by Liana Lefey
“Dear Countess”—the doctor smiled benignly—“I know you grow weary of this room, but you must be extremely careful not to jostle the injury, lest it begin bleeding internally again. I’m afraid there will be no trips to the garden just yet.”
“I shall have someone carry me down.”
Sloane met her glare with a stern eye. “Madam, you may walk about up here as long as you are cautious, but no stairs. Not yet. You must wait at least another week.”
It was pointless to argue. David and Alessandro would have her hide if she didn’t follow Sloane’s orders. “Fine.” At least she’d won partial freedom.
“We can finalize the plans for the wedding, perhaps even have a dressmaker bring some cloth for you to look at,” offered Charlotte.
“Yes, of course,” replied Mélisande, maintaining a bright smile even as her gut twisted. The king had forbidden dueling within the city of London and, although they had observed His Majesty’s command by leaving it, the fact remained that Alessandro had killed a peer of the realm.
We have so little time. And here I am, helpless to do anything but watch it slip by.
Word of the duel had spread like wildfire, and suddenly everyone wanted to see the woman who’d cheated death. The sheer drama of it made all other gossip seem dull.
“How tiresome!” Mélisande grumped at the breakfast table after accepting yet another tray heaped with correspondence. Many had asked to see her during her convalescence, most of them not even friends or acquaintances.
“Relax,” David told her, peering over the top of the latest edition of The Gentleman’s Magazine. “It’ll die down soon enough, and then you’ll complain of boredom.”
“Not likely.” She sipped her tea, feeling awkward and imbalanced with her arm in a sling. Sir Sloane had been most adamant about her keeping it immobilized, and she knew better than to disobey his orders. “I’m sick to death of your house. I want to go home.”
I want to be where I can at least speak with Alessandro privately.
David’s prediction was correct, however. Demand for her company quickly diminished as the novelty wore off, especially since she was unwilling to discuss the event in any kind of satisfying detail.
Stamma came and played chess with her every other day, and Elizabeth begged David’s leave to host a small literary meeting in his home since Melly could not visit her salon. Lady Angelica visited frequently as well, but everyone knew whom she truly came to see. It made Mélisande smile to see her and Reggie together.
Perhaps a double wedding wasn’t to be ruled out after all.
Except when it rained, Mélisande and Alessandro walked in the gardens every day. Though she longed to do so with increasing intensity, she knew it was impossible to resume their physical relationship while she remained in David’s house. She had to content herself with talk and the occasional kiss beneath the arbor in the orchard.
If the kisses were a torment, the talk was even more so. The more they talked, the more she grew to love him. She’d given up trying to stop it. All she could do was try not to let it be obvious.
Though she knew he was fond of her, Alessandro had made no mention of love.
Maman had been “fond” of Papa, too. And she’d broken his heart.
Eight weeks later, His Majesty’s summons finally came.
Though she’d just been pronounced fit for travel by Sir Sloane, there was an ache Mélisande feared would never leave her, and it had nothing to do with the ugly pair of puckered red scars she now bore. Those marks and the occasional twinge of discomfort were all the physical evidence that remained of her brush with death. But in her heart, she’d already begun to mourn the loss of the man she’d grown to love more than she’d ever thought possible. During her confinement, she’d come to see him not only as her lover but as her dearest friend.
How would she bear it when he left?
Mélisande chose her gown carefully for the audience with the king, making certain the neckline was low and wide enough to reveal her scars. Most women would have hidden such blemishes, but she showed them proudly, knowing it would be to Alessandro’s advantage for the king to see for himself what she’d suffered.
When they were summoned into His Majesty’s receiving chamber, they found several members of His Majesty’s council present, including David’s uncle, the Rt. Honorable Henry Pelham, Sir Hans Sloane, and the Duke of Devonshire. Sir Charles Bittle, as promised, was also present.
