Cross the Ocean

by Holly Bush

  Elizabeth laughed. “He’s not usually that bad, you know.” She tilted her head. “And I don’t think he’s really that conceited. Raised differently to be certain. Sure of his station and situation. Blake has no idea how to be any other way. Truly, I think Ann’s leaving was more than he can take. He has no idea how to respond. No long-ago-set rules for how a Duke behaves when the Duchess leaves him.”

  “I suppose he must have some redeeming virtues for your Anthony to consider him a best friend. I didn’t see any tonight, of course,” Gert said and smiled. “You know his wife. Why do you think she left him?”

  “I can’t be sure. When I first heard, I didn’t believe it. Ann’s feelings were always private, other than with her children, of course. This will be difficult for all of them. Ann and her children are very close,” Elizabeth replied.

  “I wonder what happened,” Gert said. She felt morbidly drawn to the story. What would make this paragon of virtue leave a handsome, wealthy husband and her children? England, like the states, gave women virtually no rights. She could easily never see her children again. “How does a woman support herself in England if her only training is to be the wife of a Duke?”

  “That will never be a problem,” Elizabeth said. “Ann is very wealthy in her own right. It was not money that drove her to the arms of a merchant.”

  “A merchant is so bad?” Gert asked.

  “In England, if one’s wealth isn’t bequeathed, no amount of it will turn society’s head. The only way new money gains some acceptance is by marrying a titled, but desperately poor, peer of the realm.”

  The women laughed and bid each other good night. Ann Sanders sacrificed much for some reason. Gert smiled. More than two weeks left in her stay. Certainly enough time to find out.

  * * *

  Blake awoke the next morning with a blinding headache caused, most certainly, by the giantess and her unending, inappropriate questions. He had made a quick escape after dinner with Anthony and Elizabeth and the cousin. When Miss Finch had challenged him to give an explanation for Ann’s desertion he had thought about Anthony’s advice. Brazen it out. Dare them to laugh. Was good practice for when his answers held consequence. This woman knew no one in his circle. And certainly Anthony would not allow her to be introduced to society.

  But this was merely the beginning of the speculation, and this interview had not been conducted with the steely aloofness he was noted for. Wisely, Anthony had escorted the American dragon woman to the dining room. The cousin continued through dinner her discourse on women’s rights.

  Mid-morning Blake heard his children’s arrival from their grandmother’s home. He was itching to find out the details of his wife’s betrayal. Donald shouted his greeting and raced off. William and Melinda took their seats beside him at the dining table.

  “Welcome back, children,” Blake said.

  “Good to see you, Father,” William said. He shot his sister an angry face.

  Melinda said nothing.

  “You look lovely, dear,” Blake said to Melinda. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine.”

  Blake had no intentions of revealing how anxious he was for news. But Melinda was stewing about something. They ate in silence. Blake watched William mouth something to Melinda. The stubborn girl narrowed her eyes.

  “Is something amiss? Is there something you wish to discuss, Melinda? William?” Blake asked.

  William colored. “No, sir.”

  Blake stared at his daughter. “Well, Melinda?”

  No reply.

  “I assume your sullen behavior has something to do with your visit with your grandmother,” Blake said as tasted his soup.

  Melinda sat silently until tears began to streak her cheeks. Her silverware hit the table with a sharp rap, and she turned to him, on him. “How could you, Father? How could you?” Melinda hissed.

  Blake shook his head. “How could I what? What will I be blamed for now?”

  “All these years, Mother loved you faithfully,” Melinda trailed off. She stood abruptly and hurried to the door.

  The hairs on Blake’s arms stood. “What are you trying to say, my dear? That I somehow am the cause of your mother’s betrayal?”

  Melinda turned in a flurry. “You took everything from her. And she did nothing but give. I hate you.”

  Blake threw his napkin down. “I will not stand for this kind of behavior. Apologize this instant.”

  “I will not apologize. What will you do, Father? Discard me, disown me?” Melinda’s eyes narrowed. “Find someone else to take my place?”

