Free The Education of Portia by Lesley-Anne McLeod

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