“But what about love?” Melody wanted to know. “Is there no place for that?”
“My dear, she is a woman of twenty-four summers, not that starry-eyed chit. She has had six or seven years since her childish infatuation, and she’s shown no preference for anyone.”
“But she was married for four of those years.”
“What’s that to say to the point? Don’t be naive, Miss Ashton. Women of her class”—Melody noted he did not say “your class” or “our class”—“often find love outside of marriage.”
“And that doesn’t bother you? You would countenance her taking a lover, rather than marrying below her?”
“It’s the way of the world, my dear.”
It was tragic, that’s what it was, and not just for this hard-hearted man’s unfortunate sister. Melody vowed to befriend Lady Wooster and defend her against her brother’s machinations, if the lady could not like any of his choices.
But what of Melody herself? Every word Corey spoke, every arrogant, aristocratic pronouncement of what was suitable for his family, cut like a knife into Melody’s soul. Here he was, laughing with Melody, confiding in her, treating her like a friend, like an equal. But they were not equals and neither, it seemed, could forget that. Melody had no fortune or standing in the ton, her family name was stained with scandal, and now there were doubts about her origins. Oh, she’d hurried to Aunt Judith’s family Bible as soon as Pike left, and found her birthday properly recorded. Was she truly going to be eighteen next month? She felt like eighty. But there it was, in Aunt Judith’s firm hand. She was not just a foundling from the wayside. There was, however, no record of her parents’ marriage. Melody knew there had been a runaway match—everyone seemed to know that—but was there never a wedding to legitimize her parents’ love? She couldn’t come right out and ask, Mama, did you ever marry my father? so she checked the local church registry one day when she brought flowers for the altar. Nothing. That’s what she could hope for from Lord Coe and his sweet, teasing smile: nothing.
Melody was wrong, of course. Seeing shadows come to her eyes and detecting a quiver in her voice when she asked if he would like tea, the viscount was disturbed. He tried joking about the dog, enlisting Miss Ashton’s sympathy for his sister, eliciting her advice about readying the Oaks. All he got was cast-down looks, monosyllabic replies, and deference to his wishes, no spark, no lilting laughter, no dimple. This quiet, humble, courteous Miss Ashton was not at all to Corey’s liking. She even put the correct lump of sugar in his tea when Mrs. Tolliver brought the tray, nodded, and left. Was Melody sad to think of strangers in her home? Was she shy about meeting the socialites he’d invited?
When Melody asked if he would like more tea, he absently nodded and held his cup out for her to refill. She had to come around the desk and stand close to him, where he could look up into her melancholy eyes. Hell and damnation, he hated that shattered look!
Therefore, while Melody poured, Lord Coe said, “You know, Angel, if you’ve had second thoughts about leasing the house, my previous offer still stands.”
That was what Miss Ashton could expect from Lord Coe: a slip on the shoulder. She kept pouring the hot tea, while Corey was absorbed in watching the changes of expression flicker across her face, the brows gather, the green sparks shoot from her eyes, the lower lip thrust out. He kept watching. Melody kept pouring: over the brim, over the saucer, over his lap.
*
Bates was going to be so pleased. There was nothing to dampen a gentleman’s ardor more than damp nether garments, especially on a long ride on horseback to a disapproving valet who was going to demand some explanation. Yet Lord Coe kept laughing out loud. By George, she was magnificent! What a mistress she would be!
Perhaps the wet unmentionables were interfering with Lord Coe’s thinking, or he would have noticed the great gaps in his reasoning. Miss Ashton was such a delight with her candid charm, Corey was now convinced she simply could not be any kind of blackmailer. And there could be no hugger-mugger with the children’s welfare either, she worked so hard for them. If money was in such short supply, Melody could have supported herself by going out for a governess instead of staying to feed the chickens. Only his Angel would turn down his generous offer, preferring to raise pigs!
Now, if she was not a criminal and not a liar, simply a gentlewoman fallen on hard times, then she was indeed a lady, a pure young lady not to be taken advantage of by rakes like Cordell Coe. If she was innocent of wrongdoing, she was innocent of immorality, and innocent she must stay. Reason be damned. Lord Coe was not thinking with his head, and lust knows no logic.
