He frowned, upset “Surely you have other people in your employ that you can entrust with such a mission? I am not my brother’s nanny, mother! I do have my own responsibilities to tend to”

“Oh, Archibald!” She said, full of reproach “No responsibility is higher than that which you owe this family. You know we cannot trust anyone not to talk about these things. It must be you. We are wasting precious time now, he left for Faversham last night.”

“And what terrible harm do you expect to be brought by his attending an acquaintance’s funeral? Surely no scandal can descend upon us from him just travelling there.”

“I cannot believe you are so naive!” her hands flew above her head, turning her sight away from her son.

“It is just him doing an unusually decent thing for once, as far as other people know, at least.” he tried to reason.

“So you must follow him to ensure that is all he does and nothing more.”

“If you think him so determined, what makes you think he will listen to me? I did warn him against this very thing before, to no effect, it seems.”

He was looking at her defiantly so she reminded him “The Wrotham living you’re so eagerly waiting for can be bestowed into any number of clergymen, my dear. Being a part of this family is what has made you worthy of it, nothing more.”

This wounded his pride so he left the study immediately, almost running into Juliana when he opened the door – she was on her way to keep pestering her mother in law, apparently. He stepped back to let her into the room.

“Archibald!” his mother barked, making him turn to look at her. “Since you are already here. You have a letter from Miss Lawson.” She said her name disapprovingly.

His eyes softened and he came back into the room. Lady Featherington opened a drawer on a side table and took the letter out.

“I do not know what she might want from you after all these years, but you should be very careful. I have enough dealing with your brother.”

“I assure you I have no idea what this could be about, either, mama. But it is nothing sordid, I can assure you.” He almost felt bad for Juliana having to hear the exchange.

He opened the rather heavy letter and discovered it contained another. Miss Lawson’s read:

Dear Mr. Featherington,

I hope you can forgive me for taking the liberty to write to you directly, but it is of the utmost importance to me that you got the enclosed letter as soon as possible, seen as too many years have already passed since it was likely written. It has been unfortunately lost all this time, and just recently recovered from dearest Eleanor’s dressing table. It has only now made it’s way to me as the table has been given to me as an engagement present by Mrs. Wetherby. I assure you it has never been opened or read by anyone – I am sending it to you as I have found it, between two drawers.

I hope I am doing right by dear Eleanor and help her soul rest in peace.

Your friend, Meredith Lawson.

His face lighted up with some kind of hope, although it was unclear to him exactly what it was that he hoped for. But the existence of such a letter meant that Eleanor had thought of him at the very least.

He opened Eleanor’s letter, not willing to wait a second longer, even if he would have rather read it in private.

Dearest Mr. Featherington,

I must free you from any doubts or concerns you may have regarding my person and my attitude towards you after the ball. I will be blunt, because after today I will have no more reason to worry about any of it any longer, I will be free from the burden, from the shame I have carried since that horrible night.

First I want to assure you that my feelings for you were – still are- true and of the strongest nature, and this very fact was used against me. I was deceived into thinking I was meeting you, as we had agreed, when in truth I found a much more terrible fate at the hand of a bribed maid. I was no longer worthy of you after that and the unbearable weight of shame prevented me from disclosing any of what happened.

I can hardly forgive myself for falling into that trap, and ruining our chance at happiness any more than I can forgive myself for bringing this pain to you now. I hope that having this truth revealed will help you have a little compassion and forgive me for what I must do.

Yours,

Eleanor W.

He felt ill. It was a terrible nightmare. Every light seemed snuffed, a heavy blackness engulfing him completely, making him dizzy, his stomach turning. The image of the woman running, running away through the dark corridor and then – him. Daniel emerging into the corridor, without a worry in his face, as if it were all well with the world. And his words echoing in his mind “Why, Archie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“By God, Archibald, what is it?” Lady Featherington worried at the altered expression in her son’s face.

He exited the room in a hurry, her mother calling behind him.

“Archibald!”

“I am not wasting any more time, I am going after him, isn’t that what you want?” he barked back at her, taking her by surprise.

“We’ll prepare the carriage, then” Her tone was almost meek now.

He shook his head “I’ll ride.” He wouldn’t be able to stand being caged inside of a carriage.

“Aren’t you taking anything, have you gone mad?”

“I have all I need on me.”

He left in a huff, leaving behind a baffled Lady Featherington, who was left probably thinking that Archibald’s reaction meant that Daniel had managed to aggravate yet another woman.

Chapter Text

1791

It was arranged for Portia to move in with her father’s sister, Miss Petunia Weston. It was not a happy situation, for her aunt was not particularly wealthy herself, some of her own income had depended on her late brother, so she was not in a much better situation as Portia herself, but she was frugal and unafraid of putting in some of her own work to save a shilling. The house she lived in was but a small cottage that could not compare to Greenfinch hall at all. Portia would be reduced from Mistress of her own household to a mere companion for an old spinster, relegated to spend her days in abject obscurity.

But it was to be temporary, or at least she kept telling herself that. She would have to let Greenfinch and economize until she could go back.

Aunt Petunia had arrived for the funeral and would be taking her along to Barnsley as soon as they were done with all necessary arrangements. Portia had been busy the last couple of days selecting what items needed to be sent into storage and which could remain, under dust covers, for whoever ended up letting the place to enjoy. What she could carry along with her would be minimal.

She was descending the stairs slowly, as if she needed a moment with each step, her hand caressing the wooden rail, trying to commit the feel of it to memory.

“Portia, my dear, it is only things you are leaving here, please do not mourn them like you do your father.” The spry old woman left a bundle of books she had been carrying on a table and reached out to take her niece’s hands as she came down into the foyer.

“It is the home my father built, aunt Petunia, it is not just a collection of things. It’s our life together that I am packing away.” She felt like a plant that was being ripped from the ground and expected to be transplanted without any care for its roots.

“Oh, my dear. You father will always be with you, in your heart and your memories. That cannot be taken away from you by any means.” Her aunt caressed her cheek with her strong, rough hand.

“I am leaving dear people behind as well!” She could not help the tears and the accompanying grimace that contorted her lips.

“Ah, that is indeed sad, but it is unavoidable with life, my dear, that we have to part with our friends and family at one point or another.” Her right hand pressed hers, trying to comfort her. “I’ll tell you what. You may bring a maid with you, as long as you can afford her salary yourself.”

“Really?"

“Yes, provided one is willing to go with you. It is a long journey, my dear. I had been thinking of dismissing Daisy already. She thinks I don’t notice, but I know she steals from me.”

“Oh. Well, I will ask Mrs. Varley if she would be willing. Mr. and Mrs. Druthers would not be separated and we need them here, anyway. Thank you, aunt Petunia!”

“Very well. Let us keep working then, I would like to be done and ready this week.”

Portia nodded and with a hopeful smile went looking for Mrs. Varley. She had to ask Mrs. Druthers at the end, because she was nowhere to be found.

“She’s gone to town to get some things your Aunt asked for, Miss.” Mrs. Druthers said as she cleared some of the sweat off her forehead with her free hand, the other carrying wood for the stove.

“Why didn’t Mr. Druthers take the gig?” Portia threw her hands as if nothing made sense in the world any more.

“Your aunt said he needed him here to move the furniture” Mrs. Druthers seemed to be losing the fight against the sweat that kept its way down into her eyes, having to squint at her mistress as she responded.

Portia was truly bothered by this “What furniture?”

“The… furniture that will be sold, Miss” The maid shook her head trying to convey to her mistress just how little she really cared about the matter without causing too much offence.

“What?” She was bewildered. Her aunt had been making arrangements without bothering to consult her. She stormed out of the kitchen, stopping only to get her bonnet on to leave the house in search of Mrs. Varley.

She could do with the fresh air and had decided she could not wait to ask Mrs. Varley if she would be willing to accompany her to Barnsley. In all honesty, what she could not wait for, was to be far from her aunt directing her life around, as she had been doing ever since she set foot at Greenfinch.

Aunt Petunia was not cruel, but she didn’t seem to think grief was a good enough excuse to sit down and sigh when there was work to be done. And she had no hesitation dictating what work it was that needed doing, by whom and how it needed to be done. Portia could only hope that she would soon learn to accept the absolute loss of control that her newfound circumstances had brought her.

She was slowing down her pace, starting to regret venturing out, as it was becoming evident that rain was expected at any moment, when she heard noises coming from beyond the trees that lined the road on the east side. She stopped as it sounded like a woman in distress, so she climbed through, and between the branches she made out what she thought a familiar figure.

“Mrs. Varley?” The sound of her voice was still in the air when she saw her fall to the ground, covering her head with her arm, while a large man prepared for another blow. “STOP THIS INSTANT!” Portia Shrieked, breaking a path through the plants that blocked her way.

The man turned to face her, his face discomposed as he was clearly inebriated, his shirt undone, clearly stained by something she did not care to guess about. The man’s features contracted horribly as he made out who it was that dared yell at him.

“And who’re ya, to intrpt-- intrupt me, when am dealin w’my wife?” He slurred, and precariously stepped towards her.

Portia froze and exchanged glances with Mrs. Varley, who was horrified at seeing her there “Go away, miss! Run!” Portia noticed the maid’s face was bruised red and her lip bloody.

“I kno, who yar. Yar not the...boss here, mam” He moved more quickly than before and reached Portia, grabbing her by the shoulders. The stench of his breath making her stomach turn. He threw her to the ground and was getting ready to kick at her when Mrs. Varley hit him on the head with a heavy stone, making him bellow. Enraged, he turned and swat his arm trying to take the stone from Mrs. Varley’s hands, while Portia scrambled back to her feet. All she could think to do was to push him, which made him tumble and fall forwards. As he tried to get back up, Mrs. Varley hit him on the head with the stone once more, Portia flinched and turned around to hide her face in her hands, as there was blood coming out of the wound it left in his head. He fell down hard again, hitting his head against the hard ground.

As silence fell upon them, Portia turned around to find Mrs. Varley standing immobile, still holding the stone up as if she were expecting having to use it once more.

“Varley” She said softly “Varley, it’s alright, I don’t think” She whimpered “I don’t think he can hurt us now” Mrs. Varley was transfixed, but slowly lowered her arms and let go of the blood covered stone, which fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Portia moved slowly towards the maid, who then looked at her and let out a wail that had been stuck in her chest, her body visibly shaking, uncontrollable sobs making her convulse, a mess of tears on her badly hurt face. Portia reached out and embraced her, glancing towards the man, who lay completely still.

Mrs. Varley shook her head, trying to understand what had just happened.

“He was going to kill me, miss! I don’t know how he found me...” She touched her face, which throbbed painfully. “Soon as I saw him I knew I was as well as dead. You’ve saved me, Miss!”

“Varley, I… you saved me, too.”

“I’ve killed him!” Her eyes seemed about to come out of her face, so wide they were open, her mouth agape.

“We did” Portia had trouble swallowing.

“No, miss. You weren’t even here.” Varley shook her head, looking sternly at her.

“Neither of us were here, then.” She stood tall and held Varley’s hands on her own “I went out looking for you, but to my surprise I found you had taken a bad fall somewhere up the road.” Her mind was racing, as was the blood in her veins “You fell down because some… vermin scared you and you lost your balance. So you hit your face, and I dirtied myself retrieving you. You never made it this far after you left Greenfinch.”

“They will find out the truth” Worry washed over the maid’s face.

“At least it will take them longer to find us in Barnsley. We must truly hurry now, aunt Petunia will be glad for that, at least.”

“Will you take me with you, miss?” Something very much like hope shone in her eyes.

Portia nodded “That is why I am out here. I was looking for you, to tell you the news.” She had to wipe her face with the back of her hand, as it was wet with her tears. “At least I don’t have to explain my crying, I haven’t stopped for days so it won’t cause alarm.” She let out a miserable laugh.“Let’s go then.” She didn’t let go of Varley’s hand, feeling she needed to lead her, lest she would remain affixed in place forever.

They made their way back to Greenfinch in silence, without letting go of each other. They went around the garden to enter through the kitchen. It was empty, so Portia took the opportunity and located a bottle of brandy she knew the Druthers kept there in supposed secret.

She directed Varley to sit down and poured two glasses of the liquor, downing hers in a single motion. She then proceeded to boil some water and served herself another drink while they waited. They were sitting there, with the bottle in front of them in utter silence, waiting for the boiled water to cool down when Mrs. Druthers came in.

Portia proceeded to tell her how they needed to tend to Varley’s fall-induced injuries and how the fright had made them deserving of the liquor. Mrs. Druthers agreed, but quickly added. “I will take care of Mrs. Varley, Miss. You should go get some rest, you look frightfully unwell, if you don’t mind me saying it.”

As if conjured by those words, Portia then felt the hit of the liquor’s effects and the stress she had gone through mixing in a very bad manner inside her stomach. “You might be right, I am...” She closed her eyes, fighting the nausea, but she had to get up quickly and reach for a bucket, as she lost her stomach’s contents.

“Oh, dear heaven, Miss!”

“I am fine! I am fine now.” Mrs. Varley looked even more distressed now. “Please let aunt Petunia know I will be in my room.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Druthers.” She exchanged what she hoped to be a reassuring look with Mrs. Varley, grabbing and pressing her shoulder encouragingly before leaving the kitchen.

She collapsed into her bed, but as excessively tired as she was, the little sleep she got was fitful, filled with nightmares, and every time she tried to go back to sleep, the image of the man lying on the ground and the bleeding wound assaulted her, as did the memory of his foul smell and his beady, wet eyes staring at her full of madness. It wasn’t until the early signs of dawn showed through the gap in the window covers that she was finally able to fall into a deep sleep.

“Are you feeling any better today, dear?” Aunt Petunia reached out to touch her niece’s forehead. “You do look too pale still, but I do not think you have a fever. I think you only need food and rest.”

“What time is it?” She could not tell. Her mind felt too confused, and waking to her aunt being worried about her health did seem too much like a dream still.

“Never mind the time, you should rest. I am off to church, but do not worry, you can stay in bed a little longer. I do not like how very pale you are. You should know, I’ve let Mrs. Varley take the day off on account of her injuries. I will ask Mrs. Druthers to bring you something to eat and she can help you dress, when you feel ready.”

Portia nodded tiredly from the bed and found out she had a terrible headache. If her aunt said anything else, she couldn’t hear it, because she fell asleep again and when she regained consciousness Petunia was gone, and a tray with buttered bread and tea had appeared. She decided to get out of bed, and after dressing up on her own, went down stairs, leaving the tray untouched.

She was at the last landing of the stairs when she heard someone walking in.

“I hope you don’t mind I have let myself in” He said, pointing at the door as if she had asked him how he got in, even though the door was clearly open behind him.

Something odd happened inside of her. A few weeks ago she would have shouted at him, let her anger take over her. But in that moment, she felt incredibly calm and steady. Even though her skin felt ablaze, her blood felt cold and there was no fluttering in her stomach, no crush in her heart and her lungs were simply breathing in and out with great ease.

He did not say anything else, simply stood there, looking at her as if his feet were glued to the floor and waiting for her to reach him. But she did not walk towards him, she turned the opposite way and into her father’s study, and he had to follow her.

The room was almost bare except for the old desk, the great window without any coverings and letting in a blinding amount of bright light, as the sunlight was strong even though the sky was covered with clouds. As she stood against the window in her black mourning dress, she seemed to glow, like a dark angel.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Featherington? Have you come to gloat, to enjoy looking at me, broken?” The truth was that she did not look the part. She stood with her head high, never had she seemed to him as tall and strong. “Have you come looking for my head to hang in your wall of conquests?” Her words were cutting like shards of broken glass and just as cold, a cruel smile on her face that he had never seen before.

His eyes were soft and pained, he crossed the room in swift strides to take her face into his palm “I have come for you, my love.”

She recoiled from his touch and scoffed “Love? You can stop pretending now, Mr. Featherington! Haven’t you done enough? You have had enough fun at my expense already.” Her words were drenched in disdain “I must ask you to leave me in peace so that I can continue with the ruin that has become my life!” She moved around the desk to open the window door behind it “You may leave through the garden and we will pray no one sees you.” He followed her, and thinking he would follow her instructions, she started on her way to the interior door, but he caught her arms, his grip too strong to fight.

“Oh, but I do love you my dearest, I do! The fire that you have lit in my heart consumes me from within. You’re a vision that does not leave me, haunting my dreams and my thoughts. You are the very air that I breathe… but a man must live on more than air my bird, you must understand.”

All her haughtiness crumbled and was replaced instead by sheer loathing directed at him, her eyes full of rage. “I most certainly do not! How can you talk about love when you have come to me a married man? When you have made your wedding vows to another?” She tried to get free of his hold, but he only dug in, hurting her. She tried not to flinch and give him the satisfaction.

“It matters not, we can still be together!”

“WHAT?” She could not believe what she was hearing. She had, however briefly, entertained thoughts of their wedding, of their life together, the possibility of children. She had mourned the loss of these possibilities when she learned of his marriage, and here he was spitting on their grave now, in her father’s home.

“Oh, I hesitated, my bird, do not think any of this has been easy for me. And do not think me rash and impulsive, I have been gathering my courage since my arrival yesterday – I walked here today from the town just to give myself time, but I never turned back, because I am entirely certain. You can come with me to Sevenoaks, we’ll set you up in a house and you will be its sole mistress. And I will come visit you often. Juliana despises the country, she will not be a problem for us.”

“Are you out of your mind? Do you think I would debase myself to be your mistress? Do you really think so little of me, so undeserving am I?” Oh, how many times would he stomp on her dignity?

“What other option do you have, Birdie? Honestly! I know you love me. You need me like no other creature ever could. You cannot belong to any other. You are as well as destitute now, with your father gone. You’ll be forced into irrelevance in a town of no consequence, become a sad spinster caring for another. I can offer you so much more than that!” He took a couple of steps forward, forcing her backwards into the corner formed by the desk and the wall. “You need me, and I can take care of you."

Her mouth was open in utter shock at hearing him speak, unbelieving. “I can still marry a decent man” She said defiantly, but was visibly shaking, her strength reduced. He took advantage of her wavering, putting his hand at her waist, limiting her ability to move away from him even further.

“Marry who exactly, my dear? Who would take you now, ruined as you are, mine as you are.” He kissed her neck as she struggled to get away.

“Stop!” She was battling both him and the tears forming, stinging her eyes. Damn tears! She was tired sick of them, but her body seemed unwilling to keep them inside, as if they were poison that needed to be taken out.

“Who would enjoy you more than I?” His lips moved through her jawline. “I love you as you are, even if you’re far long from a fresh eyed debutante any more. Who could want to marry you in such a state, my silly bird, but me?” His teeth grazed her collarbone, his left hand grabbing greedily at her as she tried to push him off, but he kept pressing her against the wall “You have no other options, Miss Weston”

How could she have been so stupid, to have ever thought him a worthy man? How had she even considered spending her life with someone capable of such cruelty towards her?

“Please stop. Please go away!” She tried pushing him off again, but she was no match for the force he was using, his full weight trapping her against the wall “I rather rot in a poor house!” He captured both her hands on his and she tried kicking at him but he didn’t seem to mind and she grew weaker every second.

