Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Twenty-Nine
THE CAT’S-EYE ROOM
It wasn’t just due to Ian’s long legs that he passed me.
He saw what I saw.
Therefore, he got to Portia and Daniel in the foyer before I arrived, and immediately wrapped his fingers around Daniel’s wrist, which was attached to his hand that was curled around Portia’s arm in an attempt to drag her, unwilling, back to the stairs.
“Release her,” Ian snarled.
Daniel didn’t move.
“Release her!” Ian thundered.
Daniel let go and Ian instantly shifted between him and Portia, planting a hand in Daniel’s chest and shoving him back.
I rounded them and went to Portia, pulling her in my arms.
She was trembling, but I didn’t think it was from fear. Instead, anger.
“I need her to listen to me,” Daniel said. “She’s not listening to me.”
“You’re old enough to know by now that when a woman doesn’t want to listen, you wait for when she’s ready to listen. And if she’s never ready, tough fucking luck,” Ian retorted.
“She froze me out all day yesterday and barely let me get a word in when she allowed me to speak with her this morning!” Daniel returned heatedly.
“Are you listening? Did you hear what I just said?” Ian asked.
The brothers stared each other down.
Both Portia and I started when we heard Richard order, “Go, Daniel. Walk it off.”
Everyone looked toward the mouth of the southeastern hall to see both Richard and Lady Jane there.
“Go,” Richard repeated inflexibly, disappointment heavy in his features. “Now.”
“I’m going for a ride,” Daniel bit, glowered at Ian, glanced at Portia, then he stomped off toward the northwest wing.
Portia suddenly pulled from my arms while watching Daniel leave, then she whispered, “I’m sorry.” She covered her face with her hands, let out a sob, and cried, “I’m so sorry!”
She then dashed to the stairs.
I headed after her, hearing Richard demand of Ian, “Follow your brother. Make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish and hurt himself.”
I was running up the steps but still saw Ian walking in the same trajectory as his brother.
I didn’t have time to think about how that would go.
I had to see to Portia.
It was early afternoon.
I was in the Cat’s-eye Room after trying for a short period of time to console Portia, who wanted to “…just be left alone, just for a little while. I need to get my head straight.”
I got a text from Ian who said he was going riding with Daniel, and I hoped that went okay as I headed down to the kitchen to keep a date with Bonnie.
She ordered in pastries from a small bakery that operated out of a local farm, but she wanted to do them herself. She had some experience, but it was an area of cookery she hadn’t yet fully explored. So we made some rough puff together and then moved to choux, both of which she was familiar with, but I showed her some shortcuts that still produced delicious results.
She then had to focus on lunch, but I had nervous (and angry) energy to spare, and I felt at home in any kitchen, so I asked if I could make dessert for dinner that night.
She agreed. I checked her larder. And then I created my fiddly orange custard cake which Americans would recognize as reminiscent of a Creamsicle.
Richard and Lady Jane had Dover sole up in the Viognier Room. I munched on a bacon and brie baguette in the kitchen while I lost myself in the warm comfort of baking.
Now I was in my favorite room of the house (outside the Conservatory and Hawthorn), my Kindle in my hand but my eyes staring unseeing at the cold fireplace.
This was when Ian sauntered in.
For the second time that day, I watched him throw himself on a couch, this time the one across from me, but these movements were even more beleaguered than the last.
“How is she?” he asked.
Back straight, prim and pissed, I answered, “I don’t know. She was too upset to talk. She wanted to be alone. I texted her when I finished in the kitchen with Bonnie, and she said she was feeling better, and she was going to talk to Daniel when he returned.”
“Well, he’s returned.”
I glared at him.
“I have no excuses for my brother,” he said on a harassed sigh.
“I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at him.”
He slouched in the couch so his head was resting on the back, lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.
I felt for him. His brother was a mess.
I was still angry Daniel put his hand on Portia in that manner. Granted, it hadn’t been violent, but when someone didn’t want to be where you wanted them to be, unless they were in a situation where they were possibly going to harm themselves, you didn’t physically make them be where you wanted them to be.