by Allison Lane
She gasped again, this time in trepidation. Did he know? Had she made an utter cake of herself by discussing Harriet as though she were real? Fear, uncertainty, and embarrassment froze her tongue, so she again offered no response.
“You know more than Lady Lanyard could possibly have written to Lady Castleton,” he continued. “You must have learned about it from Harriet. My behavior was despicable in many ways. I suspect that I was acting under a temporary madness, brought on by the sudden withdrawal of what I had always considered an inviolable promise. If nothing else, I owe Harriet an apology. Do you know her? Can you give me her direction? Did she take any harm from my actions? She never would have agreed to so dastardly a course if there had been any alternative. I coerced her rather badly.”
“Why should she wish to hear from you, my lord?” Melissa asked, so relieved that he had not discovered the truth that she automatically kept up her own charade. “You used her to achieve your own goals. She has nothing to gain from further acquaintance, and everything to lose. Contacting her risks exposing you both.”
Charles smiled. “You do know her.”
“Enough to know that she wishes no further discourse with you. She has no love for trickery, and even less for greed,” she snapped.
“Then she should enjoy my dilemma.” He grimaced. “I am well paid for my moment of insanity. My grandmother left me her fortune as promised, but only if I marry Harriet before next Christmas. If I do not, the money will be split among several charities.”
Melissa nearly choked. There was no way she could ever admit her imposture after this. My financial position has not changed. He had spoken the absolute truth that day. She clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling and tried to keep her voice steady.
“I am surprised that you linger in town, then. Why have you not sought her out already?”
“I tried.” Pain twisted his face. “She refused to give me her direction. Nor did her aunt. I spent months trying to trace them, without success. It is as if they were ghosts who vanished back into the otherworld.”
Melissa shivered at his words. He was closer than he knew.
“She was familiar with Lincolnshire, so I scoured that area as well. Now I know she must have been visiting you.”
He dropped into a chair facing hers. His aqua eyes caught her gaze, holding it in a stare that tumbled shivers down her spine. Beguiling eyes, as she had noted before, capable of driving away reason.
“And then I met you and fell in love,” he continued softly. “The inheritance means nothing to me now, dearest Melissa. I want only you. But guilt assails me over Harriet. I must beg her pardon and make sure that she is all right. If my actions have caused her harm, I will never forgive myself.”
“She suffers not,” stated Melissa. “But you delude yourself. How can you not offer for her once you meet again? You will grow to hate yourself for whistling down a fortune.”
“Never!” He shook his head. “And I have no interest in meeting her. I only wish to satisfy my conscience about her safety and apologize for forcing her into so sordid a scheme.”
“I cannot help but wonder” —she fought to keep from drowning in his gaze— “if Lady Lanyard had not called your bluff, would you feel guilty now, my lord?”
“I do not know,” he admitted honestly. “I hope so.”
“How did you think to convince her to wed you, when you admit she disapproved of you?”
“Again, I do not know. It was best that I could not trace her earlier. We would not have suited, for she is not at all what I want in a wife. Now there is no question of it, for I am in love with you.”
His words steadied her and strengthened her will. It was as she had feared. He was in love with Lady Lanyard’s portrait rather than herself. He knew that Harriet would not suit. Yet the only difference between Harriet and Melissa was appearance and a few social graces.
Her heart protested but she ignored it. Her own attraction was primarily for his admittedly handsome exterior. “I will not disclose her whereabouts,” she vowed. “But I will send a message if you wish.”
“Send my apologies, and assure her that if she has need of support, especially in regards to my misbehavior, she need only ask.”
“Very well, my lord.”
“Will you stop this infernal my lording?” he snapped. “My name is Charles. Use it.”
“I cannot, my lord,” she refused gently. “It would imply too much closeness.” His new disclosures made marriage impossible.
“Damnation, Melissa, I love you,” he protested. “I want you for my wife. And despite your words, I suspect you love me.”
“Enough, my lord. I admit to an attraction. You are a handsome man, as you well know, but that is merely physical. As is your own infatuation. You are enamored because I resemble your grandmother’s portrait. But that is no basis for marriage. The shell can change, and often does, but the true test of worth is what’s inside. Character and deeds are what count, and based on that, you are a sad specimen. I will not wed without respect, and I cannot respect you, as I have mentioned before. Even the self-professed moment of madness that led you to deceive your grandmother was no more than greed and a wish to continue your idle pleasures unchecked. I’ll not go through life like my mother. She struggled for eighteen years before Papa killed her in an act of irresponsible drunkenness. Toby has gamed away every penny he inherited, and more. His response was to offer me to Heflin, who needs a brood mare to supply future generations of dissipated libertines. I want more from life than that.”
“You wrong me, Melissa. I can offer more,” he pleaded. “I love you. I could never do anything to hurt or denigrate you. And you are far more than a beautiful face. I have known many beautiful women, and loved none of them. It is the character beyond the shell that calls to me. I am not offering you an easy life. We would not be awash in money, but there would be goals to pursue and accomplishments to enjoy. The prospect is daunting, but it is also exciting. With you at my side, anything is possible. I need you, my love. Will you please accept my hand?”
