The Mad Lord's Daughter

by Jane Goodger

  Her gaze went to John, standing so still and stiff by the window. He was probably bored by this ritual, forced to attend this dinner when he likely had other, far more interesting amusements awaiting him in Town. She wished, briefly and fiercely, that he was the one sitting next to her.

  Because no matter how hard she tried, she could not picture herself married to Charles, breakfasting with him each morning. Making love. She could not picture their children, those little golden-haired babies with brown eyes and broad smiles. Perhaps it was because she’d had so little contact with children. Or perhaps she simply did not want to picture children who looked like Charles when what she truly wanted was a little boy with chocolate-colored hair and bright gray eyes.

  The group was enjoying a witty tale delivered by Charles, when Darling came loping in. She’d grown from a roly-poly puppy to an awkward, gangling girl, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as if smiling and happy to see her mistress.

  “Oh, my,” Lady Hartley said when Darling put her front paws on Melissa’s knees.

  Melissa, oblivious to Charles’s disapproving look, bent over and let Darling slather her cheek with devoted kisses as she laughed.

  Charles snapped his fingers and gestured to the dog, and a footman hurried over to take Darling.

  “Oh, she can stay. She adores people,” Melissa said. “Don’t you, Darling?” She scrubbed the dog’s ears, and Darling closed her eyes in doggy bliss.

  “Don’t tell me you allow this animal in the house,” Charles said, his comment directed to John.

  “I can’t tear them apart,” John said, smiling warmly at Melissa.

  “Animals belong outdoors,” Charles said, his tone level and assured. It was as if he were talking about trees or chipmunks, as if there could be no argument.

  “Not Darling,” Melissa said, a bit of coolness entering her tone. “She’d be so lonely. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I think you should get used to the idea that she cannot be in the house, Melissa.”

  Melissa turned to Charles and smiled brightly. “And you should get used to the idea that Darling belongs with me. I don’t plan to sleep in the barn or the kennel.”

  John let out a laugh, and Charles glared at him.

  “I wonder who will win this little argument,” Lady Hartley said, half amused by their tiff.

  “We’ll discuss this later, shall we?” Charles asked stiffly, and Melissa felt an unaccountable surge of anger.

  “As there is nothing to discuss, I don’t see the point,” she said sweetly. Darling, who’d been leaning against Melissa’s knees, no doubt getting dog fur all over her gown, looked back at her with complete devotion.

  “John, talk some sense into your cousin,” Charles said, sounding slightly flabbergasted.

  John grinned. “As you can clearly see, I’ve already lost this argument.”

  “That’s because you are not firm enough,” Charles muttered, but Melissa heard him clearly.

  John heard him, too, but he chose to ignore his friend. He didn’t know whether he was bothered because he felt Charles was wrong or because Charles believed he could enforce his rigid rules on Melissa. Or was it that he was sitting too close to the woman John loved? He hoped Melissa could hold her own against Charles. His friend was a stubborn man who felt his opinion was not, in fact, simply an opinion. John and he often had heated arguments about one matter or another, with Charles rarely being swayed from his original stance.

  John only knew that if Charles upset Melissa one more time, if he caused that little crease to form in her forehead, if he tried to exert his power over her, John just might make a fool of himself by losing his own temper.

  As the new family group chatted and got to know one another, John watched Melissa. He stood behind the others, so no one but Charles could see his perusal, and he was careful to look away when Charles looked up at him. He didn’t know why he was here, didn’t know why he was torturing himself. Perhaps it was to reassure himself Melissa would be welcomed. He liked the Norrises quite a lot. Growing up, he’d spent numerous hours at their estate and had learned a great deal from Lord Hartley about horses and good breeding practices. His own father was very much a city man, whose interests were almost entirely in legislative and political matters. John had political interests, but he found he was just as happy in the country dealing with estate matters as he was in London.

  Yes, Melissa would be with a good family. But that thought gave him no comfort, when all he truly wanted was for her to be with him.

