Minor Indiscretions

by Barbara Metzger

  Melody was stricken. So the hero had feet of clay after all. Why, oh why had she let herself forget he was nothing but a pleasure-seeking reprobate? “Spoken like a true nobleman,” she sneered. “As long as you are comfortable and your peace isn’t cut up, you’ll write a check and consider yourself the most generous of fellows.”

  Corey’s jaw was clenched, and Melody could see a muscle flicking at the side of his cheek. She didn’t care; her own hurt and disappointment were too great. How could she ever have considered him a friend, and more than a friend? She continued: “I suppose you have your own standards, noblesse oblige and all that, until someone asks you to get your hands dirty.”

  “I have got my hands dirty, Melody.” His voice was low, controlled.

  She remembered him helping with the fence posts, carrying dirty dishes, holding sticky hands. “When it suited you, my lord. Thank goodness your true care-for-no-one colors showed before I made even more of a fool of myself. I was right the first time, you are nothing but a heartless flirt playing fast and loose with every woman who comes your way.”

  “Not every woman,” he said with a deep breath, coming closer to where Melody stood fighting her tears. He stroked her cheek once with the back of his hand. “Come, we will work this out. My sister will be here soon, and Lady Cheyne. Between them they must know of someone who is pining away for just such a pretty little babe. Less than a week, Angel.”

  *

  They did not have a week. They had less than ten minutes before Coe’s butler announced there was a person, not a gentleman, mind, but a person, zealously and stridently demanding to see Miss Ashton. Coe raised one brow and told the butler to show the person in. “Unless you wish to be private, Miss Ashton?” Melody quickly shook her head no.

  Pike waited for an introduction to the London toff and waited to be offered a hand to shake or a chair to sit in. He was going to have a long wait. His weasel face turned red, and he retallied all the insults he’d received at Miss Ashton’s hands.

  “I got you now, Miss High Boots,” he crowed. “Waylaying a ward of the county and interfering in the rightful disposition of a minor under the laws of the king’s justice. And I got papers.”

  Corey looked at Melody for an explanation. “It seems Mr. Pike, our local constable, gets a fee from the county for each resident of the local almshouse, which he also manages.”

  Pike never noticed how the viscount’s eyes narrowed at the information. Pike was too busy demanding the vagrant child be instantly handed over to his legal care. Melody looked from his runny nose to his dirty hands to the hairs growing out of his ears and swore she wouldn’t let him touch one of her pigs, much less an infant. If Baby had to stay at the county farm, temporarily only, then Melody would bring the child there herself. Pike waved his papers, and Melody crossed her arms over her chest. He threatened to have her arrested, and she offered to accompany him to the magistrate that very minute. Then Pike laid a hand on Melody’s arm. Now that was a big mistake. Before he could say jack rabbit, the constable’s feet were dangling inches off the ground, and his bony Adam’s apple was bobbing over a rock-hard fist wrapped in his dingy shirt collar. An ice blue stare bored into Pike’s watery eyes with the promise of unimaginable mayhem.

  “The lady,” Coe rasped, “said she would bring the child tomorrow. Was there anything else?”

  Still dangling like a bunch of onions hung to dry, Pike gabbled out, “No.” Nothing happened. “No, my lord.”

  * * *

  Corey drove Melody in his curricle, a groom up behind, the baby in her arms swaddled in the multicolored blanket Nanny declared finished for the occasion. They hardly spoke beyond her softly voiced directions, and soon enough they reached the dry dirt track leading to the grounds the county set aside for its orphans and elders, its sick, drunk or crippled, its indigent homeless of whatever variety.

  There were barefooted children poking in the ground with a stick and a scabrous old crone trying to get water from a well. A woman in a faded smock on a stool near the door coughed and coughed and coughed, and a bundle of rags issued wheezing snores. A man wearing the faded tatters of a uniform, with one leg and a crutch, stood propped against the wall.

  While the groom held the horses, Corey helped Melody down. She clutched the baby more tightly to her shoulder.

  “Who’s in charge here, soldier?” the viscount asked the one-legged man, who merely jerked his head toward the house.

