Where the Heart Chooses Page 10

  “This one, Portia. I think she’ll be perfect.”

  And so Alyona Novotny came to be our housekeeper. With her she brought her younger brother, Gregor, an eighteen-year-old who already had the square build of his Czech peasant forebears. He came to worship my husband.

  * * * *

  In the early morning hours of February 12, 1965, I woke Nigel. “Darling, would you mind driving me to Baltimore General? I think it’s time.”

  Fathers weren’t permitted in the delivery room, but somehow Nigel charmed the doctor into allowing him to be present. He sat beside me, clutching my hand tightly, which succeeded in distracting me somewhat from the discomfort of my labor.

  And then there was an indignant squall.

  “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Mann, you have a healthy baby boy!”

  The nurses cleaned our son up, wrapped him in a soft, blue blanket, and handed him to Nigel.

  He looked down at the infant in his arms with awe. And a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Our son!” he whispered. “Thank you, Portia.”

  “You did well, Mrs. Mann. Now, let’s get you to your room, shall we?”

  I was rolled down the corridor to the private room Nigel had arranged for me. Once I had on one of my own nightgowns and was settled into the bed, they allowed Nigel into the room.

  “Lovely flowers, darling,” he murmured as he dropped down into the chair next to the bed and took my hand once more. This time his grip didn’t feel as if he intended to hold on to me if he had to move heaven and earth.

  On the bedside table was a basket of violets.

  “They are lovely, aren’t they?” I closed my eyes and drifted off into sleep.

  * * * *

  Mother insisted that breast feeding was something we—the women of both the Sebring and Blackburn families—just didn’t do, and since I’d be going back to work shortly and would be unable to take Quinton with me, it would be better to start him off with formula.

  “After all, you’ll hardly want to be milked like a cow!” Mother declared, and I saw no reason to disagree with her.

  If Nigel had insisted otherwise, I wondered, would she have changed her mind? However, he didn’t object.

  I’d do what I had to do, but I almost wished he had objected. My breasts were so filled with milk they hurt, and even the slight weight of my nightgown was painful.

  “Darling, what’s wrong?” Nigel asked when he found me almost in tears. I knew they would do no good, but I felt so helpless.

  I gestured to the front of my nightgown, which was wet with the milk my breasts were leaking.

  “Oh, Portia. What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. I just wish my milk would dry up already.”

  “Sit up.”

  I didn’t know why he wanted me to do that, but I did, and flinched as the damp material snagged my nipples.

  “Now, let’s get this nightgown off you.” He raised it carefully, avoiding my nipples, and then tugged it over my head and tossed it to the floor. “Better?”

  “A little.”

  “How’s this?” His big, gentle hands cupped my breasts, raising them slightly, and while the coolness of his touch was a relief, it wasn’t for long.

  “I’m sorry, Nigel. I’m being such a baby about this.”

  “You gave birth to our son without a sound.”

  Only because he was at my side. If I had been alone, I wouldn’t have been able to contain the cries, especially toward the end, when the doctor kept saying “Just a little longer.”

  “I think you’re entitled to complain now, but…”

  I gasped as I felt the warm moisture of his tongue sweep up the curve of my breast to my nipple.

  “Nigel, what—”

  “Let me try to soothe you.” He closed his lips around my nipple and suckled.

  There was a tugging in my womb, and such a wave of desire broke over me, I had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. He started to pull away, but I wouldn’t let him.

  “No! Please, no! Do the other one!” My nipples had never been especially sensitive; as a matter of fact, we’d found it amusing that Nigel’s were more receptive to fondling than mine. “That feels so good!”

  My doctor had told us we couldn’t have sex for at least six weeks, but Nigel’s mouth on my breasts threw me from one orgasm to another, and finally I sagged boneless in his arms, shivering from the aftershocks.

  He kissed me, and I tasted my milk on his lips. “Better?” he asked again.

  “Yes.” I sighed, replete. “This won’t help, though.”

  “I’m sorry.” Poor darling sounded so contrite.

  “You’ll just have to come to Arlington Hall when I call.”

  “I will?”

  “Won’t you?”

  “Of course, darling.”

  I started to drift off, but something jolted me to awareness. “Nigel, you didn’t climax. Let me…”

  “You don’t have to—”

  No, but I wanted to. He cried out as I took him in my mouth, and it didn’t take very long before he came.

  I licked the last few drops from my lips, shared his taste with him—after all, turnabout was only fair play—and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Until Quinton woke at two A.M., demanding to be fed. Thank God for formula, because I had nothing to give him.

  * * * *

  A few months later, my brother Bryan announced he was getting married to Johanna Collier Harrington, the widow of a friend of his. He’d even been in their wedding party. She was a petite woman, an astonishingly beautiful brunette with striking blue eyes and two young children, which pleased Father. He wanted a Sebring to carry on the name, and Johanna had proved she was fertile.

  As for what Mother thought of her…well, it was always difficult to tell what Mother was thinking.

  She called to inform me that she was having a dinner party at Shadow Brook for the engaged couple, and Nigel and I were not to be late. “And of course you’ll be staying the weekend.” Before I could object that we didn’t like leaving our son for that period of time, she continued. “And you’ll bring Quinton with you. It’s been some time since we’ve seen him.”

