The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,29
sudden long holiday. People would notice her absence then, and it would be harder to find a position as a governess or companion.
The crowded shore boat approached them. She glanced at the different people, noting their woolen hats and thick greatcoats.
Then Portia’s gaze stopped, halting at a man with curly gray hair. The strands were still visible underneath his beaver hat. Portia nudged Jonesie. “Is that—”
Jonesie followed her gaze to the boat. “Great Golly!”
“Maybe he just resembles him,” Portia said.
“No. That’s him.” Jonesie’s eyes were wide. “That’s Sir Vincent.”
“What are you two speaking about?” Colin asked.
Portia opened her mouth, but she couldn’t bear to form the words, and she soon closed it again.
A flicker of worry moved over Colin’s face. Well, Portia’s face was probably being pummeled with worry.
Sir Vincent spotted them and clambered up. “Portia. Dearest!”
“Sir, you must sit down,” a sailor said.
“Sir Vincent,” her guardian declared. “Not merely sir.”
The sailor rowed the last few yards valiantly with a pained expression on his face, despite Sir Vincent’s continued upright position.
“Portia!” Sir Vincent waved, and the shore boat quivered threateningly.
Portia returned his wave reluctantly.
Heavens.
He’d found her.
Which meant he would remain with her. He would ensure there was no chance she might marry Mr. Andrews. He would ensure there was nothing she could do but marry him. Even hopes of running off to be a companion, to be a governess, to be—heavens—a nanny, were now impossible. No doubt, Sir Vincent appreciated the income she would bring him.
How on earth had he found her? But she shouldn’t be shocked. Sir Vincent was a powerful man. Heavens, she hadn’t even changed her name for the passenger log.
She just hadn’t expected him to follow her. If Mr. Andrews were here, it wouldn’t matter.
But he wasn’t here.
Everything is over.
PORTIA’S FACE PALED, as if it were attempting to compete with the snowflakes flitting down at an ever more rapid rate. She tightened the hold on her maid’s arm, and her legs quivered.
Well, if she fainted, Colin would catch her. There would be absolutely no uncomfortable collisions with icy ground and subsequent rollings into the harbor.
That he could ensure.
He stared at the man who seemed to have caused both ladies such distress, recognizing him vaguely from various concerts and festivities.
“I found you,” the man bellowed, pointing a gloved hand in Portia’s direction.
Portia shifted her legs over the snow and gave him a strained nod.
Sir Vincent scrutinized her, slamming thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows against each other. “You shouldn’t have fled.”
“I’m sorry,” Portia squeaked.
The passengers stared at them, equally bewildered by this exchange. The shore boat touched the harbor walls, and the fisherman who had given such distressing news about the weather helped anchor it.
Colin didn’t need to touch her to sense that every muscle in her body was on alert, was worried.
He didn’t want her to feel that way.
“Is that your guardian?” Colin whispered.
“Yes,” Portia answered in a soft, wobbly voice that tore at his heart.
“Let me off first.” Sir Vincent scrambled from the boat, stepping over people, despite the fact he was not positioned nearest the harbor wall. The boat rocked awkwardly, and for a moment, Colin wondered whether the man might plunge straight in.
He did no such thing.
Instead, he marched toward Portia. The lace on his old-fashioned collar fluttered in the wind, the dainty fabric contrasting with his fierce expression. “You shouldn’t have made me come get you.”
“I-I know,” Portia stammered.
Colin didn’t like this new, meeker Portia. Portia had done something brave and incredible. She should be praised for it, and she should be proud of it.
“So you were trying to elope,” Sir Vincent said. “Well, that didn’t happen, did it?”
Portia shrank back.
The rest of the passengers filed from the boat, their steps slowed by the spectacle. Colin attempted to look nonchalant, as if this were a normal conversation, of absolutely no interest to anyone.
“How do you know she hasn’t eloped?” Colin asked.
“I spoke with Mr. Andrews. He was still at the dock when I arrived.”
“You followed me to the Thames?” Portia’s voice reached an unusually high pitch. “And how did you know we planned to marry?”
Sir Vincent managed to look guilty. “You were acting strangely.”
“You must have told someone to follow me if I left the house.”
“Yes. But only because your safety is paramount. After all, I’m your guardian.” He gave her a sickly sweet smile.
Colin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“But now that I’m here, we can marry,” Sir Vincent said. “After all, we’re in Guernsey.”
“The thing is...” Portia’s voice shook. “I don’t want