A Match for Melissa

by Susan Karsten

  “Driving out with you sounds like a fine treat, but I am afraid that I myself am going out of town soon. I don’t have time to be riding about. I’ve got to prepare my household for travel, so I must bid you adieu for now. I’ve enjoyed your visit, and I shall send my card when I can take you up on your kind offer of a drive in the park.” She raised her hand, and he sprang up to bow over it, kissing the air one inch above the back of her fingers.

  As soon as Mr. Homer Southwood bowed his way out, she scribbled a note. She rang for the butler and arranged for the missive to be delivered.

  31

  Mark put down the morning paper when the butler brought in an envelope on a silver tray. He opened it and read:

  Dear Nephew, today Mr. S. paid me a call. I’ll tell you the details later, but I got the distinct impression he doesn’t realize your estate is in the same town as the friends Miss S. is visiting. She is visiting the C’s and I propose you and I take a visit to Russell Manor.

  I think you would be able to further your acquaintance with Miss S. there, without her father’s interfering machinations. I’d as soon spend some time there, and I can be a convenient chaperone if needed. Fondly, LB.

  Since no gossip about Miss Southwood had flared up, nothing required his presence in London for damage control nor for anything else. Aunt Lucy’s excellent idea lit his heart with hope. He threw the note in the fireplace, lit it with a match, and watched it burn. He wanted no risk of a nosy servant poking into the master’s plans. The future was taking shape, and a favorable outcome was in sight.

  The only reason he came to London in the first place was to secure a wife—a helpmeet. Since his heart was set on Melissa, he wanted to go to her. He had every right to return to his estate and to take Aunt Lucy with him—if that also brought him into contact with Melissa, so be it.

  ~*~

  Traveling together in his family coach gave Mark ample opportunity, over the two-day journey, to discuss with Aunt Lucy, his chances to further his acquaintance with Melissa.

  He chafed at the enforced inactivity but enjoyed discussing the object of his affections. “At some point, I will need to approach her father again.”

  “But, surely you aren’t required to tell him you’re in your own village,” Aunt Lucy suggested.

  “Agreed. As a neighbor, however, I am well within the bounds of propriety if I choose to invite the Cleavers to Russell Manor for dinner. If their houseguest happens to be included in the invitation and chooses to accept, we are not to blame, are we?”

  “No, no, Mark. You’ve stated an excellent approach to the matter. And if you and I pay calls to some of your more prominent neighbors, such as the minister, no one could fault you.” She clasped her hands in front of her bodice.

  “I hope this isn’t dishonest of me.”

  “Mark, how is it deceitful to go to your own manor? Or to visit neighbors?”

  “It’s not actively deception, but I still intend to keep strict limits on myself. I won’t spend time with her alone. Nor will I allow ‘happenstance’ to find us together unchaperoned.”

  “That sounds quite reasonable to me,” Aunt Lucy replied.

  “Can you think of anything else I should do, or not do, to keep my unofficial courtship of Miss Southwood within appropriate boundaries?”

  “Aah, ‘courtship.’ I love the sound of that word. I love words ending in ‘ship.’ They’re all splendid: worship, friendship, courtship. What were you asking?”

  “Aunt, you do have a love for words. But be serious. Have I overlooked anything?” He wanted to give her every chance to express doubts.

  “I’m a bit rusty on the subject of courtship, but it seems to me you may proceed as you’ve stated. Your plans seem to be appropriate to the circumstances. I own that I’m anxious for a refreshing time in the country. Your campaign will add the right amount of spice to life.”

  ~*~

  The servants were all lined up in the hall to greet the returning Lord Russell as was customary. He and Aunt Lucy went down the line, giving a kind word here, a smile there.

  Tradition satisfied, the butler stepped forward, gave a bow, and made a request. “If it be your pleasure, sir, may I have a moment?” Mr. Crabtree said.

  “Let us step into the library this minute, Crabtree. Mrs. Good,” Mark turned to the housekeeper with his index finger raised. “Please show Mrs. Banting to her rooms, direct a substantial tea to be laid in the front parlor in one hour, and bring hot water to both of our suites. Travel proved dusty.”