  Inside was worse. The filth, the stench, a child wailing, people sprawled around like so many discarded scarecrows. “Who’s in charge?” Corey asked again, and a scrawny hand gestured to a rear door. The soldier had followed them in, and now he added, “Dirty Mary keeps tabs for Pike, when she ain’t shot the cat. She’d be in the kitchen cookin’, if you can call it that.”

  Dirty Mary was facedown at the littered table, the bottle in her hand dripping onto the floor, where roaches and a toddler crawled. The one pot on the stove was scorched, and whatever it contained smelled so rancid Melody had to put her hand over her mouth. Corey led her out, keeping his arm around her and the baby. Unchecked tears streamed down her face.

  “Were you on the Peninsula, private?” Corey was asking the soldier.

  “Aye, servin’ my country, and look what it got me.” There wasn’t even bitterness left in the man’s voice, just resignation. He spit on the ground.

  “Would you work if you could?”

  “Aye, if anyone would hire a cripple, I’d work.”

  “Would you wash and sweep and carry water and see that these people get fed and bathed and, by Harry, treated like human beings?”

  The veteran made a harsh sound in his throat that might have been a laugh once. “And who would pay for food and clothes and soap and medicine, eh, my lord? Pike?”

  Corey reached into his coat for his wallet and pulled out a handful of bills. “I am paying. Pike won’t be back, but you can be sure I will, with the magistrate. I was on the Peninsula, too, private, and I was proud of all the men who served under me. If a man let me down, he was out. Understood?”

  The soldier saluted neatly. “You won’t regret this, sir. And God bless you and your missus.” Corey helped Melody back up into the curricle and gently wiped her face with his handkerchief, then brushed her forehead with his lips. He peeled the blanket away from Baby’s face and reached one finger to that so soft cheek. Tiny fingers wrapped around his.

  “We have to see the magistrate anyway; a few more papers won’t matter. But it’s only temporary, mind, so don’t get attached to the brat. And we’ll do it my way. That means a wet nurse and a governess for Meggie and the twins while we’re at it. As soon as my sister finds her a good home, Baby is going, is that understood?”

  Melody gave a pretty good imitation of a salute, considering her eyes were watery and she had a baby in her arms and a big grin on her face. The soldier and the groom cheered.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lord Cordell Coe was an experienced rake; Miss Melody Ashton was a green girl. She never had a chance. On the ride home from the poorhouse, waiting in the magistrate’s parlor and showing Baby off, Melody admitted defeat. She tried to tell herself that her heart would not be broken when he left for London to resume his raffish ways. Her head told her it was too late, so she surrendered. Her virgin heart, that is. Melody acknowledged to herself that she loved Corey Coe and had a snowflake’s chance in hell of changing his lust and liking into something else.

  Melody conceded about the governess also, although Corey had been dictatorial and high-handed about hiring someone. That, too, was part of Corey’s appeal, she realized, because he was right. Melody really was too busy with her chores to devote hours and days to lessons, especially when Corey expected her to mediate between Antoine and Mrs. Tolliver, to look over menus and invitation lists, bedchamber choices, and flower arrangements. The viscount did not wish to see his sister bothered with such details in a strange house for so short a time, if Melody wouldn’t mind. As for Pip cont
inuing to hold classes for the children, Corey declared that out of the question. The boy had too fine an intellect and had to be sent to school. He could study for the law or banking, where he could make a fine living for himself, or even the Church if he chose.

  “And just how do you propose convincing Pip he would be happier among strangers? I have been trying for ages.”

  Corey just gave her one of those superior grins and said he was working on it. So Melody magnanimously yielded the point, but kept arguing until Corey practically demanded she find a suitable person immediately. Miss Ashton smiled, with no doubt that before too many days had passed she would see Miss Chase, her favorite young schoolteacher from Miss Meadow’s Academy, here at the Oaks, willy-nilly. That was the way Lord Coe operated: he never seemed to be in question about what he wanted or scrupled about his means to get it. Miss Ashton could very well take a few pages from his book. She was young and lost in love for the infuriating man, but she was learning…. And she still had a few weeks to go.

