Say You Will (25 page)

“We are.” Summer glared at Portia, daring her to say otherwise.

Her older sister sighed. “You’re so bossy. You’re going to have to learn the pecking order here, because only Beatrice is allowed to be bossy.”

Summer gaped at Portia, a fine layer of tears making her eyes shine almost as much as her happy smile.

The three of them came up with a dubious plan. It took an hour to pull it together.

“That’s the last of it,” Summer said, setting a box by Nick’s front door.

Portia frowned at the small pile. “You really think this will work?”

“Yes,” Summer said with firm conviction. “Because Nick wants this as much as she does.”

Rosalind counted on that. She shook her head at all the stuff. “This plan is brash and bold.”

“Which makes it that much more likely to work.” Summer hesitated, and then leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Good luck, Ros.”

Portia rolled her eyes, but squeezed her hand. “I feel like I need to say one more time that the pickle juice is a mistake.”

She smiled. “Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take my chances.”

Her sister shrugged, then she faced Summer. “Have you seen the gallery yet? You should probably get to know your ancestors.”

Rosalind winced, but Summer perked up. “That sounds great,” she said.

Only because she had no idea what sort of torture she was in for. Rosalind waited until her sisters were far enough down the block before ringing Nick’s doorbell.

He yanked open the door a couple minutes later, wearing only a T-shirt and gray boxer briefs. “No hookers—”

She smiled when he stopped midsentence. “That’s a good policy to have.”

He raked a hand over his sleep-tousled hair. “I thought it was my manager, or Luca. But I’m happy it’s you. Come in?”

She gestured to the pile next to her. “I have a few things with me.”

“It looks like you’re moving in,” he said, both jokingly and with hope.

“Would you be okay with that?”

He stilled, studying her. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I accept.”

“You can’t accept yet.” She frowned. “I haven’t made my big declaration.”

He slid his arms around her waist. “I don’t need a big declaration. I love you.”

Her heart melted, and she knew it’d react that way every time he said he loved her for the rest of their lives. “I love you, too.”

Lowering his head, he kissed her with undeniable affection that heated into relentless passion.

Shaking her head, she broke away from him. “I still have my big declaration to make.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“Of course.”
Duh
, Bijou would have said. “I love you.”

“Good.” He reached for her again.

“No.” She pushed him back. “Will you stop interrupting me? This declaration was ingenious, and I don’t want to waste it.”

He crossed his arms. “Before you make your declaration, there’s one thing I forgot to tell you.”

“What?” she asked cautiously.

“I do endorsements for Calvin Klein. My ass is going to be all over the UK in a few months.”

She checked out said ass. “It’s very fine.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Will it be mine?”

He touched her face. “Always and forever.”

Her chest swelled with so much emotion that she thought she’d burst. But before she could, she said, “The South Street house is suddenly overrun, and I thought since your place is empty you’d have room for me and my things. So I brought a few things over.”

Reaching into the pile Summer and Portia had helped her bring, she pulled out the vintage scarf he’d given her. “Something old.”

Next was the unopened pickle juice he’d brought last week. “Something new.”

She rummaged through the bag and lifted out the picture of her mother in her wedding dress. “Something borrowed. And then something blue.”

“What’s the something blue?” he asked, peering into her bag.

“My underwear.”

He straightened, looking at her as if he was trying to grow X-ray vision. Then he nodded. “You can keep all your things here on one condition.”

She set everything back into the box. “What’s that?”

“Be mine forever, Rosalind.” He gathered her into his arms and stared into her eyes. “Say you will.”

She wound her arms around his neck. “If you’ll be mine.”

“I already am.”

Epilogue

This year, Christmas tasted bittersweet.

Portia brushed her hair, sitting at the vanity in her room that had been given to Lady Elizabeth Summerhill in 1809 by Lord Byron. Countless other Summerhill women had done exactly the same thing on Christmas Eve over the years.

Had they been happy? Fulfilled? Had they anticipated gifts their husbands, beloveds, fathers gave them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the one thing she wanted in the whole world.