  “Yes, Mother.” That meant Alyona would be coming with us as well. “May we bring Gregor also?”

  “Who? Oh, the young man who’s staying with you. Certainly. He’s very polite.” Mother had met him when she and Father had driven down for Quinton’s christening. “But Portia? Be careful.”

  “Of what?”

  “You don’t want to hurt him.”

  “Of course I don’t.” Where did this come from? “Why would you even think I’d do something like that?”

  “You wouldn’t, not purposefully, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “And how is that?”

  “Let me just say, he’d like nothing better than to catch you under the mistletoe.”

  “It’s May, Mother.”

  “Don’t be facetious. That was simply a figure of speech.”

  “Be that as it may, you’ve got it wrong. Gregor worships Nigel, and he’s very good with Quinton, but he barely says two words to me. And please don’t tell me it’s because he’s struck dumb by my beauty.”

  “Your looks have nothing to do with it. Remember, he’s a man.”

  “He’s twelve years my junior!”

  “Nevertheless, I’d strongly advise you not to hang any mistletoe.”

  “Yes, Mother.” When she was like this, it didn’t pay to get into an argument with her. “What time would you like us to arrive?”

  “Come as early as you can. You’ll want to get settled in and freshen up before dinner.”

  * * * *

  As it turned out, it was just the four of us who drove to Shadow Brook. When I mentioned the weekend, Alyona gave a brisk nod. “I go pack for baby Quinton.”

  Gregor, on the other hand, went to Nigel and said he couldn’t go because he had to study with friends.

  �
��Does he really?” I asked Nigel.

  “No. He’s got a girlfriend, and I don’t think he wants to leave her.”

  There! I knew Mother was imagining things! “Have you spoken to him about taking precautions?”

  He wrapped an arm around me and dropped a kiss at the corner of my mouth. “Both our mothers would have a heart attack to hear you speak like that!”

  “I don’t know about Ada, but Mother would have preferred the heart attack to having an unwed, pregnant daughter.”

  “Actually, Ada would refuse to even consider the possibility of sex outside of marriage.”

  “Oh dear. What did she think of us?”

  “Do you honestly think I’d share something as beautiful and intimate as what we did with that woman? Thank God she had no girl children.”

  “And speaking of girl children, would you like one?”

  “Darling, is this a clever way of telling me we’re expecting again?”

  “No.” I pinched his chin. “I’d like to wait a few years—you know there are five years between each of my brothers and me—but when Quinton is three or four?”

  “Whatever you say, whenever you say.”

  What a truly wonderful man! “Now, to get back to Gregor…?”

  “Yes, Portia. I had ‘the talk’ with him and even provided him with some condoms. I know that isn’t exactly the thing to tell him, but it’s just not to prevent pregnancy. His girlfriend might be the sweetest thing, but I want him to avoid the possibility of venereal disease.”

  I leaned into him. “I chose the perfect man to be my son’s father.”

  He cleared his throat. “Do…er…do we have time to hang some pictures?”

  “Always, darling.” That wasn’t the non sequitur it sounded like.

  We were in the midst of furnishing our home. I was wearing slacks and one of Nigel’s older shirts, which I’d tied around my midriff. I had a nail in my mouth and a hammer in my waistband. That photograph I’d purchased in The Best of Times was propped against a dresser, but not for long. I’d found the perfect spot for it between the windows that looked out onto the side yard. It would be the first thing we saw as we entered our bedroom.

  I took the nail from my mouth and was about to hammer it into the wall when Nigel strolled in, looking at his watch. “Darling, Bobby and Ethel are expecting us shortly.”

  “Just a second. I’m almost done.”

  He sucked in a breath, and the next thing I knew, the hammer went flying in one direction, the nail flew in another, and I was under him on the bed. He tore frantically at my slacks, paused only long enough to unzip his trousers, and then he was in me.

  Afterward, we apologized for being late, telling our host and hostess we’d been hanging pictures and had lost track of time.

  And that became our code for making love.

  Which we did now, and of course, once again, we were late.

  Alyona simply smiled and murmured, “I change baby’s diaper, then we go.”

  Gregor blushed, unable to meet our eyes, and I felt badly about that. “I…uh…I have to get to my friend’s house. I promise not to screw—” His blush darkened. “Sorry. I’ll keep an eye on everything.”

  “It’s all right, Greg.” Nigel patted his shoulder. “We trust you.”

  Gregor blew out a breath. “Have a great time!” And he grabbed up his books, made sure he had his key, and bolted from the house.

  * * * *

  Chapter 9

  I hoped Johanna and I would become friends. In a family comprised almost entirely of men, it would be nice to have a sister.

  Alyona took Quinton to the nursery on third floor, and Nigel and I went to greet Father.

  We found him and Bryan in the study, and I wasn’t surprised Mother and Johanna weren’t there. This was where business was discussed.

  “Sorry we’re late, Father. Did we miss anything important?”

  “No. Bryan and I have concluded our conversation. Portia, is that a—Never mind.” He kissed my forehead before turning to Nigel. “Mann.”

