Chapter 1

"Your mother expects you to have all the kings and queens of England memorized by the end of the week," Portia reminded her twin twelve-year-old nephews. She didn't want either of them to endure Judith's scolding if—in her half-sister's mind—the boys' studies had been neglected. Not one servant in the house, or Portia, for that matter, would be saved from Judith's tirade.

Ignoring Portia's request, Tobias changed the subject, as was his wont when trying to avoid his studies. "Why doesn't Mother care for you? You are her sister, after all."

Oh dear, not this topic again. It was a simple question, marred with a dozen possibilities.

It was common knowledge within the Oaks house that the only reason Portia had a room to call her own was because of a promise her four half-siblings had made to their late father. Oh, how she missed her dearest papa, and their home together.

Before she could find a diplomatic response, Thomas stated matter-of-factly, "Hilarie is our sister and we don't like her."

"Regardless of how you feel about your sister, you shouldn't speak ill of her," Portia said, hoping the boys would take heed of her advice.

She'd learned long ago that even walls had ears. Thankfully, those ears, that had once seemed to thrive on stirring trouble for her, had decided to depart the Oaks residence when her half-brother-in-law, Lord Oaks—Mr. Oaks at the time—had fallen on hard times.

Mrs. Hayes, the governess at the time, had stated rather emphatically that her paltry pay did not match her skills and threatened to leave if she was not paid a proper wage. She was dismissed on the spot. The day after Mrs. Hayes departed, Lord Oaks informed Portia she must earn her keep. From that day forth, she was treated little better than a servant, assigned to the nursery to care for her niece and three nephews—mostly her nephews, that was.

She didn't mind spending her days with the boys. She'd been helping to care for them since she'd arrived twelve years prior. The eldest, Albert, now three and twenty, had been sent away the day he turned thirteen, packed off to Eton. And then there were Thomas and Tobias, who were soon to depart for Eton as well, following in Albert's footsteps.

The twins were such dear children and so intelligent. Portia worried for them, though. Although they were on the cusp of manhood, in many ways, they were still little boys who loved to explore the outdoors, get all muddy, and get into mischief. Nothing too serious, just playful escapades expected of boys their age.

Unfortunately, her half-sister and half-brother-in-law could not be bothered with any of their children, save Hilarie. For whatever the reason, Judith and her husband doted on their only daughter as if she were heir to the throne of England. Hilarie wanted for nothing, and let everyone know it.

So lost in her thoughts, Portia didn't hear the nursery door open, not until Thomas questioned with excitement, "Did you bring us sweet treats?"

"Not this time," Miss Alison, one of the downstairs maids, said with a smile. The housemaid was quite fond of the boys, always sneaking in treats for them.

"Darnation!" Tobias exclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

Portia was about to correct Tobias's inappropriate language when the maid turned to her, and that's when she noticed Miss Alison's features weighed down with concern. "I was tending to my chores, and just happened to be walking by the drawing room and overheard a conversation."

Portia knew without a doubt that Miss Alison did not happen to do just anything. The four-and thirty-year-old maid, although she performed her duties without flaw, had a knack for eavesdropping.

"Innocently walking by, whilst doing your duties?" Portia questioned with a tease.

Guilt streaked across Miss Alison's face. "Well, perhaps not so innocently, but what was I to think when all four of your half-siblings arrived at practically the same time? And were creating quite the ruckus."

That was very odd, indeed. The last time her half-siblings had been all together was when their maternal grandmother had passed away, and that was nearly five years ago. Although Portia had not been included—since she was no relation to their grandmother—she had heard quite an earful when they'd gathered at the Oaks residence after the Church service. Although she'd never lived with any of her half-siblings prior to her arrival at Oaks Hall—they being so much older than she—she knew from her late father that they rarely got on well together. Before he'd died, her father had hoped that his four eldest children from his first marriage would work out how to live harmoniously, but that hope had never come to fruition.

Portia had learned many years ago to not get involved, and more importantly, to try not to care. Such was the way her life was now. Wariness had become a constant companion since her father's death, when her half-siblings had revealed their true selves. Gone was the caring family that she'd believed loved her, that had visited her and her dearest papa. Their sociability had been nothing more than a series of lies and manipulations, their only concern for themselves and their fortune. Nothing had changed over the intervening years.

And then Miss Alison added the four most distressing words, "They were discussing you."

"Me?" Why on earth would they be discussing her?

Oh, no. Panic rose within, thumping hard against her chest.

The last time Portia had been the topic of conversation was when her father died, and she had been forced to leave her childhood home and come here to live with Judith and her family. The life she'd known with her father had been ripped away during her darkest, grieving hours. She had pleaded to no end with her eldest half-brother, George, to remain at the manor, near to Lord Ravensworth and Titus.