Chapter Fifteen
Whatever happened to the so-steady Miss Ashton from Miss Meadow’s Select Academy, the one who never played pranks on the teachers or giggled in church or went into alt when Loretta Carmody’s Adonis-like older brother took some of the girls out to tea? Sensible, mature Melody Ashton with nary a hair out of place nor an ungraceful gesture was long gone.
Melody felt as sensible as those dratted pigs who wouldn’t stay in their pen where they were safe, warm, and well fed. She considered herself as mature as the twins, letting one man send her into a pelter with laughing eyes and roguish looks and suggestions— Well, suggestions that would have Miss Meadow frothing at the mouth. As for being neat as a pin, Melody had on an oversized apron, a borrowed mobcap, and had smudges of dust on her nose. She and Mrs. Tolliver were working with some village girls to get the Oaks ready for his lordship’s arrival. In two days, the viscount would be bringing a chef, a butler, footmen, grooms, and his own valet, but Melody had decided that Lord Coe’s servants would be as superior as he, and she was determined they find nothing to disparage in her family home. The paper was faded, and the carpets had bare spots, but at least everything would be cleaned and aired.
Melody whomped the pillow in the master bedroom again—his bedroom—and told herself she was being a perfect ninny to let anything about the man affect her so. He would come with his elegant guests, they would keep him occupied and amused, and she, Melody Ashton, would go about her own business, as far away from the disconcerting peer as possible. She would have more time to spend with the children and the garden, now that money was not to be such a worry and she didn’t have to fret about putting food on the table. Mrs. Tolliver’s niece Betsy was coming to take over cooking chores at Dower House, while her aunt stayed on as housekeeper at the Oaks, and Pip had the bookkeeping well in hand. Melody gave the pillow another hard whack. Yes, she would have plenty of time. It wasn’t as if she would be socializing with Lord Coe or his fancy company. Earls—thump—and war heroes—thump—and diplomats. It was a good thing the ticking held on the pillow, and a good thing Melody Ashton would be seeing so little of that smooth-tongued rake.
*
“Not socialize with the viscount and his party? Melody, have you been working in that wretched garden again without your bonnet? You must be all about in your head if you think we can let an opportunity like this pass! Why, the Tarnovers and the Cheynes are the crème de la crème. And just think, young bachelors!” Mama was aux anges, going so far as to open a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Felice was in the village purchasing new ribbons for her gowns.
“But Lord Coe is bringing his own particular friends, Mama,” Melody managed to interject. “He cannot wish three women thrust into their midst.”
Lady Ashton ignored her. “We cannot invite the whole party here, of course, the children, don’t you know. Melody dearest, you shall have to see about keeping the pesky brats out of sight. A picnic, though, would be just the thing. Yes, we shall invite Lord Coe to bring his guests to our picnic, for a start. Unless he asks me to be hostess for him, naturally, then we need not entertain at all. Yes, I think I may even offer, since it would seem peculiar to have another lady in charge at the Oaks.”
“He is bringing his sister, Mama,” Melody remarked. “Surely she will be hostess enough. And she is coming to see Meggie, remember.”
“Don�
��t be tiresome, Melody. And do put some of that strawberry lotion on your face. I swear, you’d let your complexion go all brown and freckled if no one took you in hand. Where was I? Oh yes, Meggie. I do hope she won’t have the grippe, or anything, when Lady Wooster comes. You will be sure she makes her proper curtsy, won’t you? And then say she has to have lessons or a nap or whatever. No one wants a child underfoot more than ten minutes. I do hope dear Lady Wooster is over her pet about those nasty letters. You did explain that we knew nothing about them, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mama, but I am not sure Lord Coe believed me.”
“Of course he did, Melody. Why would he not? And Lady Wooster is a sweet woman, actually rather niminy-piminy if you ask me, so I am sure she won’t cut up stiff. Exquisite dresser, too. I wonder if we can convince our viscount to throw a ball.”