  John had lost track of the conversation, but his heart contracted painfully when Melissa laughed at some quip by Lady Hartley. He knew she had very few memories of her own mother, and Lady Hartley would be a warm and welcoming mother-in-law. Still, he could not help wondering what would happen to that warmth if the Hartleys knew she was a bastard. He’d seen the kindest people he knew turn cruel when confronted with those they considered to be below their social status. It wasn’t a matter of whether they discovered the truth, but when.

  John swore silently. He could see no good end to this. Charles was playing a dangerous game if he thought his parents would not discover her parentage before he and Melissa walked down the aisle. John only hoped he would be able to comfort her when things went wrong, which they assuredly would.

  Chapter 16

  Lady and Lord Chantilly owned one of the most impressive mansions in St. James Place, set across from Spencer House, home to the Earl of Spencer. While their home was not quite as grand as Spencer House, on this night it was lit up for the ball, its white marble façade brilliant against the dark sky. Melissa felt only a small amount of trepidation as the carriage they were in finally settled in front of the mansion.

  She wore her new ball gown, one Miss Stanhope said was beautiful, but she had some small doubts as she looked down at the mountains of material flowing around her. Her uncle sat across from them, looking uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t wait to get out of the confines of the carriage and breathe some fresh air. John was meeting them at the ball, and Melissa couldn’t help feeling a stab of disappointment that he wasn’t with them to bolster her courage. She hardly needed it, but it would have been nice.

  “You’ll be fine,” Miss Stanhope said, patting her knees, and Melissa gave her an uncertain smile.

  “I do hope Laura and Lady Juliana are attending. I won’t know a soul otherwise.”

  “I’m certain they are,” her chaperone said. “It’s one of the best-attended balls of the season, my dear.”

  That news only worried her more, for what if her true father was amongst the guests? Her uncle had assured her the duke rarely attended such events, especially since he had no eligible daughters to marry off. It would be at least another year before her look-alike half sister attended such functions.

  “But what if he is there?” she’d asked worriedly.

  “Then we shall leave immediately,” he’d said. “But please don’t worry yourself, my girl.”

  The carriage stopped, and Melissa felt a small dip as a footman hopped from the conveyance, and soon after heard the noise of the steps being dropped, seconds before the door was swung open. The first thing Melissa saw was John, looking pensive and utterly handsome in his top hat and tails. His eyes pinned her momentarily, and then he grinned and any fears that plagued her were instantly dispersed. “John’s here,” she said.

  “So he is. Ladies, if you will?” her uncle said, indicating the door.

  Miss Stanhope stepped out first. She was lovely this evening, her blond hair piled atop her head. She wore a dark, plum-colored gown that did wonderful things to her pale complexion. Melissa stepped down next, smiling at John, who held out a pristine, white-gloved hand. She grasped it, loving the strength she felt, the added confidence it gave her. He squeezed her hand and leaned toward her ear, and for one wonderful moment Melissa thought he was about to kiss her. Instead, he whispered, “You are stunningly beautiful this evening, cousin.”

  Melissa gave hi
m an impish smile at the word “cousin.” “You are rather dashing yourself, Lord Willington.”

  “Such formality. No need to worry, my darling cousin, word is a certain duke was invited and is not expected to attend.”

  “Thank goodness,” she said feelingly.

  John offered his arm, and she readily took it, feeling joy bubbling inside her. She was attending her first London ball, surrounded by society’s elite, on the arm of the man she loved. For that moment, she could almost believe nothing bad could ever happen, that all her fears and worries were groundless. Walking up the shallow marble stairs, she was simply one of dozens of young, unmarried women, all hopeful the night would end well, that they would be asked to dance every dance.

  They entered a grand hall, and Miss Stanhope led her to a table where they collected their dance cards, gilded little booklets with a golden tassel attached.

  “Yours will be filled in no time, my dear,” Miss Stanhope said. “I would reserve at least two dances for Mr. Norris and one for both your cousin and uncle, of course.”

