Chapter 3

The first ball Portia ever attended in her life had come and gone. When the evening had begun, she'd felt fairly confident in the reworked pale rose evening dress, her hair sufficiently styled by one of the downstairs maids—since she did not have a lady's maid of her own. But by the time she'd entered Mrs. Ellis's ballroom, all her confidence was stuck to the wall where all the other wallflowers stood. She simply was not used to such large gatherings where the only two people she knew were ignoring her. And her confidence crumbled further when she endured Judith's wrath the next morning.

"Mrs. Ellis's ball last night was a complete disaster, and that is the nicest way I can put it," Judith glared at Portia. "You are not even trying to find a husband, let alone being pleasant." She tsked several times. "And to think I brought you all the way to London, and provided you with all sorts of luxuries any lady would be pleased to have and this is how you repay me. All you did was paste yourself against the wall and look nervously about, waiting for someone to ask you to dance."

Portia wasn't about to admit that she hadn't been waiting, but more accurately, had not wanted anyone to ask her to dance. The last time she'd truly danced was with her father, a memory that she held dear to her heart. And although she'd taught Albert and the twins many of the steps of the more popular tunes, dancing with her young nephews had not been the same as dancing with a complete stranger. She simply did not have the confidence in her abilities to not only perform the movements well, but also not to step on her partner's toes.

"Mother, perhaps Portia should stay home this evening and?—"

"Not a word, Hilarie," Judith's harsh tone ricocheted off the fawn parlor walls. Portia knew her half-sister was beyond reason if she raised her voice at her preciousdaughter. Portia could count on one hand how many times that had happened over the past twelve years. "Now look at what you made me do," Judith raged at Portia, then turned her attention to Hilarie. "You are not to blame, my sweet," she said in an adoring tone. Her calm demeanor was not to last, though. In the next breath, her rage was back full-force and directed at Portia. "It is all your fault Hilarie is not a success yet! You will put in more effort at these events, or I will…" She shook her head several times, clearly at a loss to articulate the threat she was trying to enforce. "I will do something, and I assure you, you will not be pleased." Then she waved her hand toward the door. "Go. You've caused me to develop a megrim."

How did one's mood shift back and forth so quickly, and without provocation? Surely this was not normal behavior.

Portia glanced to Hilarie, whose smug smile sent a warning shiver down her spine. She would not engage with either of them. She would find a way out of this predicament, and this family, on her own. How would she accomplish such a feat, she did not know. Perhaps time would reveal a solution.

And with that decision firm in her mind, she walked out of the room.

After Judith's firm reprimand, she retreated to her room and attempted to calm the rising anxiety coursing through her veins. With each turn about the room that she took, her hands shook more. It had only been four days since they'd arrived, and she felt as if time was running out already. A loud sigh escaped her lips. There was much at stake, and she did not have a friend, an ally, or even a passing acquaintance in Town. If only there was someone who could offer guidance on how to navigate the Season.

Panic started to rise in her chest, strangling her throat as Titus's words rushed her memories. "I will always be your friend, no matter what happens."

It had all been lies.

Titus had abandoned her before, and if he were in Town, surely she could not rely on him. Would he even offer a second glance her way if they did meet?

She was utterly alone.

You mustn't think that way. You will survive.

One step at a time. First, she must ensure she looked and acted absolutely perfectly this evening. She was not going to give Judith any fodder.

* * *

Portia's confidence, which was already hanging by a thread, and made worse by Judith's list of dos and don'ts—mostly the latter—had her all at sixes and sevens. Despite her best laid plans, and continuous reassurances to herself, by the time they arrived at Lady Saddler's ball, she was ready to call it an evening and retire. But that was not an option.

"Do not paste yourself against the wall tonight." Judith's harsh whisper sent a shiver down Portia's spine. "And remember why you're here. To find a husband."

She followed her relatives along the reception line and then into the drawing room. Once inside the rich looking crimson and gold space, Judith and Hilarie edged away from her as if too embarrassed to be seen in her company.

Portia inhaled deeply and let out a long breath.

"I share your sentiment," a soft voice said from behind her. Portia turned and was met with a sincere smile and warm brown eyes. "These events are often tedious. I'm Miss Roseland."

