Melissa looked over at her and smiled. “Don’t look so scared. I am up to nothing. We are simply riding home.”
“Mmm.” Brynn injected all the disbelieving sarcasm she could into that one sound. “You cannot win this.”
“Why? Why can’t I win it?”
“How? How can you? They are engaged. Your father has given his permission. Your mother is organizing an engagement dinner at which to announce the happy news. Your sister made sure she was compromised. Your Marquess knows that he is trapped. So what can you do?”
Melissa looked away, a stubborn set to her jaw. “I will find a way.”
Brynn snorted. “I do hope for your sake that you do, but My Lady, you have to be prepared for failure.”
Melissa looked over to her with a wide, contrived smile. “Failure? I do not know them? Who are they?”
Brynn just sighed and shook her head.
They deposited the horses at the mews, wiping them down and rewarding them with apples before heading back to the house. They walked leisurely toward the house, speaking of inconsequential things. They reached the back door and Melissa reached up to open it. They both froze as they caught sight of The Duchess standing on the step, her eyes filled with rage.
“Where have you been?” she hissed. “And what are you wearing?”
Chapter 9
A Reckoning
Melissa sucked in a quick breath, unable to believe that after everything they had gotten away with, going to visit Patrick would be her undoing. She stepped in front of Brynn.
“Mother. What are you doing lurking about the back door?” she asked in her most affected tone. Her mother narrowed her eyes at her.
“As a matter of fact, I was looking for you. Your sister said I might find you here, although I cannot fathom why.”
“Well, I like to go for a ride in the morning.” Melissa tried to slow the pounding of her heart, quite aware that her cheeks were showing their colors.
“Dressed like that?” The Duchess looked her up and down with disdain.
“Well, I do not like to advertise who I am, seeing as it is just me and Brynn.” Melissa swallowed, hoping it sounded plausible.
The lines on The Duchess’ forehead increased exponentially with every word Melissa spoke. Her mother turned to Brynn, “Perhaps you can be a little more honest about your little excursions, girl. Where do you go with my daughter?” she demanded.
Brynn shrunk back, trying to make herself invisible. “Nowhere ma’am. We don’t go anywhere.”
“Hmm,” The Duchess pursed her lips. “If I cannot trust you I’m afraid you and your family cannot stay in my employ.”
Brynn made a sound of distress and Melissa could not have that. “Leave her alone mother! This has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with me.”
“Tell me the truth then! Where have you been?” The Duchess' voice was sharp and grating.
Melissa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I went to see Lord Bergon,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I had to know from his own lips that what you had said was true.”
“Why on earth would you do that? Have you no care as to your reputation? And you girl, why did you not stop her?” The Duchess was getting shriller with every word.
“Mother, can we perhaps take this discussion to the study, please?” Melissa pushed past her mother, trying to get her attention off Brynn. She hurried toward the study, giving her mother no choice but to follow her.
She stepped quickly into her father’s study, holding the door open for her and then shutting it firmly behind her. Brynn was at least safe, for now.
Melissa turned to face the apoplectic woman. “Mother, please calm down and stop breathing like the bellows. Let me explain myself.”
“Go on then, explain.”
Melissa took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm her racing heart. “Fine. I was very taken with Lord Bergon as I’m sure you know and I felt that he also showed interest in me. But then I go away for a few days and when I returned to the city he was engaged to my sister! It made no sense to me, mother. I had to find out from him whether I had imagined our rapport.”
The Duchess rolled her eyes. “And what did you discover on your ill-fated sojourn?”
Melissa took a deep breath as if to speak and then let her breath out again. She had a feeling that if she told her mother that Lord Bergon was not indifferent to her, it would be the last time she saw him.
“I don’t know mother. He was not happy that I risked my reputation either. He sent me home.”
That was as close as she could get to the truth. He had been worried and he did send her home. Her mother nodded approvingly. “That was very gentlemanly of him.”
“Yes, he is quite the gentleman.”
Her mother fixed her with a jaundiced eye. “Do not think for a moment this explanation exonerates you, Melissa. What you did was beyond the pale. Go to your chambers until your father decides upon your punishment.”
Melissa almost opened her mouth to protest but on second thought, she knew that would just make everything worse. She turned meekly to the door instead and left. After all, if she really needed to go somewhere, she could always sneak out.
The door to her chambers had barely closed when Brynn opened it again, slipping into the room with wide eyes.
“What happened?” she whispered as she busied herself by straightening out Melissa’s clothing as if The Duchess could see through the mahogany of the door and would know if they were simply whispering together.
“I am to wait here for my punishment.”
“And what about...?”
“She said nothing about you, don’t worry.”
