The Perfect Lover by Stephanie Laurens Page B

garden, he could hardly help it.
    “Your behavior is unconscionable ! I did not bring you up to comport yourself in such a manner. I can’t conceive what you think to achieve by such appalling displays!”
    The melodramatic tones belonged to Mrs. Archer. The words rose up from where Portia assumed a seat was set on the outside of the temple, overlooking the view. Within the temple, the words echoed and grew.
    “I want excitement in my life!” Kitty declared in ringing tones. “You married me to Henry and told me I’d be a lady—you painted the position of his wife in glowing colors! You led me to believe I’d have everything I’d ever want—and I haven’t!”
    “You can’t possibly be so naive as to imagine all in life will be precisely as you dream!”
    Portia was glad someone was saying what needed to be said, but she had absolutely no wish to overhear it. Silently, she turned and went back down the steps.
    As she gained the path, she heard Kitty reply in hard, harsh tones, “More fool I, I believed you. Now I’m living the reality—do you know he wants us to live here for most of the year? And he wants me to give him children ?”
    The last was said as if Henry had asked her to contract the plague; stunned, Portia hesitated.
    “Children,” Kitty went on, scorn dripping. “I’d lose my figure. I’d bloat and swell and no one would look at me! Or if they did, they’d shudder and look the other way. I’d rather be dead !”
    Something close to hysteria screamed in the words.
    Portia shivered. Refocusing, she saw the gardener; their gazes met. Then she lifted her head, drew breath. The gardener returned to his bedding plants. She walked on.
    Frowning.
    Reemerging onto the main lawn, she saw Winifred, like her, idly ambling. Thinking it wise to ensure Winifred did not amble to the temple, she changed course and joined her.
    Winifred smiled with easy welcome. Portia smiled back. Here, at least, was someone she might learn from.
    After exchanging greetings, by mutual accord they turned toward the lawn walks leading to the lake.
    “I hope you don’t think me unforgiveably forward,” she began, “but I couldn’t help noticing . . .” She glanced at Winifred’s face. “Am I right in assuming there’s some degree of understanding between you and Mr. Winfield?”
    Winifred smiled, then looked ahead. After a moment, she said, “It would perhaps be more realistic to say we’re considering some degree of understanding.” Her lips curved; she glanced at Portia. “I know that sounds very timid, but, indeed, I suppose I am that, at least when it comes to marriage.”
    Portia saw the chance and seized it with both hands. “I know just what you mean—indeed, I feel the same.” She caught Winifred’s gaze. “I’m at present considering marriage—in general at this point—and have to confess there’s much I don’t understand. I’ve left it late for entirely selfish reasons, because of my absorption with other things in life, so now I find myself somewhat at a loss, and not as informed as I ought to be. However, I imagine you’ve had much more experience . . . ?”
    Winifred grimaced, but her eyes were still easy, her expression gentle. “As to that, indeed, I have had more experience, in a way, but I fear it is not the sort to assist any other lady in understanding.” She gestured. “I’m thirty, and still unwed.”
    Portia frowned. “Forgive me, but you’re wellborn, well dowered by my guess, and not unattractive. I imagine you’ve had many offers.”
    Winifred inclined her head. “Some, I grant you, but not many. I have not encouraged any gentleman to date.”
    Portia was at a loss.
    Winifred saw it and smiled wrily. “You’ve favored me with your confidence—in return I will give you mine. You do not, I take it, have a very lovely younger sister? In particular, a highly acquisitive younger sister?”
    Portia blinked; an image of Penelope, spectacled and severe, rose in her mind.