  “Yes, Lord Russell, I shall have all in order.” Mrs. Good curtsied, and then shooed the other servants. “Get back to your duties.”

  32

  Delivering his information with an air of some self-importance, Crabtree intoned, “Lord Russell, the magistrate has called here once a week, wanting to give an account of the search for the scoundrels who robbed you.”

  “Is there anything to report?”

  “There’ve been no results of the searches. He asked me to inform you without delay that he remains on high alert.”

  “Very good. Anything else?”

  “Thought we should talk in here. I’ve been trying to keep it all somewhat quiet. No need to remind everyone of what happened to you and have the staff scared of their own shadows.” The man’s chest puffed out.

  “You did right, Crabtree. I had things to do in London, but now that I am back, I aim to bring those malefactors to justice if it’s within my power. Can’t allow our blissful surroundings to be marred by the lurking presence of ill-doing reprobates.”

  “Thank you, Lord Russell. I have kept my own eyes sharp but haven’t seen hide nor hair of strangers hereabouts. Any further instructions, sir?”

  “Only tell Mrs. Good to expect to consult with my aunt in regards to some entertaining she and I plan to do. She will be acting as hostess for me during her visit. It seems I will be busy with the estate—and other things.”

  Mark went to his rooms, where his valet assisted him out of his traveling clothes. A hot bath sat ready, and with gratitude, he sank into its sudsy depths. As he relaxed, his mind wandered. Lord, I put my courtship of Miss Southwood into Your hands. Let it be successful if it be Your will. She was his top priority.

  What to do about the thieves suspected to be prowling the district? Other than stumbling across a thieves’ den, he didn’t truly expect to be the one to solve the case. But he’d meet with the magistrate and develop a plan from there. This would be a good chance to show leadership. To show himself to be a conscientious landowner. The burden of filling his brother’s shoes hung ever-present over his head.

  He wanted to apply his new firmness of character to the local situation. He didn’t intend to sit careless or idle, simply enjoying riches. He had some ground to recover. The desire to do right by the inheritance surprised him with its strength. His goal was to be an excellent landowner and a good steward of his inheritance. Owning property brought responsibility.

  Because of his status as Lord Russell, he held the power to do good through his position in the community. He would look around and seek out avenues to help others.

  An hour later, he found Aunt Lucy already in the drawing room, enjoying the shade-dappled late afternoon sunshine streaming in the south-facing windows of the pleasant room. Sumptuous upholstery, blue walls, white-painted satiny wood trim, and striped damask drapes combined to give an atmosphere of comfort.

  “Mark, dear, shall we call on the vicarage right away tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, that’s the first thing I want to do. Afterwards, I’ll locate the magistrate and set up a meeting to plan the capture of the robbers who struck me down—if they are in the vicinity, of course.”

  Aunt Lucy held up the teapot and arched her brow. “Tea?”

  “Yes, please. The cook here is excellent. Her biscuits are superb.”

  “I suppose you’ll be busy with the estate for the duration of our stay?”

  “I have a strong desire to fulfill my
duties. Not to be served, but to serve. Do you understand what I mean, Aunt Lucy?”

  “Oh, my yes, I, too, itch to get at something like that. What do you think about knitting?”

  “Knitting? I never think about it. Why do you ask?”

  “I had the thought that it would be good to teach the serving girls to knit. Having another skill is always of benefit. It’s a simple handicraft, but ‘hands to work, hearts to God,’ after all.”

  “Not taking them away from their duties too much?”

  “No, I’ll be careful about that.”

  “Fine. That’s the sort of improving work you should lead. It’s also suitable for Russell Manor. I approve. You may have free rein, Aunt. You will be a responsible and kind teacher to them.”

  “I’ll speak to Mrs. Good and get her cooperation first. Then I will know how many students to buy yarn and needles for while we’re in town to see Miss Southwood. And the Cleavers.”

  33

  “How is the new companion settling in?” Jeremiah Cleaver lowered his newspaper.

  “She’s a dear—so willing to help and enjoyable to have around. We’ve gained a gem in Cassandra.

  “I heard the piano yesterday. No offense, but the playing sounded more advanced than yours, Prissy.” He wiggled his eyebrows to make sure she knew he meant no insult.