“Stop fighting it, Birdie, we are meant to be--”

She was about to call for Mrs. Druthers, when someone else shouted instead

“LET GO OF HER!” Archibald burst into the room, overflowing with rage, spilling from a deep well of loathing and sheer hatred that had grown inside him with each stride of his horse, and had become uncontainable as he overheard them from the corridor. He forcibly pulled Daniel off of Portia.

“Archibald! What the devil are you--” Archibald struck his brother in the face, throwing him off balance, then punched him once more in the stomach, making him fall down.

“Do not believe yourself at his mercy, Miss Weston. I will make this right.” His eyes then turned, filled of fury towards Daniel, whose face seemed to reflect a thousand different emotions in a few seconds, from shock at being discovered to sheer, unfettered anger.

“You have no business here, Archibald!”

Portia was frozen in place. Utterly ashamed that she had been found in such a terrible situation, and astounded by Archibald’s words. Her eyes lingered uncomprehending on him, all she could see in his face was a stone hard resolution. Her eyes glided cautiously over to Daniel, who seemed full of violent rage now and was preparing to stand up.

“You must know there is no earthly reason why you should endure this kind of maltreatment from this monster that calls himself my brother.”

Daniel found he was too dizzy from the blow to stand. It was as if this man talking to Portia was some stranger and not the meek and gentle brother he had grown up with.

Archibald gestured to her and waited for Portia to leave the room before addressing his brother once more.

“You are a scoundrel of the lowest nature! You make me sick, Daniel!”

“Why, Archibald, because I do not hesitate like you, to grab what is mine?” He said as he cleaned what he was surprised to see as his own blood, from his nose “That is what makes you a loser -”

“I know what you did to Eleanor!” He cried, furiously, making Daniel freeze with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. “You cannot even deny it any more” Archibald’s face was filled with disgust.

And then an odd transformation happened in front of his eyes. Daniel suddenly seemed calm, the intensity of the moment completely shed from his person.

“I am tired of repeating myself. I did not have anything to do with whatever happened to Miss Wetherby. But let me tell you something, since we are being sincere- I told you that you wouldn’t propose to her, didn’t I? But you never listen to me. You are always so sure of everything and yet… you always fail at taking action. If you don’t cage your birds they will keep flying away.”

But they had not flown away, had they? They died. The little bird that he had befriended as a child, and Eleanor, they died. He felt sick thinking of the innocent creature, whose only mistake had been getting close to him.

“Will you not rest until you have taken everything I love from me, Daniel? Why…?” He could not comprehend how it was possible that his own brother seemed to hate him. True, terrible hate that sought to destroy, to annihilate.

“It is not my fault that she was so feeble minded, Archie. I did not push her into the ocean!” He pulled on his sleeve to set it right as he said this, in an insultingly casual manner, as if he were talking about the weather.

“You are a monster.”

“Believe what you may, but at least you should have learned already to heed my warnings and take my advise. You will stay away from us. Miss Weston is mine and no matter what you do, that will never change. Spare yourself a world of misery, little brother.”

Archibald had never been more sure of anything in his life, he would marry Miss Weston, even if it meant the world would burn around him. It was the only possible revenge, to take her from Daniel just as he had taken Eleanor from him.

“What power do you think you possess over me? You seem to forget, brother, that at this time, you depend on the generosity of others for your living. Oh, I wonder, how will you manage without our father’s money? Will Juliana’s father grant you some stipend, or does he already? They turned out to be smarter than you thought didn’t they?”

“A lot can happen in a year, Archibald.”

“Go back to your wife, before I--” He heard something outside and put his index to his lips to ask Daniel to be quiet. He was surprised he cooperated, but even he could see it would be a terrible situation to find himself caught by someone else.

Portia had exited the room calmly, without saying a word. She had closed the door behind her but instead of fleeing, she had just stood there, resting against the solid wood. She could hear them still arguing on the other side, but she could not find the strength to move away for what felt to her was an eternity.

As if in a trance, she started walking towards the stairs, but she had forgotten that the front door had been left open. She hadn’t even cared to think about how Archibald had got in but it was clear now, as the three women entered through that same door, that had been left ajar in a rush.

“Portia dear, why is the door open and whose horse is it outside? Where is Mrs. Druthers?” Aunt Petunia asked, a whirl of confusion, as she let Lady Cowper and Mrs. Rockwell in, and before finally settling her eyesight on her niece, truly taking in the state of her.

Portia felt frozen. She was startled and her first instinct was to assess if they had seen or heard anything, to ascertain if from where they stood they could see into the study, then reassured herself that she had closed the door and the risk was they would overhear the men arguing inside. At any length there was no possibility of them not being aware that she had not been alone in there, there was no other explanation for Mr. Featherington’s horse to be waiting for him outside.

“Portia, is everything alright dear?” Her aunt asked, her eyes travelling from the mess of her hair, to her askew kerchief revealing red marks on the skin it should have been covering, and finally landing on the study’s door, full of suspicion.

“Yes, I…” She found it impossible to prevent her lower lip from trembling, and then there was the clear sound of movement in the room.

“Is there someone in the study, dear? I thought it was already emptied”

Portia’s breath hitched. She could not think of anything. Her mind was too filled with the violence of the past day and she could not come up with a new lie quick enough. Why had she chosen to go into the study instead of outside, where he surely would not have felt as emboldened? If she had had any strength left she would have laughed when she recognized she had gone in there because that was where her father would have been. She had gone in there looking for safety, by mere instinct, and had found the opposite.

Archibald emerged from the study in that moment, carefully closing the door behind him. 

“My apologies, ladies, I think I have distracted Miss Weston from tending to her guests.”

Portia turned, horrified, failing to understand what could have driven him to come out and show himself in this manner, saying something damning like that.

“Well, that is evident, Sir!” Araminta had a venomous smirk on her face that did not go unnoticed by Archibald nor by Portia. Mrs. Rockwell’s eyes travelled full of accusation between the flush-faced stranger and their dishevelled young friend.

“Mr. Featherington, you know Lady Cowper, of course” Said Portia, listlessly. “This is Mrs. Rockwell, our neighbour. And this is my aunt, Miss Petunia Weston”

He bowed “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Weston.”

“Is that what you were doing in the study, Mr. Featherington, paying your respects to Miss Portia?” said Araminta. Portia was too tired to care in that moment. For all she knew Araminta thought she was doing her friend a favour, helping her entrap a gentleman.

Archibald seemed alarmed for a second, but he looked at Portia and, full of resolution said “I have asked Miss Portia for her hand in marriage, Miss Weston, if she’ll have me and if you approve, of course.”

Mrs. Druthers, who just came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron let out a little gasp and took her hands to cover her mouth, she wanted to avoid drawing too much attention to how she had a house full of people she had not let in herself.

Mrs. Rockwell’s full, open mouthed smile showed just how excited she was at the prospect of sharing this news with everyone who would listen to her. Araminta smiled with the self satisfaction of someone that believes they know more than everyone around them, while Petunia was taken aback, having had no reason to expect this development. She turned to her niece, who looked like she was about to throw out the contents of her stomach once again.

“Well, Sir, that is entirely in my niece’s hands, of course. She is a grown woman and I hardly know you”

This irritated Archibald. Yes, she was a grown woman, but shouldn’t her family do a modicum of research into a man intending to marry her before letting her go through with it?

“I will await for your decision, then, Miss.” He made a point of looking at his empty hands and said “I seem to have left my hat in there, if you’ll excuse me.”

When he went back into the study he found the window’s door fully open, and no sign of Daniel, which made him despise him even more. Even though it was for the best that he wasn’t seen, he still could not stop himself from muttering “Damn coward!” before picking up his hat.

***

After Archibald left, Portia excused herself, apologizing to Araminta and Mrs. Rockwell that she would not be able to entertain them, since she had had too exciting a day already and was feeling unwell. The women of course thought she was referring to the proposal being too exciting an event, but Araminta still threatened to come back the next day.

Before leaving, Araminta took her aside “I do regret the way we parted before, Portia, and I am sorry that I couldn’t come earlier to support you after your father’s passing. You are my oldest, dearest friend, and I do not want to lose you.”

Portia managed a weak smile and nodded.

“And now you are to be wed!” She cupped her own face in her hands, as if this were the happiest of news, a dream come true!

“I cannot think about that now, Araminta.” She truly felt like no additional thought could be held inside her head, already much too filled with a painful blackness that did not allow for any light to shine through.

“Well, of course not, you are in mourning. But still, something to look forward to.” She smiled piously.

“We can talk later”

“Of course, you need to rest dear, you look awful, if you don’t mind my saying it.” She grimaced.

Portia shook her head “I know I do.”

“I will be back tomorrow, and you’ll tell me every detail.”

Mrs. Rockwell simply said goodbye, not promising to be back herself, obviously unable to wait any longer to go spread the news of the proposal and the circumstances she had witnessed.

And then she was left alone with her aunt.

“Why hadn’t I ever heard about this suitor of yours until today, Portia?” She asked, almost accusingly.

“It was quite unexpected. I had no idea that he would… he wasn’t a suitor.”

Her aunt’s face seemed to contract with worry “Portia, did something else happen in that study with that man? You must tell me if he...”

“No! I just… I wasn’t expecting it. I need to think about it.”

“Well, I am afraid there is nothing to think about, dearest. The fact is that you were seen leaving a room where you had obviously been on your own with that man, looking frightfully dishevelled. And those friends of yours, I wouldn’t trust them to be discreet. In fact I wouldn’t call them your friends at all, that Lady Cowper was all too pleased trapping you with her insinuations.”

“Dear aunt, please, all I want to do right now is go back to rest, I should not have left the bed today. I am simply overwhelmed, I shall think about all of this tomorrow.”

“Go on, then. You must eat something more than a bite, Portia, you have not had a proper meal since I arrived, and Mrs. Druthers told me that has been the case since your father fell ill. We cannot have you wasting away and falling ill yourself. If you still choose to go home with me, I will need you strong and healthy.”

She simply nodded and was finally free to go upstairs.

Mrs. Varley was waiting for her in her room, her whole self a knot of worry.

“I saw him, Miss! I saw him leaving through the garden, the bloody scoundrel! Are you well?”

“Do you think anyone else saw him?”

“No, I think not. Mrs. Druthers was starting lunch and Mr. Druthers just came back from taking your aunt to church. Are you alright?”

She broke down yet again “I am not.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help you!” her hands were wringing close to her heart.

“I can really use a true friend, Varley.” She felt like she was drowning in the freezing waters of the Acheron, unable to fight the current to stay afloat.

“That I can do, Miss.”

Chapter Text

1817

It was one of those rooms – darker than the rest of the house, full of old books that have sat abandoned for too long to collect dust, and where the smell of leather and cigar-smoke-impregnated walls make it evident, without a shadow of a doubt, than a man occupied them. In this particular room there was an impossible hint of brandy that came from nowhere apparent, which made it even clearer that it was Archibald Featherington’s study.

Colin Bridgerton had spent most of his afternoon painstakingly reviewing every book and every piece of parchment in there, to make sure it didn’t contain important information regarding the Featherington estate. It was a task that he had been postponing as other, more pressing matters occupied most of his days. Matters such as actually paying the estate’s many debts, managing what remained of it, and his own writing, of course.

He had found some figures noted down in some papers with some names that he put aside to further investigate, as it was not specified anywhere if they were money to be claimed or even more debts to be paid. Maybe neither, maybe they weren’t even about money at all. Archibald was not a man for numbers and even less for managing any kind of affairs, that much he had come to learn since he had been appointed as head of the estate until his son’s coming of age.

Archibald’s note taking seemed to rely on word association more than concrete, specific information. Colin was surprised most of the books in the study were about philosophy, history and poetry, most of them showing signs of having been in constant use, maybe for reference. Many pages having been dog-eared or bookmarked with random pieces of fabric, string or parchment, and multiple passages in each marked neatly, with little notes scribbled in the margins.

After several hours of applying himself to this task, he had not found much of what he had initially hoped for, but did come across bundle of sheets containing what appeared to be essays or perhaps the workings of a book, and a small box containing what he discovered were the most personal items in the collection.

The box contained a book of poetry, some personal letters from a Mr. Wetherby and other things that might be tokens of sentimental value. More out of duty than interest he opened the poetry book and found a letter in it, marking a page. He opened the letter as he had every other he had found, and not a minute later he found himself making his way to the library in search of his wife, book and letter in hand.

“Pen, I have something you’ll want to see” he said as he entered, closing the door behind him.

She was writing and so she did not look up “Colin, I swear if this is another one of your…”

“I’m quite serious Penelope, you must read this.” She looked at his face first and then at the book he was showing her as if it was a novelty.

“The Poetical works of Mr. Samuel Daniel...? You want to read poetry right now?” She jested.

“No, look!” He said, going around the desk to crouch at her side. He opened the book where there was a letter, apparently serving as a bookmark. Not that it needed one, the book was very well worn, it fell completely flat when opened, the seams of the binding fully in view. “You must read this letter. I found this tucked away in a box in the study, along with other things of your father’s. I did not wish to pry, but I needed to make sure it wasn’t something pertaining the estate, so I read some of it and, well, I couldn’t stop. I am sorry for the intrusion.”

Penelope grew curious and carefully unfolded the parchment, which was even worse for wear than the book. Her eyes grew wider as she kept reading, filling up for words that had been worn off where there were fold lines or stains from some liquid – tea, liquor… tears? She finally looked at Colin, alarmed.

“What do you think happened to this woman?” She asked him “Eleanor W.”

“It doesn’t sound like anything good. Did you notice what’s on that page?”

It seemed the letter had been marking the last verses of the song of the first chorus from Hymen’s Triumph, the page bearing similar stains as the letter.

Love is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing:

A plant that with most cutting grows,

Most barren with best using.

Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies;

If not enjoy’d, it sighing cries,

Heigh ho!

Love is a torment of the mind,

A tempest everlasting;

And Jove hath made it of a kind

Not well, not full, nor fasting.

Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies;

If not enjoy’d, it sighing cries,

Heigh ho!

“I do not think it was the Barony that ailed your father, Pen” He reached for her hand. Offering comfort seemed like the right thing to do, for some reason.

“I never thought my father in love with anyone” Penelope did not know how to feel. She had already started questioning her own knowledge of her parents and here it was a clear indication that not only her father had lived an entire life she knew nothing about, it was a life apparently marred by some sort of tragedy.

“You never thought he might have loved your mother?”

“When I was very little, perhaps. But not because they seemed to be in love so much as it being what children imagine – that their parents are in love.” She had very early disabused herself of that notion, though.

1791

“But I am arm’d with ice around my heart

Not to be warm’d with words, or idle eloquence”

- William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

It had rained all day and all night, for the last couple of days. The morning sky was still grey with clouds, the ground covered in thick, dark mud and it was, all in all, not a day one would think of as one when good news were to be expected.

She was sitting on a bench in the verandah, having wanted to go outside and breath the fresh air but not willing to traipse trough the mud to go any farther. She would miss the peace of her home, the familiarity of it all. It was a reality that, whether it was for Barnsley or Sevenoaks, she would have to leave it very soon. She had to, she had promised Mrs. Varley to take her away. Every day she had to wonder if Mr. Varley had been found yet, how much time they had left before they were made to pay for taking his life.

A man atop a white horse turned in through the gate. Mr. Featherington, to take it all back, surely. It would be alright, even if all of Faversham by then already knew about the proposal and the conditions in which it was presented – she could hear Mrs. Rockwell talking animatedly as she weaved her own version of the events.

Mrs. Rockwell would of course talk about loving glances she would swear she caught them exchanging, and she would not dare to leave out the detail of her coming out of the room in disarray and then his emerging from it looking quite excited himself, making it clear they had been engaging in a passionate exchange but, because Portia was such a good girl, she had stopped him, or so she hoped, but no harm done because they were, of course, getting married. She knew because she had heard her spin similar stories, sometimes of things she had witnessed to be quite different herself.

There would be no man left in Faversham that would marry her after that.

There was no other option but to go with Aunt Petunia and live off the remainder of her days in obscurity, as little more than her aunt’s maid. She would go with her aunt and then… she would think about that later.

One awful thing at a time.

“Miss Weston, good morning”. He dismounted rather gracefully, she noticed, even if he landed in a puddle – there was no avoiding it. He tied the horse to the railing and went up to her, leaving a trail of mud in his wake.

“Good morning Mr. Featherington” Part of her had hoped that the events of the past days had been nothing but a nightmare, but there was no other reason for Archibald Featherington to be there. He had, no doubt, come to his senses and hoped to withdraw his offer. She was ready to relieve him. It was madness. It was his brother. It was sick and terrible, and yet...

She had been plagued by nightmares of Mr. Varley when she managed to get sleep, and during her vigils she kept running through her options in her mind. She had to admit that accepting him seemed to be the safest road to travel on. Surely the protection of a husband from a noble family would do more for her and Mrs. Varley than aunt Petunia could. The wife of a clergyman would be far less subject to suspicion than a bitter, old maid.

But.

“I hope you are feeling better this morning, after... the eh… the events” He stammered, his hands playing with his hat.

“I am, Mr. Featherington, thank you.” There was still a tiredness in her voice that would not allow a tone that truly matched her words.

“I believe my brother is back in London now, so you can be at ease. We will make sure he doesn’t come bothering you again.” She simply nodded and re-adjusted her shawl, visibly uncomfortable, so he went straight to the point that had brought him back. “Miss Weston, I have come to reiterate my offer and to assure you that I am completely serious in it. My brother has already taken too much from us both.” He paused, biting in his lips, then continued cautiously “I am entirely aware that I am not all that you might have hoped for – but I can offer you respectability, security.... I will occupy the Wrotham rectory soon and-”

“Are you sure?” It was genuine doubt that made her frown and look at him as if he were a mad man.

He nodded once, ceremoniously “Of course”

Full of a renewed panic, because none of it made any sense, she blurted “I will, Mr. Featherington. I will marry you. But... I do have one condition.” She made a pause “I realise I am in no position to impose conditions on you, but if I can rely on your kindness…” she made it sound apologetic, but it was really an attempt to soften an outright demand.

“What is it?” He straightened up and looked at her full of curiosity, his hands finally steady.

“Would you tell me what is it that he has done to you? It has been clear to me for a long time now that there is some rift between you two and, forgive me, but there must be something else that has driven you to put me in this position.” The tilt in his head made her clarify, before he could even formulate the question “There was absolutely no need for you to come out of the study. You made it sound like you would let me make my choice, but in truth you made it for me the moment you opened the door, didn’t you? I would like to know why.”

He did not expect that at all – she was righteously unhappy at having been trapped. He had to take a deep breath “He robbed me of my happiness.”

She shook her head “What did he do?”

His face reddened and after readying himself for a second he provided what he considered to be an apt summary of a terrible situation “Unfortunately, Miss Weston, I believe yesterday was not the first time Daniel behaved in such a manner with a young lady. Except this time I was able to stop him on time. She was unable to recover from it and has since departed this world.” His face contracted into a pain-filled grimace.

“Oh!” Her hand instinctually flew to her chest, as if it could protect her heart. It was a horrible thought. “When was this?”

“It was many years ago.”

“And you have simply let him go on unpunished for these many years?” She was back to doubting his sanity, and more than that, offended at the thought that such a man was left to do as he pleased, to damage other ladies.

