Twenty:
A Party Ill Met

Ruth came out of the en suite and Harry's eyebrows rose up into his hairline. "Oh my," he said.

"Stop gawking and get your tie on," she instructed brusquely, but with a hint of a smile. She'd known when her rented PA had picked this dress that it would more than meet with his approval – he did love the color red, after all. It had inch-thick straps and a deep-cut square neckline that left a tantalizing but not outstanding amount of cleavage on display. The hem fell just below her knee, with a three-inch slit at the back so she could move; the bodice and skirt, otherwise, were darted and fitted tightly against her curves. An overlay of black lace dulled the brightness of the color, but the overall effect was stunning. She had a pair of black Louboutins to kick back in, but she'd not put them on yet. Her jewelry was minimal, just her rings, as she'd not packed the expensive jewelry for the trip.

She watched him put his tie on and straighten his cuffs, then smiled. "You look very dashing," Ruth murmured.

"And you look absolutely –" Words seemed to fail him, so he just gestured at her. "You look – amazing."

She smiled and gave him a kiss. "I hope it's not too much," she said. "You did say semi-formal."

"It's perfect," he assured her gently. "But you don't have any jewelry –"

"I'm fine," she replied.

"No, let me go see my father and get the key to the vault," Harry said firmly. "You just wait here."

Ruth sighed and he was gone before she could protest, really. She hated that he was going so far out of his way for her; what was so wrong with her not wearing any jewelry, anyway? By the time he came back, she'd managed to work herself into a nervous state, pacing the floor of their room like a caged animal. "Harry, you didn't have to –"

"No, but I wanted to," he said with a small smile. He held up a rather large box and two smaller ones. "Father has had these locked away since my mother died," he explained. The large box contained a delicate bib necklace of silver filigree wire studded with pearls and rubies. The smaller boxes contained a bracelet and earrings to match. "I would be honored if you'd wear them – so would my mother, if she were still with us." Harry's voice softened and he said, "She always used to tell me that I should find a woman of honor and integrity to fall in love with, and when I did, I would know it was real, true love."

Ruth's lips twitched. "I take it she never met Jane, then?" she teased.

"God, don't remind me," he sighed. "She would have been furious with my father for pushing that."

"Harry, I can't wear your mother's jewelry in good conscience –"

"It's yours now, if you'll have it," he said quietly. "Please. I want you to have it and to wear it tonight."

"Harry, I –" In that split second, she decided that Janet could go fuck herself. Ruth wanted everything that Harry Pearce was offering her; she would not allow anyone, let alone herself, to tell her that she was not entitled to claim what was now hers. "All right," she said softly.

His eyes sparkled at her acquiescence, and he smiled. "Of course, you don't have to wear it all," he teased, pulling the necklace out and draping it carefully over her collarbone and fastening it in the back. "That's perfect."

"Thank you," she said softly. She slipped into her heels and bit her lip. He watched her intensely, and she murmured, "What?"

"Nothing," he said. "Except that I'm madly, hopelessly in love with you and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life."

"You don't have to snowball me," she murmured. "I already married you."

"I'm not snowballing," he said. "It's the honest truth."

He was about to say more, probably something even more damning and intense, but there was a hurried flurry of knocking on the door. "Mommy, daddy, can I come in?" Portia cried through the wood. "Please?"

"Come in, Portia," Harry called.

The door burst open and their daughter flew into the room exuberantly. "Oh, mom, you look fabulous," Portia sighed happily as she flopped onto the bed. "You look nice, too, daddy," she added.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. Ruth eyed him, then Portia, and then she said, "Well, you look a bit of a mess, Portia, love – come here and let me straighten you up."

Portia's dress was a simple pink and yellow floral dress, accented with black tights and shoes. Her hair, however, was an utter mess, and Ruth found herself reaching for a comb. It took a few minutes, but she wrangled Portia's thick, curly hair into a partial plait. "Much better," she said cheerfully.

"I asked nana to help with my hair but she made it worse," Portia complained.

"Nana never had to deal with curly hair like yours," Ruth said gently. "But I'm glad she tried to help you anyway, sweetheart."

