was too indolent to care where they sat. A foul smell emanated from the basket at Portia’s feet, and I sighed, burying my nose in my handkerchief. If I sniffed very deeply, I could almost forget the odor.
“I cannot believe you brought that monstrosity,” I told her.
Portia gave me a severe look. “You are very cold toward Mr. Pugglesworth, Julia, and I cannot think why. Puggy loves you.”
“Puggy loves no one but you, besides which he is half decayed.”
“He is distinguished,” she corrected. “Besides, I note that you have a similar basket. Have you acquired a souvenir on your travels?”
“Yes. A creature almost as vile as Puggy. She is temperamental and hateful and she loathes me. Yesterday she gnawed the heel from my favorite boot simply because she could.” I nudged her basket with my toe and she snarled in response. “She only understands Italian, so I am trying to teach her English. Quiet, Florence. Tranquillamente.”
“What on earth possessed you to buy her if you hate her so much?” Portia demanded, peering through the wickets of the basket. “All I can see are two eyes that seem to be glowing red. I should be very frightened if I were you, Julia. Sleep with one eye open.”
“I did not buy her,” I told her softly. “She was a gift.”
Portia’s eyes flew to Alessandro’s dark, silken head, thrown back as he laughed at some remark of Plum’s. “Ah. From the enchanting young man. I understand. Tell me, how old is he?”
“Twenty-five.”
She nodded. “Perfect. I could not have chosen better for you myself.”
I set my mouth primly. “I do not know what you are talking about. Alessandro is a friend. The boys have known him for ages. He wanted to see England, and Lysander is too much of a custard to face Father without some distraction. That is all.”
“Indeed?” Portia tipped her head to the side, studying my face. “You know, dearest, even under that delicious veil, I can see your blushes. You have gone quite pink about the nose and ears, like a rabbit. I think that boy likes you. And what’s more, I think you like him, too.”
“Then you are a very silly woman and there is nothing else to say. It is overwarm in here. That is all.”
Portia smiled and patted my arm. “If you say so, my love. If you say so. Now, what news have you had of Brisbane? I saw him last month and I know he has been a frequent guest at Father’s Shakespearean society of late, but I haven’t any recent news of him.”
“You saw him last month?” I picked at the stitching on my glove, careful to keep my voice neutral. “Then you know more of him than I. How did he seem?”
“Very fond of the Oysters Daphne,” she said, her eyes bright with mischief. “He made me send along the receipt for his housekeeper. Julia, mind what you’re doing. You’ve jerked so hard at that thread, you’ve torn the fur right off the cuff.”
I swore under my breath and tucked the ragged edge of the fur into my glove. “You mean you had him to dinner? At your house?”
“Where else would I entertain a friend? Honestly, Julia.”
“Did you dine alone?”
Portia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be feeble. Of course not. Jane was there, and Valerius as well,” she said. I relaxed a little. Valerius was our youngest brother and a passionate student of medicine. His favourite pastime was telling gruesome tales at the dinner table, not exactly an inducement to romance.
Portia poked me suddenly. “You little green-eyed monster,” she whispered. “You’re jealous!”
“Well, of course I am,” I said, sliding my gaze away from hers. “I adore your cook’s Oysters Daphne. I am sorry to have missed them.”
She snorted. “Oh, this has less to do with oysters than with the haunch of a handsome man.” She started laughing then, great cackling peals of laughter. I reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around my finger and jerked sharply.
“Leave it be, Portia.”
She yanked her hair out of my grip and edged aside, a wicked smile still playing about her mouth. “You daft girl, you cannot possibly imagine I want him for myself.”
I shrugged and said nothing.
“Or that he wants me,” she persisted. Still I said nothing. “Oh, I give up. Very well, think what you like. Go on and torture yourself since you seem to enjoy it so. But tell me this, have you had a letter from him since you went away?”
I looked out of the window, staring at the houses whose back gardens ran down to the rail line. “How curious. Someone has pegged out their washing. See the petticoats there? She ought to have hung them inside by the fire. They’ll never dry in this weather.”
Portia pinched my arm. “Avoidance is a coward’s tactic. Tell me all.”
I turned back to her and lifted the veil of my travelling costume, tucking it atop my hat. “Nothing. I know nothing because he has not written. Not a word in five months.”
My sister pursed her lips. “Not a word? Even after he kissed you? That is a shabby way to use a person.”
I waved a hand. “It is all water down the stream now. I have done with him. I doubt I shall meet him again in any case. Our paths are not likely to cross. We have no need of an inquiry agent, and the only relation of his who moves in society is the Duke of Aberdour. And Brisbane has little enough liking for his great-uncle’s company.”
“True enough, I suppose.”
I looked at her closely. “Do not think on it, Portia. It was foolish of me to imagine there was something there. I want only to put it behind me now.”
Portia smiled, a smile that did not touch her eyes. She was speculating. “Of course, my love,” she said finally. “Now I am more convinced than ever that you did a very wise thing.”
“When?”
Portia nodded toward Alessandro. “When you decided to bring home that most delightful souvenir.”
I slapped lightly at her arm. “Stop that at once. He will hear you.”
She shrugged. “And what if he does? I told you before, a lover is precisely the tonic you need. Julia, I was gravely worried about you when you left England. You were ailing after the fire, and I believed very strongly that it was possible you might not ever recover—not physically, but from the trauma your spirit had suffered. You learned some awful truths during that investigation, truths no woman should ever have to learn.” She paused and put a hand over mine. “But you did recover. You are blooming again. You were a sack of bones when you left and pale as new milk. But now—” she ran her eyes over my figure “—now you are buxom and bonny, as the lads like to say. You have your colour back, and your spirit. So, I say, complete the cure, and make that luscious young man your lover.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “I am five years his elder.”
“And very nearly a virgin in spite of your marriage,” she retorted. I poked a finger hard into her ribs and she collapsed again into peals of merry laughter.
“Good God, what are the two of you on about?” Plum demanded from across the compartment.
Portia sobered slightly. “We were wondering what Father has bought us for Christmas.”
Plum regarded her gloomily. “Stockings of coal and switches, I’ll warrant.”
Portia shot me an impish look. “Well, perhaps there will be other goodies to open instead.”
This time I did not bother to pinch her. I merely opened my book and pretended to read.
THE THIRD CHAPTER