“No, it’s -” He sat beside her “I didn’t know it had been him. In fact I didn’t even know what had happened exactly until the day I came looking for him” She only seemed to have more questions “I received a letter that had been lost for a long time and finally made its way to me – a letter from her”

She considered this and declared with very little uncertainty “You were in love with her”

He tried to smile “Very much.”

“And you think taking away his latest capriccio is punishment enough?”

He pondered if he should tell her the truth or let her think that she was indeed nothing more to Daniel than that. “There is no earthly way for Daniel to ever repay for what he has done. But this is not only to punish him, Miss Weston. I believe we do have a debt of honour towards you. It would be unjust in the extreme to have allowed him to behave like he did and then abandon you to fend on your own with the consequences”

Was she supposed to be grateful? “I see.”

“Does that satisfy your condition?”

She nodded, horrified at what it all meant “Yes. I am very sorry, I cannot imagine what you have gone through…” A soft silence fell between them and then she asked “Was this why you decided to join the Clergy?” She imagined a tragedy such as he related would drive a man to look for comfort in religion.

He looked at her, a little amused smile in his lips “No. I was already about to complete my studies when it happened.” He hesitated for a brief moment as he seemed to consider her, then looking out straight into the distance admitted “I decided on the Clergy because it was the most suitable way for me to make a living on my own. I have absolutely no interest in the law or the military.”

This surprised her “So you are not a man of faith, then?”

“Not as much as I should, I’m afraid.” She turned to look at her “I am no heathen, but I am very far from a saint.”

She drily responded “I do not think there are any saints remaining in this earth”

“None, I’m sure” He remarked, matter of factly and then proceeded as if concluding a business transaction “Very well. I will notify my father so we can start the preparations.” He was about to stand up, but she stopped him, gently touching his arm.

“You must know, though. Greenfinch is all I have to my name, with only about two hundred a year to sustain it.” She doubted this would be considered an acceptable dowry for his Lordship, so she might still end up at Barnsley, after all.

“You should not worry about that, Miss Weston. I will have the rectory’s living. It is not comparable to a Barony, of course, but it is a comfortable situation, and at some point I am to inherit a good sum, I’m told.”

“I see.” She was also told there would be an inheritance for her, so that, she decided, meant nothing.

He gave her a sympathetic smile and kneeled down beside her, taking her hand. “We can have a decent, happy life, Miss Weston, but we must make the choice and make it more than once -possibly daily. Happiness requires effort, it does not come from nothing and it is not produced by others- though it can, certainly, be taken away. You will find it in little moments of joy, but you must allow yourself to seize them as they come. I cannot make you happy – no one can, truly- thus I will not make any such promise, but I will try not to impede you from finding joy.”

She tried to smile and nodded once more. He was at least sensible and devoid of pretension.

He chased her gaze, tilting his head “You’ll miss the rainbow if you don’t look up”

A true smile formed in her lips “My Father used to say that! If you don’t look up after the rain, you will only see the mud and miss the rainbow”

“A wise man!” He chuckled and she surprised herself when one escaped her too.

It was a matter of a few days before everything was settled. Since Daniel was already married and surely a legitimate heir was already in the making, Lord Featherington approved his course of action, much to the dismay and protestations of Lady Featherington, but even she had to admit that Archibald’s plan was simply correcting the mess Daniel had made before it turned into a scandal.

Archibald of course omitted certain details, making it seem like there had really been no other course of action, because he knew if there was something the formidable Lady Featherington was afraid of, was scandal.

To ensure that Daniel would not intervene Lord Featherington cut him off financially to make him depend on his wife’s money, which would make him loyal to her at least for the first year of their marriage thanks to extremely clever negotiating from Lady Juliana’s father before their marriage.

Portia was to be removed from Greenfinch and taken to Ightham to make sure there would not be another, potentially more damaging visit.

There was simply no impediment for the blessed union. It was now unavoidable and Portia could only think of a single thing, or rather of a single person.

She sat down and wrote the following letter, which she had to start and throw away multiple times as she could not find the right words and because she kept smudging it with tears and she did not want such clear evidence of her misery to get to him. She didn’t want him to think she was delighted with the turn of events either, but she hated the idea of him thinking of her as a crying mess. Which she was, lately.

Dear Mr. Clarence,

I am sure by now you are already aware of my father’s passing, and perhaps even of the circumstances in which I now find myself, after his unexpected change of fortune. Thus, it should come as no surprise to you that I am to be married, after all, not having many choices at my disposal, least of all the luxury of a life of spinsterhood, as I had previously envisioned.

Many things have happened in the time you have been away, that have altered life completely - I will not bore you listing them all, but it pains me greatly that I am to leave Greenfinch hall, to have it occupied by strangers that might help get it in good shape, until I can recover from the financial blow we’ve suffered and come back.

How wrong it seems that the next time we greet each other, you shall be calling me Mrs. Featherington, as I am to marry Mr. Archibald, whom you met briefly already. I suppose by then I will be used to it and not find it as jarring.

I hope you are doing well and that you are safe and happy.

Yours truly,

Portia Weston.

“Mrs. Druthers, would you please include this in your next letter to Mr. Clarence?” Portia said as she extended the letter and a few coins. Mrs. Druthers gave Portia a judgemental look, to which she responded “It is nothing improper, you can read it yourself! I just wanted him to get the news from my own hand, that is all.”

“Very well, miss” Mrs. Druthers had a sad smile on her face, as one way or another, she knew it was not exactly happy news for either the sender or the receiver.

***

Portia was understandably nervous when they arrived at Ightham. The house alone seemed to her like a medieval castle – it was truly an ancestral home. It seemed to be built like a fortress, after going through the heavy main door, one had to traverse through a stone paved courtyard that had some neatly kept shrubbery all around it. The main house seemed like a labyrinth to her, having had to get into a corridor and then into another, to go up some stairs and then turn again to what was appointed to be her bed chamber.

The room was dimly lit, even when the drapes were not covering the south facing windows, because there were tall trees very close outside that blocked the sunlight, and the one window that was unblocked was stained glass, so there was at least a colourful shadow bathing the bed that time of day.

It was to be her home for the next few months until the wedding and then she would join Archibald at Wrotham, where he was just settling in.

This meant that she was forced to spend a not insignificant amount of time with Lord and Lady Featherington on her own. Ruben Featherington was a complacent man, not prone to strong disagreements and of a generally pleasant personality. He was almost impossible to bethought of as a suitable match to his wife, who was the entire opposite. Where Ruben might not have any strong feelings for or against Portia, Maria was filled with nothing but rejection towards her and showed it freely.

“Congratulations, Miss Weston!” Lady Featherington said sardonically, the first night of Portia’s stay with them, after an already uncomfortable dinner, once they were left alone in the drawing room. “You managed to get yourself a man from the Ton, after all!”

“I assure, my Lady that…” She started, trying to reason with the wall that was Lady Featherington.

“Truly, and admirable feat, considering how little you were working with” Her sweeping glance was full of disdain. “Please, sit”

Portia was sure her face was ablaze “I was sincere when I told you I had no intentions... it was your son…” The look on Maria’s face made her sit down immediately.

“You will have to learn some day, Miss Weston, that there is no hope of ever blaming a man for anything that concerns a woman, when there is even the faintest póssibility that her behaviour can be found at fault of being less than absolutely impeccable.”

“I disagree entirely!” Portia scoffed.

“Oh, I know. Doesn’t it make you furious?” She raised a fist in mock anger “But it is the truth, dear, and you should do well remembering it from now on. In any case, you have won a prize above anything you could ever have hoped for. You should smile more.”

Portia could hardly believe the gall of the woman in front of her, to tell a woman in mourning clothes still, to smile more. Marrying a man she did not love was a prize. Men were never to be found at fault. She could not find any reply that would not result in her being thrown out on the street, so much as she wanted to scream, she kept quiet.

Maria looked at her, evaluating her once more, marked disappointment in her face “You will have to do. We have so much work to do to make you a passable bride yet. At least you are pretty, so the children will not be bad looking.”

The children. Maria must have caught the rapid change in Portia’s face that went from contained anger into embarrassed surprise, and her own expression shifted into amusement.

“Oh, do not tell me you hadn’t thought about it, it is your primary duty as a wife, to give your husband an heir and as many spares as possible. You do know how to conceive a child, do you not?” Portia nodded, looking at the floor. “Finally, something I can be grateful for! Take this as your second lesson today – this ability to produce an heir is your only true value as a wife. Do not deceive yourself into thinking an improved mind or any other number of accomplishments will signify anything to a husband if you do not fulfil your marital duties as he requires – and even if he does not demand it. The meekest of men place no higher value in a beautiful and accomplished woman than in the mother of their children, and there is no security in marriage for childless women.”

Portia was beginning to feel sick, not only for the barrage of crude and cruel words coming out from her soon to be mother in law, but because Maria did not cease to walk in circles around her as she spewed her lessons.

“This of course does not mean that you should not strive for perfection in every other aspect, but most of your other qualities will be for the benefit of the rest of society at large, so that you do not embarrass him. We cannot have a simpleton as a part of our family.”

“Excuse me?” She finally dared to protest.

“It’s a figure of speech, dear. I know you are not dense, you managed to secure a very good catch for yourself, after all. I can see it has already been a long day for you, so I will let you go get your rest. We’ll start in earnest tomorrow.”

With that, she instructed a servant to escort Miss Weston to her room.

Lord Featherington crossed their path and he stopped her for a moment, just to say

“Do not mind her too much, dear. In truth, we are relieved that Archibald has decided to marry after all, we worried he never would.”

“Thank you” She said, not knowing how else to respond. He simply nodded and went on his way.

In the following days people kept congratulating Portia and treating her as if marrying Archibald Featherington was a prize, the greatest of blessings for which she should be grateful. She could only hope there was some truth to all that, because she could not get the idea out of her mind that in reality, it was an unjust punishment for having been too naive.

***

It was on the early autumn of 1791 that Miss Portia Weston became Mrs. Portia Featherington

The wedding was a very simple affair that took place at Featherington house in Ightham and after a small celebration, the newly-weds departed to Wrotham, to occupy the Rectory.

It was a small, four bedroom house with a parlour, a good sized dining room and a study. The garden was ample and was well tended to. It was a far cry from Greenfinch Hall, but it was comfortable none the less, and she was sure it would be a thousand times better to have it under her own command than to live as a spinster with her aunt Petunia in her cottage.

Archibald led her from room to room and introduced her to the cook, Mrs Park. Mrs Varley having taken the position of the house keeper meant there was only another servant. The Cook’s son, Jeremy, was relied on as an errand boy. They welcomed her and put their-selves at her service. Archibald then took her upstairs to show her the bedrooms.

“My bedroom is the one at the front. Yours is facing the back, with a view of the garden. You are welcome to make use of the other rooms as you see fit, if you find yourself too confined.” He turned around to see her and, with a quick tight smile, he clasped his hands in front of him and simply added “I will leave you to it and send Mrs. Varley up”

She felt a mixture of confusion and relief. But Lady Featherington words rang in her mind, reminding her that there was no real security in marriage without the fulfilment of the marital duties “Mr. Featherington, are we not supposed to…?”

He seemed surprised himself “I do not expect such a thing from you, Miss… Mrs. Featherington.”

“Portia.”

“Right. Right, I suppose we should, to legitimize things.” His face turned an impossible shade of red. “Only if you are… willing, of course.” He was full of doubts. He should have thought about it, but he had been solely focused on the administrative side of marriage, rather than what it really implied to share a house, a life and possibly a bed with a woman. He hadn’t given it much thought since Eleanor Wetherby. He had never truly been able to allow himself to think of another woman that way.

Portia, on the other hand had been steeling herself. Lady Featherington had drilled into her the importance of it all and Mrs. Varley had provided some guidance. Portia knew what was to happen and she imagined that Mr. Featherington – her husband – was at least suspicious of what might have or not happened between her and his brother. Lady Featherington had implied it many times without allowing her to deny it.

“I do intend to be your wife, sir. With every duty it entails” Her words were resolute, well rehearsed, but she had to avert her eyes from his face.

If she were looking at his face she would have noticed how he seemed to have got the air beaten out of him. He nodded slowly, swallowing with difficulty “Tell Mrs. Varley to help you… prepare then. I will be back in... an hour?”

“Very well” She nodded and he left her as she opened the door to her room.

It was decidedly smaller than her room at Greenfinch was, but she was too preoccupied to notice. She felt unease seizing her body, creeping from her spine to the top of her head. Hands firmly planted on her hips, she tried to will herself into settling down. This was not the time to second guess anything. It was done, and now she had to go through with all of it – a life time of it. He was a good man, he was young and not without some good qualities. He had a kind smile and his eyes were… blue. And he would look at her...

Oh God!

Mrs. Varley came into the room and helped her change. When they were done her hair was down and she was only wearing a chemise.

“Good luck, miss... Ma’am” Mrs. Varley said, pressing both her Mistress’ hands, before leaving the room.

Archibald came in later, visibly nervous and already in night clothes, a robe covering his nightgown. She was sitting on the bed, already under the covers, so he went to sit beside her.

“Are you sure about this?” He wasn’t.

“I am”

He took a long look at her and reached out to caress her cheek, her eyes were downcast, giving her a demure look as the contact of his hand caused her skin to flush. She was truly a beautiful, mesmerizing creature. Maybe he could love her, if he got to know her first. It felt wrong to him to be this intimate with someone who was not much more than a stranger.

They had spent some time together in the time before the wedding, but he had no sense of truly knowing her. She did not talk about herself too much and he did not ask many questions either.

“What is your favourite colour?” He asked. She looked at him with those striking, remarkable eyes of hers, as if she didn’t understand the question.

“Green, I suppose” She smiled, amused. He simply nodded, and then kissed her.

It was a soft kiss, and after breaking it, he kept looking into her eyes as if he was trying to either find some hidden truth in them or make her aware of a secret he dared not say out loud. For the first time, she noted his blue eyes seemed forlorn.

“Do you have a favourite flower?”

“Wild roses” she was completely unsure of what was happening while he traced the contours of her face very softly, with the tips of his fingers, caressing her lower lip with his thumb, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Do you have one yourself”

“Snowdrops” For some reason this made her a little sad. Snowdrops were not happy flowers. Winter flowers, simple and white, looking always to the ground instead of up to the sky and the sun.

The back of his hand caressed the curve of her neck, then his palm gently grazed her shoulder, and he kissed her again, on the lips and then echoing the path of his hand he kissed her neck and her shoulder.

He stood up and removed his robe, then went into the bed and under the covers, sitting next to her, then kissed her again, but this time his lips lingered, and his hands travelled down further than before, to her breast.

They both sank down, as he continued exploring her, tasting her. He couldn’t help but wonder if Eleanor would have tasted like this, if her skin would have felt this soft under his fingertips, if she would had been this warm and supple and if her breath would have become as altered under his touch, if she would have whimpered and moaned as softly as his hands pressed on her flesh, as he entered her. The thought of Eleanor filled his mind and his heart and soon he found himself lost and spent, his marital duty thoroughly fulfilled.

He removed himself and rolled over to rest at her side. He felt ashamed and she felt mortified and… incomplete.

It had not been as terrible as she had expected, but that somehow made it all worse, because she had felt something building up inside her just as he moved away. She had almost reached out to stop him, but restrained herself. She lay there, somewhat sore and uncomfortably damp between her legs, waiting in silence, without knowing exactly what should happen next.

“Are you alright?” He said, breaking the silence.

“Yes” She nodded vigorously, without turning her head, trying to control her voice to sound composed and not a whimper.

“Very well.” He sat up, and she could barely make out his face, he moved so quickly. If she had been pressed to guess she would have said that he seemed… troubled. She feared she had done something wrong but couldn’t bring herself to ask him. And she didn’t have a chance to change her mind, as soon as he had his nightgown on, he made his way to the door, not even stopping to put on his robe, carrying it bunched up on one hand.

“Good night, then. I will leave you to rest”

“Good night”

***

The first days of their marriage were filled with the awkwardness of things that start in the middle instead of where they ought. There was no beginning so there was no couple, but a pair of barely acquainted people forced into intimacy by convention and, even more so, by their own follies.

After a month she had learned a few things about her husband. Particularly that there were some peculiarities about him that he was not open to discuss, and so she had to curb her curiosity when she noticed something new, like his outright ban of alcohol in the rectory.

“But what if we have guests, are we not serving wine or allowing the men a drink after dinner?”

He simply stated the fact that “Our guests should not expect alcohol to be served in a clergyman’s house” and was done with it.

At another point in her life Portia would have protested that, by his own admittance, he was not truly as devout a clergyman as he ought, and so this attitude seemed absolutely incongruous with him. A guest to a clergyman’s house might find the lack of alcohol reasonable, but not a guest of Archibald Featherington’s, surely. But out of the few things she now knew about him already, was the meaning of the stern look in his eyes, so she did not press further.

“Alright. I will have Jane dispose of the wine” And she would have to find a way to both thank Mr. Selwick for the gift and make it known that in the future a charitable contribution would be better received by their rector.

She had also learned that, while he enjoyed reading, he did not like to read out loud as her father had. She feared he would share his mother’s disinterest in music, but was relieved when he agreed to the addition of a pianoforte. It turned out he enjoyed reading while there was music being played, as long as it was something calm and soothing.

Having had the newest piece she had acquired deemed “too distracting”, she was now practising an older piece and battling with the concept of what might be considered distracting.

Just as she gave up and reached out for her other sheets, Mrs. Varley burst into the room, visibly excited.

“They found him Miss!” Her eyes were wide and wild.

She sprung up from the bench, setting her hands down forcefully on the keys, causing a cacophony to come out of the instrument, in apparent protest for the maltreatment “When?”

Her arms flailed about with too much energy “They found him drowned in the lake five days ago!”

“But.. how?” She couldn’t understand at first.

"Miss!” She shook her head and corrected “Ma’am!” Mrs. Varley was smiling, excitedly, waving around the crumpled piece of parchment in her hand.

“Oh... Varley! That is…” They were now holding hands.

“Wonderful news, ma’am!”

“So we dind’t…”

“We did not!” They were all but jumping up and down, as if this were the best news one could ever hope for, sure to bring about the greatest happiness.

Portia couldn’t contain herself and hugged Mrs. Varley. The relief she felt was the best feeling she had experienced in months. Relief, yes, but still a part of her would always hold onto the knowledge of what she was truly capable of, and that gave her a sense of peace that she would have to resort to many times in her lifetime.

Chapter Text

1817

The air reeked of blood and an ungodly mixture of horse excrement, rotting wood and fresh feed of the barn. The dog that had been so loud just moments ago that had made her come out all the way from the house, all the way from London through several inches of thick mud was now lying quiet. Too quiet.

“Why did you kill it?” She was so frightened, paralysed with fear that she wasn’t sure she had truly said those words out loud.

“I had to, Birdie. It was sick, and in pain.” Her father responded, without turning around, so she couldn’t see his face.

“But, couldn’t we have helped him get better, papa?” she felt a sweltering oppression in her chest, and although she wanted to turn around, she was unable to take her eyes from the poor creature that lay motionless, it’s fur matted, wet with blood.