Titus.

Titus was the son of the late Lord Ravensworth—her father's dearest friend and neighbor in the countryside—and her constant companion in childhood. She'd once fancied herself in love with him, but that had been a schoolgirl's fantasy. Even as an adolescent, he'd been so very handsome with soft brown hair streaked with gold, enticing green eyes, and a lovely smile that would have melted any girl's heart.

A deep sigh of dreams never to be filled rankled her insides. That time had passed. Her path had taken a different course, and one not of her choosing. Certainly, Titus must be married by now to a beautiful woman of rank and sophistication. If only she'd been able to stay at the manor, then perhaps her life would have turned out differently. But on that distant day, her cries had fallen on deaf ears and she'd been forced to leave her home, her friendships, her happiness.

Miss Alison put a gentle hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the dire present. "I'll watch the children. Go and find out what they're saying about you."

Over the course of the last twelve years, Miss Alison, and Mr. and Mrs. Darnel—who served as the butler and head housekeeper, respectively—had become like family, and always had her best interests in mind.

Portia turned to address the twin boys. "I will be back in a few minutes. Don't give Miss Alison?—"

"Any trouble," the twins finished her sentence in unison.

"Yes, we know, Portia," Thomas said with a sweet, sincere smile that warmed her heart. Although she was technically their aunt, neither her nephews nor niece referred to her as such. She always suspected that Judith did not want to acknowledge that she was related, even if she was only a half-relation.

She flashed her charges a smile, then dashed from the room. The worry and pounding in her chest grew with each step she took. She was at her siblings' utter mercy. It was only because Judith found her ‘useful with the children'—as she so frequently stated—that she had fared as well as she had.

With the twins leaving for Eton, had she outlived her usefulness? Is that why her half-siblings had convened? She stopped mid-step, putting her warm hand on the cool wall. What would become of her now?

She had no money and no prospects of her own. She had no other family—her mother had been an only child with only a distant elderly uncle. But at the time of Mother's death, Uncle Frederick had been past the age of sixty, and that was more than twenty years ago. He most probably would not still be alive. And her dearest papa had also been an only child. Although he'd had a larger extended family, he'd not been close with any of them. Portia had been left alone at the mercy of her half-siblings.

A dreadful thought strangled whatever calm she'd been trying to maintain. Were they to marry her off?

Judith had threatened her with that possibility for several years now, but had not wanted to disrupt the twin's education. Portia suspected a more likely reason was that Judith and her husband did not want to spend money on a proper governess. The only reason Albert had been sent to Eton was that his paternal grandmother footed the cost, just as the older woman was about to do for the twins.

It couldn't be that, certainly not. Portia hardly knew anyone, certainly no gentlemen, and had little freedom. Since moving here, her entire existence had been quite restricted. It must be something else, she tried to reassure herself.

But what?

Only one way to find out. She forced her feet forward, wanting to know, but dreading what their plans were for her.

"Hurry, miss," Mrs. Darnel whispered with urgency as she met her at the foot of the stairs. "They've assembled in the drawing room. This bodes no good, no good at all," she ended with a mutter.

"Thank you," Portia whispered. As they neared the partially closed door. Mrs. Darnel took her leave, but not before offering a sympathetic smile.

Portia had always thought it odd that none of her half-siblings ever closed the door completely when discussing delicate matters. It was almost as if they wanted the staff to overhear. Judith and her husband were always pitting one against another, as if it were some form of entertainment.

Portia stood off to the side, so as to not be seen, and listened. She'd never considered herself to be an eavesdropper, but it was the only way she garnered information about Albert, the twins, and now herself. She leaned closer to hear better when one of her half-sisters said her name.

"Portia must go to Town."

To Town? The last time she'd been to London was with her father when she was but a small girl. Her mind raced, searching for answers as to what this could possibly mean.

"But you cannot expect me to continue to support her. I have done my duty and?—"

"Judith, you are in the ideal position to take her to London," George argued. Being their father's only son, he had always tried to assert his authority, but was of weak character in Portia's estimation, passing duties off to others for the sake of his own pleasure. "I have other obligations to see to and?—"

"And my daughter is already in confinement," Marcia chimed in. "I have delayed my journey and?—"

"You are not the only one who's been inconvenienced," Olive, the eldest of the siblings at fifty, announced. "Judith, you are already journeying to Town for Hilarie's debut into society. One more won't make a difference."

Portia heard Judith's annoyed huff, as was her wont when she was backed into a corner by her elder siblings. She sounded more like a child than a woman of five and forty. "And what, pray tell, am I to do with her once the Season begins?"

