This was not Miss Ashton’s longed-for country swain, no biddable boy who would never shake the foundations of her very being; This was Corey, and Melody shook. She floated into his welcoming arms.
The quadrille required concentration and movements between the other couples in their set, leaving little time for conversation. The viscount did manage to ask how long Lady Ashton and the nabob had been keeping company.
“Forever, it seems. Can you believe it? He really is a very kind man, and Mama seems much more lively since his return. I don’t know how I can learn to call him stepfather, but I shall try.”
“Has an announcement been made then?”
“Look at them. I think that is declaration enough.” If the same could be said for another couple whose eyes never left each other, whose hands lingered over every touch of the dance’s movements, then the local gossips could save another note to the London papers. Melody just kept floating.
When the next figure brought them together, Melody felt she had to ask: “What about the letter? Have you captured the criminal?”
Corey did not want to argue, not now. He simply answered, “Sh, not tonight.” Melody was content.
After the dance and a walk around the room on Corey’s arm to greet the guests from the Oaks, Melody was pleased to accept the offer of Major Frye for the next set. Then she danced in turn with Lord Cheyne, Lord Tarnover, and Sir Bartleby, who performed every dance like an Irish jig. She was happy to sit out the next set with Lieutenant Randolph, whose injuries, he said, precluded taking the floor with the show of grace her beauty deserved.
“How gallant you are, sir, when you must know my toes are in agony and desperate for a hot soak.” Then it was time for another magical interlude with Corey, and her feet stopped aching. Dancing on clouds was never fatiguing. She wished it might be a waltz, on this her night of firsts, but the waltz was not yet sanctioned in the rural fastness of Hazelton. Corey handed her off to Major Frye, for his second dance, and excused himself. Perhaps the men were tired of their duty dances and were getting up a card game, Melody considered, for Lady Tarnover was sitting with Lady Cheyne on the sidelines, their husbands nowhere in sight. Now that Melody thought about it, Lady Erica and her soldier were no longer among those sitting on the gilt chairs, either. Melody looked around during the dance to note that Felice and Rupert must have gone out to the balcony, silly chit that she was, without a care for her reputation. Mama and Sir Bartleby, who should have been watching, had eyes for no one else. Melody shrugged. It was not her concern, not tonight….
After the dance, Major Frye led her toward the chairs where Miss Chase was now sitting, mentioning something about Squire Watson and a horse for sale. Melody’s eyes narrowed. Not tonight? Then why was every one of the viscount’s friends missing? Why all of a sudden were local gentlemen stumbling over each other to get to her side, when all evening they had been kept at a distance by Corey and his guests? They may have been the landed gentry and country squires she thought she wanted for a biddable husband, but not tonight. She made some excuse and followed Major Frye across the room.
Melody dashed into the ladies’ withdrawing room and searched hurriedly for her cloak. Nanny had insisted she bring the green velvet so she didn’t get her death of cold in that skimpy dress on the ride home. Now Melody wanted the wrap to pull over the white of her gown and her hair for some cover of her identity. She did not spot the cloak immediately and was afraid she would lose sight of the major if she dawdled. The night was warm enough, at least.
Frye was headed toward the rear of the assembly rooms, down an alley toward a building under construction. Melody waited until no one was nearby to see her, then ducked outside and around the other side. She could circle back without being seen by Frye or—yes, there was Lieutenant Randolph in his scarlet jacket, propped against a lamppost across the street, nonchalantly blowing a cloud. His back was facing her, so she darted into the shadows of the dance hall and sped down the dark corridor between it and a neighboring building, ignoring scurrying noises and the fact that her white gown was trailing in the alley’s filth. She stopped when she neared the new structure, squatting behind a pile of bricks. She picked one up, just in case. The new building’s framework was partially completed, but open enough for her to see Corey with his fair hair standing behind a half wall. He was making no effort to conceal himself or stay in the shadows; he just stood there, his shoulders drooped, his head down.
Cautiously, Melody approached. “Corey?” she whispered, in case the trap was still to be sprung.
Lord Coe spun around. “You jade,” he snapped out, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her till her teeth rattled. “What did you have to come back for, to gloat? Damn you, I let you get away once, now what am I supposed to tell the others?”
Melody tried to pull away from the madman; his grip was like iron, and he kept shaking her. “What happened? Did you open the satchel and discover the fake bills? Did you think you could just waltz back here and come the innocent with me? I saw you, damn your hide, in that blasted green cape of yours. You fool, couldn’t you even have worn something less distinctive? What if Cheyne or Tarnover saw you in the street, you could end up in goal. Damn you, Melody Ashton,” he cried. “I would have given you anything. You didn’t have to steal it!”
“You let her get away? You idiot!” Melody had to break loose to go after the criminal. When she threw her hands up to break his hold, she forgot about the brick in her hand, truly she did.
Some few minutes later, Coe managed to pick himself up out of the dirt and give the whistle signal to his friends, who finally gave chase, after they stopped laughing.