“It could have got other animals, or even ourselves sick. He won’t be in pain any more and can’t hurt you, either. You and your girls will be safe.”

Her father took her by the shoulder and made her turn around, and even though she wanted to look at him, she still couldn’t stop staring at the spot where she knew there must be a figure lying dead in the dark.

Portia woke up in the middle of the night, filled with dread. It had been some time since she had had such a terribly bad dream.

1792 - 1803

Through the few years they spent at the rectory in Wrotham, Portia grew to appreciate her husband’s kindness. It made for, if nothing else, a tranquil existence.

The most important factor to her satisfaction was that Archibald had so far kept to his word to not prevent her from finding joy-- he would seldom restrict her if she wished to have people over or have the curtains replaced or a new dress made. The house was decorated to her liking, the garden kept in perfect condition, and she managed to keep within budget most of the time. She had become quite proficient at playing the pieces in her repertoire to which Archibald objected the less, and the parish charity was running smoothly under her direction of the pious ladies’ group she reformed.

He let her be and she in return kept everything around him running smoothly, so he could have no objections. There was no praise or thanks to be had, but no demands or reproach either, as they kept out of each other’s ways. It was a fine life, not too much unlike what she had been accustomed to back in Faversham, except… Well, she tried not to think about all the several ways it was unbearably different.

They would travel to Town occasionally, when his family required it of him – he seemed to share her father’s distaste for London, any time they were there his mood seemed to grow anxious and could not wait to go back home. She didn’t really mind, since she had her own reasons for not wanting to stay too long either.

They only saw Daniel and his wife a couple of times while in London, but she managed to pretend they were different people and kept her head high, kept laughing and conversing, and smiled without wavering or hesitating. It was him that avoided her eyes and excused himself as soon as he could without making it too obvious she was the reason he left parties and concerts alike.

After a year, Portia had proven to be a true success by any reasonable measure, except the one that Lady Featherington had insisted was the only one that mattered. She had not produced a child yet.

It was not brought up much at first, because the Featheringtons were absolutely certain that Lady Juliana would provide them with the next heir. But as time progressed, they had started to worry and turned their eager eyes to Portia’s figure, expecting her to succeed where the other seemed destined to fail.

Portia remembered how Araminta had shared her worries about being unable to conceive, and had to reluctantly agree that she understood her better now that she was married herself. But unlike Araminta, she did have a friend that was able to offer useful advise. Mrs. Varley brought to her attention that she was not going to conceive any time soon if she did not share a bed with her husband more often.

She had come to know that there were ways to draw Archibald’s attention that would result on him following her into her bedroom, like asking him to explain something about his sermon, or having him correct some misconception and then looking at him gratefully. She had found this entirely by accident.

“There is one thing that I do not think I truly understand” She had told him once, as he sat down on a sofa in the drawing room, having just returned home one Sunday “And I suppose I may sound very silly for asking this, but, why would Adam even take the fruit from Eve?”

He had looked at her trying to evaluate what kind of answer to provide her. He shrugged and said “He trusted her.”

“More than he trusted God himself?” She said with an incredulous frown.

“Well, she was made of him for him by God, why would he not trust her?”

“Because she was acting against God’s explicit command. I understand she might not have been particularly clever and got tricked into it, but I have never really understood why Adam would simply take the fruit from her.”

He laughed and she looked mortified. He collected himself, and made an effort to make her see he was taking her seriously “Well, she had already eaten and he saw she was well and... blind ambition did the rest. Neither of them knew that they were dooming their progeny, and having never experienced anything but the most perfect bliss, they could not fathom the consequences.” She was looking at him intently, light shining in her eyes below a slight frown. “Do you disagree?”

She bit her bottom lip and hesitated for a second, her lips left parted before lifting her eyes to meet his again “Ambition?”

He gestured with his hand to emphasize that this seemed obvious to him “To gain the knowledge of good and evil for himself, which he assumed would make him a god.”

Portia was not satisfied and her mouth pursed before replying “But it seems like Eve didn’t get any wisdom at all, until he ate it himself.” She sat – or rather plopped herself down next to him, in a very unlady-like manner, as if she were entirely dissatisfied with his answers. “He should have waited to see what happened to her first.” This was obvious to her.

He shifted in his seat to be able to face her, but crossed his arms and tilted his head.“Well I guess neither of them were as clever as you are.”

She laughed “It is easy to be clever when one knows what happens after, I guess.” She rested an elbow on the armrest and turned from him to face the window. She absent mindedly started playing with a curl in her hair, her head tilted, exposing her neck. She was close enough to him that he could smell her bergamot perfume and something else that was only her.

They had fallen into a lull, so she was surprised when he said “Of course, we can also consider that it was… eh… lust.” She turned to face him again He was flushed and looking at her, rubbing his lower lip with his index “There are those who think that Eve seduced Adam.”

“Oh. I had never… I thought…” She was flushed now. “I always thought it was men who went around seducing women” She shrugged and gave her head a little shake with a tight smile.

“You see, men are more easily tempted. That is why we advise young women against flirting”

“Ah, of course!” She stood up much more gracefully than she had sat down. “I should go change”

“May I?” She looked confused “join you...in your bedroom”

This was particularly effective on Sundays. She would look at him as he delivered his sermon, as if there had never been anything more interesting in the world. She kept her eyes fixed on him and when his eyes met hers she would part her lips or maybe lick them, and she knew if it had worked because he would have to pause and clear his throat.

New things were learned and discovered in this period, about how if she moved a certain way the whole ordeal could be made somewhat enjoyable for herself, and that if she touched him gently in a particular part of the neck, he would have a very positive reaction, and that if she was not gentle and made certain sound near his ear, it would accelerate his release and be done with it, which was useful if she was tired.

It still took some time, but the following spring she knew it had finally worked. She had been waiting to be sure, before sharing the news with her husband, but after nine weeks without her courses, she had little room for doubt.

She was working on a piece of embroidery, in what she called her sewing room, thinking about how she would tell Archibald later that day, once he arrived from Ightham, when she heard voices coming from downstairs. One of the voices was decidedly male, so she decided it must be him.

As she descended the stairs, she could see Mrs. Varley staring quite sternly -and rudely- at the man. It was not Archibald, of course, but another. As Mrs Varley noticed her presence, Daniel turned around to face her.

“Ma’am…” Mrs. Varley started, defensively.

“It is alright, Varley, you can leave us”

Mrs. Varley seemed on the verge of fighting her back but Portia gave her a reassuring look and she complied.

“Mr. Featherington.” She acknowledged him, while he stared. “You are extremely late if your intention is to offer an apology.”

He swallowed with difficulty before speaking “I owe you that, of course. I’ve behaved like a brute.” He seemed contrite but she knew better now than to trust the apparent sincerity of his words.

“What are you doing here? I don’t suppose Lady Juliana is waiting for you outside.” She pretended to look out the window.

He seemed strangely meek and composed. In her experience he was usually either extremely affable or passionate and, on their last encounter, violently so.

He stepped towards her, causing her to retreat. He stopped and raised his hands in a display of good will.

“I had to see you. To make sure you are well.” He said, looking around the hall, landing his eyes on her again “That you are happy, as I have been told you are.”

“How considerate of you.” She said, bitingly “I am quite well, I assure you”

“But, Birdie, are you happy? How can you be?”

She closed her eyes, irritated by his gall “That is not my name, and you would do well to stop sullying my father’s memory by using it. I am Mrs. Featherington to you.” He seemed genuinely worried, but he had seemed genuine about many other things that were eventually proven false so she would not be swayed.

“No matter what you call yourself, the truth will always remain that I am still in love with you, and forever will be.”

“And yet you chose to marry another! What kind of love is that?”

“It was only for the money, I never…”

She laughed drily. “Money? What need did you have for money?”

He looked at her, his brows furrowed “Birdie, I had lost it all! I lost all I had to my own name and some of my father’s money was lost as well, to the very same scheme to which your father lost his. I thought you already knew this, didn’t he tell you?”

A cold realization fell onto her, but she had been rendered momentarily speechless. It all came back to him. At this point she felt the only misery of hers Daniel was not directly responsible for was the death of her father, and she would not question it if someone came in and told her that he had pushed Mr. Weston into the ground himself.

“You cannot convince me that you are happy with Archibald. I have come to offer you an escape from this dreadful life.” He gestured at the walls, as if the modest building was nothing but a trap “We can go together to the Americas...”

Her smirk was mocking “With your wife’s money? You are sorely mistaken. I assure you I am very happy and I would not go with you beyond the threshold of this very room. You should leave now, I will not allow you to keep insulting me like this.”

“I have never intended to hurt you.”

“Well, you do not have to worry about that, Mr. Featherington, the only thing you hurt was my pride and that has healed quite completely already.”

“I know I broke your heart, Birdie, but I can mend it!”

She laughed, cruelly, because she truly wanted to hurt him. And she knew exactly how “Daniel! Don’t you know that I was only settling for you?”

He scoffed, incredulous “Settling quite nicely for a Baron’s heir!”

“A man needs no money nor privilege to be so much more worthy than you are.”

His pained face made him look as if on the brink of despair, but he moved quickly towards her, grabbing her by the arm, intending to kiss her, but she turned her face and hissed “I am carrying his child” hoping he would finally be hurt enough by this and go away.

He let go of her hand and stepped back, dumbfounded, pressing on his chest as if he had been wounded. He even seemed to take a look at his hand to look for blood.

A bitter grimace darkened his face as he came closer to her again, his face aggressively close to hers “Do you enjoy it? When you lay with him? Or do you have to close your eyes and imagine it is me, kissing you, touching you...”

She pushed him off, horrified “You are disgusting! How dare you speak to me like that?”

But of course she knew. In his mind, Archibald had won and he could not stand it. Being able to humiliate him was his only recourse, it was not even about her any more, if it had ever. It was rather pathetic, which disgusted her even more than his words had.

“Get out of my house, Mr. Featherington, and do not dare to come back ever again.”

“Or what?” He defied her.

She paused, wondering how she had ever taken this man seriously “We have both made our choices. I am quite content with mine, you should go and try to make the most of yours. If I really have to spell out the consequences of your recklessness to you, then I am afraid you are beyond hope.” He stared at her in silence “I do not wish to see or speak to you ever again. If you ever truly loved me, as you claim, you will grant me this.”

She was surprised to see tears welling in his eyes.

He nodded “Farewell, my love”. He left quickly, without another word.

She turned her head to take a look behind her “Varley?”

Mrs. Varley hurried to her side “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Did anyone else hear us?”

“No, ma’am. The boy is with the horses, Mrs. Park is cleaning a chicken in the back and Lucy is doing the wash.”

She pressed on her breast and exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“Next time I will make sure he doesn’t get a foot in, Ma’am”

“He won’t be back, Varley.” She was certain of it.

***

Prudence came to the world on October of 1793, and made both her parents very happy. However, as soon as Portia held her daughter in her arms, the need to protect her immediately overcame any other desire, any other need or thought she had ever entertained. It was the strongest, purest feeling that had ever occupied her heart.

All that mattered in the world was there in her arms. Her little girl would never find herself in the way of a heartless man, she would not fall prey to cruelty on account of her ignorance and naivete. No, Portia would make sure her daughter was protected and safe, at any cost. Greenfinch would be restored and become productive again, and it would be Prudence’s home. Her daughter would lead the sort of happy existence that she had lost for herself, she would make sure of that..

Archibald found it truly remarkable that there was now a very real, living and breathing bond between them, and even more so, he was in awe at the strength of his own feelings towards the child. She was proof that he was capable of bringing something good into the world, after all. If they both did the best they could, wouldn’t that girl be a wonderful, good woman? Portia now seemed to him much softer, happier, and it seemed that even without having had to discuss it, they agreed that their daughter’s future was of the utmost importance.

The future was full of potential.

He started admiring Portia’s eagerness to be the best mother she could be, and was at the very least satisfied that marrying her had not been a bad decision. He could now clearly see all of the fine qualities in her that he had been uninterested in before. A life could be very well spent with her by his side. There was only one thing that bothered him, now that he had found this new perspective on his wife.

“A letter, from Mrs. Druthers” He said from the threshold of her sewing room. She looked up, immediately curious and went to collect it from him, anticipation in her face. He stood there, watching her open it, and then quietly let himself into the room and took a seat as she read it. Other letters, he had noticed, could always wait. If it had been Lady Reynolds’ or Mrs. Rockwell’s, she would have asked him to leave it on the table.

But not Mrs. Druthers’ letters, no. These were always important and required her immediate and full attention. He observed her carefully, noting how her expressions changed as she read the news. Biting her lip, frowning, then smiling, and then her smile turned almost imperceptibly sad.

“What news of Mr. Clarence” He asked, making her blush.

She was caught by surprise, not having noticed that Archibald had been still there, looking intently at her. Was it possible he knew? She tried making it seem insignificant that he had asked for Mr. Clarence specifically “Mrs. Druthers says he has made Captain. Mr. Druthers seems to be recovering well from his illness, and there is a new doctor since Dr. Thomas has decided to retire at last.”

He looked sternly at her, for a moment she was reminded of his mother “You are always so eager to read her letters.”

She shrugged “They are the closest thing to a family I had”

“Well, you have your own family now, be mindful of its reputation. I do not care about much else but I certainly do not wish to be thought a fool.”

“I do not see what you mean.” She lied.

“Oh, I think you do. And I also think you will do the right thing, because you’re a sensible person.”

He stood up and as he was about to leave he turned back and said “And please, do not go through Mrs. Varley, I would hate having to fire her.”

Daniel had, of course, noticed there was some sort of infatuation on Portia’s side, but uninterested as he always had been in others, he had needed Archibald’s comment at the Kelleys’ ball to see that Mr. Clarence was about to propose to her, if they weren’t already engaged – he had mentioned it, thinking it would serve as a deterrent for his brother, but she had denied it and Daniel had simply accepted it. It was true that there was no engagement, but Archibald knew that man was in love with her.

Wouldn’t it be a great life, If only he could love her, too?

After he left the room she sat by the window, looking at the swaying trees outside, chastising herself. Why could she not let go? He would surely marry any day now, having finally made Captain. Did she really want to read that piece of news, when the time came, anyway?

***

Philippa was born on 1795. A disappointment to her grandparents, but a delight for both Portia and Archibald. The year after that, Penelope followed – another sneer in Lady Featherington’s lip and a sigh leaving his father’s chest empty – Archibald could not imagine a heart beating that would not rejoice at the sight of his little girl’s rosy cheeks.

Soon they were celebrating Penelope’s first birthday, having a little picnic in the garden, which had been of course, Portia’s idea. He did not understand the appeal of having one’s food sitting on the ground, but he did try not to deny her much, particularly little things that brought a smile to her face. Mrs. Varley was even invited to have a piece of pie and he could not object at all. His wife looked truly happy and it was contagious. He was sure he was smiling like a simpleton as she turned around to pass a plate to their housekeeper.

Not five feet away Prudence played with Philippa under the watchful eye of the nanny, and Penelope stood on her little legs, hanging to her mother’s arm, trying no to fall down. Archibald felt a warmth fill his chest as his wife then reached out to clean their daughter’s face. She must have felt his stare and she turned to look at him.

“Do you want some more?” She asked, a little puzzled by the way he was looking at her. A subtle blush tinting her cheeks. He shook his head slightly, as he took Penelope’s little hand on his, causing a little joyful squeal to come out of her.

Then he leaned in and kissed his wife. It took her entirely by surprise. It was different. It was a tender but firm kiss, with his palm cupping her cheek. It was the first time her husband had ever spontaneously kissed her. When he parted they were both smiling and something like hope fluttered around in their chests.

Before any of them could say anything, Jeremy came up and extended a letter to Archibald.

“Forgive me, but… the man said it was urgent, sir.” The boy was obviously embarrassed to have witnessed such a display, and so were his masters.

“Thank you Jeremy” Archibald uttered, dismissing him. After clearing his throat and examining the letter, he told Portia “It is from Ightham”. His smile disappeared and his stomach dropped. What reason could there be to get an urgent letter from his mother?

He felt the urge to stand up to read it, so Portia followed suit, taking Penelope into her arms. Archibald’s face drew paler as he read the letter. He finished it but was too shocked to talk for a minute, still staring at the piece of paper in front of him.

“Daniel fell from his horse” He said, having some difficulty breathing. Portia held Penelope even tighter, as if to save her from some danger. “He is dead.” His eyes pierced Portia’s.

Archibald felt the ground would open up into a chasm below him and swallow him whole. It was the most devastating news, for more than one reason. Yes, his brother, whom he had loved once, was dead. But this also meant that the course of his contented life would be altered in a way he had feared, but never truly expected.

Daniel had died having produced no heirs – no sons or daughters existing or on their way, apparently. He was now Lord Featherington’s only remaining heir.

He had already started to receive pressure from his parents to sire a son, seen as Daniel’s efforts so far seemed to be going to waste. It would only get worse – so much worse. Not only regarding the pressure to conceive a boy, but he knew they would ask him to give up the rectory, and he would have to honour their agreement and comply.

The only reason why he had been allowed to pursue his studies and got the Wrotham living was because he was third in line. After Liam’s death, he was able to persuade his father that he should complete his studies and follow his plan, with the understanding that he would be removed at his father’s will, if there was a pressing need for it – he never thought it would really come to be.

It was impossible to comprehend that Daniel Featherington, as strong and vital a man as he was, had passed on at the young age of Thirty-four, his raucous laughter not to be heard anywhere, any more. Archibald was surprised at the strength of his grief over a brother he had grown to loathe and had long wished he had no relation to.

But as it tends to occur when someone is lost to death, Archibald eventually started to question if he had imagined his brother’s misdeeds. He started to wonder If he had quarrelled and vanished him from his life over a misunderstanding, as Daniel had always claimed it was. Doubt started eroding his hatred, transforming it into guilt.

Eleanor had not, after all, provided him a name in her letter.

***

As predicted, soon after Daniel’s funeral, Archibald and his little family were made to move to the Featherington house in Ightham as it was deemed necessary that he leave his current occupation and learn the management of the estate in full. Archibald was not prepared for the role at all, nor had he ever imagined the Barony for himself. He could only hope his father outlived him.

He had mused to Portia that he would renounce the title if he could, only to have her remind him that he had a duty to his daughters to offer them all the advantages his new rank would offer. He had to agree and stop entertaining such nonsensical notions.

Living once more, and in such a permanent manner, under Lady Featherington’s roof was a challenge for Portia, who could feel her mother in law’s disdain behind the polite smiles. Portia loathed not being the mistress of her household, and frequently lamented over this and a great many little things to her husband, as if he were not suffering his own losses as well.

Lady Maria Featherington, though, wanted to control every single detail of Portia’s life it seemed, from her manners – which she did not mind at all to have corrected – to her wardrobe -which she minded about the most. Maria had an opinion on everything Portia did and it seemed she even had one about every thought she had.

Spending time in the garden would mean her face would freckle, carrying her children on her arms would make them dependent on her for their whole life and ruin her posture, which was not perfect as it was already. She should not eat so many pastries, drink so much lemonade, walk so fast – but she shouldn’t dawdle either. Every choice Portia made was wrong, her hair, her every breath seemed to cause an objection from her mother in law. Whatever joy she had managed to find in her marriage in the last 6 years was now gone under the heavy heel of Maria Featherington’s petite boot.