Season? A quick, disturbing thought crossed Portia's mind. Was she to become Hilarie's lady's maid? No, surely not. Portia took pride in her own appearance, but knew next to nothing of the latest fashions and hairstyles. It simply wasn't required for the life she'd been living.

Marcia's insult drifted into the hall. "She isn't exactly accomplished."

It was fortunate that none of her half-siblings realized just how accomplished she was. Although her dearest papa had died when she was just fifteen, he had ensured her education. She was well-read, knew how to play the pianoforte—although she preferred the harp—could dance, draw, and paint, not to mention she was fluent in French and Italian.

I'm not accomplished in the least, she chuckled inwardly.

"Marry her off as quickly as possible," George announced, bringing Portia back to her current woes. "It doesn't matter to whom, just as long as she's gone. We've all done our duty to Father, and surely honored his last wishes."

Just as long as she's gone.

She should be hurt by his words, or at least a little upset, but sadly, she'd endured harsher from them over the years. While their father had lived, they'd claimed to adore their littlest sister, but that was all a ruse to get what they wanted from their sire. The only reason they'd taken Portia in was that she had no other relatives, plus they'd made a promise. Their respect for their sire outweighed their dislike of Portia.

Once Portia was ensconced in Judith's household, she'd made certain not to cause any trouble and to be as useful as she could. A flash of loneliness stabbed at her. Although she adored her nephews, she wished she'd had the opportunity to experience life. There were so many places she'd dreamed of visiting. Some of her fondest memories had been looking at her father's map collection and charting routes to far-off places with her childhood friend—Titus—while their fathers had discussed all sorts of topics.

Would she ever experience those desires?

So lost in her own thoughts, she did not hear the door swing open until it was too late.

"I see you're eavesdropping," Judith growled. "Well, you might as well come into the drawing room instead of lurking in the shadows. So ill-mannered, and such a burden." She ended with several tsks.

Portia ignored the insults and followed her half-sister into the warm room where she was met with four scowls and four pairs of dark brown eyes. Portia had always been thankful that she and her four half-siblings bore no resemblance to one other. According to Mrs. Johnson—the head housekeeper at her late father's home—the four older siblings had inherited their looks and frowns from their mother. Whereas Portia was the feminine version of her father with golden blonde hair and blue eyes. She often wondered if that added to her half-siblings' dislike of her.

Once in the dreary room, she kept her distance, waiting for the final judgement to come. A moment later, it was delivered by George.

"You are to journey to London where you will find a husband. You have a dowry of five hundred pounds, which is more than generous."

Her brother must think her quite a simpleton if he expected her to believe that five hundred pounds was a generous amount. She may not have been out in Society, but she had read every book in her brother-in-law's library, was well-versed on how to run a household—courtesy of Mrs. Darnel—and had been into their local village on occasion, where she'd heard enough gossip about the ways of the world to know otherwise. She also knew it was better to keep her mouth shut as her half-siblings offered their opinions.

First was Olive, who lectured on propriety, followed by Marcia, who instructed her to accept the first offer of marriage to come her way since Portia was so utterly unaccomplished, and an unattractive spinster at seven and twenty.

The insults went on, and through it all, Portia tried to stamp down the panic rising within, by thinking of happier times, but those memories evaded her. All she felt was betrayal and abandonment.

A sentiment from the past whispered, "I will always be your friend, no matter what happens."

Titus's tender words had meant the world to her when he'd spoken them twelve years ago, but then, when she'd needed him most, he hadn't answered her letters. His words had been an empty promise. Clearly, he had not cared for her the way she'd cared for him. If only she could let go of those feelings, of the past.

"And I will provide you with two new dresses." George's words brought her back to her current woes.

"Thank you," she managed to mutter.

Once again, her half-siblings underestimated her comprehension of society. Without a doubt, two dresses would never do for a season in Town, and with her paltry dowry, she wasn't certain what sort of man she'd attract.

She attempted to try not to panic further, and think of the positives, or at least one positive instead. Since her father's passing, she'd not had any new dresses, having always been given Judith's cast-offs. But as she'd matured into a woman, the already ill-fitting dresses had become even more so. Mrs. Darnel had taken the time to teach her how to alter her half-sister's discarded gowns. She would simply use those skills to refashion a few of her late mother's dresses. Hopefully, she would not appear too out of fashion. She knew that without a proper wardrobe, she would not make a fortuitous match, not that her siblings cared. They clearly had one shared objective: to be rid of her as soon as possible.

"We depart for London in three weeks' time," Judith said as she stared at Portia with a raised brow, indicating she was dismissed.

A throbbing pain settled in Portia's head as she took her leave. Trudging back to her room, she tried to think of another option, but truly, there was none. Never one to sulk, she decided to make the most of those skills and accomplishments she'd acquired. She would update her wardrobe, pack her few belongings, and never look back.