  “That was Cassandra. She’s an accomplished pianist. Well-read, too, with several foreign languages to her credit. It’s a joy to discover a new friend and learn of her gifts.”

  “I am glad for you. As you said, you’d been lonely, and now you have a like-minded companion. I hear a carriage outside.” He rose and looked out. “It’s Lord Russell and an older lady.” No, not that old, and actually quite attractive.

  “Must be here to pay a call.” Miss Cleaver smoothed her hair.

  Cassandra, having answered the door, entered the room to announce the callers.

  “By all means, bring them in, please.” Mr. Cleaver couldn’t wait to see Lord Russell again—and hear how he’d been faring since going up to London.

  Cassandra slipped away as the arrivals entered.

  Lord Russell spoke first. “Mr. Cleaver, Miss Cleaver, I’d like to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Banting.”

  Jeremiah bowed over her hand first. Then her blue eyes caught his attention as he straightened. “Welcome, Mrs. Banting.”

  She smiled, and her eyes seemed to sparkle just for him. He turned to Lord Russell and clasped his hand in a firm shake. “So good to have you back in the neighborhood.”

  Miss Cleaver patted the settee next to her, and Mrs. Banting joined her there. Soon the ladies were chatting like old friends and were settled in for a visit in the homey parlor.

  Not much time at all went by when tea was carried in by Cassandra, again acting in her role as maid.

  ~*~

  Mark noticed the new maid was thin and pale, and she kept glancing at the minister as if to make sure he had all he needed.

  “Thank you, Cassandra. Inform Miss Southwood we’ve guests and we’d like her to join us for tea? And bring more hot water in about fifteen minutes, please.” Mr. Cleaver’s tone exuded kindness.

  The meek maid left the room, eyes down.

  Mr. Cleaver rushed to explain. “Miss Cleaver convinced me to hire a new live-in servant. She acts as maid when needed and as a companion for Miss Cleaver. I think we have made an excellent choice in Cassandra.”

  Mark battled to keep his eyes from straying to the door. “That’s nice.”

  “Lord Russell, how have you been faring since we last saw you?” Mr. Cleaver queried in a jovial voice.

  “I’ve been in fine health and spirits. Subsequent to my recovering here, my life has been much more peaceful than in the past.” A wide unbidden smile crept onto his face as he remembered the days spent at the vicarage.

  “Glad to hear it. Oh, here’s Miss Southwood.” The two men rose, and Mr. Cleaver stepped over and took her arm as she entered, drawing her into the circle. “Look who’s visiting, Miss Southwood!” He gestured toward Mark and Lucy. His booming voice resounded in the small room.

  “Oh. How nice to see you, Lord Russell, and you, too, Mrs. Banting.” Melissa bent to sit, averting her face to adjust her shawl.

  ~*~

  Her face must be red. It felt warm. Such a surprise to find Lord Russell in the parlor—she tried to calm her erratic heartbeat. Melissa had no idea he was back in the district. After her shocking abduction, suitors were far from her mind. Well, to be honest, she had been troubled by thoughts of missing Lord Russell at times—every night, to be truthful, as she went to sleep. To be honest—he visited her dreams.

  She forced herself to attention. Miss Cleaver spoke social niceties to the guests. “Mrs. Banting, do try one of these tarts. Our cook calls them her specialty, and I shall hate to explain to her if no one partakes.”

  “Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Mrs. Banting lifted a tart onto a plate, and then inhaled its scent. “Lemon. My favorite.” She took a bite. “I declare these are the flakiest, most tender, most delicious lemon tarts it has ever been my pleasure to experience.”

  Melissa helped herself to a tart, too. It gave her hands something to do besides fidget. Before she bit into it, she sneaked a glance at Lord Russell. What caused his return to Russell Manor at this time? Whatever his reasons, Melissa thrilled to the sight of him—warm effervescent shivers of delight rippled up and down her body. Even though her experience with men was limited, he was decidedly special. His masculine vigor combined with simple human compassion, and his pleasant and humble demeanor made him a breath of fresh air. She adjusted her position on the serviceable horsehair settee. What to say? What a relief when her host spoke.