Could she trust him? she wondered as she took a turn about the room, her face creased in thought. He spoke the words she wanted to hear, committed himself to projects she would love to share.
But she could not acquit him of recognizing Harriet, then hiding his knowledge to circumvent her objections. She had already admitted wanting a man of serious pursuits, and he knew she despised fortune hunters. But she was not as gullible as he thought.
How could he not recognize her? No one who knew Harriet, who abhorred deceit, would expect her to relate so sordid an episode to another. His proposal was just another ploy to get his hands on Lady Lanyard’s money. He hadn’t changed. Even his pathetic recital of supposed guilt was nothing but a play on her emotions.
She had only herself to blame for revealing her deceit. Her stupidity in revealing facts only Harriet would know would have started the process. Despite her changed appearance and intensive training in mannerisms and movement, she still forgot on occasion. Anger summoned Harriet’s strident tones. Shock prompted broad gestures she had learned from Jake.
And how could she believe his current words. While in the Lanyard gallery he had deprecated his grandmother’s ideals and philosophies, yet she shared those ideals along with that lady’s looks. He had just offered praise for several of them. No man could change so much in so short a time.
But part of her fought against this reasoning. If he knew she was Harriet, he must be an actor surpassing Kean in skill, for he gave no hint of it. And perhaps she was too particular in choosing a husband. Did any man embody all the characteristics she wanted? George had satisfied most, being intelligent, responsible, frugal, honest, and dedicated to his estates. What he lacked was passion. Charles called him stuffy, and she supposed he was. That might be an inevitable companion to the other traits she admired. Must she accept risky behavior to find the passion her soul craved? Yet she did not want to live on the edge of disaster. O
nly deep-rooted mutual love might make it that kind of life possible.
The news about the will was poetic justice. Lady Lanyard had reaped revenge for his failure to pass her test. The cream of the jest was that the girl was a figment of the imagination, and thus could never become his wife. Ironically, if Charles had continued his original course, he would have passed and probably received at least some of the fortune immediately.
It was time to make a decision. While she loved him, happiness was impossible unless he returned her fervor. Without that, she would despise herself for accepting a man whose character displayed so many traits she abhorred. Her love would turn to bitterness, and she would become a harpy who would make his life miserable. It was unlikely that he loved her in the way she needed. At least some of his regard was likely pique that she had refused him. Whatever else burned between them wouldn’t last – no lady had ever retained his regard for long. Alas.
She turned to face him. “Words, my lord. Nothing but words. It is easy to utter them, but deeds are what matters. You already have my answer. We would not suit. Your interests and proclivities are not what I desire in a husband.”
“Have you considered what accepting me would mean to you?” he answered. “Lord Heflin’s claims must hurt you.”
“I will not embark on a betrothal to thwart so low a creature,” she snapped, thankful that he had again demonstrated his unsuitability, for her heart was already protesting her decision. “You demean me by even suggesting such a thing.”
“Forgive me, my dear,” he begged. “I spoke without thought. It hurts to see you maligned by so base a creature.”
“Enough, my lord. I do not wish to discuss this again. If you continue to press, we must bar the doors against you. Such a rift would inevitably become public, harming us all.”
He had rushed his fences again, admitted Charles as he walked home. Despite understanding her objections, he had forged ahead too soon. He must banish all impatience. This was not a time for open battle, or even for siege. He must first demonstrate that her impressions were wrong. She had little reason to rely on men, given the Drayton history. And Harriet’s tale made him look just as bad. She was right. Words could not undo that image. That would require deeds, and deeds would take time.
And so he embarked on a course of education, treating her as a friend and cousin but refraining from anything personal. He discussed his serious interests with her, asking advice when she demonstrated superior knowledge, and offering insights when his was greater. The goal was to reveal his innermost core, so she could accept that he was not the shallow wastrel she thought him.
They spoke of Swansea and its problems. She seemed surprised at his emotions, whether frustration, fear, or love of its beauty. Another topic they explored was his interest in railroads and his burning desire to involve himself with their future. Melissa was not repelled by the subject, instead asking well-considered questions that displayed curiosity. Nor did she think his fascination was misplaced.
“Why don’t you pursue it, Charles?” she asked when he described an investment group that was looking for backers. “You know so much.”
“Their plans are too grandiose to return a profit any time soon.” He shrugged. “Besides, it takes money to make money, and I have none to spare. Perhaps by the time a more reasonable plan surfaces, I will be in a better position. Or I may never feel secure enough to take the risk. My father demonstrated deplorable business sense, which I might have inherited.”
“In this case, I doubt it,” she replied. “You seem well versed in all potential pitfalls.”
Her words brought a glow to his heart. But despite a growing closeness, he could sense no change in her antagonism to marriage. His frustrations mounted until he began to wonder if there was some other, unnamed, objection to his suit.
Chapter Thirteen
“Why does Lord Heflin insist you are betrothed to him?” asked Lady Hartford at the Riverton ball.
“Is he still trying to ruin me?” Melissa kept her place relaxed with an effort. “I hoped he had given up by now.”