“Melly,” King George greeted his goddaughter, blanching slightly when his gaze lit upon the sling and the angry red welt marring the skin of her right shoulder. “Sloane tells me you’ve made a remarkable recovery. I am truly glad to see you well.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered. “I am well enough now to leave Lord Pelham’s. In fact, I had only just begun to make the arrangements when your summons arrived.”
He beckoned her closer and lowered his voice. “The reason I waited so long was because I wished to see you as well. Herrington came to me with a rather strange tale the night before the unfortunate incident that claimed his life. As he can no longer answer my questions, I must seek answers elsewhere.”
“I shall, of course, answer as best I am able, Your Majesty.” Mélisande struggled to keep from showing her fear.
“I should very much like to know why the challenge was issued to begin with,” he asked.
Relieved, Mélisande told him of the bizarre conflict. When she came to Herrington’s seduction of Charlotte, Charlotte came forward to deliver her part of the story herself. Each of her friends gave their testimony, filling in the pieces. When Alessandro finally spoke of his challenge and the circumstances under which it had been issued, George’s face grew grim. Bittle and Pelham then described the duel and Herrington’s final, dishonorable act.
When all fell silent, Mélisande watched as her king’s eyes flicked to the puckered scar on her shoulder, then back to Alessandro. “I believe your cause was just. However, I must tell you that a great many members of my council have already advised your expulsion. They believe allowing a foreigner to kill a peer with impunity sets a bad precedent, regardless of the justification.”
Mélisande’s stomach clenched.
“We shall not command your expulsion,” George continued. “However, we request that you leave as quickly as possible.”
At his gesture, the Duke of Devonshire stepped forward.
“I’ve been informed that several of Herrington’s friends plan to avenge his death,” Devonshire addressed the entire group. “I know not how the man managed to gather so loyal a following, but until they are convinced of the truth, the Duke of Gravina is in grave danger of assassination.”
Mélisande glanced at Alessandro, her heart beginning to break.
“There is another matter about which I must inquire, Melly,” said George. “Before his demise, Herrington spoke to me privately regarding your claim to the earldom.”
Her spirits sank yet further. Damn you, Herrington. I hope you are in the hottest part of Hell...
“I’m afraid I have no choice but to ask you some difficult questions, my dear,” George told her. “However, this matter pertains to you and you alone,” he added. “If you wish, we will clear the room so that we may converse in privacy.”
Mélisande nodded. “I wish Lord Pelham, Miss Stanton, Mr. Stanton, and my...fiancé to remain.”
When the door closed, George spoke plainly. “I see no delicate way to address such a matter; thus, I shall come right to the point. Herrington claimed you are not of Wilmington’s blood-line, and that you are a Jacobite sympathizer and spy. He alleged that your mother and the French king were lovers before she met Wilmington and that Spencer unknowingly raised a Bourbon bastard. The man vowed to have seen a painting bearing your likeness in Louis’s bedchamber. He also said you both bear a shared birthmark. I was loath to believe such a preposterous tale, of course, but...”
Mélisande looked down at the ruby on her finger and again cursed Herringt
on. Raising her eyes, she faced her king. “First, allow me to address the first accusation and say that I have never been anything but your loyal subject. The idea that I would ever support the Stuart claim to England’s throne is an insult.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “Secondly, there are two birthmarks, Your Majesty. One here”—she pointed to the one on her breast—“and another that cannot be seen.”
OF LOVE AND SACRIFICE
MÉLISANDE WATCHED HIS expression transform to one of shocked disbelief.
“I have no cause for shame,” she continued with quiet dignity. “I did not choose the circumstances of my birth. While it is true that my mother was the French king’s mistress, Papa met and fell in love with her before she knew she was to bear the king’s child. When she revealed her condition to Louis, he decided to make arrangements for her. Knowing that Papa was taken with her, he told him of her situation and asked him if he wanted to marry her. Papa agreed.”
