Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

“You are not too old to marry well. Imagine the good you would do your brother if you did.” She bent toward Portia, so earnest and mistaken. “Our connection to Lord Northword might be of great assistance in that.”


“Magnus cannot afford to send me to London so that I may dance with gentlemen who do not suit me. Particularly when I have already found a man who does.” She folded her hands together and struggled to match Eleanor’s cheerful concern. “I’m sure you did not bring me here to talk of this.” She smiled brightly. “Is there something I may assist you with? The household accounts, perhaps?”

Eleanor blinked rapidly and Portia felt horrible for her relief at diverting the conversation from the subject of suitable husbands. “What good fortune it is to have you for my sister. Without your kindness, I’d have a far more difficult time. Your brother, too, appreciates all that you do here.”

“How may I be of help?” She was not safely off the shoal yet. The most innocent remark or expression might send Eleanor’s mind reeling off toward ballrooms and dancing.

“If I may be honest—”

“Please.”

“It’s not so much what you may do, but what you ought not do and say. Especially if we are to engage Lord Northword’s assistance.”

“Oh?” This, too, was familiar territory.

Her sister-in-law’s lips set in a grim line. “I should hate for anyone to take offense when I know you do not mean to offend.”

“Indeed?”

“I know you will feel the same when I tell you this. I think that, living here as you have all your life, you are not aware of certain expectations.”

“Indeed, I hope not to offend anyone. Have I?” She did not hide her surprise, nor her concern, for if Eleanor, who was made of all that was light and sweet, thought she might have offended anyone, she may well have done so.

Eleanor intertwined her fingers. By now, Portia knew better than to think her distress would last beyond the next twenty minutes, but it was impossible not to feel the cruelty of allowing anything to beset her. Her sister-in-law lived so deeply in her emotions that it was probably for the best they never lasted for long. “You mustn’t be so familiar with Lord Northword.”

Portia clasped her hands behind her back. “You think I am?”

“You know I adore you and think the world of you.” Her puppy-eyes softened, and Portia’s heart fell at the possibility that Eleanor was about to lose track of their conversation again. “You did wonders before I came here. Looking after Magnus and the house.”

“Thank you.”

The corner of Eleanor’s mouth twitched down. “But, Portia, my dear, Lord Northword is a nobleman. A viscount.” She leaned forward. “The head of an illustrious and very old family.”

“I am aware.” As if she didn’t know.

“I thought my heart would stop when I overheard you call him by his Christian name.” She patted her chest as if she suffered still. “The proper style, the dignified style, is either my lord, or Lord Northword or, so as not to repeat oneself too often, sir. You would know this if you had ever been to London as I have. If your circle of acquaintance included men such as Lord Northword. Men who, I assure you, would not be as tolerant as he. Was there ever a man so forgiving? Besides Magnus.” Her mouth firmed. “I think not.”

She mentally counted to five. “The mistake is mine, of course. It’s just that I’ve always called him Crispin.”

Eleanor gave a frustrated sigh. “But, my dearest. Portia. How can I explain this? All our plans depend upon Lord Northword wishing to do you a service.”

“What plans do you mean?”

“He is your brother’s patron.” She wrung her hands, and even Portia, who wasn’t inclined to think much of helpless women, felt that familiar tug on her emotions that made her wonder if Eleanor hadn’t hit on precisely the behavior that ensured she would always come away with what she wanted. How could anyone bear to see Eleanor unhappy? “If we are to succeed, you must show him the respect due a man of his rank and influence.”

“You’re quite right.”

Eleanor straightened. “I am so glad you understand. He knows you do not intend to insult his dignity. He is a gentleman, after all. A nobleman. But I assure you, he feels it here.” She touched the middle of her chest again. “Naturally, he’s happy about your engagement, but he’s here in support of Magnus as he steps more fully into his position in West Aubry. He’ll want to see how the improvements at the church are progressing.”