“Mama?”
Portia blinked, startled from her thoughts by Edwin, who had arrived in her sitting room as was customary each morning following breakfast, before the day’s studies commenced.
“Darling,” she greeted him, rising from her chair and extending her arms for an embrace.
As always, he bounded into her arms with a boyish enthusiasm she knew in her mother’s heart that life would one day take away from him. And so, she held him close, burying her face in the carefully combed hair the same shade of chestnut as hers, relishing his love and the sweet scent of him.
It seemed to her that her son squeezed her waist with extra enthusiasm this morning, and she knew a sharp spear of guilt at her selfishness the night before. She had risked so very much when she had asked Wolf to stay. Because despite his continued insistence he would protect her, nothing and no one could save her from her brother’s wrath. She shuddered to think what actions he would take if she were to incur his fury any further than she had already done in her inglorious past and her trip to The Sinner’s Palace. He had threatened her with taking Edwin, and she knew he would do just that and anything else to bring her misery.
She kissed Edwin’s crown as she so oft did, tamping down the worry that was never far from her heart. “And how is my favorite son this fine morning?”
He giggled. “Mama, I am your only son. It is a matter of course that I must also be your favorite. I haven’t any competition.”
She smiled, his hair, already wayward from their embrace tickling her cheek. It seemed her son had only to blink his eyes and his tidy hair began to wave and curl as it was naturally wont to do. “My favorite person, then. How is that? You are my very favorite person in all the world, you know.”
He gave her another squeeze before releasing her and taking a step back. “That is a heavy mantle indeed to wear about one’s shoulders.”
Her heart gave a little pang as he stood before her. He was growing so tall. It seemed only yesterday he had been a babe she had swaddled and held in her arms. Sometimes, she wished she could pause time, even just for a while, so that she could prolong the joy of his childhood. Her life had possessed precious little happiness, and what she had known thus far had been all Edwin.
And now, Wolf.
The thought gave her pause, for it felt…not just foreign, but disloyal. How could a man she scarcely knew have caused her happiness? It seemed impossible. And yet, she could not deny the glow she had felt this morning when she had risen, thinking of him. A glow which had promptly been doused when her rational mind recalled last night’s recklessness must never be repeated.
She cleared her throat against a sudden, stinging rush of tears, both at her son’s growing up before her eyes and what she could never have. “Nonetheless, it is a mantle you wear well.”
Her son ducked his head, then cast her a sheepish glance from beneath lowered lashes, a pose that was quite familiar by now. “Are you vexed with me, Mama?”
“Vexed is perhaps a strong word,” she said sternly, knowing she could not allow him to run roughshod over the household and do as he pleased, yet hating to be firm as she must. “Disappointed, however, yes. It was not well done of you to go sneaking about the library when you were meant to be asleep.”
“I am sorry, Mama.” Edwin hung his head once more.
“I trust you shan’t be doing it again,” she said pointedly, for though she had scolded him the night before, she had also done so before Wolf.
And she had been thoroughly flustered by his unexpected appearance.
Good heavens, that reminded her. She truly did need to speak to Riggs about the possibility of a housebreak occurring. They had to be certain all the doors and windows were soundly fastened each evening.
Still, something told her Wolf Sutton was no ordinary housebreaker, and that his finding entry did not necessarily suggest others would as well.
“I’ll not be doing it again, Mama. I promised last night that I would not.”
Yes, he had. But she knew her son well enough to suspect he may be tempted to break his promise.
“If you wish to spend more time on your drawings, perhaps I can arrange for Mr. Leslie to conclude your lessons one quarter hour early each day so that you may do so,” she allowed, for she would prefer to be able to watch over her son rather than fear he would wander about in the dark.
The mere thought of him attempting to slide down a banister on his way to the library set her protective motherly instincts on edge. He could break his leg, or worse, his neck. Only heaven knew what mischief young lads made when they were sneaking about in the night, unattended.
But rather than being pleased by her suggestion—a compromise to keep him from further trouble—Edwin frowned. “But Uncle says I am behind in my studies and I am to add an additional hour to them every day. Mr. Leslie said so.”
The knowledge that her brother was intruding in her son’s studies sent outrage knifing through Portia. It was bad enough he had insisted upon selecting the tutor himself, a man she felt was far too rigid and cold to be a tutor who would encourage Edwin’s learning. But now he was intervening to suggest they lengthen his studies?
Perhaps Mr. Leslie needed to be reminded who it was that employed him.
But just as quickly as that indignant thought occurred to her, all the fight in her deflated as she recalled her situation. Granville’s hands were in everything. She had no true power or will of her own. Her entire life, and that of her son, was ruled over by a tyrant who despised her for the indiscretions of her youth.
“When did you speak with your uncle?” she asked instead of giving voice to the myriad of emotion swirling through her.
Portia took great care to keep her brother’s true nature from Edwin. As long as his rage was directed at her rather than her son, she saw no need to worry the boy.
“Yesterday when he paid a call,” Edwin answered. “He said he had come to visit you as well.”
Yes, much to her regret, he had. She wondered if Granville had visited Edwin before or after he had smashed her inkwell and slapped her. She supposed it did not matter, but she disliked the notion of him going to her son when still in one of his rages. She did not think him capable of raising a hand to a child, but then, she had once not believed him capable of many sins she now knew he was.
And whilst she could not protect herself from her brother’s violence, she would do everything in her power to protect her son.
“Lord Granville did indeed visit me yesterday,” she said, endeavoring to keep her tone mild and to reveal none of the loathing she felt for her brother to Edwin.
The stain he had left behind was yet upon her lovely wall, and the bruise he had left on her cheek had been an ugly reminder she’d needed to conceal with Pear’s Almond Bloom again. The paper-hangings would need to be replaced.
She tore her gaze away, but it was too late. Edwin’s curious stare was fixed upon the terribly besmirched paper-hangings, which the housekeeper had done her utmost to repair following the incident Portia had halfheartedly explained.
“What happened to the paper-hangings?” her son asked.
“Nothing you need to fret over, darling,” she said brightly. “I do believe it is time for your studies to begin with Mr. Leslie. You ought to run along so you are not tardy.”
“It looks as if the ink from your inkwell spilled down the wall,” he observed.
Because it had. Because some terrible tyrant had hurled it there so that it would shatter.