Portia nodded and smiled. "Mom, granddad said we should all come downstairs together, as a family – you and me and dad," she said.

"Of course he does," Harry replied with a sigh. "He wants to show us off, doesn't he?"

Portia grinned at him and said, "He said there's gonna be a big cake for you and mom, because you got married."

"Dear lord," Harry said, throwing his hands heavenward. "Did you never learn to keep a secret, Portia?"

She stopped, looking stricken, and frowned at him. "Mom and I don't have secrets from each other," Portia declared with the innocence of a child. "Secrets are poison."

Ruth looked at Harry apologetically; he looked positively apoplectic at that disclosure. "Sometimes, surprises aren't secrets like that," she said gently to her daughter. "I think your granddad wanted the cake to be a surprise."

Portia paused, then nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the surprise," she said very contritely. She licked her lips nervously and then added, "Maybe you should pretend to be surprised about the cake?"

Ruth smiled down at her daughter and said, "I think I can manage that, love. Are you ready to go downstairs now?"

"Granddad said it's an adult party and I have to go to bed right at nine," Portia said. "But my bedtime is eight."

"He's letting you stay up late," Harry said. "But if you want to go to bed because you're tired, you can. Just let your mum or me know and we'll tuck you in."

Portia smiled adoringly up at her father and Ruth's heart melted into a little puddle of goop. "Okay, daddy," she agreed, taking his hand in her tiny one. "We should go downstairs now, shouldn't we?"

"We should," Harry agreed, the ruddy flush of his skin having settled as his blood pressure went back down. Ruth could tell he'd been working on reducing his stress levels since he'd left MI-5, but he still had his moments of temper.

He offered his right hand to Ruth, since his left was carefully cradling their daughter's small hand. Ruth had a moment's pang of dismay, wishing that Portia would grow; she'd been picked on in school for her tiny stature, but Portia just blew it off and went to play with Charlie instead. Ruth doubted that she would ever get as tall as she was, and it wasn't as if she was very gifted in the height department, either. The poor girl looked like she was maybe four or five, not almost eleven. But regardless, she was perfect and she was theirs – a product of a less than perfect union, by all means, but made beautiful by all of its imperfections.

"Let's go, then," he said cheerfully as if he was about to descend into a room filled with axe murderers and thieves.

The three of them walked down the hallway and Harry paused at the landing before they began to descend the staircase. "Before we go down, I want you both to know how much I love you – no matter what's said or implied tonight, I love you both more than my sad, worthless life."

"Not worthless," Ruth said softly, giving him a gentle kiss. "Never worthless, Harry."

"I love you, too, daddy," Portia insisted, squeezing his hand and smiling up at him.

He exhaled heavily, then said, "I suppose we should go down. This is the part I dislike the most; the walking into a room and everyone is judging you because you chose to wear a navy tie on Tuesday when everyone knows you're meant to wear grey."

Ruth smiled a little and gave him another peck on the cheek. "We're making your father happy, love," she murmured. "It's a small price to pay, I think."

"We'll see how you feel later," he muttered. "Onward." They strode down the stairs as quickly as Ruth's shoes and Portia's short legs would allow, meeting up with a pulsating crowd at the base of the steps.

Portia immediately broke away and made a beeline for David, who was deep in conversation with several people Ruth didn't know. Ruth merely stayed with Harry, their hands clasped together gently, his thumb making soothing circles on the back of her hand.

They hadn't quite made it either to a safe haven or the wine table when David clapped his hands together loudly and the room fell silent. "We're all gathered here today to celebrate a few things," David announced loudly. "Firstly, my grandson, Graham, is getting married to a lovely young woman named Sarah. Secondly, we're going to begin to explore operating Kindwell House as a high-end bed and breakfast cum wedding venue. And thirdly – most importantly – my son, Henry, has very recently married a very lovely woman named Janet. I hope that their marriage will be longer lived than his first, and to better effect." He looked down fondly at Portia and smiled.

"Congratulations," came the chorus.

"And now, wine and nibbles – there will be dinner and dancing later," David said cheerfully. "How about it, Portia? You want to dance with your old granddad?"