“There is no such thing as a perfect man, Portia, but there is a perfect Lady, and you must strive for it if you are to some day become Lady Featherington yourself.”

“Let us hope that day never comes, then” She had responded, gaining yet another scolding look.

“You may be proud of your managing things back in Wrotham, you did quite well, I will admit as much. But quite well will not suffice any more. Perfection, or you will bring nothing but suffering upon you all. It is a ruthless world, Nobility.”

“How enticing that sounds!” Portia responded sardonically.

“It is marvellous!” Lady Featherington said “You and your daughters will have access to those who truly shape the world, Portia, in the arts, in politics and society! Your lives will be filled with every privilege and advantage you can think of. But it is not gratis, my dear. You have to pay the cost.”

And as the days, weeks and months passed, she wondered if it was truly worth the cost. She wanted it all for her girls, of course, but she also wanted them to be happy. She had felt so close to happiness in their life in Wrothan, and now could feel it slipping away, and there was no privilege that seemed enough to have it come at the expense of happiness.

Little by little, as if there was a tiny hole somewhere in his soul that let it leak through drop by drop, the kindness disappeared from Archibald’s eyes.

His daughters were the one truly good thing he could rely on to keep him grounded and grateful, but every passing day his parents made him feel more and more like a failure, like a less-than imitation of what Daniel had been. He simply did not have a head for numbers and business matters, nor had any of it ever interested him.

In death, all of Daniel’s faults had been truly forgiven and completely forgotten, it seemed. He used to complain about his mother’s preference for Archibald, yet in mourning, Lady Featherington had put her eldest son in a pedestal, forever unreachable. The shadow of his brother’s many accomplishments darkening his every day.

Three little, beautiful girls depended on Archibald now, his wife would not stop complaining about how restricted her life had become, and he had lost all he had worked towards – his independence, most of all – which was proven to have been nothing more than an illusion. He could probably have managed all that with aplomb, were it not for the relentless guilt that ate at him day and night.

How? Why had he survived his older brothers? Liam who was the best among them – his calmness and level headedness would have been better suited to succeed his father; Daniel who had prepared his whole life for the Barony.

And always, always, always the ghost of Eleanor.

Portia, of course, did not notice when he started drinking. Or rather, she had paid it no importance. All men had their port after dinner, did they not? If anything, it had seemed to her an oddity that her husband abstained. It surely was nothing of note if he had started having a drink now and then, since he had given up the cloth.

The truth was that Archibald Featherington had become a haunted man.

1803 -1813

“You sold Greenfinch?!” She barged into his study, half engulfed in darkness as the only sources of light were a candle next to him and that which entered through the open door.

He nodded calmly from behind his desk. “I have” He avoided looking at her. He couldn’t bear the shame. Only three years after he assumed the title, he had found himself forced to sell Portia’s home.

“How could you? It was mine, it was all I had!” He had, over the years, always had a reason not to visit and now it was forever gone.

“For God’s sake, Portia, look around you! You have this house and everything in it, you are a Baroness with an ancestral home in Kent! Greenfinch was just an old house surrounded by unproductive land – we could not afford to keep it any more.”

“You know very well that none of this is truly mine.”

“And neither was Greenfinch since the day we married!” He stood up, to claim the advantage of his height.

“I have never regretted that day more!” Her eyes seemed to burn with light of their own, her otherwise beautiful face marked

His fist struck the desk “That is enough! You should be grateful you are not out on the street, begging for sustenance or worse! I did you a favour but all you do is take and take and complain! Not even once have you considered what I wanted, what I needed! You are the most egotistical creature, a vile thing wrapped in silk and jewellery because there is nothing of worth beneath it. Do you think you have regrets? You know nothing of the sort. You have a wonderful life that you have done absolutely nothing to deserve!”

“A favour! You petty little man, you disgust me!”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, bringing her face very close to his and hissing “Not as much as your hollow heart disgusts me”, she fought his grip to no avail, it only grew painfully stronger, his fingers digging into her skin.

“You are hurting me!” she said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, am I really?” He threw her arm, pushing her aside with such force that she almost fell.

She was trembling, full of anger, and crying. She used her palm to wipe her face. The look on his face made her heart waver with fear, her skin tingling with the surge of violent energy coursing through her veins. She wanted to fight, to keep shouting at him, but her body did not respond. She found herself frozen. He left her there, and as soon as he was out, her legs gave up and she collapsed into the floor.

The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberated through the house as he went out.

Mrs. Varley came in almost immediately and tried to help her get up, but she ended up in the floor next to her, enveloping her in her arms, rocking her back and forth, trying to soothe her.

A chasm was opened that night between them that was never to be crossed again.

There were many fights after that, none as intense, but equally damaging. Portia – who had never been a warm person to begin with-- grew colder and more distant, unable to forgive him, so he did the same.

He started spending more and more time at the club and eventually, other less reputable places. She rejected him until he stopped trying and finally, stopped caring at all.

A full decade went in a blur.

The fighting ceased because neither cared enough to bother any more, their only point of convergence being the girls, and he even lost sight of that, eventually.

He tried, more than once, to correct his path. But there was always something in the way. A sure bet, a great horse, a beautiful new working woman that said the right things in his ear. And it was the greatest feeling in the world to win and to be desired, even when he knew full well that none of it was real, none of it would last. And it didn’t, there was always the next morning, when he had to face the reality and look at himself in the mirror filled with disgust.

But he tried, and tried. Until he couldn’t.

He had failed everyone and he had failed at everything. He failed Eleanor and Liam, he failed his parents, Portia and his girls. They had to live with the shame of having a father such as him, who had completely ruined them because he could not control himself. He gambled his daughter’s dowries away, and when he thought he finally had found a way out of it all, when he believed he could recover permanently, he just failed again, looking for one last thrill before starting over.

But there was no coming back for another chance ever again.

At least the laudanum made him numb as he drifted out.

The girls would be better off now, without him.

Portia had never really needed him, after all.

Chapter Text

1817 

The club was almost empty at that time of day but it had become increasingly difficult to get together with his brothers at a time that was suitable for all of them, Benedict spending most of his time at My cottage lately and Anthony being Anthony. He was also not the man of leisure he used to be and sometimes that complicated simple things like meeting your brothers for a drink.

“My wife has been restless lately--” He said, putting down his glass on the table in front of him.

Anthony raised a brow and seemed to be making an effort not to roll his eyes “We are familiar with Penelope, Colin, you do not need to keep referring to her as your wife.”

Colin looked harshly at his elder brother and doubled down “As I was saying – My wife is preoccupied with finding more about her father and, well, her mother too.” He pointed his index finger at the air above him, for emphasis “Lady Featherington is a lot more discreet that you would give her credit for, at least about herself.”

Anthony replied “I suppose having her mother leave her childhood house might be generating some anxious feelings in Penelope. It does make one wistful.” Their mother, along with their youngest brother and sisters had not long ago moved out to her own house in Bruton Street.

“It is just… Penelope’s family is so unlike ours--” His eyes went wide as he tried to convey just how different he found them to be.

“That is quite the observation, brother!” Benedict laughed softly.

It was Benedict now in the receiving end of Colin’s annoyed frown “In any case, setting aside the odd way her father passed--”

“Odd? “Anthony had been about to drink but stopped and returned the glass to the table. “Forgive me, but I wouldn’t say it was odd to meet such a terrible end having led such a terrible life.” he declared, categorically.

“Are you both familiar with the details?” Rumours had run rampant, of course, but not every detail of it had made its way into public knowledge… as far as he was aware at least.

“I heard from Sir Trevor Welther that he was poisoned.” Said Benedict, as tactfully as he could.

Colin nodded “Laudanum, apparently.” he gestured with his hand as if he had made a very obvious point.

“So?” It was not that evident to everyone, though.

“Isn’t it just so kind of a group of thugs to provide such a gentle exit for their victim?”

“I hadn’t given it too much thought, to be honest.” Anthony sat back and crossed his arms.

“And nobody would, Anthony, and that is part of what bothers me about it.”

“Do you have a tantalizing theory to offer?” Benedict mocked him “Are you trying your hand at mystery novels now?”

Colin simply shrugged “I don’t know, it seems peculiar, that is all.”

Anthony seemed to consider it a little more in earnest and offered “Maybe he did it himself?”

“Maybe. But why would he do it there?” Benedict seemed more invested now.

“A last Hurrah?” Anthony hypothesised, without much conviction.

Colin shook his head “Well if that was it, he was even a worse man than I thought him, he could not possibly have wanted to leave his family like that on purpose.” He waved his hand in front of him, as if trying to dissipate a cloud of smoke. "But setting that aside and going back to my original point, Penelope has been a little melancholy about them and I want to do something to cheer her up.”

“Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with Eloise, then?”

“Anthony, you asked me how we were doing, I am not asking you for help!”

A mischievous smile spread on Benedict’s lips “Rumour has it you have shocked Lady Featherington by trying the one thing I was going to suggest”

“You, arse!” Colin shook his head, completely mortified as his brothers laughed.

"Seriously, brother!" Benedict shook his head, disapprovingly.

“Kate appreciates when I remember something she mentioned liking only in passing and then bring it to her some time later. Or when I am nice to Newton.” Their brothers looked confused “Because she knows I don’t like her dog so it is even nicer of me”

Benedict frowned, equally confused and amused And you honestly think she doesn’t expect you to get the things she absolutely, entirely by accident just so happens to mention?”

Colin was not paying attention to them any more, as he seemed to be trying to figure out if he knew a man he had not noticed was there, a couple of tables from them. “Excuse me, I have to say hello to an old friend.”

“Well, bring him over, maybe he has better marriage advise for you two!”

“He might!” Colin said, giving Benedict a soft hit on the shoulder as he left their table.

***

“Penelope!” Colin called from the entrance, as he removed his Hat and gloves. “Pen!” He called again as he opened the doors to the library, her study and then, having had no luck locating his wife in those rooms, climbed the stairs two steps at a time to go into the drawing room, where she found her about to step out to go find him herself.

“Colin, what is it?” She said, a bemused expression on her face as he excitedly, but gently pushed her back in to the room.

“You are going to love me, Mrs. Bridgerton!” He said as he crossed the room in a few long steps and reached for her hands, bending his knees a little as he frequently did to look directly into her eyes, a handsome smile plastered in his face.

She laughed softly “I already love you, Mr. Bridgerton!”

“Oh, no! That will be nothing in comparison!” He said.

“Well, I am extremely intrigued! What is it?”

He pulled on her hands so they could sit on the settee by the window.

“You will be hosting dinner for his majesty’s latest addition to the peerage”

“I am?”

“You are.” His smile was insufferably arrogant.

“A new peer, you said? Do you mean they have found the heir for Lord Cordonberry’s title at last? I was sure they would have to declare it extinguished.”

“No, the title is new. The wax is still warm in the letter patent”

A smile started spreading through Penelope’s face, recognizing the reason for Colin’s excitement “And is my husband planning to reveal who this mysterious new Peer of the realm is, or should I wait until we are serving him dinner to find out?”

“Viscount Ospringe”

“Ospringe?” Said another voice from the opposite end of the room.

Colin was embarrassed at his oversight, realising he had been too excited to share the news “My apologies, my Lady I…”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Bridgerton, I know enthusiasm sometimes blinds us to our surroundings.” Portia smiled tightly. “So, forgive me the interruption, but did you say Ospringe is the new Viscountcy?”

“Correct. Is that of some significance? I have not yet had a chance to look into it”

“There is a village in Kent called Ospringe. It is near my… near the place where I grew up” She noticed Penelope staring at her in a peculiar way “Don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t born a Featherington!”

“That might be the origin, indeed. The man hails from Kent.”

“It would seem half the ton does.” Penelope remarked.

“True. But he is just joining the ton and you will be the first to welcome him. He’s joining us for dinner tonight.”

Penelope’s eyes grew wide “Tonight!”

Portia sprung up immediately “I’ll alert the kitchen!” and she had not well left the room when they heard her call “Varley!”

“Colin, you have given us no time to prepare to entertain a Viscount!”

“Anthony is a Viscount, I don’t see why--” he shrugged but was cut off.

“Couldn’t you have invited him for tomorrow?” She tried to scold him, but she had a pursed smile on her lips and too much sweetness in her eyes.

“And risk some other family getting to invite him first? I thought you would appreciate the opportunity. You were complaining how it has been harder to come up with subjects to write about since you relinquished your anonymity”

“Thank you, I do appreciate it very much.” She took his hand and placed a kiss on it. “How did this come to happen, anyway?”

“That is the best part! You don’t have to be nervous about inviting someone of dubious character into your home because, as it turns out, I already know the fellow! I met him on my last tour and I think him very deserving of a nobility title.” He seemed to realise something in that moment “But I better follow your mother, she went away before I could clarify that he is bringing his daughters with him.” He rose to his feet and went to follow after his mother in law, but then turned his head around when he was half way through the door “One of them is to make her debut this season! She could be the diamond!”

She laughed “What have I turned you into?” but he was already almost out of the room, she could only see the hand he waved at her dismissively behind him.

***

It had been a challenge, but they had managed to put together a decent menu that Colin assured them would appeal to the man, as they had shared a meal or two when they met in Lisbon. The house had been a flurry of activity as soon as Portia gave instructions to the kitchen and Mrs. Varley set forth to arrange the finer details of the dinning room and the service. Penelope let her mother take the reins – and she did what she was best at: editing for taste. No, ostrich feathers were not necessary (And surely not dusty ones from storage, there was no time to clean them!). The white napkins were good enough, not those, the ones with the subtle embroidery…

Looking at the picture of domestic tranquillity that was the Featherington house’s drawing room five minutes to dinner time, one would never have guessed the chaos that it all had been to get to that peaceful state. Everyone smartly dressed, not a hair out of place, the Bridgertons reading next to each other, Lady Featherington working on some piece of embroidery – she had taken to it, as of late. Not having daughters to marry off seemed to have freed up her schedule to pursue more dignified activities.

When the arrival of the guests was announced, Portia’s sight was briefly cast down as she carefully deposited her needlework next to her to stand, and lingered for a second on her skirts, making sure they were perfectly in order to make the best impression. When her eyes finally travelled up to meet the recently arrived guest, something strange happened to her. She was breathless and her lips parted without being able to emit any sound. She was also sure her heart had given up and stopped completely. They were all instant signs flowing rapidly through her body, and yet, it took her what it felt like an eternity to understand why this was all happening – to truly recognize him.

Colin had reached out to the guest and was now addressing the ladies “Lady Featherington, Mrs. Bridgerton” He addressed Penelope with a playful smile “Allow me to introduce Lord Ospringe...”

A sound escaped Portia’s lips and mortification filled her as it was the most unbecoming of sounds for a Dowager Baroness. It was somehow both a chuckle and a gasp for air. To add to her bafflement, pure joy invaded her and her smile could have brightened an entire room without the need for any fire.

He was smiling, too, albeit he looked a thousand times more dignified in his own elation. He stood taller and stronger than she remembered, and even when there was plenty of grey in his hair now, he still was as handsome as the last time she laid eyes on him, almost twenty five years ago.

Colin continued, oblivious to the effect of this reintroduction “...and his daughters, Miss Aurora and Miss Belinda Clarence.”

“Like Mrs. Druthers?” She uttered, quite loudly, to everyone else's surprise. She did not care, she was talking to him.

He nodded, with a pursed smile "Of course!"

"Did you know aunt Belinda, my Lady?" The youngest of the girls asked, in a very charming tone, before her face went completely red, as she was now fully aware that this Lady was the one her hat had assaulted some days ago.

"I did, Miss Belinda." Portia recognized the girl too, and it all made perfect sense to her now. There was something on Belinda’s face that was very clearly him.

The arrival of the Dankworths and the Finches interrupted any conversation headed into the past, but it did not escape Penelope that his Lordship and her mother kept glancing back at each other with mirroring dumbstruck expressions.

“Your home is magnificent, Lady Featherington” James said, as he escorted her into the dinning room. His voice was warm and calm, in complete opposition to her feelings at the moment, which could be described as anything but calm. The only thing keeping her from making a spectacle of herself was the suspicion that she might be inside some sort of dream.

“It certainly is a large house, but to me, it has never even compared to Greenfinch Hall.”

“Have you been to Greenfinch Hall, my Lady?” Said Aurora, her deep brown eyes full of surprise.

This disconcerted Portia “Well, of course I have!” And then she figured that she had to ask “Have you, Miss Clarence?”

“Why, it is our home!” The young woman responded, full of mirth and delighted confusion.

A wave of warmth rippled through Portia. And she knew, if she was not careful, tears would start. Her eyes locked into James’, whose face had grown serious, whose dark eyes were now trying to convey so much.

“I bought Greenfinch in the year three, I had just been promoted to rear Admiral then, and the… opportunity presented itself.” He explained.

“It couldn’t have gone to better hands.” she smiled tightly.

Prudence couldn’t stop staring at her mother, until she turned to whisper to Philippa “What is happening?”

“I don’t know… but it is good, isn’t it?” She searched Prudence’s face for confirmation.

“Oh, no! Are those…” Prudence seemed horrified and her hand sought her sister’s by instinct

“Oh, Lord, she is tearing up” Philippa said, shocked at the sight as the both of them turned to Penelope, who was equally baffled.

Portia shook her head and put on a smile.

“So, Miss Clarence, are you excited about your debut?” She asked Aurora, changing the topic and making way for less charged, more animated conversation.

***

“His Voice, I know him now, I know him all.

O take me to thy Arms, and bear me hence,

Back to the Bottom of the boundless Deep,

To Seas beneath, where thou so long hast dwelt

O how hast thou return'd? How hast thou charm'd

The wildness of the Waves and Rocks to this?

That thus relenting, they have giv'n thee back

To Earth, to Light and Life, to Love and me.”

- William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

***

“So, did I understand correctly that you have spent time at Greenfinch, Lady Featherington? Was there you met aunt Belinda?”

“That is correct, Miss Clarence. I grew up there, as a matter of fact. It used to be my family’s home.”

The girl nodded enthusiastically, her rich brown curls bouncing at the sides of her head “Oh! You must have known papa as a young boy, then! He’s told us all about it, he has such fond memories of his youth! It is such a lovely house. I particularly love the walled garden in the back.”

This seemed to excite Portia “Do you still get all the wild roses?”

“Oh, yes! They are Belinda’s favourite, in fact.”

“They are! I love how open and friendly they are.” Miss Belinda agreed.

A Pang of jealousy and melancholy stabbed at Portia’s heart. To imagine James raising a family with another woman there. To picture them occupying her rooms, playing the pianoforte in the parlour, having dinner at her table and picking flowers from her garden – the feeling assaulted Portia without warning, that it was Prudence and Philippa who should have got to love the wild roses, and Penelope to read by the fire on her parlour.

She had meant it when she told James that she thought Greenfinch could not have ended up in better hands, she truly did. But she had been so deeply hurt knowing it had been sold- that she had been robbed of that last dream she had held onto. In the shadow of anonymity, when the new owners did not have names or faces, she had been able to move past it, if not entirely forget what she considered Archibald’s worst sin against her – even more so than losing all their money, or his dissolute conduct.

