A Match for Melissa

by Susan Karsten

  “Well, good. Feeding the hungry’s always a blessing. But an orphan? What can we do with a child?”

  “Oh, no. Not a child—a young woman. Poor dear’s asking for a maid’s position. She’s been humbled to the dust and will take any scrap or bone offered. Pathetic—about breaks your heart.”

  “How did she descend to this state?” He steeled himself for a depressing story. He was not disappointed.

  “Her father, a minister, as you know, died, leaving Cassandra at the ‘mercies’ of the incumbent vicar. She was firmly ousted, as they had no room. I am outraged, but she says the new vicar didn’t know she had nowhere or no one to go to, and she was too ashamed to tell. She remembered her father speaking so highly of you. So she came here. The poor dear is so worried about anyone learning her plight. It’s heartbreaking.”

  “So, Priscilla, an adult orphan has arrived at our back door. May I ask what you intend to do with her?” He had his suspicions, since his sister took in any strays she could find.

  “I want to keep her, of course. The question is, do you approve?”

  “Keep her? I can’t say ‘no,’ but please tell me your plans.” He rocked back in his chair and inspected his pen point while he listened.

  “She’s an absolute love. Gentle-spoken, intelligent, and with a servant’s heart. I’d like to hire her as my companion, with her doing some maid’s duties in the house as needed.”

  “A companion, Priscilla?” He raised his brows, smiling inwardly.

  Defending her request, she rounded on him. “As much as I like being your housekeeper, it gets lonely. A minister’s daughter is the perfect match for me. I am sure she has refinements.”

  “Surely, she does, Priscilla. Of course.”

  “We have the room. You don’t lack the funds to pay an additional servant—unless you’ve squandered your ample inheritance? And I’d dearly like some female companionship.”

  “You have my approval. You may hire whomever you deem appropriate.”

  “Thank you. I will.” She smiled, stepped out of the door, and pulled it shut.

  Back to his sermon preparation. Now, where was he? Matthew 20:28. ‘Even as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many.’ One of the most sublime passages in Scripture.

  ~*~

  Melissa received Miss Cleaver’s letter of invitation and in swift order made preparations to leave London. Having been encouraged to come immediately for a visit and stay at least a month, she had a fair amount of packing to do, but before two days passed, she and Miss Dean bowled along in a carriage, headed for Russelton. They lodged at an inn for one night and were now within an hour of the vicarage.

  Melissa’s thoughts were full of Lord Russell. She traced the chain of events. Odd how the muddy victim she found in the ditch near the vicarage, turned out to be the returning heir. Hard to believe it happened over the last few days of her prior visit—only slightly over two months ago.

  Unpleasant as it was to think about the courtship of the discredited Lord Winstead, she reviewed the debacle for the hundredth time. Handsome and not too objectionable in many respects, but she suspected all along any faith he claimed was merely a thin cultural veneer. His attempted abduction confirmed her doubts.

  A strong faith remained her top criterion for a husband. She would have to make her father see reason. There existed no real reason to settle for less.

  For now, she could set that problem aside and relish the peace and quiet of the country. Her last visit to Russelton proved quite pleasant and restorative, and she had no reason to predict less for this trip. The upset of the abduction still shook up her peace.

  Visiting the vicarage would ground her, and help her recover. Miss Cleaver had been with her as nurse, governess, and then companion. She’d provided Melissa an excellent education. Miss Cleaver herself had been educated alongside her brother, thus obtaining superior learning. She passed on her academic knowledge to her charge, and spiritual training, Bible wisdom, and Christian doctrine provided unity and purpose to her studies. Miss Cleaver and Melissa used to pray and sing together every day as part of her education. Those were good days.

  She pressed her face to the window as the carriage moved past the spot where she found Lord Russell after he’d been robbed. Reminiscing, her mind replayed the discovery and retrieval of the victim. Such a peaceful lane, it was hard to believe evil existed in the vicinity. Apprehension welled. I wonder who the robbers were? Were they apprehended? Would they attack again?