"Good evening, Miss Roseland," Portia said as she returned the smile. "I'm Miss Lamont."

"Is this your first season?"

"Yes, and I feel rather out of place," Portia confessed, rather surprised with herself for confiding in a stranger. She was probably the oldest lady in the ballroom having her first season, which did not help her nerves one bit.

"This is my third. I'm not very good at social functions, but I've greatly improved since my first. I'm at least able to speak with others now. I was hoping my friend would be here this evening, but she's yet to arrive. We went to school together and this will be her first Season too, and she is ever so pleasant and has offered to aid me and…" Miss Roseland took in a long deep breath. "I apologize. When I am nervous, I tend to ramble."

"No need to apologize. I am rather enjoying your company." Portia never had the opportunity to converse much with others close to her own age.

The pair spent the next half hour chatting, sharing likes and dislikes, and building a friendship that Portia suspected they both desperately needed. They were deep in conversation, discussing the latest acquisitions at the British Museum, when a stern looking woman started storming their way.

Miss Roseland's features paled slightly. She gulped loudly, then whispered, "My mother is approaching."

"What did I tell you about standing close to the wall?" The older woman scowled just like Judith. Was this a common trait amongst chaperones?

"Mother, allow me to introduce?—"

The woman waved her hand to silence Miss Roseland, then eyed Portia up and down before launching into a lecture. "The dancing is about to begin, and there are several gentleman present who will make suitable husbands. Now do your duty to your family and stop dilly-dallying."

"Yes, Mother." Miss Roseland offered Portia an apologetic smile before following her mother, leaving Portia once again… alone.

Two dances came and went, and Portia still had not been asked to partake. How was a lady to garner a partner when she could not ask a gentleman to dance? She brushed a couple strands of loose hair off her face, contemplating her next course of action, when a rather tall, gangly looking fellow approached.

"Good evening, Miss Lamont. I'm Mr. Hale." Much to her surprise, he knew her name. They hadn't been introduced previously, and she was about to ask how he knew who she was when he clarified. "Lady Oaks informed me that you enjoy the quadrille."

Judith.

She suspected that her half-sister somehow coerced Mr. Hale, but at that moment, she did not mind. Someone had finally asked her to dance. And besides, he seemed a pleasant fellow. She fought her nervousness, took in a couple of quick breaths, then found her words.

"I do." She knew she sounded like a simpleton, rather than a woman of seven and twenty who'd read hundreds of books, but she simply could not concentrate with so many people around. Being out in society was more daunting than she thought it would be.

A short time later, Portia and Mr. Hale were lining up with the other couples. A nagging feeling tensed in her neck, almost as if she were being watched.

Don't be silly. Guests who were not participating were watching the dance, but not necessarily her. And besides, she was a nobody in Town. She knew no one, and certainly, no one knew her.

As the dance progressed, the feeling intensified. Portia tried to ignore it, and instead, concentrate on the movements. She could not afford any missteps. After what felt like an hour later, the dance finally came to an end. She bowed to her partner, and when she raised her head, her eyes focused past Mr. Hale and met with those of a handsome figure in the distance.

Titus.

His eyes narrowed and brows crinkled together as if he did not recognize her. How was that possible? They'd been the best of friends until her father died and she was forced to move away. Had time altered her that much? Titus looked pretty much the same to her, albeit more handsome and much taller than she remembered. But there was another quality about him, and she wondered if what Judith had said on the journey to London was ringing true. If a man was handsome, wealthy, and titled, he was certain to be a rake.

Even as Mr. Hale spoke to her, she kept her gaze on Titus. "Thank you for the dance, Miss Lamont. I hope our paths cross again soon."

"Thank you, Mr. Hale." Portia didn't know what else to say. She was lacking in conversational skills with… well, anyone besides Albert and the twins.

Not with Titus.

That was different. They'd been childhood friends. But that had been a long time ago. Sadness weighed down her insides. That was a long time ago. She'd since lost her friend, when he'd decided not to write back, when her life had changed so much, and not for the better.

And just as quickly as Titus had been there, he was gone, leaving her with a renewed ache in her heart.

By the time the ball came to a close, she was more than ready to return to their rented townhouse and retire to the quiet of her chamber. But it would seem her half-sister was just getting started.