  *

  Late that night, rocking Baby and wondering if the viscount was having as hard a time falling asleep as she was, Melody thought she heard noises downstairs. She went to the head of the stairs, intending to catch Harry on his way back from raiding the kitchen. But a light was coming from the little study where she did the books, so Melody picked up Baby and her candle, and went down to tell Pip to go to bed; he would ruin his eyes reading so late. Angie never stirred from her place at the foot of Melody’s bed.

  When Melody got to the bottom hallway, softly calling, “Pip,” the other light went out. “I know you are there, you clunch, so light your candle and come upstairs.” Nothing happened until Melody reached the study, when someone rushed behind her, shoving her into the desk, which toppled over. Melody protected Baby, but her candle went flying, right onto the pile of papers lying scattered around from the desktop.

  “Help!” Melody screamed. “Harry, Pip, hurry. Fire! Up, everybody, up!” She dashed back up the stairs, nearly tripping over a frenziedly barking Angie, handed Baby into the first pair of hands she saw—Felice’s. Meggie and the twins were shaking Nanny awake. As soon as Melody saw the children, Nanny, and her mother on their way out, she raced back to the study, where the old drapes were well caught, and one row of books was starting to burn. Pip was pulling them off the shelves and stamping on them, but Harry was standing in his nightshirt, open-mouthed, saying, “I didn’t do it,” over and over.

  Melody shook him hard and shoved him out the door. “Get to the Oaks, Harry, get help. And take Angie. Her barking will get them up quicker.” Melody picked up a rug and started beating at the flames.

  Pip pulled the desk chair over and stood on it to tug the burning curtains off their rods, while Melody yelled that he was too close to the fire; they could let the whole place burn rather than take chances.

  Then someone was pouring a bucket of water on the draperies, and someone else was shouting orders, and soon there were so many people in the little room that Melody could not breathe, for the smoke and the confusion. She dragged Pip out, past the row of men, some still wearing their nightcaps, who were passing pails of water from the pump in the kitchen to the men in the smoke-filled room. Outside, Nanny had the little girls and Ducky in a cluster, and someone had put a blanket down for Lady Ashton to be prostrated upon, with Felice nearby retucking her guinea gold curls under a lace cap lest they get sooty. The dog was tied safely, but unhappily, to a tree.

  Someone, the butler, Melody thought, handed her and Pip cups of water, and she drank thirstily, then went back inside after ordering Pip to stay with the smaller children.

  Melody had to see if the men were winning or the fire, so she pushed to the head of the row and took her place, handing the heavy wood buckets to the viscount. She did not even know whether he recognized her or not, under the soot and smoke. He just kept encouraging the men to keep the water coming. Then, just when she was getting into the rhythm of the pass: turn, lift, turn, hand the heavy bucket to Corey, take back the empty, turn, hand it to the man behind her, the viscount swung around and stopped to call, “That’s it, men. Fire’s out, we can—”

  Turn, lift, turn, hand the heavy bucket to—At least the bucket missed him.

  *

  Corey insisted they all stay at the Oaks.

  “But your guests, my lord,” Melody protested.

  “Won’t be here for a few days, by which time we can have Dower House cleaned and aired. I won’t have you or the children breathing that unhealthy smoke. Furthermore, the Oaks is large enough that my guests will not be disturbed, nor are they paltry enough to be overset at sharing the house with a parcel of children.” Corey had his doubts about some of the guests, that stodgy Pendleton, the dirty-dish cousin of Frye’s, and Lady Tarnover’s cabinet-aide stepbrother, but if they didn’t like the noise and confusion of Melody’s brood, they knew the road back to London, or Lord Coe could show them.

  Lady Ashton and Felice naturally reclaimed their former rooms as if by right, the older woman bravely waving aside Lord Coe’s sooty offer of asistance up the stairs. She would survive, Lady Ashton supposed, if someone could just fetch her some laudanum, and some hot water, and a little brandy to get the smoke out of her throat. The younger children and Nanny were put in Bates’s care, to escort to the old nursery and make sure they had everything they needed. When Melody handed Baby to the impeccable valet, the viscount took one look at his former batman’s expression and reminded Bates that they shot deserters.