  “Mr. Sebring.” They shook hands.

  Bryan drew me aside and whispered. “You’ve got a love bite on your throat.”

  “Really?” I asked coolly. I didn’t raise my hand to the spot where I knew it was, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin. “Where’s Tony?”

  “Anthony won’t be joining us.” Father was altogether too casual. “Something came up at the NSA.”

  I stared at Father thoughtfully. Had he forgotten I was back in the office? Tony hadn’t mentioned anything when I’d left for the weekend yesterday.

  “Bryan…” For a second it seemed as if there was pain in Bryan’s eyes, but I must have been mistaken, because I blinked, and there was nothing of the kind there.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll get together one day soon. Mother is showing Johanna her rose gardens. I’ll introduce you at dinner. I think you’ll—”

  “Yes, yes, that will be fine.” Abruptly, Father changed the subject. “Mann, I want to talk to you.”

  “I thought you said your conversation was finished, Father.”

  “With your brother. Now I’d like to have one with Mann. Bryan, why don’t you and your sister find something to do to amuse yourselves?”

  “Father.” I gave him a warning glance.

  He scowled me. “You should know by now your husband doesn’t need protection from anyone.”

  Nigel came to me and kissed my temple. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “All right. I haven’t ridden Penelope in some time. Bryan, would you care to join me?”

  “I’d been planning to ride with Johanna tomorrow.”

  “And you can’t ride today?”

  His grin was lopsided. “Do you know, you’re right? Give me fifteen minutes to change, and I’ll meet you at the stable.”

  “You’d better give me half an hour. It’s time Quinton began his equestrian education, and he’ll need to have his diaper changed and be dressed as well.”

  “Is that a good idea, darling? He’s so young.” Nigel was truly worried, which I found very sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.

  I kissed his chin. “We were all on horses at his age. I’ll have him up in front of me, and he’ll be fine.”

  “No need to worry, Mann,” Father said. “You should know by now my daughter is an accomplished horsewoman.”

  He gave Father a tight grin. “You’ll allow me to be concerned for my wife and my son.”

  “I won’t go faster than a walk to start with, I promise, Nigel.”

  He touched my hair. “I trust you to keep both of you safe.”

  “Penelope won’t throw me. She’s a very steady mount. She even let me post to a trot after one of Bryan’s idiot friends put a burr under her saddle as a practical joke.” I’d known something was wrong by her distressed whickers and nervous sweat, and had immediately dismounted.

  “And he wasn’t a friend for long after I learned what that a-idiot did.” Bryan still looked upset that someone he’d allowed to become close to him would resort to an action that could have resulted in injury to both me and my horse.

  “Why would he do something like that?” Nigel demanded. “It strikes me as outright cruel.”

  “I objected to him trying to kiss me.”

  “So he thought he could retaliate in that manner? Who is he?”

  “You don’t know him, darling, and he’s long since left this coast.” I’d never seen my husband so coldly furious.

  “You could have been killed!”

  “No, I—”

  “Portia, I don’t often do this, but in this instance I have no choice but to insist you tell me—who is he?”

  “Let it go, Mann.” Father seemed unconcerned, and I knew what that meant.

  I rested my hand against Nigel’s cheek and leaned close to whisper in his ear, “Later.”

  His own hand covered mine. “If something had happened to you…”

  “I know.
But nothing did.”

  “Portia, Bryan, you both have my permission to leave.”

  Bryan and I exchanged glances.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, Father.” I kissed Nigel’s cheek.

  As Bryan and I left the study, I heard Father say, “This affection you show Portia…”

  “You object?”

  “Don’t take that cold tone with me. If I hadn’t…”

  I swallowed a smile, knowing I didn’t need to worry about my husband, and hurried up to the room we’d be sharing. I needed to change.

  * * * *

  Mother was crossing the lawn as I left the house with my son in my arms. “Portia! You’re late.”

  “Yes, Mother. I apologize.” I knew better than to give any excuses. She would see through them, no matter how cleverly I framed them.

  “This is Johanna, your brother’s fiancée. Johanna, my daughter, Portia, and her son, Quinton.” She took Quinton from me and kissed both cheeks, his chin, and his forehead. “How is my little man?”

  “He’s wonderful, as always.” I smiled at the very attractive young woman who was beside her. “Hello, and welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to meeting Bryan’s family.”

  “And we’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m so pleased Bryan’s found someone who loves him.” I looked around. “Are your children napping? I can put off our ride. I’d love to meet them.”

  “Bill’s parents—my former in-laws—insisted on having them this weekend.”

  “That’s too bad. We could have all gone riding.”

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t allow…that is, they’ve never been on a horse, and they’d be terrified.”

  “Not at all. We’ll put them up on Friar Tuck, who was my pony. He’s very good-tempered, and he’d keep to a gentle walk.”

  “Let me remind you that these are my children, and I won’t have them subjected to an activity that frightens them!”

  That took me aback, and I glanced at Mother. She shrugged, and I could see from her expression that she had no intention of discussing Johanna’s children, who of course couldn’t be held to Sebring standards.