*
The posting house, that had to be the thief’s destination, Melody thought as she ran down Hazelton’s main street. The dastard, she alternated, thinking she was it! The ball was the perfect time for such evil-doings, with so many people inside, no one out to see a lady in a green cloak. No one but a pig-headed jackass, she amended.
Melody’s breath was rasping in her throat, and her toes were truly aching this time, for light dancing slippers were never meant for this hurrying over rough cobblestones and uneven plank sidewalks. The pain in her side was growing, and she would never forgive that miserable makebate if the thief made it to the London coach, whose tin horn was just sounding as it entered town from the other direction.
Just a block or two from the posting house, Melody spotted her own green cape. She used her last burst of energy to close the distance between herself and the small female figure and her hustling companion. Wrapping her knitted shawl around the brick she still carried, Melody shouted out, “Stop right there, Felice, or I’ll shoot.”
Felice dropped the satchel and raised her hands, but Rupert hesitated. “You know I won’t miss at this range,” Melody reminded when he looked like he would snatch up the bag and Felice and make a dash for it.
“You wouldn’t shoot,” Rupert sneered.
“No, but I would,” said the familiar, deep voice at Melody’s back amid the pounding of many feet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Everything was tied up neatly, and everyone’s future was settled. Everyone’s but Melody’s.
Felice and Rupert were being sent off to Canada with those tickets Lieutenant Randolph had bought in case he and Erica had to flee the country. The nabob wept into his yellow handkerchief when he brought Melody the news the next morning. Major Frye had quietly shepherded Sir Bartleby, Mama, and Miss Chase from the assembly, giving out that Felice had taken ill, and Melody was waiting with her in the carriage. Felice was not there, of course, and Melody had had to explain to the others. Mama swooned and Sir Bartleby blamed himself.
“It’s all my fault for making so many promises. I never knew what to do with a chit except buy her things, you know.”
Lady Ashton roused herself enough to go tsk. “Fustian. The girl was just like her mother, greedy and selfish through and through. How could she have done such a thing to me?”
>
“She said she wanted to get away,” Melody explained, “where she would not always be the second-class, second-rate bastard stepdaughter. And she had no sympathy for the other parents who tossed their children away like handing castoffs to the ragman. She must have been bitter for many years. She also admitted she was downstairs the night of the fire, looking for more names.”
The nabob had gone back to the Oaks to write one last check to his errant daughter. He stayed until the details were all worked out, and he could report back to Melody. She patted his beefy hand, and he blew his nose. “That man Hadley had to be called in this morning to transfer monies and things, and it seems the young fellow Edwin he took into his office was helping Felice gather the information. He says she made him believe some of the children just wanted to know their real parents’ names. I don’t know, the cub could have been under her thumb the same way I fell for her mother. I said I’d give him a chance after Hadley was all for throwing him out. Send the cawker to India to my partners. Always opportunity for a likely lad.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir. I don’t think Edwin was truly dishonest; Felice was just so convincing.”
“Call me Barty, m’dear, and perhaps you won’t think I’m so kind when I say that we won’t be going to London after all. Your mother is such a delicate little flower, you know, and this has been an ordeal. I’m thinking of taking a house in Bath or Brighton for the summer, as soon as she is well enough to travel, so my Jess can recuperate. Would you mind very much, m’dear?”
“Of course not, sir, ah, Barty. I think that is an excellent idea.” It would be even better if the two were married before they went to scandalize another town, Melody thought, but she only agreed. At least Mama needn’t be around when people started to ask about Felice. Melody had a hard time convincing Sir Bartleby that she had no regrets over London and no intentions of playing dogsberry to the lovebirds in Bath. “I am still needed here, you know. The children.”
But Meggie would be leaving shortly with Lady Erica and her husband. Lord Cheyne had bowed to the inevitable, of course, so Baby would also be going when the house party broke up in a day or two. Pip would be off to school in a matter of weeks, and Harry was begging to be allowed to travel to Ireland, where Lord Coe had a cousin managing a racing stud for him. The cousin had written offering Harry a place, if he wanted to study hard to be a horse trainer. There was nothing the boy wanted more, and Melody could not deny him, no more than she could have kept Meggie from her parents or Baby from an idyllic home.
Miss Chase was staying on for a time with the twins. She was paid through the quarter, she said, but Melody suspected from the governess’s placid smile that Miss Chase was biding her time while Major Frye settled with the War Office. Melody had an inkling he was thinking of relocating in the neighborhood where he was so involved with the poor and the returning veterans. She would not be at all surprised if he and Miss Chase decided to begin their family with a pair of irrepressible imps.
So everything was settled, and everyone had what they wanted. Except Melody, who would have Nanny and Ducky and a lot of pigs. And Angie. No one was likely to fall in love with the dog and beg to carry the mutt away, not the way Melody’s luck was running. What she also had was a big bouquet of white roses with a card that read, Please forgive me.
In addition to the flowers, Melody had the memory of Corey softly kissing her last night in the streets of Hazelton, before he sent her off with Major Frye while he dealt with Felice and Rupert.
