Page 71 of The Music of Love

Soames’s gray brows shot up to his hairline, but his voice remained level. “I’m afraid the master has taken the coach horses, ma’am.”

She adopted her loftiest expression, one she’d not needed to use since the night she’d arrived at Whitethorn under a cloud of deception and shame. “Send Bannock to the inn to procure job horses, Soames.”

He hesitated a long moment before bowing. “Very good, ma’am.”

Daisy proved even more resistant than Soames. “Oh, Mrs. Harrington, wouldn’t it be better to wait for the master to come with us?”

“No, it would not. We will be shopping for the nursery. Men do not care for such things. I doubt we will be gone much longer than Mr. Harrington. We shall leave at first light and be back before my husband returns from Barnstaple.” Portia very much doubted that would prove to be true and expected to receive a rather severe admonishment when Stacy returned to find her gone. But she had no other choice. “Please see to the packing, Daisy.”

Portia almost made it to the door before Daisy’s voice stopped her.

“Mr. Harrington told me you should not exert yourself, ma’am.”

Portia turned and regarded her servant through slitted eyes. Daisy’s pretty face flushed and Portia knew a moment of shame for putting the poor girl into such an uncomfortable position. But what choice did she have?

She adopted the cold and haughty tone Stacy employed to such effect. “I’m grateful for Mr. Harrington’s solicitude on the subject of my health. I’m also cognizant of your wish to follow his instructions. I can certainly go without you.”

Portia felt like an inhuman monster when the younger woman’s thick brown lashes quivered against her creamy cheeks.

“I’ll go, ma’am.”

“I’ll leave you to pack, then.” She left the room in a cloud of embarrassment at having become such an ogre. She went directly to the library to fetch the jewels from Stacy’s safe, even though she’d spoken to him about her bank account only yesterday.

“I might wish to order some nursery furniture and may need to draw on the account you set up for me. I forget which bank it is.”

“The account is in Plymouth, at Nelson’s Bank. But that money is for you, Portia, not for household matters. Please send any bills for the nursery or anything else for the house to me.” His honest generosity made her feel like a scheming louse, which she was.

She’d not been able to scruple asking him how much money was available, so she’d need to bring the jewelry just in case.

He’d told her the combination to the big wall safe behind his desk when he’d shown her the remainder of his mother’s jewelry. If there was not enough money in her account she hoped to raise the remainder by pawning some of the lesser pieces before resorting to the pearls.

There was a roll of bills in the safe but she felt a visceral revulsion at the thought of taking money. She snorted at her asinine scruples; wasn’t pawning his mother’s possessions worse? Portia bit her lip and pushed the wretched thought aside.

She left the jewelry boxes behind and poured their contents into her needlework bag, the only place Daisy was unlikely to look.

Portia was more than a little surprised the following morning when there was actually a carriage and four waiting. Not only that, but Daisy was packed and ready. Even an hour away from Whitethorn Portia kept expecting Stacy to come thundering up beside the coach and demand she return his mother’s jewels.

Daisy looked as nervous as Portia felt and she wondered what Stacy had said to the poor girl. Perhaps she feared for her job? The notion made her feel like a selfish shrew. But she told herself that if she did not get Ivo’s money, she wouldn’t need the services of a lady’s maid. Not that she believed Stacy would throw her out with only the clothing on her back. After all, she was carrying his child. But even if he believed her—in the face of marriage lines he would be powerless to do anything. Under the law, their baby would belong to Ivo. Portia closed her eyes and fought down the wave of sickness that threatened to swamp her. She couldn’t think about that or she’d crawl into bed and never leave it.

The carriage was modern and light and they made better time than Portia dared to hope. They changed horses in Launceston and used the new Tavistock Road. The quality of the road easily made up for the frequent stops and they reached Plymouth at just past four.

Portia decided to stay at the Marlborough House, which is where Soames said Stacy always lodged. She was exhausted by travel and worry and ordered a meal to be delivered to her private parlor.

She sent Daisy to ask the innkeeper for directions to the most superior cloth and furniture warehouses in Plymouth, where they would go in the morning. But Portia could hardly ask Daisy to inquire as to the most convenient place to pawn jewels, so she waited until the servants had gone to bed and summoned one of the inn porters, a thin, villainous-looking man with shifty eyes. He gave her directions to a pawn broker—along with an impertinent, knowing leer—in exchange for more money than such information merited.

After he departed Portia collapsed into her bed, too overwrought to sleep. She lay in the dark for hours before drifting into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams in which Ivo chased her through the streets of Plymouth.

Portia spent an hour with Daisy at the first cloth warehouse before putting her plan into action. She cupped her forehead and adopted a pained expression.

“It is another of those annoying headaches I’ve been getting, but we’ve come too far to quit now. You have the list. Indeed, you know better than I do what we need. I shall go back to the inn while you complete the shopping. Perhaps after I rest for an hour I’ll be ready to try again. You keep Baker with you to help with all the parcels.”

Daisy’s smooth forehead furrowed. “Oh, ma’am, I should go with you. Or at least Baker. I don’t need his help. I can return after you—”

“Nonsense, that would be a waste of time.” She gave her a reassuring but pained smile. “I know Mr. Harrington wants you to be with me when I’m out and about, but really, I travelled from London to Bude alone. I am perfectly able to take care of myself on a ten-minute journey back to the inn. I shall see you when you’ve finished.” Daisy could not argue when she spoke with such finality.

Baker told the hackney driver to take her to the Marlborough House but once they’d gone half a block Portia rapped on the roof and told him she needed to make a stop at Nelson’s Bank first. The bank was in a blocky, gray building not far from the inn. Portia gave the front clerk her name and he whisked her into small but elegant sitting room. She didn’t have to wait long until a slim, gray-suited man of indeterminate years bustled into the room.

“What a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harrington. I am Reginald Nelson.”