The Education of Portia (8 page)

Portia's composure deserted her. "But you fear they soon will. Is that why you left them
in the north country, my lord? To avoid them? Well, they missed you, all of last winter. I suspect
that fact has more than a little to do with their presence in my school. They feel closer to you
now and hope to see more of you. Yes, Penny tried to walk to London to see you! Do you need
more evidence of their profound feeling of abandonment?"

Ingram felt as though he had been floored by Gentleman Jackson's stout left hook. She
was right. The sandy-haired, gimlet-eyed pattern card of virtue was spot on the mark. He should
have seen the truth himself. The girls felt abandoned. They did not know that he had found
himself all at sea as they matured. The damned schoolmistress had seen it though. The girls did
not--and should not--know that he had sought an escape from his perplexity. They must not
know why he had neglected them; that he had run away from a problem rather than facing it. He
sat down in the nearest chair, uninvited and against all propriety, leaving his hostess
standing.

She was blaming him, though, a typical female trick, burdening him with the
responsibility for his daughters' actions. He was to be held accountable just for desiring a little
enjoyment, a modicum of freedom? Yes, it was a truly feminine ploy, turning the blame onto the
convenient male.

Freshly infuriated, he rose again and put a hand on the door to the terrace. "I shall take
my leave of my daughters, Miss Crossmichael, and send them in to you. I will visit them as and
when I can. You may assure them of it. I hold you accountable for their safety, and I bid you
good day."

Satisfied that he had had the last word, and with more than he wished to consider of his
own behaviour and his daughters', he left Miss Crossmichael with that stiff farewell. In the
garden he hugged his daughters, called the blasted dog to heel, and left the vicinity of the
Mansion School with something of relief and more of anger.

* * * *

"It was a terrible scene, Cal." Portia sank into the chair behind her desk, while her
step-brother took his clay pipe and a spill from the mantelpiece. She was still--four hours after the
viscount had departed--more disturbed than she would ever admit by the exchange. "I can only
be glad that he left his daughters, and the hound, outside."

"I should not have told him where Melicent was. Perhaps I could have saved you a
trimming. Certainly I should not have left you..." Caldwell withdrew a tobacco pouch from his
pocket and filled the pipe.

"You could not have foreseen it. The viscount was livid over what he saw as our
collusion in silence." Portia rested her chin on her hand, her elbow on the desk. "I have to
consider my own part in the matter; with any other child, any other parent, I would have
immediately discussed the problems with all parties concerned. Because the viscount annoys me,
I did not wish to consult with him, and because I had not decided what to do about Melicent, I
did not speak with her. I endangered her because my own prejudices."

"Well, you saved Penelope from harm. Her actions were none of your doing." Caldwell
lit his spill from the fire and ignited the tobacco. When his pipe was drawing cleanly, he tossed
the spill into the flames.

The study's green damask curtains were pulled against the autumn night, and the fire and
lamps created a warm sanctuary of light and warmth. Laughter and music echoed from the
parlour next door where the senior girls now entertained themselves. For the first time in her
tenure, Portia found no comfort in her sanctuary. "I should have told him about it. I have at least
determined to institute a class of riding instruction, once a week. I don't know as yet how many
of the young ladies will be interested but if we have to lease mounts, so be it."

"A good idea," Caldwell said.

Portia suddenly remembered where he had been and recognized his distraction. "Oh,
Cal, you have been so patient. Listen to me running on and on, and here you have more
important news of your own. How did you go on? What of Mr. Dent?" Portia left her desk and
joined him by the fire, realizing for the first time that he looked weary and worried.

Her step-brother considered his pipe carefully. "He was late. Whether it was a deliberate
strategy or not, I do not know. It had me on edge though, if that was what he intended."

"I am sure it did. He has not changed in that. How did he look?"