He was leaving in two days. Roses and remembering were not enough to last a lifetime.
*
She gave him another day before taking matters and a leather-covered box into her own hands. She did not stop in the parlor to greet the company or wait for the butler to announce her. Melody marched straight through to the library and plunked the box down on the desk.
Corey jumped up at her entry, took one look at the glitter in her eye and quickly moved the cognac decanter and glass out of her range. If he had been sipping courage from the bottle, it did not help his appearance any. One side of Lord Coe’s jaw was purplish-yellow, while the other side was raw, red, and partially covered with sticking plaster. There was no way he could shave around that mess, so he had a seedy, shady look despite his elegant clothes, not helped by the dark circles under his eyes from another sleepless night, or their slightly bloodshot appearance.
Melody refused to be swayed by sympathy. Her heart was hardened against this rogue. She snapped open the lid of the leather case and announced: “Since I have no father or brother to defend my honor, I hereby challenge you to a duel.”
Corey shook his head to clear it. God, she was magnificent when on her high ropes. No other woman of his experience could be so feminine and alluring, while behaving like a veritable Amazonian warrior, and sounding like a peagoose. “What about the nabob?”
“He has enough burdens to bear. This is between you and me, an affair of honor.”
“Not even an affair yet, sweetheart.”
She ignored the interruption. “Your evil intentions have been clear from the first. You have toyed with my affections, compromised me more times than I can count, even kissed me in public.”
“And in private,” he reminded.
Her cheeks reddened, but Melody was not finished. “You frightened away my beaus so I could not make a respectable match, and you cast slurs on my integrity. I demand satisfaction.”
“I apologized for that, Angel. It was the blasted green cape.”
“You didn’t trust me even before that. If you had let me help set the trap none of this would have happened.”
“I only wanted to protect you.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, disordering the careful arrangement. “I never trusted any woman. What can I do to make amends?”
“You can meet me in the woods clearing, unless you are afraid.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Ah, a challenge match. I confess I am curious, too, about which of us is the better shot.”
“No, my lord, not a contest of skills, a real duel.”
“You mean like between gentlemen?” The thought struck Corey as funny, and he chuckled.
Melody did not see the humor. She picked up the half-full glass of cognac and tossed it in his face. “There, isn’t that the way gentlemen do it?” She stood with her arms crossed, while he mopped at his face with the ends of his neckcloth, painstakingly tied in the trône d’amour for the occasion.
“I should have known I couldn’t get through a conversation with you with my wardrobe intact,” he muttered into the linen. “But I do wish you would be more considerate of poor Bates and my pocketbook. I am already paying the man thrice what he is worth, just to soothe his nerves. I suppose it’s a good thing you didn’t slap me with your gloves. Knowing you there would likely be rocks in them.” Corey reached over and took Melody’s hand. He lifted it to his mouth and gently kissed the turned palm, then he placed one of the pistols in it. “Here, Angel, you know I cannot shoot you. Do your worst. I deserve it.”
Melody looked at him, all rough and disheveled, then at the gun in her hand. Her lips trembled. “I cannot.”
“What’s this, Angel, tears?” Corey took out his handkerchief and blotted at her eyes, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek. “You don’t want to shoot me, sweetheart, but you don’t want to marry me either, you know. I am just not husband material. You told me yourself. I am autocratic and dictatorial, and I would be jealous, possessive, and over-protective. You would hate it, just like you hated my not wanting you to help catch the blackmailer. I would want to wrap you in cotton wool, to see you safe.”
“Why? Why would you care so much?” She stared intently into his eyes, looking for the truth.
“Because I lo—like you. We are friends.”
“You let your other friends come into danger. You love me,” she rejoiced. “I know you do! You are just afraid to admit it.”
Melody turned away so he could not see her smile. “You have not asked me yet, my lord.”
His hand on her shoulder turned her around. “Do you truly love me, Angel?”
“Of course I love you, silly. I love you too much to let you grow into a grumbly old bachelor with no one to tell you your faults and no grubby children to lower your consequence.”
He kissed her then, not as he would have wished, due to his scratchy beard and sore face, but softly, a gentle promise. When he stepped back, still holding Melody in his arms, her green eyes were shining like emeralds in the sunshine. “I love you so much,” she told him, “that I thought I would die if you went away.”
“I was never going to leave without you, my adorable goose.” And he kissed each eyelid for emphasis.
“But were you thinking of marriage this time?”
“Of course.” She was grinning so he had to add, “You will just have to trust me on that. I take it that my suit has been accepted?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she teased. “Just how bad a husband did you say you would be?”
“Wretched. I am grouchy in the mornings, and I toss the blankets around all night. You would never need to worry about my straying, however. I’d be too cowardly to look at another woman, knowing your aim. But come now, madam, give me your answer. You have already shot me and doused me and subjected me to every indignity known to man. You have broken my nose and my chin. Don’t say that you are going to break my heart, too?”
“Never.” And this time her lips carried the promise. “Never, my lord, my love, my life.”
Minor Indiscretions Page 19