  The viscount’s staff was thanked prettily by Miss Ashton and practically by Lord Coe with a keg of ale, then Harry, Pip, and Corey followed Melody to the kitchen for a general cleanup and application of the salve Mrs. Tolliver kept on a shelf. Bates had earlier brought down a dry shirt for the viscount, an armload of extra nightshirts, and a dark maroon velvet robe, which Corey draped over Melody’s shoulders. It smelled of him, all lemon and spice, and trailed on the floor.

  Melody and the viscount had a few minor burns, but Pip had been closest to the fire at first. He stood bravely while Melody dabbed at his face and hands. “Do you think we should send for the doctor, Corey? What if he is left scarred? Oh Pip, you were so brave, and you knew just what to do!”

  Lord Coe turned the boy’s face toward the light, the better to examine the burns. After what he had seen in the war, these were not so bad, and most were on the side of Pip’s face discolored by the birthmark. “Leave the boy be, Angel. I think he will be proud to wear a few scars, won’t you, Philip, when you go off to school in the Fall? You can tell the other lads what a hero you were.” Pip turned even redder, gulped, and nodded. Melody hugged him, careful of the burns, and sent a smudge-faced smile in Corey’s direction, which had his lordship wishing the boy to Jericho. Pip did not comment, but he thought it peculiar how his lordship insisted on the formality of Margaret and Philip instead of pet names, but would call Miss Melody by her first name, or even the dog’s name! Pip would never understand adults.

  While Melody’s attention was on the other boy, Harry was raiding the larder, fixing himself some bread and jam, wedges of cheese, sliced chicken, and blueberry pie. Corey found three more plates and a pitcher of milk.

  With Harry’s hunger partly eased, his curiosity needed satisfaction.

  “I bet it was Pike who did it. What do you think, my lord? The front door was locked when I went to get you, so he must have used the window. It was open, wasn’t it, Pip? Did you notice anything else, Miss Mel?”

  “Is Pike that stupid, then?” Corey wondered, slicing the pie. “I thought I made it fairly plain that I’d beat him to within an inch of his life if I ever saw him in the county again.”

  Melody shook her head. “He’s stupid enough, but not brave enough. Somehow I do not think it was Pike in the room with me. I do remember the window open a crack, but it was a warm evening, and I may have left it that way myself. And the kitchen door is always off the latch anyway. Maybe it was just a burglar.” Melody did not thin
k so, remembering those papers spread out on the desk, Mama’s letters and ledgers, but she did not want to discuss her fear that the blackmailer was back looking for more information, not in front of the boys. Corey nodded in understanding; they would talk more later.

  Meanwhile, Melody had a few questions of her own: “Harry, why did you keep saying you didn’t do it? I lit the fire with my candle when I fell, and I knew you were asleep in bed when I called out, so why did you think I was accusing you?”

  Harry chewed and swallowed first, mindful of his manners, then said, “They always blame the bastard. Ouch.” Pip must have kicked him under the table. “Uh, pardon, Miss Mel, Lord Coe. It’s just that at all those schools, whenever anything happened, that’s who got called up first. Sometimes it was easier to admit to whatever they wanted you to confess so you’d get sent home. Otherwise they’d get around to deciding to beat a confession out of someone, and you know who that someone was going to be.”

  Melody put her glass down. “Harry, surely things were not so barbaric! I couldn’t let Pip go if I thought—”

  “Philip is too smart to get into those situations, Melody,” the viscount interrupted before Philip could change his mind. “In addition, he’ll have my recommendation, which will ensure him a measure of respect. I think Master Harry was not such a scholar, and perhaps not always so innocent.” Harry just grinned around a mouthful. “What I would like to know is why you did not simply say you were an orphan, Harry?”

  “Why, that would be lying, my lord, and maybe even putting a curse on my parents. My mum is a fine lady, Miss Judith once told me, and pays for my keep. She never had to, you know. And I’ve even got a father somewhere. He was real good with horses, too.”