It was gone.

Her father had sold Suncrest Manor.

Lowering her head, she felt the tightness in her chest, just like every time she thought about it since she’d found out.

Christmas Eve wasn’t the day to dwell. Nor was it the day to wonder what would become of her now that her plans had been so completely ruined.

Although it was hard
not
thinking about that.

“Today is about new beginnings,” she told her reflection firmly. Her family was gathered downstairs, all together for the first time in over a decade. For the first time that she could ever remember, they were a family, and that was turning out to be a bigger gift than she’d realized.

Tonight she was going to take pleasure in that. She was even going to enjoy her half-sister Summer.

Determined to get in the holiday spirit, Portia opened her jewelry case and clasped her favorite pearls around her neck. The necklace had been a gift to the first Countess of Amberlin from the king, on her wedding day.

She loved that—the connection from past to present. No one else in the family had ever understood that. Except Father, of course, though he’d betrayed their heritage for money when he’d sold Suncrest Manor.

Honour and Family
, indeed.

There was a knock on her door, and then Summer poked her head in. “Rosalind and Nick are here. Ready to go down?”

“Living here doesn’t give you the right to walk into my room like that.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to act like a teenager, you have to sell it better. Maybe you should study Chloe.”

“Good idea.” She glanced at Summer’s outfit. Instead of her usual black, she wore navy blue with an ivory sweater. “Nice sweater.”

“Do you really think so, or are you being facetious?” She tugged at the bottom self-consciously.

Her heart melted for the woman. Summer was a successful solicitor, but she was unsure in many ways. Portia’s mean girl side wanted to tear apart the girl her father had sired with his mistress, but something in her couldn’t do it. She related all too well to her new sister.

In fact … “You just need a little something,” she said, reopening her jewelry case. She pulled out the third drawer and withdrew a necklace. “Turn around.”

“Are you going to stab me?” Summer said, doing as she was told.

Portia bit her lip to keep from smiling. “This necklace was given to the first Countess of Amberlin by a secret admirer. He told her he’d seen the necklace and had to acquire it for her because the blue diamond reminded him of her eyes. Saying he stole it is probably more accurate, because he was a privateer. She was quite popular. She inspired many men.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Summer touched the blue pendant, which nestled perfectly in her cleavage. “How do you know all that?”

“I read her diary. It was in the library at Suncrest Manor. I read it one summer when I was home from school.” Refusing to think about the fact that she’d never be able to go back to the country estate she loved so much, she gestured to the door. “We should go before Fran sends a search party.”

Everyone was gathered in the kitchen. Fran stood like a general at the stove, barking out orders to Bea and Viola to plate food. Luca stood very close to Bea, who looked flushed. From the warmth of the kitchen or his attention? Portia wasn’t sure.

Chloe and Imogen chatted about some actor as they collected flatware to set the table. Summer went to greet her friend Em and her fiancé Joe. Portia had met Em a few days before, when Summer had officially moved into the mansion.

Her mother did dishes at the sink, her lips curved into a blissful smile, which was a stranger sight than seeing the Countess of Amberlin washing dishes.

It was so different than Christmases in the past. When Father had been alive, the holiday season had always been quiet and dignified, not loud and boisterous. Portia pressed her back against the pantry door because it was the only place where she was out of the way. She bet even the Summerhill ghosts had fled the chatter.

The only people missing were Titania and Viola’s husband. No one seemed to miss him. Or their father, for that matter.

She wasn’t sure she did either. She looked around the room at the glowing faces and listened to the bright conversation, the cheerful laughter.

It struck her suddenly. This was her family.

It was so ridiculously obvious, yet it’d never occurred to her so strongly. She stared at her sisters and knew they’d be there for her, in whatever way she needed, because she was there for them, too. They’d plotted a crime, broken into a house, and helped Rosalind get together with Nick. She and her sisters were in it for life.

The knot in her chest relaxed. Whatever happened, however lost she felt, she could count on them, and that was the best gift ever. Touching her pearls, she blinked back tears—of happiness.