"Much the same, if you allow for eight years' dissipation. He is a little harder, a little
more dissipated, rather more desperate. His words all were conciliatory: how sorry he was we
had grown apart, how he regretted past mistakes, how he wished for a reconciliation. He wishes
to be in close contact, he says. His children are important to him, vital to his continued
happiness," Caldwell snorted in disgust. "I had no confidence in his candour or his scruples; I put
no stock in his prattle. He wants something, but he is not ready to reveal his stratagems. "

"Stadbroke as well avowed the importance of his children. Until I reminded him of his
abandonment of them."

Caldwell stared at her vehemence. "You did exchange hard words with him."

"He animadverted on the inadequacies of the female character," she said grimly.

"Damn his eyes! Women are in most things more admirable than men. They cause no
wars, people no armies. He's fair and far out with those attitudes, and him with three daughters!"
Caldwell leapt to his feet, his irritation with his parent finding a new object in disparaging the
viscount. "He'll not find a better school. And he can whistle to become a patron of mine. We've
no need of him."

Singing resounded from the next chamber; strains of "Early One Morning" sung in parts
accompanied by much laughter. Portia took comfort from the sound; her pupils were happy and
well-cared for. She would redouble her efforts to keep them so.

Despite the strains of the day, she retained enough common sense to say, "We have
every need of the viscount's good will. I cannot afford to antagonize such a prominent member of
the
ton
, and neither can you, especially with your father's sudden reappearance."

Caldwell set aside his pipe, which he had neglected. He rose and went to the window.
Pushing aside the drapery, he stared at the creeping dusk. "My father is an added complication,
but he had best not be complacent that he has gulled me. I am rather more than seven now; he
will find it impossible to pull the wool over my eyes." He turned to look at Portia. "But if
Stadbroke was to learn of him..."

Portia remembered the viscount's accusation of dishonesty and shivered. But he could
not, need not, be told of Harold Dent. It was none of his affair. She shivered. "We must take care,
be watchful in all things, it seems. Perhaps your father means nothing more than what he has
said. And it may be that the viscount will allow us to do our job unhindered."

A soft rap on the door made them both jump. On Portia's word, Sabina Perrington
entered. She bobbed a curtsey to Portia and bestowed a ravishing smile on Caldwell.

He gave her a short greeting and turned to pick up his pipe, tap its contents into the fire,
and lay its clay length on the study's mantelpiece.

The girl looked away from him uncertainly, and transferred her wide-eyed gaze to
Portia. "Miss Crossmichael, I fear Papa was very annoyed this afternoon, and my sisters and I
wished to apologize for anything he might have said to upset you."

Portia flung up a hand to halt the flood of explanation, exculpation and excuse that she
was certain was about to be released. "My dear, it is not your place to ask for forgiveness for
your father's behaviour. You and your sisters need not be concerned by the dealings between
Lord Stadbroke and me. Your papa may express his opinions freely to me and I will favour him
with mine."

Gavrielle Montlucon appeared in the open doorway and stared with curiosity at the
study's occupants. Then she dropped a curtsy and said, "Mama instructs me to request you join
us, Miss Crossmichael. The young ladies are desirous of dancing and she needs your
assistance."

"Thank you Gavrielle. Assure Madame I shall join her directly. Run along, Sabina."
Both young ladies withdrew, Gavrielle with a pert smile reminiscent of her mother's as she
closed the door.

"Well, much as I should like to dance with Heloise, I shall withdraw as always."
Caldwell managed a shadow of a smile.

"A wise decision, my dear," Portia said. She was weary but she had long since learned to
suborn her desires to the requirements of her position. "Are you sanguine about gaining a
daughter yourself should your suit ever succeed with Heloise?"

"Gavrielle is a good girl and if I have learned anything from watching my father's
association with you, it is how to be a good step-father. I have only to execute the direct opposite
of his actions."

Portia conjured a laugh and rose. "You handled Sabina well, my dear. Do continue in the
same vein. The viscount will not care for his eldest daughter's infatuation, I fear and he needs no
further fuel to feed his anger."

"He'll have none from me. I have no interest in fanning any flames." Caldwell opened
the door for her. "I have work to do in my studio."

They separated in the entry, and Portia entered the parlour. She made a general greeting
to the room at large and the assembled young ladies chorused their own welcome.