  “A waltz, if you please, Melissa,” John said from behind her. The words were low and meant for her ears only and caused a telling bit of color in her cheeks. Why did her entire body react in such an embarrassing manner each time he said something to her?

  “The fourth dance, then,” she said, taking the small pencil and putting his initials down. She turned to find he was standing only inches from her, so close she could see small specks of gold in his gray eyes.

  “And eighth. Two waltzes, if you please,” he said, grinning at her like a naughty boy.

  “But that would mean I’d only have one waltz with Charles. Miss Stanhope, wouldn’t that cause gossip?”

  “Not at all,” she said briskly, but turned her head when John raised a questioning brow.

  “I thought you were a stickler, Miss Stanhope,” he said thoughtfully. “I see I was mistaken.”

  Twin spots of red showed on the older woman’s cheeks, but Melissa couldn’t begin to know why they’d appeared.

  Melissa was jostled a bit, but felt none of the panic that had bloomed when she was at the opera. “It’s a bit of a crush, is it not?” she asked, feeling rather sophisticated.

  “Lady and Lord Chantilly always invite far more people than can squeeze into their home, large as it is,” Miss Stanhope said. “Goodness, it’s warm.” She opened the fan that hung from her wrist and moved it rapidly in front of her face.

  Melissa, who still wasn’t used to wearing such a tight corset, heartily agreed. She could hardly hear the orchestra above the general rumbling of the crowd.

  “How are you faring, Mel?” John asked softly.

  She smiled slightly, liking that he called her Mel. It seemed such an intimate name, one that only he would use. “Quite well,” she said. “But don’t leave me, if you please, because it just might be your presence holding my panic at bay.”

  “If you insist,” he said, pretending to be put out, even as he stepped closer to her. He laid a hand on the small of her back, moving his thumb back and forth in such an intimate gesture, Melissa shivered, closing her eyes briefly.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Atwell,” Charles said, coming up to them. John dropped his hand and stepped slightly away. “I’m here to claim my dances,” he said loudly, then leaned in and added softly, “and my beloved’s attention.”

  Melissa forced a smile, feeling horrible that she couldn’t be happier to see Charles, that she was achingly aware of the empty place where John’s hand had been.

  “You look quite pretty,” said Charles, giving her an admiring look. “Like a princess.”

  Despite herself, Melissa blushed and warmed beneath such praise, even as another stab of guilt assailed her. Charles was a nice fellow and deserved to have a woman who loved him. Perhaps once they were married and away from John, she could fall in love with him. Charles was in his formal wear, a red satin vest beneath his black tails, and looked quite dashing. He was a handsome man—except for that nose, of course.

  He looked around the crowded room. “It appears you are causing quite a stir, standing here talking to two of the most eligible bachelors in London,” he said, laughing. Indeed, both women and men were looking at Melissa curiously. London society was a close-knit bunch, so the appearance of a newcomer would be cause for keen interest.

  “If only Lord Avonleigh were here, tongues would be wagging in a frenzy,” she said.

  “Melissa! My God, must you always be so beautiful?” Laura gushed, leaning in for a quick kiss.

  “I do so try to be plain, but Miss Stanhope insists on dressing me like this,” she said, looking down at her gown as if it were the most wretched thing.

  “She could wear a potato sack and still look lovely,” Charles said. Next to her John let out a strangled cough.

  “You don’t think so, John?” Laura asked, mimicking his oft-raised brow. His eyes sparkled with amusement at the gesture, and he gave her a small bow.

  “I daresay Melissa would look lovely in nothing at all,” he said, and smiled when there was a collective gasp.

  “Hey, I say, John. That was rather improper,” Charles said. His tone was light, but Melissa could tell he was angry.

  John looked devilishly shocked. “I certainly meant no insult,” he said. “I meant only that she needs no adornment.”

  Charles gave his friend a hard look before turning to Melissa. “I would like to request the honor of the first dance,” he said formally.