But now, having their names, their faces – she could see them laughing and running around in the grounds, climbing the trees like she used to do. Like they both used to do…

That stale feeling of loss crept its way to her heart once more, the previous joy brought upon by this serendipitous reunion rapidly evaporating, leaving her with nothing but a weak smile.

Immersed in these thoughts, she had not noticed James coming into the room along with the rest of the gentlemen, or that the conversation had kept going without her.

“Well, then, would you like to play for us?” Penelope asked Aurora.

“Of course, Mrs. Bridgerton!”

“Oh, I can sing if you -”

“No! -” Penelope immediately interrupted Prudence “no… I… I meant to ask Miss Belinda if she would like to accompany her sister, as they were just telling me how they enjoyed doing so.”

The younger girl was more than happy to oblige and soon the Clarence sisters were at the pianoforte, choosing a song. They Settled on Black-eyed Susan.

“May I?” James asked Portia, before receiving a nod and sitting next to her. “Did you really not know, about Greenfinch, my Lady?”

“I did not. I knew that it was sold, but I never asked, it never even occurred to me. All I cared about was that I had lost it.” Nothing in her address did betray the very real impulse, the need she felt to reach and touch his face, to make sure that he was really there talking to her.

He laughed softly at the irony “I must confess that when I offered for it, I expected to see you or at the very least to hear from you. And when it didn’t happen I took it as an indication that you did not want the same.”

“No! No, I would have been delighted to see you. I don’t think Lord Featherington thought anything of it and after – I didn’t take the news well at all, I don’t think I gave him a chance to tell me who was to be the new owner.” She knew Archibald wouldn’t have told her the truth even if she had asked him directly.

He nodded. “I still can’t believe we are here now! When Mr. Bridgerton invited me to dinner, he never mentioned – All I knew was that I was to be introduced to Mrs. Bridgerton and her family.”

“You are surprised, Lord Ospringe?” She let out a chuckle “You were supposed to come back a Captain, and here you are, a Viscount!” She teased.

He smiled “I made Captain on ninety three.”

“I know” she admitted and added “That is the year my eldest, Prudence, was born”

“I know.” He had a kind smile, and perhaps to avoid wistfulness settling in he joked “It was already too late for my original plans, so I just kept going.” he made a gesture with his hand towards an imaginary point in the horizon.

They both laughed softly “You have a beautiful family, my Lord.”

“I am very proud of my children. It is a shame Robert could not be here, I hope he can join us soon, our Oxford man. Law.” He was looking at his daughters as he added “He is only a few minutes older than Aurora”

“Oh! And...your… your wife?”

“Dottie – Dorothea - passed away six years ago, pneumonia.”

“I am sorry” She was genuine but then could not help herself “Miss Gladwell must have been so disappointed.”

He looked confused but then smiled as he remembered, and laughed very softly “I would have spent an inordinate amount of time picking her up” Portia had to cover her mouth to stifle a full laugh that had started with an unflattering snort.

Still with a mirthful smile he noted “You’re a Dowager now-”

“I am a grandmother now!” She said proudly, nose in the air and all, as if it were a much more important title.

“No! Can it truly be?”

“Three grandchildren.” She boasted, and then more seriously added “It has been a very long time.”

He nodded, and they sat in a comfortable silence, listening to Belinda sweetly singing

We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landmen say
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find;
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

Chapter Text

1817

The night slipped away, like water through her fingers. As soon as the guests were out the door she had retired to her rooms, quickly enough that she gave no one a chance to ask any questions.

It felt like she had been ripped from reality and taken into a dream. James Clarence in Featherington House, dining with her daughters – his daughters having been raised in her childhood home. It could not be real.

The door opened and Mrs. Varley came in, cautiously, as if evaluating her state of mind, before asking.

“Ma’am, was that--?”

“Yes!” She answered, turning away from Mrs. Varley and sitting in front of her vanity.

Mrs. Varley started removing the pins from her hair “And?” She pressed.

“And what, Varley?”

“Well…” Mrs. Varley inspected her mistress’ face looking back at her from the mirror, and gave her a knowing look “What do you think?”

Portia diverted her eyes to the jars in front of her, fidgeting with them and choosing one “He looks… well.” A small shrug and shake of her head made one of the flower adornments in her hair fall down to the floor. She looked behind her as Mrs. Varley went to get it, and when she looked back at the mirror she closed her eyes. “It is unfair how men manage to look more distinguished with age.”

Mrs. Varley smiled slyly “Oh, so you find him distinguished, then!”

“Well, didn’t you?”

“I guess.” She dismissed the thought, but she noticed that Portia seemed to be inspecting her reflection, her hand moving through the contours of her face. “You are a very attractive woman, Ma’am. And I could tell he thought so, too, he couldn’t look away from you.”

Portia clicked her tongue at this, annoyed at Mrs. Varley little playful smile, and waved her hand to dismiss her. But Mrs. Varley could see her frown had disappeared and she seemed more relaxed.

“We were surprised to find each other in these circumstances, that is all.”

“Well, I hear he is a widower” She teased her.

Portia rolled her eyes “And I am sorry that he’s lost his wife, but I will not have you making any assumptions or insinuations.”

“You could be a Viscountess soon, ma’am!”

“Have you lost all your senses, Varley?” She turned around to face her. “What can possess you to think that I would want to marry again? When I am finally free, to come and go as I please and do whatever I want?”

“Well, Ma’am, what is it exactly that you want?”

Portia turned around to face the mirror again “A good night’s sleep to begin with.”

Mrs. Varley smiled to herself and continued working on her hair.

***

Portia had never truly enjoyed church, although she had appreciated Archibald’s ability to deliver short and not entirely boring sermons most of the time. What she enjoyed was having something to do, and charity work was not only an acceptable occupation for a Lady of her position, it was an easy way for her to gain good will all around. She had regained some of it through the generous donations she made after Penelope’s marriage – no one had to know where that money had actually come from, after all.

But that was not enough now that she found herself with an excess of free time on her hands. Busy and preoccupied as she had been for the last few years, she had relinquished the reins of her own charity group, and was now ready to take them over once again. She would enjoy plotting the coup as much, if not even more than when she took over from Mrs. Harlow all those years ago.

Mrs. Harlow had been a though adversary, being a seasoned veteran and Portia the new addition to the Ton-- a new addition that Mrs. Harlow had bet against and lost, against all odds. Defeating her had required gathering intelligence, the kind of which required connections none of those ladies would ever consider making.

Portia had volunteered to take donations to the poor on the Featherington carriage herself – Never alone, of course-, and thus managed to meet all sorts of interesting people that had many stories to share and some of those stories had turned out to be extremely useful to her. Maria Featherington had been proven wrong. It was not perfection that would allow a lady to achieve a respectable position-- it was information, gossip and the right connections – both in high and low places. And a great deal of money, of course. Money was all that anyone really cared about.

She would not have been able to find out about Mrs. Harlow’s indiscretions otherwise, and if Portia had been perceived as perfect, Mrs. Harlow might have suspected the blow had come from her. But alas, no one ever suspected Portia of being clever enough, and that had suited her just fine.

In hindsight, she should have known about Penelope. And of course now the Whistledown connection would complicate things, so the strategy would need to be different. But Lady Barragan was no Mrs. Harlow, so there was no need for that much effort either.

As she thought of all this, her eyes wandered through the church and she saw Lord Ospringe at the front, which made her turn her attention to the sermon, as she was sure her face was red, if her heart palpitations could serve as an indication.

Church was one of the few places Araminta would not be vanished from, and there she was after the service was over, standing proud as ever in the shade of a great tree, trying her best not to notice that the only one that deigned talk to her was Portia.

How charitable of her, Indeed.

It was, for better or for worse, Araminta who had introduced her to London society, so it felt only right to at least let them see that they were on speaking terms again. She would appear as a generous, merciful friend bestowing a favour on a woman whose daughter had taken a bad turn and been justifiably cast away. Not a bad start for her plans.

And while her plans would require some time to come to fruition, right in that moment she would have to settle with enjoying the look on Araminta’s face when Lord Ospringe and his family came out to the courtyard after the service.

She should not be that petty, she reminded herself, even if she had all reason to snub Araminta after the whole Lady Whistledown stunt. But Portia had come to accept that she simply could not be glad for her oldest friend’s fall from grace, when she knew perfectly well that she would have done exactly the same, had she been in her situation. She had in fact, done much worse and managed to maintain her position and secure her daughters' futures. Araminta, on the other hand, had been separated from her only daughter, which to Portia seemed penitence enough.

“Is that the new Viscount? He looks familiar...” Araminta said, squinting her eyes as if to make her memories come into focus.

“Oh, that is because you have met him, of course!” Said Portia, savouring the moment.

“Have I?” She turned a questioning brow to Portia.

“Yes, but at the time he was a sailor, and you knew him as Mr. Clarence”

Oh, Portia was sure she would forever remember Araminta’s face, mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Mr Clarence, a Viscount?”

“Yes, dear.” Something in the distance caught her eye “If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Lady Barragan”

“I’ll join you” Araminta said a little unsure, but Portia was too focused to object.

“Lady Barragan!” She exclaimed, raising her closed fan in the air, and only acknowledging the other two women that were with her with a nod and a polite smile.

“Lady Featherington!” Lady Barragan looked like a frightened little mouse that had been cornered, without anywhere tu run “It was a very interesting sermon today, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely.” She responded, and immediately changed the subject “I want to talk to you about the Carstones, in Millbank. You must surely be acquainted with them, as head of St. George’s charity”

“I… I cannot say I am.” Lady Barragan’s eyes were wide.

“Well, I think that might be part of the issue. Miss Carston has reached out to me directly, to inquire about the help that used to be distributed in the area…” Portia’s concerned face seemed so genuine that it spread to Lady Barragan herself, the other ladies following with interest, while Araminta did her best to avoid smiling too cynically.

“Well, we support the Almshouses--”

“Oh, dear! That explains it.” Portia took one hand to her chest and another up in the air before landing on top of the other. Araminta shook her head, as if agreeing it was a great mistake. “Miss Carston has to work all day to support her young siblings and their mother, who has lost use of her limbs. I imagine it is quite a difficult task for them to find the time to go and collect anything”

“Shouldn’t they just move in there, if they are so needy?” Lady Barragan now seemed alarmed.

Portia glanced quickly at the other two women to ensure they were paying attention “Have you visited?”

“You seem to be very well acquainted with them!” Lady Barragan’s face looked now a dangerous shade of pink.

“You see, I learned back when I headed the Ladies’ of St. Mary’s charity in Faversham, that one has to meet the needy to understand what exactly is it that they need, and the same proved very successful when my dear Archibald- rest in peace-, was rector at Wrotham.” She challenged them with a steeled glance to attempt any mockery. “We found it a most effective way to handle the parish’s alms.”

“And, if I may say so, it had also worked very well for this parish until… well.” Araminta offered, likely recognizing whose side was more likely to help her regain her lost status. Not that her word carried any weight with them, but Portia had to applaud her perseverance.

Up to that point, Portia had been too focused on the conversation so it took her a moment to notice that the other women had become distracted, Lady Carhart noisily opening her fan and making a display of it, unsuccessfully hiding a stupid little smile that was replicated in Lady Musgrove, so she had to turn to find Lord Ospringe and his daughters standing next to her.

“Lady Featherington...”

She could just hope that the firm impression she had made on the group was not lost now that she noticed her mouth was slightly open in a very foolish expression. “What a delightful surprise to see you all this morning.”

There was a momentary awkwardness as she hadn’t considered she had to introduce him to the rest of the Ladies. When she corrected this, she took care of addressing Araminta last “Lady Cowper, you remember Lord Ospringe, of course.”

“It is good to see you again, my Lord” Lady Cowper had a hopeful smile that Portia thought was very unlike her.

Lord Ospringe looked confused “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Cowper”

Portia could see Araminta’s back straightening, and her brows arching “My Lord, you might remember Lady Cowper as Miss Araminta Reynolds, from Faversham”

He smiled but the confusion was still visible, it was apparent that he did not remember her, but still uttered “Of course!”

Portia then introduced the young ladies, and added “Miss Clarence, I heard you did very well at your presentation” The girl beamed with great satisfaction.

“I believe I did, Lady Featherington. The Queen smiled and nodded at me, which I am told is a very good sign” Aurora’s full lips pursed as she savoured the memory

“It is indeed!” Lady Cowper said encouragingly, as Portia nodded in agreement.

“Miss Clarence is a very fine young woman, she is sure to be a success, my Lord” Lady Musgrove said “She will surely make a very good match, in no time.”

“Thank you, my Lady” Aurora’s olive skin blushed, making her look as if she had just spent an entire day in the sun, Belinda looked at her full of admiration, evidently proud and happy for her sister.

“There is no rush for that, I assure you.” James tilted his head looking affectionately at his daughter “She can take her time. My only wish is to be able to guide her to make a wise choice, when she is ready to make it.”

“Of course, isn’t that what we all want for our daughters?” Lady Cowper remarked.

“How is dear Cressida, by the way?” Lady Barragan asked.

Portia almost felt bad for her, as Araminta’s well trained features seemed on the verge of betraying real emotion “My daughter is enjoying Wales tremendously, so she is staying there a little longer”

“Ah, Wales, how delightful!” Portia said, waving her hand in the air for emphasis.

“Is she in Cardiff, by any chance?” Lord Ospringe asked, politely.

“Tenby, my Lord.”

“Oh, Tenby is such a delightful town!” Belinda exclaimed. It seemed to Portia that both girls were perpetually pleased with life, which somehow lent a lovely air to the pretty features of their faces. May their lives continue to be thus blessed, she thought.

“Apparently, it is” Said Lady Cowper without much conviction. “If you’ll excuse me, I had not realized how late it was, I must leave you. A pleasure” she took a look around the group and bowed to no one in particular as she left the group.

Lord Ospringe looked at his watch and declared “It is indeed quite late. We should get going as well.”

“I hope we will see you and Miss Clarence at Lady Danbury’s ball” Lady Carhart said, with a smile, as she made a show of fluttering her fan about.

“Of course!” He responded politely to the woman who asked, but turned and smiled at Portia. “We will leave you, I now realise we interrupted your conversation.”

“Nothing that cannot wait, my Lord” Lady Barragan said.

“I beg to differ!” Portia objected.

“We can discuss this Miss Carlton--”

“Carston” She corrected

“We can discuss it over tea, on Wednesday. You are more than welcome to accompany us, Miss Clarence, if you are interested in our Parish’ alms distribution.”

James smiled to himself while Aurora politely declined the invitation on account of a previous engagement. Everything having thus been settled, the group disbanded and, as the Clarences seemed to be going in the same direction as Portia, James took the opportunity to walk beside her, his daughters following behind them.

“I am glad to see you are adapting quite well” Portia told him, without turning to look at him.

“I see you still keep your Thursdays group!” She turned her head to look at him and confirmed that he looked as if he was savouring something delicious.

“Do you find that entertaining?”

“It is good to see some things never change. Do you still do all the work while the others gossip and have luncheon?” He teased her.

She chuckled “No! I have learned a thing or two in the last thirty years, believe it or not. Besides, I am not the head of the group yet.”

“Oh, not yet? But soon, surely.”

She nodded “Soon, yes.” She made a pause and stopped walking, turning to face them all “It has been good to see you--”

“Are you and your daughters attending Lady Danbury’s ball, my Lady?” Aurora asked, interrupting her goodbye.

“One cannot miss the first ball of the season, Miss Clarence. At least not while it is Lady Danbury’s – and it always is.”

“Aurora, you will have to tell me all about it!” Belinda swayed in place.

“Of course I will, Bel!” Aurora responded, and corrected her sister’s posture with a gentle gesture of her head and adjusting her own shoulders.

“I only wish I could see all of the dresses! You have such a great eye for colour, my Lady, I am sure yours will be particularly delightful.”

Portia was surprised, but flattered. “My own daughter doesn’t seem to think so” She said, recalling her lack of taste having been remarked on multiple times by Lady Whistledown herself. “I shall make sure to tell her I do have your approval, Miss Belinda.”

“Will you let us take you home, My Lady?” James asked.

“There is no need, I have a carriage waiting.” She pointed with her fan at it. He seemed to be looking for something else, but having found nothing to add, he bowed and they parted ways.

As she walked towards her carriage, she had to fight the urge to look back. She was marvelled at the ease with which they could interact. Now that the surprise of their first encounter had worn off, she had expected some awkwardness, and had been prepared for the natural coldness of a long severed acquaintance. But instead there he was, decades later, teasing her just like he always had. It felt like all those other times when he had come back home, so glad to see her, so full of warmth. Like no time had passed, like an entire lifetime had not come in between them.

How easy, how comfortable it was to fall into old patterns, even ones she had thought long forgotten.

She had to be careful.

***

There was really no reason any more for Portia to go through the trouble of attending any event she did not feel up to, now that all her daughters were married. It was truly liberating to be done with her duty to ensure her daughters’ marriages. She wasn’t there on a mission any more, but simply to enjoy herself as she hadn’t been able to in a very long time.

She was sipping from her glass and watching as Lady Carhart and her fluttering fan made the rounds in front of the widowers and the older bachelors. At least she did not go after the young ones – not openly any way. Portia could not fathom why she would go to all that trouble to marry again instead of enjoying her widowed status. And as she pondered this, she noticed there was another notorious fool in that regard, coming her way.

“Violet” Portia smiled tightly.

“You are well, Portia, I hope?”

“I am, indeed, and I see you are perfection incarnate, as always.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” Violet shook her head, with an embarrassed smile, and after a brief pause steeped in awkwardness, she continued “Colin tells me you are planning on moving out from Grosvenor square?”

Portia rolled her eyes and her hand fluttered above her head before landing on her forehead for a second “Oh, I must apologize for what my daughter has done to your son!” She replied, in jest before answering in earnest “But it is true, I have already made some inquiries for a house.”

“Do let me know if you need any assistance” Violet said, reaching out for Portia’s forearm, which was something she had not yet got used to, just how much Violet liked to touch people.“I just went through the ordeal myself and I know what it means leaving ones dear home to allow the young ones to thrive.”

She could have said nothing – a nod and a polite smile would have sufficed, or she could have said something biting instead, but she opted for candour “Thank you. I do not think we share the same attachment to our late husbands’ properties, but I do appreciate the sentiment.”

Violet’s eyes grew wide with understanding “Oh! I suppose that is true.”

To Portia, Violet Bridgerton was as close to a mythical creature as one could ever be. There were other happy couples in the ton, surely, but none that had boasted such good fortune and risen so prominently. Lady Bridgerton was everything Maria Featherington had wanted Portia to become. But Violet had been raised as a Lady since birth and, perhaps more importantly, she had not had the misfortune of meeting either of Maria’s sons before she was married to her Edmund.

What a different life it would have been, to live in a house full of warmth, with a loving husband, without any worries for safety or security. What an oddity, to truly and deeply mourn the loss of her husband instead of feeling relief and guilt. What a miraculous feeling it must be to have had experienced such joy in marriage that she was looking forward to do it again. Her daughters would get that, at least.

Violet smiled, only imagining what thoughts ran through Portia’s head. She knew she had been fortunate in her marriage and she could not imagine Portia could say the same – They had lived across from each other long enough to know better. “Lord Ospringe is a very handsome man, is he not?” she said, suddenly.