Mme. Montlucon greeted her with some relief. "They want to dance, and you know I
cannot play the piano and maintain decorum at the same time."

"Indeed, not!" Portia crossed to the pianoforte, smiled her thanks at the pupil who pulled
out the stool for her and settled the chosen music on the holder. She shifted the candelabra that lit
the music, and over her shoulder ordered the young ladies to take their positions.

"Mr. Dent has chosen not to join us?" Heloise leaned over her shoulder for a
moment.

Portia searched her friend's face for regret or disappointment. She could not be sure she
saw either. "You are the only female in the house with whom he wishes to dance, Heloise. You
know that. He will not make himself available to those of our girls with infatuations to
enflame."

"I know it. He is very good with them; it is to his credit." Madame frowned repressively
at two young ladies whose high spirits threatened to destroy all propriety in the room.

"There is much to his credit, Heloise," Portia played the opening bars of the reel to
gather the attention of the young ladies. "You should think on it more."

"In my leisure, which is none too abundant, I think of little else."

Portia allowed her fingers to wander over the ivory keys. "Are you worried about
Gavrielle?"

"No, no. Gavrielle remembers her poor father not at all, and thinks very well of
Caldwell. Ah, but what of Caldwell's father? How went his meeting?"

Portia began to play in earnest and the young ladies curtsied to each other on gales of
laughter. "Well enough." If Cal did not wish to apprise Heloise of his father's perfidies, it was not
her lot to do so. "There can be little point of reference between them now, but perhaps some sort
of relationship may be possible. Now do go and keep order. Miss Masefield must not be so
rowdy, and Henrietta Cathcart has deplorable timing!"

Mme. Montlucon did as she was bid, and Portia was left with her thoughts and her
music. She sighed soundlessly. It had been a long day, and one way and another not very
successful.

Portia made it a habit to take three or four of her girls to London each month on an
educational excursion. It gave her the opportunity to become better acquainted with the young
ladies, and to evaluate their behaviour, their interests and their acumen.

She chose to take the three Perrington girls to the city in October. They were to visit the
British Museum with its burgeoning collections of sculpture and antiquities. She was influenced
by the fact that it was one of her favourite places in the capitol and that there was inevitably
something new on display in the aging, crowded building.

The girls were agog for two days prior to their Saturday excursion. On the prescribed
morning, despite that they were allowed to sleep an hour later on Saturdays, the young ladies
were prepared and waiting in the entry hall for the trip by half past nine.

"Perhapth we shall see Papa," Penelope said, as Portia descended the staircase, pulling
on her gloves carefully.

"Could we call upon him?" Melicent added, a sparkle flaring in her brown eyes so like
her father's.

Portia's response was interrupted by the girls' older sister.

"Don't be silly. Penny, London is a huge city, the hugest in all of England. For us to
encounter Papa among all the people we will see in the streets would be the most remarkable
coincidence. And Mel you know this is an educational outing. It is nothing to do with Papa.
Though perhaps we could leave Miss Crossmichael's card in Hill Street? With perhaps a
note?"

Portia was dismayed by the suggestion. She ushered the girls out to the waiting carriage
as she considered her reply. She had no wish to see the viscount's home, no desire to leave her
card, and she would never admit to a wish to see him again.

How best to divert the girls' thoughts? "We'll see," she said.

Her step-brother trod down the steps from the front door and she greeted him with
relief.

"Mama wath always used to say 'we shall see' when she wished not to do something
with uth," Penelope said.

"Hush, Penny." Melicent, spying Mr. Dent, frowned ferociously.

Portia overlooked the frown and the trembling lip of the youngest Perrington to say,
"Mr. Dent is joining us. He has business in the city." She bestowed her companions carefully in
her closed carriage: Melicent and Penelope on either side of her, Sabina beside Caldwell on the
opposite seat.

It was her theory that less flirtatious glances and languishing looks were possible when a
young lady was seated beside her victim. Innate modesty would keep Sabina from crowding
Caldwell closely.