  “Mrs. Banting, have you been in the district often?”

  “Yes, I grew up here. Lord Russell’s father was my brother.” Mrs. Banting sipped her tea and reminisced. “Those were wonderful days. Since my marriage twenty-some years ago, I’ve visited only on the rare occasion and not at all from the time when I was widowed.”

  “I see—you are a widow. So sad.”

  He didn’t sound sad, Melissa noted.

  The minister went on, “How was your journey?”

  “Travel was without any disruptions.” Mrs. Banting sniffed. “Thank the Lord we experienced no repeat of the disastrous attack on my nephew.”

  “Indeed. The robbery of Lord Russell appears to be a singular event. Almost like he was targeted, as hard as that is to believe.”

  “I’ve wondered about that myself.” Mrs. Banting raised her eyebrows and tapped Mr. Cleaver’s arm with her fan.

  Melissa, observing all this interplay and able to hear every word, began to wonder at Mr. Cleaver’s attentiveness. He showed all the signs of being smitten by Mrs. Banting.

  “Have you any plans for your time in the area?” The minister went on with his queries of the lady and there were no more conversational gaps. The outgoing and talkative siblings Mr. Cleaver and Miss Cleaver overflowed with fine cheer as usual.

  Melissa had forgotten the full extent of Lord Russell’s amazing good looks. His handsomeness made it hard to contribute to the chatter with this virile man sitting not even five feet away from her.

  She lowered her eyes, scolding herself for staring so much at Lord Russell. She recalled how once he appeared at her home in London, and how he came on the scene too late to be chosen as her sanctioned suitor. Then she encountered him at the feeding mission. Quite a fascinating discovery to find out he cared for the poor and hungry, supporting the same charity work she did. His work for the Lord indicated him to be a sincere believer.

  Outwardly relaxed upon the settee, with conversation flowing around her, her mind wandered on to the other encounters they had. No one would notice her silence, with all the chatty folk gathered at the vicarage today. She remembered him at the ball. How considerate he was of his aunt. That was, indeed, a good sign. He was an excellent dancer, too.

  This brought Melissa’s reminiscence
s up to the abduction and the way God sent Lord Russell to rescue her. Since that day, she’d wondered if he would seek her out, but she hadn’t seen him until today.

  ~*~

  Mark watched Miss Southwood as she sat silent. He caught her eye to share a smile but achieved limited success. Was she avoiding him for a reason? Had she taken him in dislike? Perhaps the sordid affair in the church mortified her to the degree she hated to be reminded by his presence. He dearly hoped not.

  She appeared to be daydreaming but looked adorably fresh and demure in her muslin dress. She had a quirk—she’d twirl a curl near her cheek around her finger, and then release it, whereupon it would coil back into a natural ringlet. She didn’t glance his way again, so he turned to Mr. Cleaver and tried to give him full attention. This did not stop Mark from being acutely aware of the loveliness embodied by Miss Southwood. Seeing her afresh, he was newly astounded by her beauty.

  Cassandra returned. The maid handled the hot water and heavy teapot with practiced composure. Mark wondered at a servant with such a fanciful name from Greek mythology. The woman did seem to be competent and took special care of the minister’s tea cup. She curtseyed before departing, angling her bob toward Mr. Cleaver. He must be a good employer—surely all his workers admired him and wanted to do their best for him.

  Though distracted for a moment by his observations of the special deference of the maid to the minister, Mark’s eyes had a will of their own, still trying to catch Miss Southwood’s glance. Not succeeding, he satisfied himself with watching her every few minutes. He’d seen many a beautiful woman in his life. What was exceptional about her? It wasn’t simply her smooth skin, her shiny golden hair, or her classic face. Her beauty set her apart from many of the other young women he’d come across—but it was more.

  “Mr. Cleaver, would you and your sister and guest honor my home with your presence for dinner tomorrow evening?”

  “We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Priscilla? Miss Southwood?”

  “Delightful. We will be glad to accept your kind invitation.” Miss Cleaver looked at Miss Southwood, and smiled with brows raised, clearly confident this would be acceptable to her. Melissa nodded and murmured her assent.