“Why in heaven’s name would Wilmington do such a thing?” George asked, incredulous.
Mélisande blushed. “Because of an accident in his youth, Papa was unable to sire a child. He needed an heir. The fact that his bride was already with child was a happy solution to his problem.”
Profound silence followed her revelation.
After a moment, Mélisande came forward and fell to her knees before him. “Your Majesty, I did not meet the man who sired me until I was fourteen. Until then, I had no knowledge that I was anything other than the English daughter of an English earl. When Louis heard about Papa’s impending visit, he requested that he bring his family along—in order to see me, if only once. He surprised us all by offering to acknowledge me. I declined out of love for Papa. Spencer Compton was and always will be the father of my heart.”
George came forward and placed a gentle hand on her bowed head. “Wilmington was my friend. When he asked me to be your godfather, I was honored and shared in his joy. I did not believe Herrington.” He shook his head, his sadness evident. “I was prepared to dismiss his claims and consider the matter closed. Why did you not simply deny it?”
“Because I’m tired of living in fear,” Mélisande told him. “Herrington discovered the truth and told you. God only knows whom else he might have told before he died. It matters not, in any case. What matters is that I made my choice long ago. As far as I’m concerned, I am Mélisande Esmée Compton, the daughter of an English earl, not a French king.”
“I’m afraid others will not see it that way,” said George. “If Herrington did indeed expose your secret, which I suspect he has, the peerage will be beating down my door demanding that you be stripped of your title and lands, perhaps even imprisoned for fraud.”
Mélisande’s face hardened. “You have known me since the day I was born. You cannot possibly question my loyalty.”
“No, I do not,” he said. “But the fact remains that you are a Bourbon and we are about to be at war with France. If you were of any other lineage, I could gladly overlook it. As it stands, however, I have no choice but to act. It is a matter of perceptions, and I cannot be seen to put personal desires above England’s needs.”
“So, because of politics, you will punish me for an accident of birth over which I had no control?” she asked bitterly.
“It is not my desire to ‘punish’ you, Melly. You must understand that my hands are tied. I cannot risk losing the confidence and support of the peerage.” He let out a long sigh. “Much as I dislike acknowledging it, Herrington actually made a suggestion that would provide a way to salvage this situation and prevent your losing everything. We can arrange for you to marry an Englishman so that your children will have a legitimate, English claim to the earldom, which I will bestow upon your husband.”
The blood whistled in Mélisande’s ears as she processed this. She had no choice. Her engagement to Alessandro was a sham, anyway, a foolish fantasy that was now over. He was leaving England. Quashing the impulse to rage and weep, she instead focused on keeping her spine straight.
“Whom would you have me marry?” she inquired, unable to keep her voice from trembling. She dared not look at Alessandro’s face lest she break down.
“You were once engaged to Pelham, here,” said the king. “Why not simply reinstate the arrangement?”
“Because he is in love with someone else, and I will not have him,” Mélisande replied firmly.
“Since when is love a concern in matters of marriage?” George said dismissively. After a moment’s pause, he looked to Alessandro and raised a brow.
Taking the cue, Alessandro stepped forth. “It is a concern when it involves me, Your Majesty. Let it not be forgotten that Lady Wilmington is already engaged to be married to me. If your intent is to withdraw the blessing you bestowed upon me regarding our union, I fear I must strongly object.”
Mélisande whirled to face him. “What blessing?”
“This man requested permission to marry you several months ago,” George answered.
She stared at Alessandro, unbelieving. “But I thought—”
He took up her hand, the one bearing his ring. “Our engagement stands, if you will have me. For five years I searched for you, Mélisande. And now that I have found you, I do not want to lose you again. I love you.”
It shone from his warm cinnamon eyes, naked and powerful, and her heart beat faster, causing her shoulder to throb. She ignored the pain.
He wants to marry me!
A cloud passed over her joy. “But I’m illegitimate,” she blurted, terrified he might reconsider. He was, after all, a duke in his own country.
