This will pass. For sure.

“He’s great with kids. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

She looked beside her to find Leslie, David’s sister. Leslie was wearing Prada from head to toe, and there wasn’t a single strand of hair out of place on her head, though Portia could hear the wind howling off of the bay. Portia felt like a knight who had showed up at the tourney field in her thinnest, schlubbiest armor. She’d muddle through.

She stood straighter, made sure to turn the consonants in her words into sharp edges when she spoke, the better to wield them like daggers.

“Why, Leslie, how lovely to see you. May I ask what brought about this unexpected visit?”

Leslie looked away from Tavish then, and there was misery in her eyes, so plain that Portia wondered if she was even trying to hide it.

“I’m here to seduce a duke.”

“PARDON?” TAVISH ASKED, unfettered confusion scrunching his features. They were up in his office now, sipping tea. Portia noticed that Leslie stirred her tea in a circular motion, almost defiantly.

“Well, technically I am supposed to offer you my assistance,” Leslie explained, her voice flat and refined. “You know, the season is wrapping up, and there’s the ball at Essexlove House two Saturdays from now, to mark the official turning over of the title and properties and David’s farewell to the peerage.”

Tavish glanced at Portia, but she was already pulling out her phone and scanning emails. “Oh. Ms. Baker sent an email invitation last night,” she said. “I missed it. Because.”

She cleared her throat. A flush cupped Tav’s cheekbones.

Leslie reached into her bag and pulled out a paper invitation. “Yes. And I brought the paper one. There’s also the matter of the Queen’s garden party to kick of her arrival at Holyrood, which you co-host with Her Majesty herself. Three Saturdays from now.”

“Bloody hell,” Tavish said. “The weans have their exhibition that day.”

“Well, you’ll have to skip it. Queens over weans, I’m afraid,” Leslie said matter-of-factly. She handed off the invitation to Portia. “I was also supposed to see if you’d like to take me as your date to the ball.”

“Me?” Portia asked.

“No, though that would be lovely. Tavish. A night spent together at the ball, an offer of aid that would draw us closer—things that would of course lead to our eventual union.”

“There are many problems with this plan, but first—aren’t we cousins?” Tavish asked, brow furrowed.

Leslie tilted her head and regarded Tav. “Oh dear. You really don’t know anything about the aristocracy at all. How adorable.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Portia asked.

“Because I’m tired.” Leslie picked at her cardigan. “David doesn’t have a wife. He was looking into some heiresses, and there was a music producer’s daughter, too. I’ve spent the last year doing all those duchess things for him—managing the estates, setting up parties, being friendly to people while he was off having affair after affair or stirring the political pot. Before that, as soon as it became clear that your father wasn’t going to have any children, my parents became obsessed with David and his eventual entry into the peerage. No one cared about what I wanted.”

She glanced at Portia and her expression became guarded. “I don’t want to date. Or to marry. Anyone. I’m not . . . wired that way, I suppose. David said since I didn’t want anyone else, that it should be no matter to marry Tavish. That it was my duty to the family.”

Portia knew family expectations could be painful, but her family had always wanted her to be happy and secure, even when their words hurt her. David didn’t seem to care about Leslie’s happiness at all.

“Doesn’t he think I’m a disgusting social climber?” Tav asked.

“Yes, but only because you didn’t go to Eton,” Leslie said. “That’s where proper social climbers meet, you know.”

“And the refugee trash part?” Tav added.

“I don’t want children, and suddenly what I want matters if it means the family name won’t be ‘tarnished by the fruit of miscegenation,’” Leslie replied, a grimace on her face. “David’s taken everything into account it seems.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia said. “I’m sorry your brother would do that to you. He’s supposed to protect you.”

Sudden emotion clogged Portia’s throat as a realization hit her. That was what she had drank and studied and fucked away from for all these years. She hadn’t protected Reggie, illogical as it was. How could she have protected someone from an illness? She couldn’t have. That hadn’t made it hurt less. And then she hadn’t even lived up to anyone’s wishes and dreams, compounding that failure.

Portia took a swallow of tea. This wasn’t the time for plumbing her emotional depths, though maybe she should call Dr. Lewis after throwing her goals away for a night in bed and having traumatic revelations.

“Honestly, I knew he was an asshole, but this is horrifying.” She fixed Leslie with a stern look. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, especially not seducing someone you aren’t attracted to. You do understand that, right?”

Leslie’s glossy eyes met Portia’s. “See? That’s it. I saw how you defended Tavish, how you looked at David like you would rip him in half when he insulted him, and it all fell into place. No one has ever . . .” A stray tear slipped down her cheek and she dashed it away. “Oh. Pardon me. Your sister must feel very lucky to have you, is all.”