  “Of course, sir,” Melissa said, giving him a small curtsy. “If you will excuse us. Lord Willington. Miss Stanhope.”

  Diane watched the couple move off, indecision tugging at her. “That remark was improper,” she said in her best chaperone voice.

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Her eyes were still on the couple. “And I’m aware that when a young man is in love, he’s likely to say foolishly improper things.” She slowly turned her head to look at John. He met her gaze levelly, then shook his head slightly. “You deny it?” she asked kindly.

  “I do not.”

  The happiness that had been in his eyes slowly leeched away as the orchestra began to play the Grand Promenade. Following this formal dance, the ball would begin in earnest, and Charles would stake his claim by dancing with Melissa for all to see.

  “I don’t think she loves him,” Diane said conversationally. “I do believe she’s in love with someone else entirely.”

  John grew impossibly still. “How could you know such a thing?” he asked tensely.

  “Because I know how a woman acts when she’s desperately in love with a man and is trying her best to hide that fact—especially from him.” Her eyes were on the dancers, who were going through the formal steps of the promenade, but she felt John’s steady gaze on her.

  She heard him let out a breath. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re first cousins.”

  Diane pressed her lips together, anger surging through her at this farce. She would bet her best figurines that by the season’s end not a person in the ton would believe John and Melissa were first cousins. Too many people knew Waltham, and too many people had seen his daughter. Word would spread, as would speculation.

  The two of them stood together as the first set began, and Diane noted John was not watching Melissa dance with Mr. Norris, but rather looking at the floor, his face set. The ballroom was filled with beautiful young women, many of whom cast John longing looks. Three dances were done, and still he stood, staring blindly ahead, his misery almost palpable.

  “The fourth dance, my lord,” Diane said softly.

  “Miss Stanhope,” came a deep voice behind her. She turned and smiled up at Lord Braddock. “I hate to interrupt your discussion, John, but I must borrow Miss Stanhope for a few minutes.”

  “Of course.” John disappeared into the crowd, and Diane’s heart broke a bit for him. He was so clearly miserable, and his father was so clearly oblivious to his son’s pain.

  �
��Your son seems a bit out of sorts,” she said.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed anything. Look, he’s gone to claim his dance with Melissa. And I am here to claim my dance with you.”

  “You must have a favor to ask of me,” she said pleasantly.

  “The favor is that you spend some time with me. Every widow has been batting her eyes at me since we walked in the door.”

  Despite herself, Diane laughed. “You are such a romantic man. There I was giving you the perfect opening so that you could claim your undying love, and you admit you are simply using me to avoid matrimony-minded widows.”

  He grinned, and in doing so, looked ten years younger. Diane wished he wasn’t such a handsome man. She wished she could forget that kiss, that drunken kiss that he so obviously regretted. In the weeks that had followed it, he’d given no indication that he desired her, that he intended to kiss her again. That she was anything more than a female chum to spend time with. For all she knew, he simply liked winning at whist.

  “They are a determined lot. It’s one reason I have shied away from such events for so many years.”

  They moved around the dance floor easily, as if they’d been dancing together for years. He was a fine dancer, and his hand, large and warm on her back, was a delicious torment. She hadn’t felt such an attraction in ages, and it was getting more and more difficult to school her features each time he walked into a room, or smiled at her, or asked her to dance. The pair passed by Melissa and John, who at that moment were both laughing delightedly at something. They looked so completely happy, Diane felt her heart tug again.

  “They certainly do enjoy one another’s company,” Diane said cautiously.

  “John gets along with everyone. It’s his gift.”

  Diane nearly rolled her eyes at how obtuse one man could possibly be. If he couldn’t clearly see the love in their eyes, he would never recognize it in her own.

  The waltz ended, and Lord Braddock gave her a bow. “Would you care to join me in the garden, Miss Stanhope?” he asked.

  Diane narrowed her eyes. “Are you attempting to lead me astray?” she asked, half joking.