This made Portia turn to look where Violet’s eyes had travelled to, and there he was. “I dare say he is” she admitted, as she took in his tanned face that still seemed soft, the warm smile that she knew was uneven due to a slightly protruding canine, but was not really noticeable, and the dark eyes below his strong brow, which had always made him seem more serious than he was. It was all there, still.

“Is it true you were already acquainted with each other?” As delicately as Violet posed the question, Portia was aware that she knew the answer to it already, so it was something else that she was truly looking for.

“It was lifetime ago, really.” She was done with candour.

“Were you friends?” The innocent tilt of her head would not fool her, Portia decided.

“We were children” And with this, Violet finally seemed to understand that whatever the nature of their previous acquaintance, it could not bear any significance now. Or at least that was what Portia tried to convey and Violet did not press further.

It was not long before Lord Ospringe’s eyes found Portia and he made his way to greet her, followed closely by his eldest daughter.

“Lady Featherington, Lady Bridgerton.”

“My Lord, Miss Clarence, good evening.”

“Belinda will be so pleased when I tell her you are wearing green, Lady Featherington. Oh, and with the wild roses, too!”

“Oh, will she?” She exchanged a quick, amused glance with Lord Ospringe.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t tell her or she will be sad she couldn’t see it herself. Oh, and your gown is so exquisite, Lady Bridgerton!”

“Thank you, Miss Clarence” Violet said, fully aware that her exquisite gown would not be causing the envy of any girls at the Clarences’ home, apparently.

The sound of Lady Danbury’s cane hitting the floor announced her presence as she approached them.“I hope you are all enjoying yourselves tonight.” Lady Danbury’s eyes scrutinized the group, as if trying to figure out how the scene before her had come to be.

“Very much Lady Danbury, thank you”

They were going on about the exquisite décor and her impeccable taste when she decided she did not have time for flattery and went straight to the point that had brought her to them. “Miss Clarence, Lord Ospringe. I would like to introduce Mr. Malcolm Lawrence, Lord Fairfax’s son.” And as the polite exchanges took place between them, Lady Danbury continued “Lady Bridgerton and Lady Featherington are surely already acquainted with Mr. Lawrence”

“Of course!”

“I trust your dear mother is doing better?”

“She is much improved indeed, Lady Bridgerton, thank you.” As he nodded, a dark blond curl fell out of place in front of his eyes, but he did not seem to mind. “She decided to stay home tonight merely as a precaution.”

“Oh, you must please tell her we miss her and hope for her full recovery soon.”

“Of course, my Lady” There was a subtle hint of impatience in his address that made Portia exchange another quick glance with Lord Ospringe, as it was obvious there was only one reason why the young man was there, and it was not to exchange pleasantries with the old people.

“Miss Clarence, would you do me the honour of accompanying me for the next dance, if you are available, that is, of course?” His smile lent him an air of humility, as if he believed that assuming her to be free had been a blunder.

Aurora turned to her father, who looked at her reassuringly, and so she went off with Mr. Lawrence to the dance floor.

“He is a fine young man, heir to the Fairfax Baroncy” Lady Danbury informed, as her father’s eyes trailed after her, pensively, which she took to mean he was anxious about his daughter.

He surprised them, though, as something else had occurred to him in that very moment. “Lady Featherington would you do me the honour?”

“No.” Was her immediate response, before she could even think about it “No I...I don’t dance--” She could feel the eyes of Lady Danbury boring a hole on the side of her face, which she felt growing red. “I mean, it has been a very long time, I fear I might have forgotten-” She was shaking her head and there was a visible effort on her part to stop her hands from flying to cover her face.

It was all made the more embarrassing by Lady Bridgerton’s benevolent and all too pleased smile.

“I thought I only had to ask…” he said softly, his head tilting in a way that must have been very effective for him in the past.

She looked at him visibly confused. She should be allowed to refuse a man a dance at her age and position, should she not?

“Lady Featherington, you should seize the opportunity!” Lady Danbury’s eyebrows were dangerously raised “There comes a time when we Dowagers rarely get asked to dance any more.”

She could not very well argue with their hostess, so even at the risk of making a fool of herself, she capitulated “Of course”.

They excused themselves and walked towards the end of the room where the dancing was taking place.

“You said that to me once, have you forgot? You said you would never deny me a dance.”

She scoffed “I said that?”

“You did! I do have a very good memory for anything that truly interests me.”

She found this remarkably curious “Did you really not remember Araminta?”

He smiled deviously “Oh, I did, but I never liked her. It surprises me to find you are still friends with her.”

She could hardly believe he would be that mischievous, not at his age. “She is my oldest friend. We are a constant in each other’s lives and that is… comforting, in a way – even if we do challenge, or even hurt each other from time to time.” She shrugged.

“You have a curious definition of friendship, my Lady” he said, squinting his eyes, doubting her.

“Well, If I were more like you, I would be forced to admit that Mrs. Varley is my only true friend.”

“I see you do not consider me your friend any more.”

She chuckled “There is no such a thing as a man that can be a good friend to a woman, my Lord”

He wanted to talk about that, but since the dance had started, he just said “I hope I can prove you wrong.”

At the edge of the dance floor, Prudence exchanged glances with Philippa across a group of people, and in that unspoken language of sisters, they seemed to have agreed to rush to Penelope’s side, startling her as she reached for a tartlet. They flanked her and Prudence took her by the shoulders to make her turn around while Philippa addressed the matter.

“Mama is dancing!” Her tone was decidedly confused, a little concerned and a tiny bit excited.

“She is smiling” Prudence seemed worried.

“Well, she does seem happy.” Penelope declared.

“I don’t like it…”

Penelope laughed softly “Prudence, I don’t see what the matter is!”

“Who even is that man?” Asked Eloise, who had been mindlessly shoved aside by Philippa, and collectively ignored by the Featheringtons’ preoccupied minds.

“Lord Ospringe. It seems he is an old friend of Mama’s” responded Penelope.

“Why is he dancing with her?” Asked Philippa.

“Well, I would venture a guess that it is because they are friends and dancing is fun”

“Oh, grow up! Ladies do not have men who are their friends, Penelope.”

“Colin was my friend!”

Eloise hid her pursed smile behind her glass while both of Penelope’s sisters raised their brows, as if she had said a very silly thing

“You must find all you can about this man, Penelope. Make sure what his intentions truly are” Prudence demanded of her younger sister.

“It is only a dance, Prudence!”

“I don’t think it is, my love.” Colin interjected. He had been following the women’s discussion intently, amused at their reactions. “And I must say, it surprises me to hear you of all people say that.”

This made Penelope take a better look at the couple, and it was indeed, sobering. Her mother seemed soft and joyful and... vulnerable. None of those were words she had ever before thought of using to describe Portia Featherington.

It was true that her mother had become more affectionate, almost tender since her marriage to Colin, and all the events that followed. She was certainly sweet to little Thomas. But even as she seemed calmer and content, the steeliness of her character remained there. And right in that moment, all the hardness she had grown to associate with her mother seemed gone, as she twirled around.

Her mother was twirling.

Prudence faintly uttered “Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Eloise’s voice returned her attention to the group “Ladies, If you don’t mind my saying it, I do not think your mother – of all people–, needs you to protect her from the simple threat of a man’s advances.”

Colin nodded, and the Featherington women all silently agreed that it was solid logic, but it would still be promptly disregarded.

“What am I supposed to write about this?” Penelope felt at a loss.

“We’ll figure it out” Colin reassured her.

“I don’t suppose you want to go and dance with a gentleman, Eloise? It would be perhaps the most shocking this night could get”

Without missing a bit Eloise responded “Absolutely not! But Benedict might still save the night for you.” she added, dropping a little forward, with a twisted smile as she looked for her brother.

Colin frowned as he scolded his sister “Oh Yes! Let us hope for another Bridgerton scandal, that will surely please our mother.”

“You’re the one who married a Featherington!” Eloise retorted raising her hands

“What is that supposed to mean?” Prudence said.

“That he has to see after all of you now, of course.” She exchanged a look with Penelope, a smirk in her face.

Philippa did not seem convinced – none of them did but they let it slide because the dance was coming to an end and Lady Featherington was laughing and holding Lord Ospringe's arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe you’re making mama move out of her own house!” Prudence accused, following Penelope’s movements as she entered the drawing room and sat across her.

“I am not making her leave, Prudence. It is her own wish to move out”

Prudence narrowed her eyes, leaning closer to her “Only because of your scandalous behaviour!” There was a hint of a smile not very well hidden in her lips, that assured Penelope it was not an attack, but still coloured her face a bright shade of pink that almost matched her sister’s dress.

“I don’t know what she’s told you, Prudence but…” she could not bring herself to look at her.

“The dinning room, Penelope? Really?” She was full on poking fun at her now.

Penelope’s hands flew to her face “I cannot believe she told you that!”

“Well, that is just how shocked she was, that she could not keep it to herself, I guess.” After having a laugh she took a look around her “It is so strange how a place stops being one’s home, even after spending so many years living there.”

“I had not thought about it. We spent so little time at Bloomsbury that I never really felt truly at home there. But to be quite honest I do not think I ever really felt as much at home here either, until I came back.”

“Because it is your family’s home now, of course.” Prudence retorted, as if it was a very obvious thing.

“I guess the building is unimportant as long as our loved ones are with us.”

“Well it is not unimportant, Penelope. You can’t raise a proper family in a rubbish house. And you have to like it and be comfortable in it, too.” And as she said so, she made herself comfortable, by sinking back into her seat.

“Do you think mama will be happy living on her own?” Penelope tapped her fingers nervously on the armrest of the chair.

“We’ll visit, won’t we? Besides she will never let you run this house if she stays.” The warning was of course, unnecessary, as she had been aware of the fact for some time now. Something else seemed to have occurred to her, as she sat up straight again. “Did you talk to her about that man, Lord... whatever?”

Penelope rolled her eyes “Lord Ospringe. And no, I have not. Do you really think she would volunteer anything if I asked her directly?” She had to know better, after all, Prudence had two years of advantage knowing their mother. But maybe if she asked about someone else and not herself…

“Are you ladies ready?” Portia interrupted them, as if she had been the one waiting and not the other way around.

Prudence corrected her “We were just waiting for you.”

“Let us go, then” she hurried them as she put on her gloves.

It was an extremely short ride in the carriage, so much so that it made Penelope wonder why they had even got on it in the first place. The property stood not four streets North-west from Featherington house, less than half a mile away. It was a beautiful day outside, too, a bright blue sky with only a few torn white clouds.

“We could have just walked, mama!”

“We will visit another house on Brook street after this one, and then I have an appointment with Lady Barragan, you two can walk home from there if you’re so fond of it.”

“I think she must have specifically asked for houses within a mile from you” Prudence said in a low voice to Penelope, but without really caring if Portia heard her.

“I guess you’d rather have me completely vanished to the country and put me out to pasture!” their mother complained.

“I thought you loved nature!” Prudence defended herself.

Portia rolled her eyes and directed her daughters inside, to be shown her potential new residence in Green street.

“The light here is excellent, and the rooms are of a good size, but I am not entirely convinced with the garden. A home ought to have a good garden.” Portia declared, standing in the middle of an empty room that would be her drawing room, if she could only compromise on the matter of the garden.

“The park is not even a half mile away, mama!” Prudence brought up, causing the man showing them the house to nod vigorously in agreement.

“The park is not particularly to my taste, though, is it?” she retorted.

There was no response from her daughter, who was now running out of the room in a haste, covering her mouth, without any obvious reason. She was closely followed by the proprietor’s steward, who was probably more worried about any potential spillage on the clean floors than the health of the lady.

“Prudence!” Portia called, then turning to look at Penelope as if she could clarify.

“Do you think she is with child again?” Penelope ventured to guess.

She smiled warmly as she turned to where Prudence had disappeared from “That must be it. Did she tell you anything?”

But when she looked back at Penelope, she knew by her determined expression that she would not respond, she could tell she had already something else in that overly complicated mind of hers.

“Mama, what do you know about a Miss Eleanor Wetherby?”

If she was caught by surprise, she managed to hide it “Not much, dear. Except that she was the love of your father’s life, of course.”

Penelope was surprised at the ease with which she had responded, but most of all, to find a little vexation in her mother’s face and tone.

“Does that really upset you? Forgive me, but I never thought you really cared…”

“I don’t believe anyone enters a marriage hoping for it to go badly, Penelope.” She practically scolded her “I certainly didn’t know I would have to live up to a ghost.” She gave it some thought before letting out a tired sigh, pressing on her forehead “I sometimes wonder if he would perhaps have ended up a better man if he had been able to marry his Eleanor. But I was not her and he was not--” He caught herself and corrected “different.”

Penelope chose to ignore the last-second correction for the time being, she did not want to spoil this rare moment of openness “Do you know what happened to her?”

“I assume you found her letter, so you know as much about her as I do, then.”

“I did.” She was surprised that her mother knew of that letter. How many times had she found her father going through it, surely with a drink in one hand.

And, she wondered, if that letter hadn’t existed, would the scene be different, and instead of Portia turning away at the door to leave him alone, mourning his lost love, drowning in his sorrow – would Portia instead have been welcome in and spent a lovely time together, finishing Hymen’s triumph and moving on to the sonnets to Delia? Would the girls have been allowed to join them and have a lovely evening as a family, reading by the fireplace?

“Did they ever find out who it was that deceived her?”

“What has got you in this inquisitive mood, Penelope?” Portia protested, feeling they were wandering into dangerous territory she did not care to visit.

“I know so much about other families’ stories, mama, that I’ve come to realize how little I know of our own.”

Portia seemed baffled “What more is there to know, dear, and to what end?” she shrugged and gestured around her as if looking for said end in the empty room.

“I want to understand--”

“Penelope, we are not a book or an arithmetic problem, we are not to be understood. I think you are too much used to digging up gossip and have found yourself without a subject to entertain you. I assure you, none of this would interest any of your readers.” Portia walked to the window, which did afford a nice view of the park indeed.

“I would like to have something to tell your grandchildren, mama. I cannot help but being jealous of all the stories Colin already shares with Thomas about his family, and I can’t find any of ours that I would like to tell them.”

Portia turned to look at her daughter with eyes bright and wide, a pull down on her lips as she finally understood what Penelope meant. “You can tell them that your father was once a kind man who once rode without stopping, from Ightham to Faversham on a white horse and rescued me, on a rainy day. And he said something that your grandfather – my father – used to say as well, that you will miss the rainbow if you keep staring at the mud.”

Penelope took a couple of steps towards her mother. “Did that really happen?”

“Yes, mostly. I do not know if he stopped on the way or not, I supposed he had to. But mostly, it is true.” It was. The details of exactly why and how were unnecessary. Let them- her daughters, her grandchildren, have at least one story about her and Archibald that would not fill them with shame, sadness or -god forbid – pity. “He tracked mud all over the verandah”, she added as she remembered.

“And was he really a Clergyman or was that another lie, like when Philippa had me convinced I had been found as a baby on the entry steps?”

Portia couldn’t help but laugh “He was. He didn’t believe any of it, but his sermons were not terrible. They must be somewhere in his study if you would like to read them.”

Penelope knew she was testing her luck, but she tried, any way “What exactly did he rescue you from?”

“A life of labour with aunt Petunia, I suppose. That is not important. You are writer, can’t you make something up?”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” Her mother rolled her eyes, exasperation beginning to replace her moment of almost honesty, so Penelope quickly added “But I will think of something. Can… can I ask you one more question, though?”

Her mother rolled her eyes to heaven above “What is it?”

“You said he was kind?”

Portia smiled and rested her back against the wall next to the window, looking at her “He was, at the beginning. His problem was the drinking and the gambling. If he had not hidden things from me, and if I had paid more attention, perhaps I might have been able to avoid…” She could not finish the thought. She had already said much more than she intended to.

“Thank you, mama.”

Portia’s hands waved around dismissively, and then she felt the need to add, in a more serious tone “You are lucky that your husband seems to trust your judgement. As long as he does, I believe you capable enough to manage quite happily. Just… do not ever let him try to protect you by keeping you ignorant. Particularly in matters of money and property.”

“Colin would never…”

“Best to make sure, dear. That goes for Mr. Dankworth, too, Prudence” She said, as Prudence finally rejoined them.

“What goes…?” Confusion spread through her pale face.

“Well, I’ve seen enough. We should go on to Brook Street” Portia declared, making her way out of the room.

“I’ll tell you later” Penelope said as she pressed her sister’s arm. “And congratulations!”

Prudence smiled and they both followed their mother, who marched ahead of them, full of purpose.

They were stepping out of the house when they heard a sweet, young voice calling “Lady Featherington!”

They turned their heads to find Miss Clarence walking hastily towards them, leaving her father a few steps behind her.

“We are just on our way back home from the park. What a marvellous coincidence to find you all here! I was just telling papa that we must have you over for tea soon. We are but a couple of streets away, too!” Aurora pointed down the street in the opposite direction as if asking them to follow her right that instant.

“Are you, really?” Portia asked.

“Yes, in Park street” James answered, and with a slightly amused smile he asked Portia “Were you looking at this house?”

“Yes, we were just touring it. I am looking for a dower house”

“You should definitely get this one, it was my second choice. I only decided on Park street because--”

“The garden is too small?” her brows raised knowingly.

“Yes!” He exclaimed and she nodded, feeling vindicated. Prudence frowned until Penelope gently elbowed her into composure.

“Oh, you should join us, it is but a short walk away!” Aurora offered.

“It will have to be some other time, dear. We have an appointment in Brook Street” She was moving towards the carriage that had just been brought for them.

James frowned “You would do much better coming with us, you will not like that house.”

Her mouth widened into an incredulous smile “Tastes change my Lord! Go on girls” She instructed her daughters to go into the carriage.

“Allow me!” He helped them into the carriage but delayed with Portia, who was last “Would you be available for tea this Friday? It would be Aurora’s first time hosting an actual guest” He indicated with a little nod that it would be a great favour. He pressed her hand and lingered, waiting for her answer.

Portia withdrew her hand, delicately. She could see Aurora’s eager smile awaited her response as well “Of course, I will be delighted, my Lord.”

He nodded, pleased. “Give my regards to Mr. Bridgerton, please, and to Mr. Dankworth of course”

When the door was finally closed and they moved on, Prudence whispered to Penelope “Do you think we are also invited to tea, or just mama?”

Penelope laughed “I do not think they care either way”

“How rude!”

Portia was not paying attention, she was staring aimlessly through the window, rubbing her lower lip with her hand.

***

She wasn’t sure why she had accepted the invitation. It was as if something inside her was compelled to seek disappointment. Nothing else could result from continuing this connection. It was a matter of time before he saw her for what she was now, and decided to cut her. The sensible thing was for her to do it first.

But she could not bring herself to do it, and she had in fact put as much care on her dress that day as if she were having tea with the Queen herself, and not a nineteen year old girl. Mrs. Varley had not even dared jest about it, but she had that annoying little smirk in her face all the while.