Portia smiled and said, "But you have to use your cane, granddad – I'm not big enough to hold you up."

A titter of laughter went through the crowd, and Harry took the distraction that Portia afforded them and led Ruth to the wine. "You're going to need it," he murmured very closely to her ear as he passed her a glass of white. She shivered and blinked, taking the chilled glass from his fingertips and taking a quick sip. He grabbed a glass of rose and gently hooked her arm through his. "If we must do this, I'd prefer it to be together," he whispered.

"Yes, but you can't follow me into the ladies," she teased equally softly. "So if needs must –"

He chuckled and gave her a kiss. "Yes," he agreed, "it would be frowned upon if we both went to the bathroom together."

"Harry!" boomed William Towers as he came over for more wine. "Congratulations – this must be the lovely lady wife, then…"

Ruth smiled a little and shook his hand when it was offered; Towers' handshake was overly strong, his grip crushing, but it didn't have the vigor that such a shake should have. In fact, it was rather limp like a fish, despite the grip. "Home Secretary," she greeted in a perfectly even tone, "it's a pleasure to meet you formally."

Towers blinked, then gasped, "You were at the train station to pick us up! Good god, you clean up well."

Harry gritted his teeth and drank some more of his wine. Ruth kept the smile plastered on her face. It was going to be a long night.

Malcolm steered Ruth away from the crush of people and offered her another glass of wine. "You're holding up remarkably well," he said kindly.

"This is second nature now," she replied softly. "The last three years, I've been working in PR. It's long days and then extravagant nights. More than once, I've had to polish someone's image after a drug or alcohol-related arrest. I've had to spit-shine someone's ego as they're being hauled off to rehab by the men in white coats." She smiled but it was rueful. "I hate that I've profited from someone else's misery."

Malcolm's answering smile was a bit sad. "You always were too kind for your own good," he said gently.

"Oh, no, I'm not saying that I haven't earned my pay," she interjected. "I just hate the way I've manipulated the system in order to acquire said pay." She sighed and looked over at Harry, who was speaking to more people she hadn't been introduced to. Portia was standing right in front of him, her hands up in his as he rocked her back and forth in her standing position; she watched them in fascination, wondering when he'd learned that their daughter did that when she was restless and bored but didn't want to leave the comfort of her parents or distract them too much from what they were doing.

"He's very good with her," Malcolm said, following her gaze.

Ruth nodded and murmured, "I feel very guilty."

"For what?"

She shrugged and sighed. "Keeping them apart. Not trying harder to come home. Take your pick."

"It wasn't safe," he replied. "Even now, it's risky."

She shook her head. "Not here," Ruth murmured. "We'll have dinner before I leave for Paris and we'll talk about it."

Sarah wandered up with a glass of juice in hand. "I feel redundant," she muttered. "So we'll just hide in the corner, then."

Ruth smiled a little and put her arm around her future step-daughter-in-law. "You feeling better tonight?"

"Oh, much," Sarah replied. "Once I was on dry land again, the nausea went away."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I hear ginger helps," he said mildly.

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure even that would help, Malcolm," she said. "I can't even take a car drive for more than a few minutes without feeling like I'm going to die. The train was torture." She squeezed Ruth and sighed. "Our men look so thrilled, don't they?"

Ruth sipped her wine and sighed. "They do, don't they?"

"I haven't seen Jane and Alyssa yet," Sarah commented. "David said they'd be here."

Ruth paused. "Jane and Alyssa?"

"Graham's mum," Sarah replied. "And her partner."

Ruth felt the blood drain out of her face. "Harry didn't mention she'd be here –"

"Well, I think she only accepted because she wants to see Catherine and Graham – but Cate's not here," Sarah said with a sigh. Her gaze flitted around, and she groaned. "Speak of the devil… they've just gotten here." She tried to gesture at a tall, willowy blonde woman and the shorter, well-built redhead that had just entered the ballroom without looking like she was pointing. "Late – as usual. When we went round for Christmas, the goose was hours late because Alyssa forgot to put it in."

