Which also meant she needed to leave right away. She looked out from behind the tree and saw no one around. She walked away as quickly as possible, deciding to tell a footman that she might have seen a person fall. They would get him the help he needed.
In her haste, she nearly bumped into a beautiful woman several years older than she. There was a distinct resemblance between the two of them in height and hair color. The woman was smiling like she was about to receive a treat and she was headed directly to where the mystery man had passed out. Was she the married woman he’d been expecting? Aside from the moral implications – and, really, how could they commit adultery – Mel was relieved that the woman would be able to get the man the help he needed. She walked a bit further toward the house, to a point where torches illuminated that portion of the garden. She knew she should continue on into the ballroom, but she wanted to make sure the man would receive assistance. It was the least she could do as a woman who prided herself on helping others.
And she felt she might owe it to him after that incredible kiss.
A few minutes later the woman re-emerged from the garden with a look of disgust on her face. As she was climbing the stairs to the terrace, an elderly man found her then indicated he was ready to leave. Mel watched the two depart without the woman summoning help.
It looked like it was up to Mel. She stopped a passing footman and told him she thought she’d seen someone faint, then pointed in the general direction of the victim. The footman thanked her and said he would attend to it. Mel walked back up to the terrace and waited a few moments until three liveried footmen walked across the lawn and picked up the man, carrying him out to the mews. Mel could only hope they knew who he was to send him home properly.
She knew it was no business of hers whether he was delivered safely. Yet, she couldn’t help thinking about him for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
It had been a mistake to go to White’s, thought Hal the next morning as he was sitting in his club with an aching head. But he’d needed to get out of the house. Lynwood had been livid when he’d returned from the ball at two in the morning, having been informed by several matrons that his youngest brother had to be carried to the family’s carriage after having passed out in the Raleighs’ garden. Their Aunt Agatha had threatened to move into Lynwood House until Hal could be persuaded to give up his rakehell ways. Lynwood made it clear to Hal that he would do whatever was necessary to dissuade their aunt from carrying out her threat, even if it meant locking Hal in his bedchamber and barring the windows.
Hal couldn’t blame his brother for being so angry. He rather thought he deserved the condemnation, although he’d never admit such a thing to Liam. Even he didn’t understand his downward spiral of the last few months. Maybe it was time to pull back a bit, perhaps find an activity that was more worthwhile than drinking, gaming and whoring his nights away. It shouldn’t be difficult to find a more honorable activity, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.
“There you are,” came the familiar drawl of Charles Francis, as he slouched into the chair next to Hal holding a brandy. “I called at Lynwood House just now, only to be told in terse tones that you were not at home. Sometimes I get the impression the duke doesn’t like me.”
“He’s been in a devil of a mood these past few weeks,” said Hal, taking another sip of a restorative drink. “If I didn’t know him better, I’d say it was a problem with a lady. But, it’s Lynwood. What kind of women problems could he possibly have?”
“Exactly. I’ve always believed the world comes a bit too easily to your brother.”
Hal wasn’t sure that was true. Liam had assumed the title at nineteen, upon the death of their parents. He’d had to grow up instantaneously at such a young age. Hal could barely assume the responsibilities of adulthood at five and twenty. It must have been incredibly hard for Liam to do that and more. He took another sip of his drink. “I’ll thank you not to speak ill of my brother.”
“I would never dream of it,” said Francis with a lazy smile. “We shall change the subject to one so much more interesting, like your luck with the ladies. I saw you speaking to Lady Lawson last night and things looked quite cozy between you. Please tell me you availed yourself of the good woman.”
“Here’s the thing,” said Hal, pondering a question that had been plaguing him all morning. “I’m not so sure I did. I don’t remember much of the Raleighs’ ball, other than speaking to Regina and arranging to meet. The next thing I knew, I was kissing a delectable piece who fit my arms like none other.”
“So you and Lady Lawson did meet up.”
“I do not know the answer to that, but very much wish I did. She was about the same height and had the right coloring, but it was all a bit off. Something in the way she tasted.”
“Ah,” said Francis, as he took a sip of his brandy, “just the kind of details I like to hear. How did she taste?”
“Like innocence.” Hal might have laughed when he saw the look of disappointment on his friend’s face if he hadn’t been so perplexed by the incident himself. “Sorry to let you down, old boy, but that’s the story. I seem to have blacked out shortly thereafter, briefly awakening when the Raleigh footmen delivered me to Lynwood House.”
“Such a disappointing tale,” said Francis. “I can’t help but wonder if you somehow managed to kiss someone other than the delectable Lady Lawson, who I can’t imagine has tasted like innocence in two or more decades. And to pass out after only a kiss. I do believe you’re losing your touch.”
“I most certainly am not,” said Hal. “Although I do find myself becoming a bit bored with our usual entertainments.”
Francis looked his surprise, then chuckled. “I wouldn’t think you were ready for your leg shackle, but it appears the Countess of Crenshaw is bringing you to heel.”
Hal bristled at the very suggestion. “I just think there might be more to life than spending our evenings at brothels and hells.”