  How lovely it would have been if she had heard from Lord Russell since he’d rescued her. To protect her reputation, he’d stayed away. Sadness tinged her mood. Sitting back, she thought about her clothes to distract her from missing him. The country visit didn’t require many fancy gowns to be packed, but a clotheshorse nevertheless, her two large trunks were strapped to the roof of the carriage. She brought a gown for any possible event that might occur during her stay. It was vanity, but she did love a pretty dress.

  Nearing the vicarage, she spied movement at a window. As the carriage drew to a stop, Miss Cleaver emerged onto the front steps, and as soon as the groom let down the steps, Melissa exited the carriage door and dashed up the walk.

  An embrace reunited her with her closest friend. “It’s such a wonderful thing to be here. How are you?”

  “I am well, and my joy is complete now you’ve arrived.” Toby, the handyman, came out and began the process of unloading the trunks. Melissa and Priscilla, followed by Miss Dean, entered the house.

  Speaking to the day girl, Miss Cleaver gave instruction. “Show Miss Dean to her room, please. She’ll want to settle in, and then unpack Miss Southwood’s bags and boxes.”

  The cluster of females reshuffled in response.

  Miss Cleaver gestured toward a nearby door. “Melissa, I’ll be in the parlor. Travel is mightily wearying. Join me when you’ve refreshed yourself.”

  By the time she descended, Miss Cleaver was waiting with a steaming kettle. A tray holding teapot, cups, and scones rested on a lace-covered wooden table between the fireplace and a comfortable settee.

  “Oh, my, that was a long sit.” She arched her back. “Traveling is a necessary evil, but I am glad this trip is over. Do you mind if I stand for a while? I sat so long in the carriage.”

  “As you like, dear.” Priscilla prepared the tea. It took both hands to lift the heavy pot.

  Not wanting to wait any longer, Melissa broached the subject she longed to unburden herself of. “Priscilla, did you wonder at all why I invited myself to visit you? I haven’t been in the habit of visits of this frequency, but I sorely needed a respite and some peaceful recovery time.”

  “What transpired, my dear? Your letter hinted at an unpleasant event.” She handed Melissa a cup of tea.

  She accepted the tea with a distracted air. “You’ll soon understand why I didn’t want to put pen to paper. I shall tell you plainly, now that we are together.” Her cup began to rattle against the saucer, and she set it down, impatient to unburden herself.

  “I mentioned in my letters that my Papa arranged a match for me with Lord Winstead? Do you recall that I demanded a two-month courtship and tentative right to refuse for a ‘good’ reason?”

  “Yes, I remember your letters, explaining all the arrangements your father set into motion.”

  Melissa shivered and paused. “Well, two months were up a week ago or thereabouts, and I still wasn’t sure.”

  “Here’s your scone and butter, the way you like it, dear.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted the plate, set it on the table, and forged ahead. “I will give Papa credit. He did allow me one more month to decide for sure. He clearly thought the delay a mere formality—sure of getting his own way.”

  “An extension—gracious and kind of your father, I must say. Many fathers show no such consideration at all when matters of matches arise.”

  “All proceeded somewhat well. I was sincerely tryi
ng to decide. Lord Winstead hadn’t done anything truly objectionable.

  “That’s faint praise.”

  “Yes. But as I was saying, I wasn’t at all ready to assent to marry the man. My spirit resisted—reason being, I wasn’t able to discern a strong Christian faith in him, and that remains my first criterion for a husband.”

  “Marriage is a serious undertaking. I see why you had qualms.”

  “Thank you for understanding. I thought you would.” Melissa lifted her cup and saucer again—no rattles this time—sipped, and put it back down. “I can only speculate the reason behind what occurred next. I believe Lord Winstead’s pockets were to let.”

  “He was poor?”

  “I am guessing he was at least at low tide. He took me out for a drive, one of our main courting activities, and asked for my answer right there. When I told him the truth—that I couldn’t yet give him the ‘yes’ he desired—he pretended to accept it, but then he abducted me.”

  “Good gracious! Kidnapping’s a hideous crime.”