"Your performance tonight was better, but still greatly lacking." Judith stared into the distance for countless seconds before she enlightened Portia with more of her thoughts. "Men like compliments, for women to hang on their every word, and to always know they are right. If we're to secure you a husband soon, you have to do better."

Portia was about to state that the Season was just beginning, then thought better of it. It was obvious that Judith was intent on marrying her off to the first person who offered. She didn't know whether she was thankful or not for having such a paltry dowry. One thing was for certain, time was of the essence.

Portia is in London.

What was she doing here? The last time he'd seen her was when her father died. She was fifteen, no longer a girl but not quite a woman, and the love of his life. And then she was gone. He'd written often, inquired after her, even attempted to see her. That visit had ended in heartache. Then, several years later, he'd heard she was about to marry. All this time, he'd convinced himself it was for the best, that she was happy in the country with a brood of children, their friendship forgotten. But here she was, gliding across the dance floor in the arms of Mr. Hale.

And then their eyes had met.

Emotions he'd ignored and buried started to percolate. He had not the patience or time for them. He was determined they would stay buried. What he needed was a distraction from the thoughts slowly rising from the past. He turned to take his leave when he came face to face with another person that he had not the patience for.

"Lord Ravensworth, it has been far too long," Lady Richardson said as she trailed a single finger down the length of his arm. The sultry widow had been a one-time bed companion, but she'd proved far too needy in her attentions.

"I am not interested?—"

"Men are always interested." Her gaze traveled over his face before descending down his chest, and lower still, before her dark brown eyes drifted up, meeting his gaze with hungry intensity. "And I happen to excel at what interests them."

He sucked in his breath, understanding her meaning loud and clear, but he had no intention of restarting a liaison with the voluptuous widow. He had other things to consider, namely his cousin. He would in no way jeopardize her first season by stirring gossip about his paramours. He could last one season without bedding a woman.

Without further engagement, he turned from Lady Richardson in search of his relatives. A short time later, he spied Flora wrapped up in a lively conversation with Miss Lillian. At least his cousin appeared to be enjoying the evening.

Now was his chance to take his leave.

"Why does it look like you want to murder someone?" Lord Jagger, one of his closest friends, questioned as he strolled up beside him.

"A nuisance from the past has reared its tempting head."

"Who might that be?" Jagger looked about the room, then added, "A past lover? Or one who would?—"

"None of your business," Titus growled. Jagger might be one of his closest friends, but there were some details about his life he did not share. And then, without another word, he took his leave. He had more important business to attend to this evening.

Hours later, with a carriage full of supplies, he entered a part of Town he was very familiar with, albeit one that most of the ton did not frequent. Even in daylight, the streets were narrow and dark, and staleness filled the air. But at night, an added element of danger lurked within the shadows. His driver stopped just on the edge where the thoroughfare became too narrow for a larger conveyance.

Titus alighted the carriage and was greeted by Mr. Mann, a kindly elderly man who thought there was much good in the world to still be done. Titus's father had believed much the same. His dearest papa had instilled in him that it was their duty to help those less fortunate and encouraged him to seek those out who could aid their cause. Mr. Mann ran a ring of men and women dedicated to helping children off the streets.

"Even'ing, me lord. Another deliv'ry?" Mr. Mann questioned as he approached the carriage.

Titus glanced about, ensuring no one was nearby. There were few people around at this time of night—or rather, very early morning, but he would take no chances. He chose his time carefully so his actions would go unseen. He was passionate about this cause, but he didn't want praise for it just the same. "Yes, a full one. You know the routine."

"Yes, me lord. The children surely need these things," Mr. Mann said as he patted the side of the conveyance.

"And remember, no one is to know who these items are from." Titus did not give to those less fortunate so others would know. He gave because he believed it was his duty to provide for those who could not provide for themselves.

"Of course," Mr. Mann said. "And I wanted to thank you again for helpin' my son."

"How is Joseph doing?"

"Doin' very good, thanks to you. His apprenticeship is going well." The pride in the older man's voice said much.

"I'm glad to hear that." Young Joseph had been a bit of a wild card, but Titus had seen potential in the lad, and had arranged for him to apprentice with a blacksmith. "Take care, Mr. Mann. I'll be around in a few weeks." And with that, he took his leave.