Alessandro laughed, drawing her close. “I care nothing for the blood in your veins, amora. You could be a milliner’s daughter and still I would marry you. I have seen the painting in the French king’s chamber, as well as his—your birthmarks, for I also attended Louis at his morning dress and saw the mark upon his hip.”
George cleared his throat. “Am I to understand that you have already consummated your relationship with this man?” he inquired lightly.
Alessandro flashed her a knowing smile.
Realizing what he’d done, Mélisande reddened. “Your Majesty, I—”
George held up a hand for silence. “The decision is made. You will wed your fiancé before you depart England.”
Mélisande was torn between joy and misery. The man she adored beyond all reason was to become her husband, yet it had cost her the only home she’d ever known. She had to know... “And who will assume my”—she paused and swallowed—“the Wilmington title?”
The king’s gaze moved to David. “I’m of a mind to make young Pelham here the next Earl of Wilmington. Despite his prodigal behavior, he is extremely intelligent and capable. His uncle spoke of him frequently in favorable terms. And I know you trust him.”
David’s head snapped up, along with everyone else’s. “I—I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”
“We shall make it plain,” the monarch said with good humor. “The current countess has chosen to wed a foreigner and abdicate her position. Immediately upon her marriage to Lord Gravina, she will forfeit the earldom. As the Wilmington title has no other heir, we will create you the new Earl of Wilmington. It is as simple as that.”
George glared at each of them in turn. “We see no need to expose the real reason behind our decision. In fact, we hereby command that this matter never be spoken of again outside this room.” He looked to Mélisande and smiled. “I assume this meets with your approval?”
Mélisande nodded, dumbstruck. The tumultuous emotions of the past several months slowly gave way to a new feeling of lightness. Turning to Alessandro, she smiled, tears stinging her eyes. The warmth of his gaze reached out to envelop her, immediately followed by his arms.
After a moment, she turned to David. His face was, for once, easy to read: he didn’t know whether to feel sorrow for her loss or joy for his gain. “You are the best possible choice,” she told him quietly. “All my life you’ve been like a brother to me.
You love the Wilmington lands just as Papa did. You know them. And now they are yours to care for. Take the gift with my blessing, and be happy.”
“Melly,” he croaked. “I cannot—”
“You can,” she cut in. “And for my sake you must. I could not ask for it to be given into better hands.” She raised her palm to forestall any further objections. “I have but one condition: that you marry Charlotte before I leave England. She will make a fine countess, and one day, a fine duchess!”
Wedding invitations were sent out a week later, causing tongues to wag at the indecent haste of it all, for the ceremonies were to happen a mere month hence. Even so, not a single person declined, for the Countess of Wilmington was to marry the most infamous seducer in all of Europe, and England’s most notorious rake, her former betrothed, was to marry as well. It was scandalous, and therefore not to be missed.
The weddings were held at Kensington House, and the king himself gave away Mélisande. The avid crowd watched as she became the Duchess of Gravina and Miss Stanton became Lady Pelham. Immediately following the ceremony, Mélisande relinquished her English title. In the next breath, Pelham and Charlotte became the Earl and Countess of Wilmington.
It was a momentous event indeed.
People lining the streets cheered as the carriages bearing the newlyweds at last rolled away from the palace grounds, away from the ongoing celebration fête, away from the well-wishers and joyful pandemonium.
Mélisande sighed in contentment as she leaned against Alessandro. Though she was leaving England’s shores tomorrow, never to return, she was truly happy. No more lies, and no more fear. It was intoxicating, this freedom.
With a wicked little laugh, she arched a brow and slipped eager hands beneath the skirts of her husband’s jacket. “I have a confession to make,” she whispered into Alessandro’s ear.
“Another? What is it this time? Are you related to the Russian Empress? I assure you I would not recognize any shared birthmarks, if you are.”