  “Indeed.” Melissa took a calming breath, reached for her plate, and then lifted the scone to her nose. “Ooh, lemon.” She savored a bite of the tangy treat.

  “Did he hold you for ransom?”

  “No, he bound and gagged me and trundled me into a church. He had a special license in his pocket and a shabby minister hired to do the ceremony. I assume he planned to escort me there if I had agreed to marry him when he pressed me for an answer in the carriage, but being prepared for either answer. Obtaining that special license must have cost him his last coin.”

  Miss Cleaver hissed, vibrating with indignation. “What a merciless rogue.”

  “Yes, well. Unable to speak a word because of the gag, I did make the most negative sound I could when asked to say a vow, but if a rescuer hadn’t arrived, they would have disregarded my protestations anyway.” She took another nibble of the tart, buttery scone, and set it aside, too agitated to eat more.

  Miss Cleaver clattered her cup into its saucer and swiveled to face Melissa. “Rescuer?”

  “You will be most astonished at his identity. In God’s providence, my hero was Lord Russell who was present in the same church.”

  Miss Cleaver clasped her hands to her bony chest. “Praise God.” She breathed out the words.

  “Yes, I am grateful. Lord Russell scattered my foes and spirited me off to his aunt’s house, with society none the wiser. She is a sweet and attractive lady. You two would get along rather well, I declare.”

  “So Lord Russell saved the day. Oh my. What a tale. I must say, quite a shocking experience for you, my dear. We will lay low, dear, until you regain equilibrium. What an unsettling turn of events. Does Lord Russell know of your retreat to Russelton?”

  “I have no idea. In his wisdom, he stayed away from my vicinity in order that not the least gossip would arise about me at this frightful time. He cared only to protect my reputation.” She’d love to see him, but alas, she couldn’t do anything about that. She could have her hopes, though. And he had her prayers.

  30

  Mr. Southwood had a rare day not chock full of business dealings. A few days after Melissa’s departure, the only sound in his oak-lined study was the ticking clock. Comfortable in his upholstered and well-padded leather desk chair, he allowed his mind to drift back over his pleasant memories of the Banting ball not long past.

  Ah, what an evening. Mingling with the nobility. Dancing with the aristocracy. Melissa fit right in. Too bad about Winstead. A dashed disappointment he turned out to be.

  An idea formed. What prevented him from calling on the delightful hostess? Mrs. Lucy Banting didn’t have a title, but she belonged to the ton, and the invitation to her ball showed she wasn’t averse to his acquaintance.

  He checked the time, and finding it within society’s prescribed visiting hours, he rang for a servant to bring a carriage around to the front of the house. A few minutes later, he left to pay a morning call on Mrs. Banting.

  ~*~

  Mrs. Lucy Banting had just rid herself of some pesky, gossipy callers. Relieved, she sat alone when the aged butler shuffled in to announce another guest.

  “Mr. Homer Southwood is at the door. Are you at home?”

  “Yes. Show him in.” Mrs. Banting resituated herself and sat up straighter in anticipation of an interesting, if not necessarily pleasant, visit. She worried he’d blame her somehow. That would take nerve since it was entirely his doing. She wore a butter-yellow morning gown with a frothy fichu filling in the low, fashionable neckline. A feminine lace cap covered most of her hair, but soft wings of dark hair were visible at either temple.

  The butler vanished into the shadows of the hall when Mr. Southwood entered the room. He bowed over Mrs. Banting’s hand, and then sat on the nearest chair, first sweeping the tails of his coat out of the way.

  He leaned forward with a confiding demeanor. “We—my daughter Melissa and I—had a wonderful time at your ball, Mrs. Banting. I thought you wouldn’t take it amiss if I called on you to express my gratitude for the evening.”

  “You are quite welcome, Mr. Southwood. The bouquet of camellias you sent were exquisite, and their scent perfumed the air around me for days on end.”

  “My pleasure. Glad you liked them. Have you heard any on-dits about Melissa of late?”

  “Why, Mr. Southwood, do you expect me to repeat such to her own father?” She batted her lashes a bit, believing it wouldn’t hurt to distract the man.