“Our viscount? Mama, Lord Coe is renting the house; he is not taking on the care and entertainment of three impoverished females. We are his landladies, not his friends! Why, we are not even his social equals.”
Lady Ashton was pouring the last glass. It would go to waste, else, all those lovely bubbles. “What’s that? Not his equals? I’ll have you know the Morleys go back to William the Conqueror, and your father’s people were very well respected in Kent.” So well respected that they cut him off without a shilling for running away with Jessamyn Morley. And William the Conqueror also had camp followers. Melody’s mother was seeing the world through champagne bubbles, bubbles that would be pricked at the first snub, or when the invitations did not arrive. Poor Mama.
“Perhaps we might see them at church, Mama,” she offered. “Or now that we are above oars, perhaps we can contrive to attend the assembly at Hazelton.” It was like talking to Ducky.
“Let me see, you’ll need a ball gown, and we can all use new frocks for daytime. That new tissue seems perfect for the warmer months, and—”
“No, Mama. You put me in charge, remember? The viscount’s deposit money has already been credited to the children’s accounts.” Melody might not be able to save her mother from making a cake of herself, nor from suffering cuts and setdowns, but she would not permit her mama to play fast and loose with their finances again. The money was in Melody’s name, with Mr. Hadley as overseer, and most was earmarked for the children’s educations or to restore their bank balances. No one would be able to accuse the Ashtons of living off orphans’ shares.
“Not even Ducky’s?” Lady Ashton wailed. “What could he need money for?”
“For his future, Mama, especially Ducky. He’s never going to be able to earn a living or care for himself. Could you wear a new dress and gaily dance knowing that someday Ducky might be homeless or hungry?”
Easily, but Lady Ashton didn’t say so. What she said was: “You know, Melody, I was saving this champagne for your wedding. I’m glad I drank it now, so it won’t go to waste.”
*
Later that evening after dinner and before bedtime, Lady Ashton was in the weepy stage of inebriation. Melody refused to make any push to attach a gentleman, her mother sobbed. She wouldn’t dress in the height of fashion, she even intended to refuse invitations. Melody would never get married, the family would never be rich, Lady Ashton would never get to London again. There was no reason to save the champagne.
“How could you be such an undutiful daughter, Melody?” Lady Jessamyn whimpered into her lace handkerchief. “Now I’ll never get to see you wearing the family veil I kept safe all these years.” Grateful for any distraction from the tearful diatribe that had been going on since luncheon, Melody asked, “What veil is that, Mama? I never heard of any family heirlooms.”
Of course she hadn’t. The jewels and portraits had been pawned years ago. One yellowed and frayed piece of lace wouldn’t fetch a brass farthing at the cent-per-centers; now it was priceless.
Sniff. “Why, the veil my mother wore at her wedding, and hers before that. To think it will molder in the—”
“Did you wear it, Mama? Did you?”
Lady Ashton looked at her eager daughter in bewilderment. “Of course. Didn’t I just say it was an heirloom?”
“But at your wedding, Mama?”
“Why are you such a slowtop tonight, Melody, when I have such a headache? Where else would I wear a wedding veil? And a beautiful bride I was, too. The whole county said so. And to think you’ll never—”
A wedding! “Do you know, Mama, I don’t believe you ever told me where you and Papa were married.”
“Oh, St. Sebastian’s in Hazelton. Judith insisted the local chapel would never do. Are you…could you be interested in weddings? Oh Melody, dearest, please say you’ll reconsider!”
Love. Marriage. A baby. What joy! Melody would certainly reconsider her position on meeting the houseguests—and the host. Mama drifted from euphoria to snores, while Melody wondered if there was a way to squeeze a new dress out of the account books she and Pip were so conscientiously balancing. Soon it would be time to sell the pigs, but no, Melody could not purchase a new gown when she’d denied Felice the treat that very evening.
*
Felice had been furious, accusing Melody of trying to snabble the gentlemen herself.
“All of them?” Melody asked, trying to tease Felice out of the sullens. “I should think with four or five bachelors, even I could not be so selfish.”