Brynn heaved a sigh of relief. “That was very close.”
“Too close,” Melissa agreed with a nod. The sobering reality had washed over her as soon as she sat down. She might have gotten Brynn and her mother turned out to fend for themselves simply because of her need for adventure.
Looking up at her lady’s maid as she made busy work for herself, she knew that her escapades to Convent Garden had to end. It was too dangerous for Brynn. Her mother knew how close they were. She would not hesitate to punish Brynn in order to teach Melissa a lesson.
She sighed, leaning back on the bed. “I suppose I’d best change into something a bit more ladylike,” she said to the ceiling.
Brynn came into her field of vision, holding a gown. “You took the thought right out of my head,” she said with a faint grin.
Melissa sat up and looked miserably up at her lady’s maid. “Oh Brynn, I am ever so sorry for getting you in trouble.”
Brynn took a deep breath and shook her head. “No harm done. That's the important thing isn’t it?”
Melissa reached up and squeezed her arm. “Perhaps. But from now on, no more morning trips.”
Brynn nodded.
* * *
Patrick could not settle to anything. His father had asked him to check on the status of a shipment but he was too distracted and so sent his steward to do it instead. He could see his butler hovering in his peripheral vision and it annoyed him. Every time he sent Jeffries away though, he found some pretext to return and hover. He was seriously considering firing the man.
And that was the most disconcerting thing. He was not this impetuous or unthinking. He remained unruffled in the face of any kerfuffle. He could not imagine what was happening to him.
The memory of her face!
Lady Melissa had looked so devastated by his news. That carefree girl he watched masquerading as something she was not at the early morning markets had disappeared. In her place had been a more somber, despondent woman. Patrick would give anything to get the girl back but all the pacing in the world did not present him with any solutions. Whatever he did, somebody’s life would be ruined.
Patrick sighed deeply, shaking his head. Suddenly a glass of sherry appeared in front of him.
“You look like
you need it, sir,” Jeffries said solemnly.
“It’s barely gone nine in the morning!”
“I’m sure it’s past noon somewhere My Lord.”
Patrick almost laughed at that.
Almost.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he mumbled, taking the glass and draining it. The bitter liquid did not make him feel even marginally better. He glanced at Jeffries who was standing somewhat at attention near the door. “Have you ever been in love, Jeffries?” he asked distantly, eyes on his empty glass.
“No, My Lord. Would you like a refill?” he was already proffering the bottle of amber liquid.
Patrick shook his head. “No, I think I shall go out. I need a clear head at the moment.”
“Very good sir.”
* * *
Nicholas Harvey, Earl of Nordam looked up as The Duke of Cheshmill came up to him. He sighed deeply, knowing that whatever had caused His Grace to seek him out would cost him most likely his peace of mind, most definitely some money.
The Duke took the seat opposite Nicholas, staring beadily at him as if he might be a beetle His Grace was considering crushing underfoot.
“Nordam, fancy meeting you here.”
Nicholas simply raised an eyebrow. It was common knowledge that he had his luncheon at Ofley’s. He thoroughly enjoyed the beefsteak and ale especially after an hour in the boxing ring.
Cheshmill sighed. “I need you to do me a minuscule favor, Nordam.”
“Are you asking or telling?”
Cheshmill merely looked at him and Nordam looked away. Ever since Cheshmill had arranged for him to have a dalliance with the woman he loved, a woman who happened to be married to someone else, he had owned Nicholas’ life. Every time he found himself in a bind, he would give Nicholas the look, and expect the Earl to do everything in his power to get him out.
Nicholas was aware that he was not the only man in the city who struggled beneath Cheshmill’s blackmailing thumb. Unfortunately having secrets to protect prevented anyone from speaking about it. Thus, Cheshmill got away with routinely ruining people’s lives and depleting their livelihoods. Those not in the know thought he garnered his money from his import/export business.
The truth was that Cheshmill did more than export fabrics and furniture. He owned several very discreet brothels in Town where a man could have encounters with enchanting beauties of both sexes from Asia, Africa or Peckham. His brothel business fed quite well into his blackmail business as nobles traded favors or money in exchange for Cheshmill’s discretion about their sexual peccadillos.
For Nicholas, it had not been a prostitute, but a noblewoman that Cheshmill had set him up with. He did not know if The Duke blackmailed her as well. He hoped not–even though she had ended up breaking his heart.
“What is the favor?” Nicholas asked in resignation.
“I need you to join the game of whist tonight at Lord Cholmondeley’s table. I want you to bring me up. Let them know that you have it on good authority that the nasty rumor about me going around was actually started by Lord Helmsley who is jealous of my good fortune.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “And how would I know such a thing?”