“Thomas heard him at Boodle’s last night.” She maneuvered them into an alcove, where they could talk without being overheard.
“Dear heaven, what am I to do?” Melissa moaned, blinking back tears. It would never do to appear upset in public. “He is an evil man.”
“Granted. But why is he after you?”
“My brother owes him money,” she explained grimly. “Heflin offered to forgive the debt if I would marry him. Toby refused. This may be revenge, or perhaps he thinks I’ll change my mind.”
“Don’t ever change your mind,” urged Lady Hartford. “Some libertines can be reformed – and they make wonderful husbands, as I well know – but he is not of their number.”
“I won’t. But there is no denying that his claims are hurting me. Despite his reputation, society wonders if I am guilty of equivocation. Where there is smoke, there must be fire,” she quoted miserably. Even George’s seeming defection was being cited as proof that more underlay Heflin’s claims than she was admitting. Several members of her court had transferred their attentions in recent days. Not that she would have accepted them, but it made her look bad.
“Perhaps Thomas knows something that will encourage Heflin to leave town,” mused Lady Hartford.
“I doubt it. He is not a man to retreat from public opinion.”
Where would it end? she wondered as Lady Hartford took her leave. Only Toby could lay Heflin’s claims to rest, but there was yet no sign of him. He might have sunk so far into dissipation that even coercion would not work. They had never been close, and she had not seen him in ten months.
His only communication had been that slippery response to the letter Saunders had carried to Drayton Manor last summer. Her ladyship had penned a blistering condemnation of his character and morals, calling the wrath of God down on his head for endangering his sister. Melissa had not seen his reply until the day Heflin visited Castleton House. Had Heflin actually forced agreement to a betrothal? Fear of facing a fait accompli might keep Toby away.
She shivered.
But if things had progressed that far, Heflin would have produced a contract. When he’d left Drayton, Toby believed Melissa was on her way to America. It was unlikely that Heflin would have heard differently until he arrived in town.
Her come-out had caused enough of a splash to resurrect his pique. Girls who injured him did not deserve society’s approval.
But a ball was no place to contemplate her problems. Abstractions and frowns would further erode her image. She gifted her first partner with a dazzling smile and joined him for a country dance.
Three sets later Charles led her into a quadrille. “You are in looks tonight, my dear.”
“I cannot believe it,” she countered. At least she did not have to pretend with him. He was becoming a close friend. “Heflin is again repeating his claims, and there seems no way to stop him. Continued speculation is eroding my reputation.”
He squeezed her hand in commiseration as he led her through the pattern. “It will rebound when this is over, though we need to finish it quickly. Not only is he reviving the tale, but he is doing it more determinedly than before. When is your brother due?”
“Who knows? Grandmama sent her secretary to fetch him a fortnight ago, and I expected him within a week.”
“Heflin must think he will refuse to support you. His recent reticence may have been a waiting period to make sure Drayton didn’t interfere.”
Her expression lightened as she considered the question. It was the same one she had asked herself, but Charles’s touch freed her from fear and melancholy. “If Toby means to avoid this summons, Saunders would have returned by now – as he would have had Toby signed settlements. Perhaps he is not at Drayton Manor. That could explain the delay.”
He smiled as they moved into the next figure, distracted for a moment by her grace. “Where might he have gone?”
Her thoughts sca
ttered as his smile raised uncomfortable heat. She had refused to waltz with him, and now suspected she must ban quadrilles and cotillions as well, for they allowed him to stand too close. “I don’t know. His friends are all in town.”
Charles noted her reaction to his touch, but he set aside his satisfaction. If he hoped to win her hand, he must go slowly. Turning the conversation to pottery, he discussed his plans to expand a small kiln near Swansea to provide work for some of his tenants. She had made the suggestion several days earlier.
Despite the defection of much of her court, Melissa did not lack for partners. Only one mentioned Heflin’s latest claims, and she repeated what she had told Lady Hartford. George led her out after supper. He was still the only gentleman she dared waltz with.
“You may wish me happy, Melissa,” he grinned, pulling her into a momentary hug. “Clara accepted my suit.”
“Congratulations,” she said through a wide smile. “I am thrilled for you.”
“I owe you more than I can ever repay,” he continued. “You were right about everything, my dear. I now know what Thomas has been experiencing all these years.”
“You truly love her, then?”
“Oh, yes. Words cannot describe it.”
She saw the stars in his eyes, and knew he spoke the truth. “I wish you all the best, George. In everything.” She quickly banished a spurt of envy. “How is your father?”
He sobered. “A little better, but he will never be himself again. The doctor does not expect him to live past the end of the year.”
“It is difficult to lose a parent,” she admitted, tightening her hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “Particularly one to whom you are close. Let Clara help you deal with the pain. It can only bring you closer.”
“Thank you, Melissa. You are wise.”
“When is the wedding?”
“We have not yet set the date, but I expect it will be at the end of the Season. Neither of us wants to wait.”
“Shall I wish Clara happy?” she asked as the dance swirled to a close. “Or did you anticipate the announcement?”