“You’ll never bring him up to scratch, you know,” Felice bit back, and they both knew which him she meant. Melody blushed furiously and tried to deny any interest in that quarter, but Felice wasn’t swallowing that gammon. “Women have been trying for years, fashionable, witty, well-connected women. And all with bigger dowries and better figures.” She puffed out her own considerable charms, while Melody’s confidence—and chest—caved in. “They call him the elusive viscount,” Felice continued, “and his ladybirds are always the highest flyers. Why, his latest—”
Nanny was sitting in the corner with her knitting, and now she cleared her throat with an admonition to Felice to mind her tongue lest it turn black and grow warts and curdle milk. “For it’s ugly is as ugly does.” She went back to her knitting, a striped affair made of Mrs. Barstow’s sister’s remnants. Whatever the item was, it would soon rival Joseph’s coat.
Felice went back to her grievances. “And I don’t see why I cannot have a new gown, even if you aren’t interested in making the most of the best thing that’s ever happened in Copley-Whitmore. If you want to go around looking like a schoolgirl on holiday or a hired drudge, why should I hide my light under your barrel?”
Melody wished she had a barrel big enough so she could stuff the tiresome girl into it and mail her off to Sir Bartleby, wherever he was. She tried once more to explain that the money wasn’t hers, it was to provide for the children. She should have saved her breath.
“I absolutely must have a new dress, Melody.”
“Then you shall have to find the money to pay for it. Perhaps Mrs. Finsterer would let you help in the store in exchange for the material.”
Melody might have suggested Felice appear in her shift for Lord Coe’s guests, so shocked was the other girl. Her baby-blue eyes widened, and her rosebud mouth hung open for a moment, until she recovered. “What a tease you are, Melody,” she tittered. When Felice realized Melody was not teasing, and not budging, she demanded a loan of the money. “My father is good for it,” she insisted.
It was Nanny who answered: “Your pa’s good for nothing but filling your head with moonshine,” at which Miss Bartleby flounced off in a huff, leaving Melody to deal with the tea things and Lady Ashton in her cups.
“That one’s got the pretty plumes of a peacock and the sharp claws of a hawk,” Nanny warned. “You watch yourself there, missy.”
“She’s just spoiled, Nanny.”
“Too many cooks, that’s what it were. Lady Judith taking her in like the daughter she never had, doting like a hen with one chick, and that nabob with his promises, and then your mama… Why, that one’s got less sense than
the good Lord gave a duck.”
“And me, Nanny? What about me?”
“You’re in over your head for sure, missy. You’re like to drown, too, less you learn to swim mighty quick like. There’s big fish in that pond, child, what gobbles little minnows like you. Start paddling.”
Chapter Sixteen
She was treading water, that’s how Melody felt, holding her breath and getting nowhere. Here she was on the steps of the Oaks, lined up with the others, like so many serfs waiting to pay obeisance to a feudal lord. The village girls were hoping for permanent positions, and Mrs. Tolliver had the chatelaine of office in hand and the light of battle in her eye, waiting for the uppity London servants. Harry and Pip were combed and starched, Harry restless and Pip tense and ready to flee, while the younger children were back at Dower House with Mrs. Tolliver’s niece, Betsy. Felice was impatiently twirling her parasol and tugging the neckline of her gown downward. Nanny kept tugging it up, and Melody feared the thin fabric would give out in despair. Lady Ashton, suffering the grandfather of all hangovers, could barely stand. The sun was torturing her eyeballs, and if the pounding in her ears wasn’t hoofbeats signaling the viscount’s arrival, Lady Ashton warned, she was going to be sick. On second thought, maybe she would be sick anyway.
All Melody could think of was the valet’s reaction to that! She bit her lip and fussed with the ribbon threaded through her curls. What in the world would Corey think?
He thought she was enchanting, in her pale blue merino with a sprig of violets pinned to the neck line and her smile, hesitant but welcoming. The sunshine brought out all the red and gold highlights of her hair and added a natural glow to her creamy skin. The viscount also thought her graceful shoulders too slim to bear responsibility for the entire rackety group, so he proceeded to charm each and every one of the greeting committee, to relieve Melody of some of her self-assumed burdens.
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