“Perhaps,” said Francis, as he contemplated his drink. “Although I’m not sure you could find success among the ton as you used to. You reputation isn’t what it was.”
“I’ll do just fine,” said Hal, finishing his drink and tiring of the conversation.
“Care to make a wager?” asked Francis.
“Only if you’re prepared to lose your blunt. You do it so well. It’s a most admirable trait in a friend.”
Francis finished his drink then waved lazily at a footman for another. “Ah, but this time I shall not lose. I am so sure that you have lost enough of your vaunted charm that you will be unable to seduce the chit of my choice.”
“And here I thought you were going to propose something difficult,” said Hal lazily. “But I have no interest in playing with others to amuse you. Whenever I engage in a liaison it is because the female in question is interested in either me or my blunt. Often both. I still have enough of a conscience not to seduce a woman for any other purpose. Sorry, old chap, but you’ll have to find another taker for your bet.”
Francis studied Hal for a moment as he took another brandy from the footman. “What if you only had to steal a kiss?”
“Then you might as well hand over the blunt right now.”
“You may talk a good game, but it’s quite another thing to actually go through with it.” Francis hid a smile at Hal’s answering glare. “Just one kiss from the chit of my choice and you don’t even have to do it in public. Although I will require some proof.”
“You wouldn’t take my word for it?”
“I’m afraid not.” Francis gave him a mock look of contrition.
“I don’t kiss innocents. Or at least I don’t when I’m not in my cups,” Hal amended, thinking once again of that kiss the previous evening. How he wished he knew who it had been. He was almost positive it hadn’t been Lady Lawson. But who was she and how had he come to be kissing her? More importantly, how could he find her and kiss her again?
Francis expounded
on the infernal wager. “I promise not to choose anyone with a matchmaking mama in tow. The last thing I want is for you to become leg-shackled – Lynwood is enough of a shrew. And before you berate me, I take it back. I won’t say another thing about your beloved saint of a brother. Now, since we’re already here, shall we make it official? Let’s enter this in the book.”
Without another word, Francis went to White’s famous book of wagers, which recorded dares great and small – and all of them ludicrous. When their destination became known, several members of the club accompanied them, all wanting to know the wager and the stakes.
Per usual, Francis couldn’t resist playing to the crowd. He stated the terms in a big booming voice. “I hereby challenge Lord Henry Kellington, better known as Hal, the heir’s spare’s heir’s spare – that’s number three after Lynwood for those of you bastards too drunk to count – that he cannot kiss a woman of my choosing. And the stakes are one hundred pounds.”
Both the wager and the stakes provoked a reaction from the crowd. Side bets were placed and those who’d seen the wager written into the book quickly ran to tell others who’d been lamentably absent. As Hal watched the flurry of activity, he regretted agreeing to the ridiculous wager, although he could certainly use the hundred pounds.
“Who’s the woman?” asked a young man with shirt points past his ears.
“Miss Melanie Sutton,” said Francis.
Most men – including Hal – regarded the pronouncement with blank stares, while a few others who’d presumably met the woman hooted.
“Who the devil is Melanie Sutton?” asked Hal, pulling Francis aside. He was annoyed that Francis would have named the chit in front of the crowd. Just being associated with such a bet was enough to endanger a lady’s reputation.
“You’ve already met, if only informally,” said Francis with a grin.
Hal tried to think of the endless parade of debutantes he’d met – for she had to have just made her come-out for Francis to be crowing about it quite so much. But he couldn’t think of a Melanie Sutton, nor did her surname sound familiar.
“I’ll admit it was under the most unusual circumstances,” said Francis with a grin. “We were at Dill’s and she was trying to stop her determined colleague from certain disaster.”
All of the sudden it hit Hal. “The chit with the stockings.”
“Oh, ho!” said Francis. “Perhaps you’re more acquainted with her than I imagined.”
“No, it’s not like that,” said Hal, who was curious in spite of himself. She’d been on his mind for weeks. Getting a kiss from the chit might be pleasant enough, as long as he could disabuse her of any lasting consequences to the act. Of course, he also had to ensure Francis’s silence on the matter and figure out a way to get it off the books. But, other than the woman from the previous evening, there was no one else he’d rather kiss.
Francis was grinning at Hal in a way that didn’t bode well. “Do you also realize she’s the Earl of Heffner’s ward?”
All hopes of a kiss without complications fled Hal’s mind. Within the ton, a kiss was the prelude to marriage. Some poor bastards didn’t even get to kiss their bride until after the wedding. Kissing Miss Sutton was all of the sudden a much more daunting prospect.
As if reading his mind, Francis asked “Care to concede the bet and pay me my hundred pounds now?”
“Not on your life,” said Hal, determined to best his friend. “I have no intention of failing.”