Looking at the red brick exterior, the purple flowers hanging from the windowsills in the upper floors and the white door up the steps, she thought about how she could still choose to leave. And as she climbed those steps she said to herself that she could turn around and concoct an excuse on the way home. But she knocked on the door and went inside instead. She could immediately tell why he had chosen this house. The light-flooded foyer displayed the dark wood of the staircase against the lighter parquet flooring very beautifully.

As a footman led her on their way to the parlour, she was surprised to find Lord Fife on his way out. They exchanged courtesies and continued each on their own paths.

She was left on her own in the parlour, which was a tad too warm since the windows faced south and the pearly drapes were parted, letting in the sunlight which nurtured the potted plants around them, but none of the windows were open to let fresh air in.

The furniture was all pale cream colours, the chairs and sofas decorated with bright-coloured cushions. The pale green wallpaper had a low contrasting floral pattern that along with the potted plants and the cushions made the room feel very lively. There were portraits and other artwork on the walls, but most prominent of all, above the fireplace, there was a portrait of a lady sporting an elegant blue riding habit and hat.

That must be Dottie. A plump rosy smile adorned the perfect face of the beautiful woman, whose skin seemed to glow like polished bronze, the dark mark on her cheekbone only adding to her charm, dark curls up in an elegant style revealing a long graceful neck. The deep brown eyes the same as her daughters’.

“I am so glad you agreed to join us.” James’ voice made her turn around.

“I would not dare disappoint Miss Clarence.”

“She will be joining us soon, but I am glad I have the opportunity to talk to you before that. I am hoping you will agree to help me, my Lady.” He said as he directed her to sit down and sat across her himself.

“How can I possibly be of help to you?” She could not imagine what a man like him would need from a woman such as her.

He sat at the very edge of his seat, seemingly trying to reduce the distance between them “I have found myself to be woefully under-prepared to deal with London’s high society. These are waters I have not been trained to navigate on, but I am told you are quite the expert.”

“You have been told?” There was a quizzical frown on her face.

“Lady Danbury praised your abilities, since you have secured happy and respectable marriages for your daughters.”

"Did she really? And did she happen to mention that I am a notoriously bad judge of character?”

“I refuse to believe that. The mere fact that you seem to be aware of it recommends you even more. Besides I am not unburdening myself from my own responsibilities, you would leave the judgement to me.”

“And your daughter, of course.”

“Of course” He nodded in agreement.

“The truth is that, even if I am flattered that my daughters’ success has recommended me, I cannot make any claims of it. I had in fact, very little to do with their choices and so far it seems they chose well.”

“But you would have stepped in if they made a choice that was objectionable, wouldn’t you?”

“I did, and I regret that I was so very set against Mr. Bridgerton at the very beginning”

“Were you really?” She shrugged in a mildly apologetic manner. “Would it surprise you too much if I told you I can understand why?”

“I would find it interesting.”

“I find him now much changed from the brief time we spent together in Lisbon – for the better. I do not mean to say he was bad in any manner, on the contrary he impressed me as a solid, good man that found himself rudderless and was a little bit too eager to charm others. I can see how that would not be something you desire for your daughter.”

“I wish those were my reasons, truly.” She smiled, and although he did want to know more about this, he realized he was wasting time discussing Mr. Bridgerton’s traits.

“I believe you could still help me greatly, if we work as a team”

She couldn’t help but exhaling a laugh “The last man that asked for me to be in his team, ended up regretting it”

That was another thing he might have asked about, but he wanted to be done with this conversation before Aurora came in. “Consider me properly warned and fully prepared to face the consequences.”

She found the situation amusing “You have commanded fleets! You have been made viscount as a reward for your outstanding bravery and defeating the enemy at sea – what challenge can a gaggle of well-dressed civilians possibly present to you?”

He tilted his head, pleadingly “My daughter’s future and her happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. I have let my children be raised by others while I was away, for far too long and I am afraid it might already be too late. I am hoping now that I have retired, I can still guide them well enough into happy adulthoods, but I simply do not know these people as well as you do, I have not studied their tactics. And… after all, I do believe you owe me a favour”

She had after all been prey to the harshness of the ballrooms at the very beginning, and it had taken years for her to dominate her way around them. It just had never occurred to her that it was in fact a truly valuable set of skills. And she did owe him more than one favour. In fact she knew she would not be able to recall a single instance of him denying her one whenever she had asked something from him.

After considering this she said “Very well. First of all you do not want Lord Fife anywhere near your daughters. No amount of money and privilege would be worth the pain that man will cause a woman.”

He leaned back a bit, pleased.“See? I am already learning vital information. And for the record, I do not like the fellow.”

“I was going to tell you that any way since I saw him leave. I must say I am surprised his reputation did not reach you before.”

“It is curious, though.” He said, with an inquisitive look narrowing his eyes.

“What is?”

“Lord Fife also warned me about you”

“About me?” She said, managing to smile incredulously while hiding her alarm, even though James looked amused, more than anything.

“He said I should be careful because you are a lot more clever than you let on” he gestured as if that made absolutely no sense at all.

“Oh.” She raised an eyebrow, and smirked “I do not know if I should take that as an insult or a compliment, really”

“I do not think he meant it as a compliment.” James grimaced.

“It is sadly uncommon for a man of our society to appreciate cleverness in a woman. I can see how he would be surprised, although I really don’t know what has clued him in to my powers” she made fun of it, but deep inside she was truly wondering. If Lord Fife was running around warning people about her, he must know something.“Does it really surprise you?”

“Not at all! What surprises me is he said this as if it were a secret you have been hiding. He called you cunning, too” She felt his eyes roaming around through her face and, strangely aware of Dottie’s portrait hanging above them on her other side, she turned to face the window instead.

“I had to be, if I wanted to succeed here!” Of course, James did not know her any more. He did not know Lady Featherington, but a Miss Weston that had disappeared from the world too many years ago, last seen at Ightham, slowly buried by the hand of the Featheringtons. “I did not have the advantages of birth or education most of my new peers did, so I used what tools I had at my disposal. I am sorry if it has come as a great shock for Lord Fife, but hiding one’s strengths is sometimes the best strategy.”

She turned to face him again, and caught him staring intensely at her. He took a breath, words starting to form on his lips, and then simply abandoned them unsaid.

“What is it?” He must realize now how changed she was, the novelty of having encountered each other running its due course, she thought.

“Do you thin my humble origins might come to affect my daughters’ prospects in any manner?”

She shook her head slightly “Do not worry about it. I do not think anyone else knows about it other than Araminta, and no one really talks much to her any more. Anyone who does will not believe a word she says, any way. More importantly, you have already made a very powerful friend.”

“Well, aren’t you humble!” he exclaimed, slightly puzzled.

“Oh, not me! My daughter, Penelope.”

He took a second to think of it “Oh, you mean her publication?”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled “Which has the Queen’s attention.”

“That is good to hear, then. Hopefully she likes us.” It was more of a question.

“She does, we all do. You should start reading her column.”

Aurora entered the room apologizing profusely about making Lady Featherington wait so long, and asked if she would like to have tea in the garden, since she knew how much she liked wild roses and they had a marvellous variety in full bloom right then, and if she wouldn’t mind Belinda joining them even though she was not out yet but she was quite cross at still being treated as a child.

Portia was only glad that she would not be forced to spend the afternoon under the portrait of their beautiful, young mother, suspecting she would feel a lot more at ease once they were out.

“Are you joining us, My Lord?” She said as he offered her his arm.

“I do enjoy a spot of tea, my Lady. If you don’t mind.”

They went through the hall to the back of the house, as Aurora pointed out some of the changes they had made or planned to have done.

“You were right, by the way” Portia said once they were all settled, their cups filled and had chosen from an assortment of biscuits and other offerings.

“I always am, of course, but to which instance are you referring?” James said, before drinking from his cup.

“Papa!” Aurora admonished him, making him smile sweetly at her.

Portia gave him a side look before responding “The Brook street house. It is awful”

“Too dark!” He said in a tone that implied he knew what he was talking about when he told her she wouldn’t like it.

“And so narrow!” Added Belinda with a grimace.

“Oh, entirely too narrow!” Replied Portia. She imagined a girl like Belinda needed space to twirl around in every room.

“Will you take the one in Green street, then, my Lady?” Aurora asked her.

“I will. It is truly the only one that I have liked enough.”

“Oh it is so very close!” Aurora said, enthusiastically, which almost made Portia regret her response, but at that moment a young dog, a white and brown setter, came running at full speed from somewhere in the back. “Champion has escaped again!” Aurora cried out, as the dog launched itself into Belinda’s lap, trying to lick at her face, then turning around, sniffing and ready to to jump onto the table to try his luck at stealing some treats despite Belinda’s best efforts.

Portia tensed up, her hands clenched near her stomach, her back fully against the chair, discreetly trying to put as much distance between her and the dog as possible.

James stood up calmly, but remained in place, his arm on the table in front of Portia. If the dog launched that way, he would catch him. Aurora, being closer, reached out to stop Champion herself, causing her cup to spill half on her and half on the tablecloth and some of the food to fall off place, “Oh, no! Belinda, curb your dog!” she complained.

Belinda got up and took the pup in her arms “I’m, sorry! I will take him back!” The dog yapped, unhappy to leave the party, as his young mistress all but ran carrying it away in her arms.

“I am so mortified, Lady Featherington! My deepest apologies, this is...” Aurora looked on the verge of tears as she apologized to her guest and visibly lamented the stain on her white muslin dress. “Belinda’s dog is quite an excitable young thing and has yet to be properly trained. I do not know how it keeps managing to escape.”

“I will look at the kennel, it might need some reinforcement.” James said, turning to look at Portia, making sure she was not too startled, offering her an apologetic smile. “Please do forgive us”

“It is only a pup, after all. I imagine the new house might be confusing.” Portia tried to sound reassuring, although she was more than a little irritated. Then addressed Aurora “If you get that taken care right away the stain won’t set.” She could see it was not only tea but some of the food had also gotten into Aurora’s skirt.

A maid and a footman were already working diligently to set the table back to rights.

“I will …” Aurora seemed hesitant.

“You should go take care of that, Miss Clarence” Portia nodded.

“Should we take a turn around the garden while we wait, my Lady?” James offered. “Anna and Raymond here will take care of this for us, won’t you” The servants nodded “Thank you.”

“There you go, you don’t have to worry about me, Miss Clarence, I will be enjoying your garden while we wait for you. That is a lovely dress, it is worth saving it.”

“Thank you!” Aurora smiled shyly and went off.

James smiled, pleased, as Portia got up and they started walking.

“Are you alright?” He said, looking at her, as if he trusted her features better than her words.

She exhaled from her mouth “Quite, thank you”

“I do apologize, I know how uncomfortable you are around dogs.”

“I can recognize a playful pup from a dangerous one,--” James she caught herself before falling into the familiar address she had been so used to.

“Yes, I noticed you did not flee at sight, which is a vast improvement” he smirked.

“You have to get that dog trained. Something like this must not happen again if you are to receive visitors.” She said with too much authority.

“Yes, my Lady.” he said, a navy man taking orders.

“I didn’t mean to sound commanding, it is merely a strong suggestion.”

“But you cannot help it, you were born to command.”

“Born for it or not, I cannot claim to have command over anything now.”

“You will have the Green street house soon, I gather. And the dining room will accommodate your charity group quite nicely, I bet”

“Hmm. Yes, I guess it would.” There was no enthusiasm or anything remotely like it in her voice.

“Have you not succeeded yet?”

“I am reconsidering it entirely” she said wistfully.

“Could it be? Are you admitting defeat?” He was genuinely surprised.

“Not at all!” She defended herself “It would be quite easy if I truly wanted it. But…” She hesitated but decided to be honest. She found herself choosing candour more often nowadays, it had become too tiresome to try to keep appearances up, and maybe… maybe she didn’t need to with him “I simply found myself at tea with these women and I – I was bored.”

“Bored?”

“To tears!”

It was true. She had been in Lady Barragan’s parlour, surrounded by these women that were all too pleased to play the same old games, and have the same tired conversations, trying to make each other believe in a version of themselves that was seldom true. There had been a time when it all had been incredibly important and even exciting to her for some reason, but now it all just felt as hollow entertainment, and she discovered she didn’t care for it any more. She had decided to take the Carstons case on her own and stop using them in her boring game for a place she no longer desired to occupy amongst these women.

“I am afraid my heart is simply not in it any more” She added.

He seemed to give it some thought before replying “Is it, perhaps, because it makes you miss your husband terribly?” He had been looking for an opportunity to bring the subject up, and could only hope it wasn’t obvious.

“Why would it?” She asked, a bit amused and surprised at the jump in his logic.

“Wasn’t he a... Parish rector at some point?”

“He was, for a time, yes. But he did not concern himself with the alms too much. He left those matters entirely into my hands.”

“Good judgement on his part, of course.”

She couldn’t help the scoff that left her. “You might be the first person ever to praise his judgement.”

“Well, he chose you for his wife so that alone means he had some sense”

“His family and a good deal of others would have disagreed with you entirely” She smiled tightly

“A good thing I do not care for the opinion of simpletons.” He remarked, and grew serious “You know, what I always wondered… I never quite understood how… why him?” He demanded, perhaps too impetuously.

“What do you mean?” She said, perplexed that apparently everyone seemed to be in a mood to question her lately.

He tried to restrain himself “When I left, I was sure that if I--” If I lost you “I was quite sure it was the other brother that had his eye on you.”

“You were sorely mistaken. As it turns out both his eyes were on an Earl’s daughter- or her purse, rather.” She smiled but he knew it was trying to cover a slight sneer.

“But his brother?” He insisted, but as she started to stiffen, almost imperceptibly, he tried to soften his approach “I never thought you would choose a clergyman.”

“Choice was a luxury I did not have at the time.” There was no softness, but a hint of bitterness that she was entirely unable to conceal.

“What was it that forced your hand, then?” He pressed

“I did not know that I was coming here today to be interrogated!”

He stopped their walking “Forgive me, but you surely understand my curiosity. I have for so long kept all these questions to myself, thinking I would never get a chance to talk to you ever again--”

“However long you have had these questions, my Lord, I have spent as many years doing everything in my power to forget the answers. I am not of the sort that relishes hurting themselves over and over thinking of painful memories.”

“Painful?” He sounded alarmed at the thought of her being in a painful situation at all.

She sighed, exasperated “It doesn’t truly matter any more. Can we please talk about something else?”

“Why must you be so stubborn?” She seemed as determined as ever not to talk about feelings. “Don’t you realize your reluctance to talk about it only increases my unease that it must have been terrible indeed?”

“Please! You will make it impossible for me to help you as you have asked of me, James”

She winced and he smiled. “Well, that is one thing you do remember, at least.”

She turned around, vexed, and found Aurora was back at the table, waving at them. He led her back and found it amazing how she was able to immediately resume talking to Aurora as if nothing had altered her at all.

He, no longer in the mood for superficial banter, had to excuse himself. It was true, after all, that he wanted to make sure Belinda was not sulking alone in her room, chastising herself too harshly for Champion’s misadventure. Aurora could be a tad harsh with her younger sister sometimes.

James Clarence was not a man prone to bouts of melancholy, but when he left England for India on 1790, it was undeniable to anyone who knew him, that he was broken-hearted. The fact that the reasons for his unhappiness made all perfect sense, and that it was all for the best did not make a difference. The heart does not understand practical matters.

He had arrived to Faversham not a month before, in the highest of spirits, certain that he would be at the very least engaged before having to leave again. How naive he had been, thinking that having been promoted to Lieutenant would have been enough!

All he could do, in his defeat, was to hope her feelings were as strong as his, that she would wait for him still. After all, she had had opportunities to marry well before and had squandered them. He knew it had to be for him, even if she would never accept it directly. He knew it, deep inside, that it was only for him that she waited. And he hated that she had to because, wouldn’t she get tired of it, eventually, when there wasn’t even a promise between them? And then there was this stranger that had come out of nowhere, who would flaunt his title and money, who would charm everyone around him making James see just how stupid he had been.

As the distance between them increased, he had to trust to fate they would be reunited soon enough and then they would be able to marry without any more opposition. But right then, his heart could not be reasoned into serenity.

And his heart had been right. He had not yet recovered from the news of Mr. Weston’s passing when he learned that the next time they met she should be Mrs. Featherington – months had already gone by since her hand had written those words, which meant there was nothing he could do to stop it. He let that letter fall into the ocean, but he doubted he would ever be able to forget it.

There was nothing to be gained by requesting his many questions to be answered. Was she in love with Mr. Featherington, the other Featherington, at that? How had that come to happen? Was she truly, as the letter implied, just marrying him because of money? Money, money, money! it was all anyone cared about, was it not? Had she always been interested in it and had he only been deluding himself into thinking his feelings returned?

No, it couldn’t be. Not the woman he knew. And if that wasn’t it, did it mean that she was in some great distress, then? Had he failed her by leaving her alone, exposed and vulnerable? It was too late, in any case.

His aunt kept him appraised of any news concerning Mrs. Featherington, until that connection was coldly and abruptly severed by the time he had finally become a Captain, ironically enough. The last thing he learned was that she had given birth to a little girl.

He became a little reckless, feeling he had nothing and no one to return to, he had dared many risky manoeuvrers and executed feats that required no fear of losing life or limb; he saved many men’s lives by risking his own and he was handsomely rewarded for it with money and rank.

He came back to England briefly, on June 1797 and went directly to Wrotham, having decided that the only way he could go on his own way was to see her and get his questions answered by Mrs. Featherington herself. But he met with Mrs. Varley who informed him they were vacating the rectory as they moved to Ightham. She assured him that her mistress was now content and might even be happy with her three little girls. She would be a Baroness some day. So he went quietly away.

He had made his mind up and that same year he married Dorothea. She was in need of a husband, and he did not want to hold on to the past any longer. Eventually the sea, war and his own family dulled his old heartbreak, transforming it from a cutting shard to a smooth pebble. With very little occasion for sentimental reflection any more, he believed himself well and truly over her.

But the opportunity presented itself and he couldn’t resist buying Greenfinch Hall. He had hopped at least a letter would come from it. But the transaction went through without any resistance, and without even an acknowledgement.

He was not in England when Dottie passed away and he regretted that his children had to suffer her passing away without him, so when he was awarded the Viscountcy, he decided that it was time to retire.

Having been granted a seat at Parliament, he saw no better opportunity could be provided to him. And as he came back home permanently, and went through the re-organizing of his belongings, a little black leather bound notebook caught his eye which reminded him of her for the first time in years, making him wonder if they would see each other again.

It was a very real possibility now. If he was to take a seat in Parliament, he would need a home in London. Aurora, he was told, had to be presented to the Queen and ushered into society- There was talk of prospects and land and money, but little by little one thought started sipping through and overcoming all others.

They would definitely see each other again.

And it still caught him entirely off guard when it finally happened. In all his anticipation, he had not thought that it would bring him so much joy, which was only multiplied by her own happy reaction. After so many years, after all the heart mending, and an entire life apart, more than anything else he was curious -how much had time and life transformed them? He was eager to know, but he could tell over their few interactions, that there was a resistance from her. She did not wish to be known – not only by him, but by the world.

And as he left the table that day, looking at her effortlessly smiling and making conversation with his daughter, he was determined to regain her trust and get his answers, to find out if the woman he once loved was still there, hiding.