  “Make your meaning clear, girl,” Blake shouted. In that instant he knew what she spoke of and wished he had not pressed her for an answer.

  “Helena. Does that name mean anything to you, Father?” Melinda asked.

  “Melinda! Hush!” William shouted.

  Blake swallowed. Visibly, he knew. “I suppose your mother filled your head with …”

  “No,” Melinda interrupted. “Mother would let us think the worst of her before she would slander you. But Grandmamma, as you know, feels no such compunction.”

  The room was silent. Blake had no revelation to expunge himself with. “These are not the things you should know of,” he said.

  “But we do,” Melinda whispered.

  Blake stared past her. “Many men, most, I dare say, keep or have a companion of sorts.”

  “A companion, Father? Companions are spinster aunts. Helena is no companion. I’ve met her, you know,” Melinda said.

  “Where?” Blake said as he stood, astounded. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “No, no. She introduced herself to Mother and me when we were at the dressmakers last year. I didn’t know, of course. And mother withstood the stares as your companion greeted us,” Melinda said.

  Blake paled, shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to the window. But Melinda was not through.

  “If most men have such companions, then you are saying when my husband, whomever he may be, chooses his, I should shake hands and smile?” Melinda asked.

  Blake turned around. “Your husband will never betray you. I won’t stand for it.”

  William hurried to his sister and nearly pushed her out the door.

  Melinda stood her ground long enough for one final barb. “Neither would Mother.”

  Blake sat down slowly in the silent, gilded room. Melinda’s announcement shocked him. He was as embarrassed for himself as he was angry with Helena. The thought of Melinda’s future husband being unfaithful hit him in the pit of his stomach. Like too much goose pudding or a cheap bottle of port. Leave it to Lady Katherine, Ann’s mother, to reveal all. Although proper to a fault, his mother-in-law had never liked him. The signs were subtle but clear. He had never wondered why, until now.

  A few moments later, Melinda appeared at the door of the dining room. Quietly dignified …like her mother. “I’m going to visit Lady Elizabeth.”

  The door closed behind Briggs and Melinda. Blake sat up straight in his chair. Melinda would reveal everything to Elizabeth. Blake walked a fast clip, a stilted run rather and pulled the door open to see Brigg’s shocked face.

  “Stop the carriage,” Blake shouted.

  Briggs turned and called to a footman. “You there. Stop the carriage.”

  The livered young man ran but to no avail. Briggs turned to him. “Terribly sorry, Your Grace. Shall I call for your horse to be saddled?”

  Blake’s shoulders slumped and he scratched his head.

  “Your Grace, is anything amiss? Lady Melinda …” Briggs asked.

  “Never mind, Briggs. I’ll speak to her when she returns.”

  Blake wandered to his study and plopped in the soft confines of the leather chair behind the desk. What had upset him so to race down the hall, like Donald moreover, and reveal his distress to Briggs? He didn’t relish the thought of Elizabeth knowing about Helena. Blake turned in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. But certainly Anthony had told her everyth
ing by now. He was sure Elizabeth had seen him at some time before her marriage to Anthony, squiring Helena about town. Elizabeth was not stupid, to be sure. She had certainly put together Helena and Blake’s association. Then why the simpleton’s flight down the hall? Why the rolling in the stomach, he now was experiencing? Damn. To admit what came in to his head, even to himself, was baffling, embarrassing, and incomprehensible. Blake did not want Gertrude Finch to know of his dalliance. Especially from the lips of his daughter.

  The behemoth would laugh at him and the plot of his own making. This would reinforce her bold man-hating claims. “And why do you care?” he said aloud. A footman opened the door.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Nothing,” Blake said. He took a deep breath as the door closed. Why did he care? The question could not be answered rationally nor diminished for the lack of one. And one fact remained. In truth, this unsolvable piece of him was the dilemma. He did care.

  Chapter Three

  “Melinda, how good to see you,” Elizabeth said smiling.

