Page 42 of The Music of Love

“Who decorated Whitethorn?” she asked, looking at his hands rather than his face when he handed her the glass.

“I did.” The candles behind her glinted off his blue-black lenses, making him appear remote and menacing.

“You have exquisite taste.”

“Thank you, but you will be mistress of Whitethorn so you must change anything you like when we are married.” His fine nostrils quivered at the word ‘married’.

Was he anticipating their wedding night as much as she was? Portia somehow doubted it. Ivo had been convinced she suffered from nymphomania, an accusation he’d flung in her face more than once. Portia had never heard the word before but had been able to guess what it meant. After what had happened in the stables—and again in the music room—she was beginning to suspect Ivo had been correct.

Portia realized he was looking at her, as if waiting for an answer. “I honestly can’t think of anything I would change.” The house was perfect. He was perfect.

“We’ve not discussed a wedding trip. Have you anywhere you’d like to go?”

“You wish to go on a trip?”

He looked amused by her surprise. “I have no objection to travel. I merely require certain precautions to make it possible.”

Portia decided now was as good a time as ever to discuss those precautions. “What kind of precautions, if I may ask?”

“You must ask me whatever you wish, Portia. You are soon to be my wife, after all.”

Portia swallowed at the word ‘wife’.

“The precautions are much the same as those I take most days. My skin burns very easily but that does not mean I cannot go outdoors. It just means I must cover as much of my person as possible. My eyes are particularly sensitive and easily damaged. That is why I choose to go out so rarely during the middle of the day. I’m afraid I have rather a fear of losing my sight,” he said, sounding as though he were admitting to something embarrassing—like a fear of snails.

“It would be a terrible thing to be deprived of sight.” The only thing Portia could think of that would be worse would be losing one’s hearing and the beauty of music along with it. “Do your spectacles protect you?”

“I have a pair that are far thicker and enclosed so light does not come in from the sides.” He saw Portia’s expression and smiled. “I daresay you will hate them, given your curiosity regarding my freakish orbs.”

“They are not freakish.” Portia was surprised by how angry the word made her. “They are quite possibly two of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Do you never look in the mirror?”

“Rarely.” He sounded bored.

“No doubt your condition is a tremendous inconvenience and I’m sure ignorant people—of which there are lamentably a great many—make going out in public uncomfortable. But many people will be looking at you because you are an excessively handsome man. I’m sure my opinion comes as no surprise to you.” She flushed as she recalled their most recent lovemaking. How could he not see that she found him desirable?

His lips curved into a slight, tolerant smile. “I thought we might invite the vicar and his wife to dinner when I return.”

Portia allowed him to turn from a topic he clearly found distasteful. But privately she vowed to do everything in her power to make him understand just how attractive she found him—both his mind and person—when they were man and wife.

The days before the wedding sped past quickly. Portia realized Stacy had been correct when he’d said she would find plenty to keep a maid occupied. Not only was Daisy skilled when it came to hair, but she was also a wizard with a needle.

After Stacy left for Plymouth they spent two afternoons altering one of Portia’s dresses into her bridal gown. They giggled like girls and ate too many cakes and biscuits while Daisy embroidered tiny flowers on Portia’s simple cream silk gown and transformed it into a stunning wedding dress.

“I wish I’d asked Mr. Harrington’s man what color his waistcoat would be,” Daisy said as she worked on the hem.

Stacy’s valet was a big, barrel-chested man with a severe expression. “I’d be frightened to ask Powell anything,” Portia said.

Daisy laughed. “Why he’s nothing but a big kitten.”

Portia smiled at her blushing young maid; ah, so that’s the way it was . . .

The door to her sitting room opened and Frances stood in the doorway. “I’ve brought you a surprise.” She stepped aside to reveal Nanny.

“And what a delightful surprise!” Portia sprang up and hurried toward the two older women while Daisy quickly moved the various garments off the chairs.

“How wonderful of you to visit—both of you.”

Nanny smiled at Daisy, her blue eyes clear and sharp today. “It’s nice to see you outside of church, Daisy—but you hardly ever visit me.”