The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,30
to.”
Sir Vincent’s eyebrows narrowed. “You do not have any other options, my dear. You’ve been traveling by yourself. Who would want to hire you for a position? You hardly emulate ladylike caution and responsibility.”
“You mean you would tell people?”
Sir Vincent shrugged. “I couldn’t keep something like that serious, if someone desired a personal reference. It would be unseemly not to mention it. My word is important, after all.”
Portia’s face fell.
Colin cleared his throat. “Sir Vincent, I believe we’ve met before.”
Sir Vincent stared at him. “Ah, Brightling. Sorry to bore you with this family matter. I see you’re in line to board the ship.”
“Yes,” Colin said.
Sir Vincent nodded. “What a pleasure to see you here.”
“And I am glad to see you,” Colin said.
Portia shot him a quizzical look, but Sir Vincent puffed out his chest and shot Colin a wide smile, a mixture of pride and smugness.
“I’m afraid I have news of some inconvenience for you,” Colin said.
Sir Vincent shot an apologetic look at Portia. Clearly he regarded Colin as a bumbling, self-obsessed aristocrat.
“You see,” Colin said, “Portia and I are married.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE WORLD DIDN’T MAKE sense. If it made sense, Colin North, the Duke of Brightling, would not be announcing to her uncle that they were married. Portia stared at him. Jonesie stared at him. Colin’s manservant, though, only beamed, as if impressed by his employer’s quickness of thought.
“What?” Sir Vincent widened his eyes, then sucked in a noisy breath. “I’m—er—afraid I misheard.”
“Portia is my bride,” Colin said, his voice firm, as if he were stating the capital of France.
Portia swallowed hard, and Colin grasped her hand with his. Warmth emanated from him, despite the icy cold, and swirled up the back of Portia’s neck.
Sir Vincent frowned. His mouth opened and shut, as if he were replicating some of the favored movements of the fish he’d left in the English Channel.
“You’re t-truly married?” Sir Vincent stammered.
Colin squeezed her hand. Hard.
“Yes.” Colin turned to Portia and kissed her hand. “To the loveliest woman in the world.”
“Well,” Sir Vincent sputtered. “Well, well.” He extended his hand to his head, then lowered it, as if he’d forgotten hair raking was not a doable practice when wearing top hats. “I suppose I should offer congratulations.”
“Precisely,” Colin said. “Thank you.”
“Y-you’re welcome.” Sir Vincent stared at them both, and Portia shivered. She had the uneasy sense Sir Vincent was assessing whether she was truly sufficiently beautiful to attract the duke, and could not come to an affirmative answer.
“Now, if you will excuse me, my bride and I are heading back to England.” Colin took Portia’s hand and headed toward the shore boat.
The sailor was rowing alone toward the ship.
“Wait!” Colin hollered, and his voice barreled over the blustering gusts.
The sailor frowned.
“We’re boarding the ship!” Colin said. “It’s returning to London, right?”
The sailor shook his head. “No, you’re not. Not with this weather.”
“I told you,” the fisherman said. “The ship cannot go in this weather.”
“But when will it leave?” Colin asked. “Later today? Tomorrow?”
The men laughed.
“You’ll be lucky if it leaves this week,” the sailor shouted.
The men nodded knowledgeably.
“Because of the weather?” Colin asked.
“That and it’s Christmas,” the fisherman said.
Christmas.
Colin grimaced. “Well, my wife and I will go back to the inn.”
“You’re really married,” Sir Vincent said.
“Yes.” Colin clutched hold of Portia’s hand. “Yes, we are.”
Portia nodded meekly, too bewildered to protest. She hoped Colin had a plan.
“You’re not going back to the inn,” the fisherman said. “It closes for Christmas.”
Sir Vincent glanced at Colin. “You didn’t plan this well.”
A disgruntled look spread over Colin’s face. “I wouldn’t have had to plan so last minute if my now-wife’s guardian hadn’t withheld important information from her until the last moment.”
Heavens.
Colin always appeared jovial, but after a few minutes with her guardian, he looked dreadful. No doubt, he was regretting announcing they were married.
“I have friends on Guernsey,” Colin said. “My lovely bride and I will visit them.”
Then, before Sir Vincent could answer, they hurried away.
“Why did you tell him we were married?” Portia whispered.
A guilty look drifted over Colin’s face. “I’m awfully sorry about that. I thought if we told him we were married, he wouldn’t insist on marrying you here. I thought we could sail back to London on this ship, and then I could take Mr. Andrews and you to Canterbury to get a special license.”
“Oh.” She stared at him, impressed by his thoughtfulness.
“I know you wanted to marry him.”
Portia averted her gaze. “And why didn’t you simply tell him we were engaged?”
“I didn’t want to