* * *
Melanie had arisen even later than usual that morning, no doubt the result of having been awake half the night thinking of that kiss. It had easily been the most extraordinary few moments of her life. It was quite vexing that the man she’d shared it with was such a rake. But from all accounts, Lord Henry Kellington was a wastrel. It had been easy to learn his identity, because in spite of the discretion shown by the Raleighs’ footmen in carrying him away, someone must have seen what transpired. And that person had wasted no time in spreading word throughout the ballroom. Mel found it hard to believe that Lord Henry was Lady Riverton’s brother. But perhaps that lady had been driven to the cause of reform by his very actions.
Mel could only hope that the man had been so inebriated that he didn’t know whom he’d really kissed. It wouldn’t do for this to get back to her aunt and uncle.
After taking an apple from the kitchen, Mel joined her cousin and Aunt Evelyn in the sitting room, where Mary was working on her embroidery. Her cousin’s creation was intricate and pleasing to the eye. Mel’s efforts were the stuff of nightmares.
“Good morning, my dear,” said Aunt Evelyn, as she looked up from her own needlework. “I hope you slept well.”
“I did,” said Mel with a smile, inwardly wincing at the untruth. But it wouldn’t do to be asked why she couldn’t sleep. “And I hope you did, as well.”
“I was so exhausted when we returned home I believe I was asleep before my head reached the pillow. Poor Frederick almost had to carry me upstairs.”
“But Papa is much too old for such things,” said a concerned Mary.
“Your papa and I are not yet in our dotage, my love. I assure you he is quite capable of carrying me.”
It appeared to Mel that her aunt colored slightly, although Mary was too engrossed in her work to notice.
Their butler Finlay entered the room holding a silver salver. He bowed to Lady Heffner. “The post, my lady.”
Aunt Evelyn took the letters, then smiled as she dismissed Finlay. “A letter for you Melanie. From Philadelphia.”
That made Mary put aside her needlework as she grinned at her cousin. “Is it from your Mr. Parker?”
“I am sure he is not ‘my’ Mr. Parker,” said Mel, as she took the letter from her aunt.
“I am quite sure he is,” said Mary. “He writes to you once a week. Why, he’s more constant than any gentleman in London, even though he lives all the way across the Atlantic and halfway across the continent. What does he say?”
“You would do well to study your geography, dear,” said Mary’s mother, “for I am sure Philadelphia is not that far across North America. And give your cousin time to read her letter before you start interrogating her about it.”
Mary smiled, then went back to her embroidery. “Very well. But I want to be the first to learn when they become betrothed. It is surely most romantical that he pines for her from so far away. I would surely love to be missed that much.”
“One must go away before one can be missed,” said her mother. “And I cannot countenance your leaving home even one minute sooner than when you will be married.”
Mel smiled at her two relatives then went to the window seat to read her letter. Mary would be most disappointed and her aunt would be rather scandalized to know the true content of the missive. For Mr. Parker spent much of his letters writing about prostitutes.
Richard Parker was only a few years older than she. He was a leader in the Quaker school she’d attended and had dedicated his life to various reforms. He helped poor unfortunate women in London start their lives over in America and Mel was helping him do it. She found women who wished to start life anew, then she explained to them the very real difficulties they would face in America. The jobs that waited for them in Philadelphia were menial labor and they would have to work hard to sustain their new lives. Others chose to marry men who were looking for wives to accompany them to America’s western frontier. That life was dangerous and uncertain, but the dozen or so women who’d made that choice said they’d rather face the frontier than spend another moment in a London brothel.
Richard’s letter was filled with tales of the latest two women who’d made the journey to Philadelphia. One was working as a washerwoman and the other was about to set out for Kentucky with her new husband. Richard said he would soon have enough money to pay for the passage of four more London women. They had an arrangement with a sea captain who transported women whenever he had room on his ship. All they had to do was pay for the women�
�s expenses on board. But that was only a small portion of the total cost. Despite the captain’s generosity, transporting the women was still expensive since the journey from New York to Philadelphia was a long one. Given the costs involved, it was important that Mel chose the women wisely.
It was a great deal of responsibility, but Mel loved the challenge. She’d befriended several women who made their living in the flesh trade. Almost all of them were miserable, but not that many were interested in making the trip. Some had families they didn’t want to leave. Others were afraid to journey to the wilds of America. Still others didn’t think there was anything else they could do besides ply their trade. They figured it would be better to stay in a place they knew, rather than go to America and find there was nothing they could do there other than what they were already forced to do in London.
It was terribly sad when a woman gave up on herself. But all Mel could do was try to change her mind and keep looking for others who would take her up on the offer.
“Well?” asked Mary, who could no longer contain herself. “Are we to plan a wedding?”
Mel smiled at her cousin, as she tucked the letter away. “Mr. Parker has not proposed.” Then, at Mary’s fallen face, she added. “But who knows what future letters will bring. Do you need me this afternoon? I had thought to go to another meeting with Mrs. Seton.”
Aunt Evelyn’s disappointment was clear, even if she would never force Mel to change her plans. “Again? We had hoped you might accompany us on a trip to Bond Street.”
“Thank you, but I promised Mrs. Seton I would help her pen letters to members of Parliament.”
Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four) Page 4