What would they do if she threw her arms around them in a big group hug? A soft laugh bubbled out of her imagining their expressions.

Fran looked over her shoulder with a scowl. “Portia, why aren’t you helping? Imogen Summerhill, stop eating olives and set the table. Chloe, you and Summer help her, otherwise we’ll be eating with our hands. Bea, be careful with the gravy.”

“Move.” Her oldest sister nudged Luca away from her with her hip. “You’re in my way.”

He stepped back, but he wrapped a hand around her hip. “
Cara
, I’m exactly where I belong.”

Bea rolled her eyes while Viola chuckled.

“Where’s Rosalind?” Fran asked. “She was in charge of wine.”

Gigi snatched another olive as she sashayed to pick up the stacked plates on the counter. “She and Nick aren’t back yet from the cellar. They’re probably examining the labels
very carefully
.”

“Is that what they’re doing?” Smirking, Bea wiped her hands on the apron that protected her red silk dress, smacking Luca’s hands away as he tried to help.

The Italian, apparently unfazed, smiled at her oldest sister like she’d given him a lusty kiss. “
Cara
, you wound me.”

“Not yet, but keep it up and it’ll be a definite probability.”

“Someone should go check on Rosalind,” Fran said.

Her niece Chloe made a face as she picked up the silverware to take into the dining room. “I wouldn’t want to walk in on them.”

“Me either.” Summer lifted a tray of glassware. “They’re always making out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Summer’s friend Em smiled warmly at her fiancé Joe, slipping her arm around his waist and burrowing into him. The light caught the enormous diamond on her engagement ring, almost like it winked at her statement.

“Portia”—Fran pointed at her—”you check on Rosalind.”

“Wear blinders,” Bea suggested.

“Right.” She headed downstairs, making a lot of noise. For good measure, she called out, too. “Rosalind, you better have clothes on.”

She heard a manly chuckle as she stepped into the cellar.

Rosalind and Nick were facing each other, a couple feet between them. Based on the way her hair was mussed, they’d been kissing. Not surprising at all. They could barely keep their hands off each other.

Some people might have been jealous, but Portia had never pictured herself doing anything other than living at Suncrest. She’d never imagined a man at her side, much less one who looked at her the way Nick looked at Rosalind.

Portia liked him. He was the reason her sister was still here, and Portia would always be grateful to him for that. She and Rosalind had never been friendly, but they were starting to forge a relationship. She liked that—a lot.

Now she leaned against a wine rack, trying to glare at them the way Fran would. “Fran wants to know why it’s taking so long to pick the wine, but I think it’s rhetorical wondering, because everyone knows what you two are doing down here.”

Rosalind smiled happily. “Selecting the right vintage takes careful study.”

“That wasn’t what you were studying.” Portia rolled her eyes. “Do you have anything picked?”

“Here.” Nick picked up a crate filled with wine bottles. “I’ll carry them up.”

Rosalind slipped her arm around Portia’s waist as they ascended. “How are you doing?”

“Good.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Because this Christmas isn’t traditional.” Her sister looked at her knowingly. “You like the old ways.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But the old ways died, and I think the new ways might be better.”

“Portia.” Her sister gaped at her. “That’s remarkably enlightened of you.”

It was easy to be philosophical when the future she’d envisioned, in the country manor with all the antiques she loved, was gone. She had nothing left to lose, and that was freeing.

Her sister slowed down and whispered, “I’m going to do it tonight, Portia.”

“I thought so.” She glanced at Nick’s back, disappearing at the landing up above them. “Did you have it cleaned and inscribed?”

Rosalind reached into her pocket and passed her the ring. It was a thick, white gold band, ornately engraved and set with a lovely ruby. It’d belonged to Thomas Summerhill, the second Earl of Amberlin, given to him by Queen Charlotte. The story went that Thomas had saved Charlotte’s son, the young Prince of Wales, from falling off a statue he’d climbed on. She’d had the ring made especially for him, to show a mother’s gratitude.