Ruth swallowed hard and glanced at the clock on the wall; nearly 8 o'clock. She hugged Sarah and said, "I really need to make sure that Portia gets her supper before she goes to bed. Malcolm, I'll catch up with you in a bit." She headed over to Harry and Portia. "Sorry to interrupt," she murmured to the group. "Come on, love – it's time to get your supper," she said gently to Portia, taking her daughter's hands from Harry's. "You've been very well-behaved tonight," she commented as they walked to the buffet to get some food.

"Granddad said I should be on my best behavior," Portia said. "Because it's how a lady acts in public."

Ruth didn't know what to say to that, honestly. "Well, that's true, but you're also a young girl and I don't think he expects you to be perfectly behaved," she finally said. She guided Portia over to one of the dinner tables and sat her down before putting the plate before her.

"I don't want to disappoint him – or daddy," Portia said.

Ruth's heart and stomach clenched in tandem, making her a little queasy. "Oh, sweetheart," she sighed. "I'm so sorry –"

Portia looked at her for a moment, then said, "For what?"

"Nothing," Ruth said quickly. "Eat up."

"Can I have some tea, mom?" Portia asked. "Mrs. Whatley makes it like I like."

"Of course, love," Ruth murmured. "I'll go find her and see if she can make some for you." She straightened up and made her way to the kitchen, finding Mrs. Whatley sitting at the island, reading a magazine. "Hello," she said with a small smile.

Mrs. Whatley nearly jumped out of her skin. "M'lady, don't do that!" she cried. "I'm not exactly a spring chicken… you'll give me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry," Ruth said. "I didn't mean to startle or upset you – I know you're waiting to serve the desserts until later. It's just… Portia asked if you'd make her a cup of tea. I know it's terribly inconvenient –"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Whatley replied. "I'll make a pot and bring it out for Miss Portia soon as." She smiled and added, "It's been quite some time since we've had such a party here, m'lady. I think the last time was Miss Catherine's sixth birthday. Lord Pearce brought in the circus then, quite literally. She was fascinated with the elephant and the old gamekeeper and gardeners were quite put off cleaning up after one."

Ruth bit back a laugh and said, "I'm sure Harry was just as annoyed as they were –"

Mrs. Whatley's smile vanished. "He wasn't here," she said bluntly. "He was in Germany on business."

"His job was… challenging," Ruth said evasively.

"It doesn't excuse all of the pain and suffering he put those children through," Mrs. Whatley said firmly. "I don't understand how –"

"Tea," Ruth said, finally finding a bit of a spine. "Please. Portia will be going to bed at nine, and I'm trying to get her fed before bed." She knew how ashamed Harry felt about how he'd treated his children; she was maybe the only person on earth who knew the truth of how deep the rabbit hole went. She was also not about to judge his sins in public for the world to see, not when she'd taken him and all of his baggage on and begged for more if only he wouldn't leave her behind again. How could she blame him for doing what he thought he must do when she'd done the very same thing?

Portia was finishing up her roast beef and potatoes when Ruth came back. She hadn't touched the carrots at all, and Ruth sighed. "Carrots, too," she said firmly. "Mrs. Whatley is making your tea, but you'd better eat your carrots if you want dessert."

Graham came over and sat down beside his sister. "Your mum's right," he said.

"I don't like them," Portia sighed. "They taste funny."

Graham winked at Ruth, then said, "You know, if you want to dance with grandfather and me, you'd better eat those up."

"Oh, Graham, you're looking well –"

Graham looked up and craned his neck. "Mum, I –"

Ruth felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. "Portia, love…"

Mrs. Whatley bustled up with a pot of tea and a smile. "Milky sweet tea and biscuits for Miss Portia," she declared. "Oh, Lady Jane – I didn't know you'd arrived! It's good to see you."

Jane Townsend's smile was glacial. If Ruth had thought that Ros Myers and Juliet Shaw had been ice queens, they had nothing on her husband's ex-wife.

And she was utterly, heart-stoppingly beautiful to boot.

There was a slight sneer twisting her lips when she said, "I suppose you're the new model, then?"

END PART TWENTY