The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,31
have to get married here. I know now you care about Mr. Andrews—that’s why you didn’t want to marry me. I’m sorry I pressured you. It was most ungentlemanly.”
“I suppose it was kind of you to propose.”
He sighed. “But now we’re in a pickle.”
“A big one.”
“With large brown spots.”
Portia giggled.
Colin’s manservant and Jonesie hurried toward them.
Colin’s manservant cleared his throat. “I assume you have a plan, Your Grace? Because I believe it is necessary to form one.”
Jonesie inclined her head toward the heavens. “Because of the falling snow.”
“And the lack of lodging,” Colin’s manservant said.
Jonesie hugged her torso, rubbing her arms vigorously. “And the frigid temperature.”
“And the fact no ships are scheduled to leave soon.”
“Of course, I have a plan,” Colin said, his tone affronted.
“But is it a good one?” Colin’s manservant asked.
Colin jutted his chin out. “My plans are always good.”
“Not your taste for cravat knots.”
Colin rolled his eyes. Portia had the impression he’d become quite practiced at the action, perhaps because of very similar conversations with his valet.
“My taste is excellent,” Colin said. “It places emphasis on the practical.”
“Simplicity is much overrated,” Colin’s manservant grumbled. He turned to Jonesie. “You must see me tie a mathematical cravat.”
“I would love to see that,” Jonesie cooed. “I’ve only seen drawings of them in Matchmaking for Wallflowers.”
Jonesie and Colin’s manservant continued to speak merrily together, and Portia and Colin let them drop behind. Jonesie and the valet were evidently more focused on staring at each other than keeping a good pace.
“What is your plan?” Portia asked Colin.
Colin smiled. “We are going to see my friends. The Duke and Duchess of Vernon.”
“They live here?”
“They spend all their holidays here.”
“Think of that,” Portia said.
Colin tilted his head, and his eyes shimmered. “Are you nervous?”
“Of course not,” Portia said quickly. “Why should I be nervous about that?”
“Precisely.”
They were silent and continued to walk.
Colin turned to her. “You look nervous.”
“My heart is simply exerted from walking.”
“The surface is flat.”
“Is it?” Portia glanced at the ground.
Colin chuckled. “I don’t believe you’ve been paying attention to the walk at all.”
“Well, why should I be nervous about spending the holidays with a couple I hardly know, who just happen to be a duke and duchess?”
“You mustn’t forget they’ll think you’re a duchess.”
“We’ll be pretending to be married,” Portia groaned. She turned to him. “So how do I pretend to be a duchess?”
He laughed, and something changed in his voice. “You’ll just be your natural self. They’ll adore you. How could they not?”
Portia turned to him sharply.
Colin was silent though, and for some reason, the conversation had seemed to turn serious, and Portia’s heart ached.
A tall white manor house stretched over a hill that looked over the ocean. The place shimmered under the falling snow, and she shivered.
“It’s beautiful,” Portia said.
“The duke’s brother designed it.”
“Truly?”
“His family is talented.”
Somehow the fact did not reassure Portia more that she belonged.
“How nice.” Her voice wobbled.
He turned to her. “I never asked...Do you have a family? I know your parents passed away, but...”
“There’s no one else,” she said. “My mother found it sufficiently difficult to birth me, so I never had siblings.”
“Did she...?”
She nodded. “She died when I was born. I never met her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Colin said.
“I suppose I must have cousins,” Portia said. “But she came from Devon, and Father never took me there.”
“He lived in London?”
“Bath.”
“Ah.”
“Then what do you think of the Channel?”
“It’s a novel experience.” Portia smiled. “But I enjoy it.”
“I’m glad.”
“And what about you?”
“I have hordes of relatives.”
“Oh.” She blinked.
“Not a father, of course. That’s why I’m the duke. But my mother is still around, as are my five younger brothers and three younger sisters.”
“Eight siblings?” She rounded her eyes.
“Our house was very noisy. Mother said it was always good we lived in a castle because of it.”
Portia laughed. “I can’t imagine living in a house with so many people.”
Colin shrugged. “So you see, I know the dukedom will be in a good position, whether or not I have heirs.”
“You have sensible relatives?”
“Indeed.” He smirked. “Sensible and noisy.”
Colin led them up the long set of steps from the beach to the manor house.
“We’re disturbing the duke’s and duchess’s Christmas plans,” Portia said.
“Vernon and his wife are nice,” Colin said. “You have nothing over which to worry.”
Portia doubted the veracity of this particular statement. She was silent as she navigated the icy steps, clasping hold of the banister.
“Perhaps you would like to look behind you?” Colin whispered.
“Behind?” Portia drew her eyebrows together, then glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder. She