“Lord Helmsley is a particular friend of yours, is he not?”
“He is indeed. And that is why I cannot do this.”
His Grace leaned forward; eyes narrowed as he met Nicholas’ eyes. “Will you not? Would you rather I start a different kind of rumor about you?”
Nicholas looked away with a sigh. “Even if I started such a rumor, who would believe it? Everyone knows that Helmsley and I are bosom friends. Why would I betray him like that?”
“Because he stole from you.”
Nicholas’ eyes widened and he stared at Cheshmill in shock. “No, sir. I will not do this. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”
Cheshmill’s pale flesh reddened with anger. “You are making a mistake, Nordam.”
Nicholas simply looked at him. “There are lines, Cheshmill, that I simply will not cross. Do your worst.”
Cheshmill got to his feet with an evil smirk. “Just remember that you asked for it.”
Nicholas nodded jerkily and watched as Cheshmill walked away.
* * *
Between the alcove that separated the boxing area from the dining hall, Patrick lurked, watching his father walk away from Lord Nordam, his back stiff and angry. Lord Nordam did not look much better, his eyes huge in his pale face.
Patrick stared, trying to think of some reason why his father would threaten Lord Nordam. He had not even known that they were that closely acquainted.
Patrick had come to Ofley’s to work off some of his restless energy. Witnessing his father do whatever it was he had done had sufficiently distracted him from his own woes that he was now curious rather than agitated.
He went to the bowl that was there for that purpose and washed up before changing into his street clothes and striding to the dining room. He made his way to Nordam’s table, standing diffidently as he waited for the Earl to notice him. He looked up, eyes tightening slightly as he saw who was standing over him.
“May I?” Patrick asked gesturing at the chair opposite the Earl.
Nordam nodded stiffly, not really meeting Patrick’s eyes.
He decided to just jump in with what he wanted to know. “So, I saw my father speaking with you earlier...” he trailed off, hoping Nordam would fill in the blanks. The Earl simply grunted.
“I wasn’t aware that you had business together,” Patrick tried again.
“Do you know about all of your father’s business affairs?” Nordam’s voice was dry and ever-so-slightly sarcastic.
“Well, seeing as I run most of his day-to-day operations, I should think so.” Patrick frowned, not knowing what the grimace on Nordam’s face was about. He had not thought him to turn his nose up at a noble doing business. He had it on good authority that Nordam had a thriving sugar cane farm in the Indies from which he manufactured rum.
The thought set off an idea and he spoke up without thinking. “Is it your rum? Are you looking for an importer?”
Nordam looked surprised. Perhaps he had thought that nobody knew of his business affairs. “No. I do not sell it in England and I already have a perfectly good connection in the New World. You shouldn’t worry about your father and my business. It was strictly personal.”
Patrick nodded slowly. “I see. Well just know that I am at your service should you need to…” he didn’t really know how to finish that sentence. He was relieved that the mystery behind the strange interaction he had witnessed had completely eclipsed his earlier misery and replaced it with curiosity.
He would get to the bottom of this mystery sooner or later.
“I appreciate your courtesy,” Nordam said with a nod. “But I do assure you that it isn’t necessary.”
Patrick simply nodded and stood up to leave. The Earl’s strange insistence simply fueled his determination to get to the bottom of this mystery. He had seen the man’s face as he spoke with His Grace. Whatever they were talking about had been upsetting to the Earl and his father had looked altogether too smug at first and then as he did when his wishes had been thwarted.
If the Earl was an enemy of the family, then Patrick needed to know about it.
Chapter 10
Defiance
The season was upon them and Melissa was sure they would not run out of balls to attend. As a punishment for her behavior with Lord Bergon, she was apparently officially back on the marriage mart which meant attending every single recital, Venetian breakfast, picnic, and a ball that there was. Her mother knew she hated the whole process and neither she nor her sister had ever been pushed onto the marriage mart. After all, they had no shortage of suitors.
Being pushed at all the eligible bachelors that prowled these events was the single most excruciating experience of Melissa’s life. Tonight, it was a piano recital to be held at Mrs. Pickering’s glasshouse. She lived on the outskirts of town and so The
Duchess was of the opinion that Melissa should sleep over.
The Pickerings were scheduled to have an excursion around their botanical gardens the next day in any case, as they had out-of-town guests. Melissa could join them.
With a sigh, she packed her overnight pelisse, feeling put upon. She did not know the Pickerings well and was not looking forward to making small talk with various and sundry strangers for two days. She knew that her mother and sister were just trying to get her out of the way so that they could entertain Patrick in peace. It really stuck in her craw when she thought about it.
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