  “I wanted to … Mother and I wanted to know … to know,” Melinda stuttered. She took a deep breath. “How are you feeling, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Fine, dear. Come sit down. I want to introduce you to my cousin.” Elizabeth turned in her chair. “Lady Melinda Sanders, Miss Gertrude Finch.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Melinda said.

  “My God, Elizabeth,” Gert said in awe. “You were right.” Melinda’s eyes darted, and Gert realized her gaffe. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Gawking like a coal miner at gold. You are beautiful and more so than Elizabeth described. I hear you are the picture of your mother.”

  Melinda’s lip trembled. “Thank you.”

  Elizabeth stood and reseated herself next to the nervous young woman. “Are you alright, Melinda?” Elizabeth asked softly.

  Melinda whimpered.

  Gert stood. “I’ve been thinking of touring the stables. Excuse me.”

  Melinda shook her head. “You needn’t leave. I’m fine,” she said stiffly as Elizabeth’s arm reached around her.

  The tortured look on the girl’s face tugged at Gert’s heart. “My father left me at my Uncle Fred’s when I was about your brother’s age.” Melinda’s head came up as she continued. “I had a hard time of it that first year.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Gert smiled ruefully as she remembered. “I was mad at the world. Mad at my father for leaving. And my mother for dying. Aunt Mavis finally sat me down and gave me a talking to.”

  “What did she say?” Melinda asked.

  Gert smiled. “She told me to say whatever was on my mind. Let it all spill out. The good and the bad, that the talk was staying right there. I miss Aunt Mavis. There’s not been a day since her death I don’t think of her.”

  Elizabeth kissed Melinda’s forehead. “Nothing you say will leave this room.”

  Melinda stood gracefully with her hands neatly interlaced at her waist and walked slowly to the long window. Gert thought she needed a nudge from almost woman back to the young girl she still was. She remembered the shame and anger in her own voice the day she finally broke down to Aunt Mavis. But clearer still, Gert relived the lifting and release of emotions that had weighed her down and plagued her thoughts.

  “Your mother left your father,” Gert said.

  Melinda whirled around. “She should have years …” She bowed her head.

  Elizabeth glanced at her and back to Melinda. “Well, your father doesn’t seem to be an easy person to love. A little stiff, I think,” Gert said.

  Melinda faltered and looked at Gertrude beseechingly. “He’s my father. I love him, but …”

  “Of course you love him,” Elizabeth said.

  Melinda whirled in a bustle of skirts, and Gert and Elizabeth sat back in their chairs. “I hate him, too. I hate him. I’m angry with mother as well. Why didn’t she stop him?”

  “Stop him from what?” Gert asked.

  And then the words came in torrents, unleashed and bald. Melinda hissed Helena’s name and swayed from unabashed love to unbridled anger for her parents. Self-doubt emerged as she questioned any part she may have played and the confusion in her now shaking world. Her deep shame to reveal their family’s situation and embarrassment for her own shallowness. And the hopelessness she felt when her mother stood her ground to William and her pleas to come home. Melinda wilted in to Elizabeth’s arms for a long cry.

  When the hiccoughs ceased, Gert leaned forward and asked, “Do you feel any better?”

  “A little,” Melinda said.

  “Good,” Gert said resolutely. “The matter at hand now is to understand that none of this is your problem.”

  Melinda looked up from where she had hid her face on Elizabeth’s neck. “Of course, it’s my problem.”

  Gert shook her head. “No. It’s not. Your parents are adults. You can be angry and unhappy, but it doesn’t change a thing. They’ve made their own decisions.”

  “There will be such gossip, and my come-out is this spring,” Melinda whispered.

  “Do you believe a child of a murderer should be hanged next to her parents?” Gert asked. Melinda shook her head. “Or that the mother of an outlaw should be jailed? Of course, you don’t. We, each of us, are responsible for our own actions. Have you done anything to be ashamed of?” Gert asked. Melinda sat up and shook her head again. “Then to hell with the gossips, Melinda. They’re not worth your time.”

  Melinda covered her mouth and looked at Elizabeth. “I never heard a women curse.” Then she giggled. Melinda sobered as the other women laughed. “It won’t be easy to not care what they say.”