  “I’d like you to if you’ve heard any. You see, you are the only society lady with whom I am acquainted. I’ll take the chance of trusting you. Something rather untoward occurred, and I’d like to know if it trickled out.” He sat back and puffed out his chest.

  “I’ll admit I am thoroughly familiar with what happened at St. George’s that day. Rest assured, Mr. Southwood, word of your hand-selected suitor’s malfeasance did not go beyond this room, thanks to my nephew’s wise actions.”

  “Lord Russell is a fine young man and seems trustworthy.”

  “Your trust is not misplaced.”

  “You know all?” Homer’s discomfiture was evident in the way he yanked at his collar.

  “Melissa needed another female to pour her heart out to after her frightening experience. And to think the abduction came about because of what you put in motion.”

  Her chiding perhaps crossed the line of propriety, but Mrs. Banting didn’t care if she made him sweat. She hoped his nose was out of joint from her chiding.

  “Here, here. Don’t rake me over the coals, ma’am. I’ve set aside my ambitions for Melissa for the nonce. Before you blame me for her abduction, you must understand the complete unpredictability of such an event. I had Winstead checked out in detail, and if he’d ever shown a hint of anything like this, he would never have been allowed through my door.” Homer gave an emphatic gesture with his fist.

  “Proving only more so, Mr. Southwood, that matters of the heart take a sensitive touch.” Lucy tilted her head to one side. She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  His eyebrows rose a fraction. “Do tell. What makes you say so?”

  “My own experience of courtship does, Mr. Southwood. Over twenty years ago, I married my dear departed husband, Henry. Like you, my parents also coveted a title, but when Henry Banting set his cap for me, and I for him, they gave me my way. They relinquished their ambitions. Mr. Banting and I had a fine marriage. I lived as happily as if he had been a marquis, an earl, or duke.”

  “I see. An interesting story. One which I shall take into consideration. Now, let’s go back to discussing your ball and its splendor. Your musicians, your refreshments, the magical atmosphere. I could go on and on. They were all exceptionally pleasant. It was a privilege to have been a part of it.” Homer Southwood sat forward eagerly and attempted to turn on the charm by pouring out the butter boat.

  She saw through him but took this golden opportunity to laud her favorite nephew. “Think nothing of it. My nephew asked me,
and I was pleased to include the family of such a pretty-behaved young lady as Melissa.

  “’Twas my pleasure to be included, ma’am.”

  “My nephew, Lord Russell, the hero who rescued her from the heinous trap laid for her at the church,” she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, “happened to tell me he tried to enter into the courtship circus that you created.”

  “I recall something of the sort.”

  Lucy went on, making sure he recalled all the details. “Even though his efforts came to no avail with you, he still was kind enough to think of inviting you when he and I made up the guest list for the ball.” There, a reminder of her gracious invitation.

  “Very good of him. My daughter is off visiting her former companion. After her unfortunate upsetting experience, a country retreat serves as just the remedy. She’ll return to London in one month. I did agree to postpone any match for at least that long.” He leaned back, eyes distant for a moment.

  “Wise of you, I’m sure.” Lucy smiled, and widened her eyes as though she thought him imbued with the wisdom of Solomon. Let him think he’s on top of it all. She knew better.

  “Time will tell. She doesn’t like the idea, but I am still going to try to match her with an aristocrat. With my fortune, it won’t be a problem. I had many a lord come calling to request permission to court Melissa.”

  “You seem quite determined. Are you familiar with the region of the country in which your daughter is now visiting?”

  “Not much. It’s the village where her old companion landed when I dismissed her. I believe she is housekeeping for her brother, a minister.” He vaguely waved his hand.

  Mr. Southwood showed little interest in the exact arrangements of Melissa’s trip to the country, and Lucy got the distinct impression he was not aware of the proximity of Mark’s estate and the vicarage in the town of Russelton at which Melissa was guest. Mr. Southwood must not be aware of the propinquity involved. An idea formed in her mind, but she didn’t speak a word of it.

  “Mrs. Banting, would you care to take a drive in the park with me? Today? Or someday soon? I’d be honored.”