  Elizabeth held Melinda’s hands. “No, it won’t. Life isn’t always easy.”

  Gert smiled. “But look around you, Melinda. You live lavishly in lovely clothes. With plenty of food on your table. And you’re beautiful and getting ready to meet a handsome prince to sweep you off your feet. How lucky you are.”

  Elizabeth laughed with Melinda. “Cousin, how romantic! I would have never guessed you had such a tender streak.”

  Gert laughed but not heartily. These silly notions and daydreams of princes and princesses and knights in shining armor were wonderful until she faced reality, as she always did. Fairy tales were not for her. Melinda’s announcement awoke her from her own pining.

  “Come to dinner tonight, Miss Finch, with Elizabeth and Anthony. I want you to meet my brothers,” Melinda said.

  “Your father doesn’t think much of me. I think I’ll make him uncomfortable,” Gert replied.

  Melinda smiled shyly. “Did you do anything to be ashamed of?” She watched Gert shake her head with a knowing smile. “Then to Hades with my father.”

  “Apparently I’ve been beaten with my own words,” Gert replied with a smile.

  So Ann Sanders grew a backbone after seventeen years, Gert thought as she watched Melinda climb into the carriage. The philanderer kept a mistress all of his adult life, and she waited this long to leave. I would have dumped him and his handsome face years ago.

  * * *

  Blake heard Melinda arrive. With little regard for stealth he met her in the domed entranceway. “Melinda?” he said.

  She turned from removing her bonnet and faced him. “Father. I was just about to come looking for you. We’re having guests for dinner.” She turned to Briggs. “Would you please tell Mrs. Wickham there will be three more for dinner? Thank you.”

  Blake stood, hands on his hips, and stared. His eldest looked so much like his wife; sometimes he forgot she was not. But Ann would have never announced guests. She would have questioned his wishes quietly. Not this vixen, even more beautiful than her mother. Oh no. She sashayed in, explained her plans and was now about to climb the stairs.

  “Am I to know whom I’ll have the pleasure of dining with this evening?” Blake asked.

  Melinda’s curls tossed over her shoulder. “Sir Anthony, Lady Elizabeth and their houseguest, Mi
ss Gertrude Finch.”

  Blake gritted his teeth. Melinda was less unhappy and angry to be certain. Was he willing to risk this truce by barring the houseguest from the door?

  “Is there a problem, Father?” Melinda asked.

  Blake stared at the wall.

  Melinda came down the two steps of the staircase and put her dainty white hand on his cheek. “I didn’t think entertaining the Burroughs would upset you. We’ve not had a guest for such a long time.”

  “It’s not them,” Blake said.

  Melinda’s brows rose. “Oh, so it’s Miss Finch who has you anxious.”

  “I’m not anxious,” Blake whined. Sounding even to his own ears, suspiciously like Donald after the denial of his third dessert. “I just don’t like her.”

  “Don’t you?” Melinda’s eyes opened wide and then she smiled. “I adore her. We had a lovely chat.” She turned to the staircase. “I’ll be in my rooms if you need me.”

  Briggs stood at attention still. “How many for dinner, Your Grace?”

  “You heard the exchange, Briggs. Apparently, however many my daughter has invited.”

  Later that day, Blake waited in the library for his guests. The American and Melinda had a lovely chat, she had said. Certainly his daughter would not reveal family business to the woman. Certainly her own embarrassment would keep her silent. But what of Elizabeth?

  The windows faced the drive where he could see his guests coming. Blake paced. I am anxious. Why? Blake had nearly convinced himself to cloister in his study and dally long enough to keep them all waiting when a sight coming up the drive pulled him to the glass. Two horses, running full tilt, charged down the drive, with a carriage coming sedately behind. Were those skirts blowing in the wind?

  “Do you see her?” Donald shouted.

  William stood with his younger brother at the other long window. “She’s riding astride,” Blake’s heir breathed.

  That was when Blake realized for certain. Cousin Gertrude, the Amazon American loud mouth, was riding full out, with Anthony trailing her.