A GRIN SPREAD slowly across his face, as he reached down to pat her cheek. His voice deepened. "Merriweather Lynne? Wake up, young lady."
"No…" she said, frowning. "Go away."
His laugh pierced her sleep, and she opened her eyes and blinked.
He sat down next to her in the seat and took her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position. "Merriweather? You are about to miss your very first ball."
Merrie stared at him, still half asleep. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she inhaled sharply.
It was Francis Adams.
There was no place to go. Merrie stared wide, into his dark brown eyes, realizing he was as amused as she was dismayed. Her shoulders grasped in his hands, she tried to back away, but it was futile.
"And where do you think you are going, young lady?"
Her eyes flashed suddenly. But she said nothing. He pulled her forward, giving her no choice but to rise, and lifted her out of the carriage, setting her on the ground, gently.
"Here you go, Merriweather."
She bristled. Forcing herself to speak, she looked up at him.
"Thank you, sir." She turned back to give Lottie a 'How could you!' look and then turned back to Francis, lifting her chin. "And my name…is Merrie!"
He threw back his head and laughed, and Merrie glared at him, horrified. Then she turned and ran toward the house as fast as she could.
But a glance up at the front of the house as she approached told her all she needed to know.
The marble engraving on the front of the house read, "The Adams House."
So he was the one holding the ball, she thought in dismay. She hurried past the butler, who bowed deeply when he saw her.
"Good evening, sir," she called out. She had been in the house only once, but hurried down the hall, following a trail of guests. She was looking for a place to hide but suddenly realized she was in the ballroom.
Merrie froze.
It was full. The music had not yet started. Desperately, she began to look frantically for another exit.
"Merrie Thatcher! Your mother said you were back!"
Merrie turned to see Mrs. Greene. "Yes, ma'am. I just arrived this morning. It is good to see you, but I fear I must be excused—"
But it was too late. Already, there were several ladies who had come over to speak to her; she was surrounded now. They were asking questions, giving compliments, mentioning nephews and sons that they wished to introduce. Merrie looked from one to the other, trying to smile, but fighting the urge to cry. She needed desperately to disappear.
"Excuse me, ladies. I believe I shall capture Miss Thatcher for the first dance."
Merrie closed her eyes. It was Francis' voice. But the loud, incessant voices of the ladies surrounding her began once again, and she turned to face him. The look on his face was amused.
"Come, Miss Thatcher," he said, holding out a hand.
Merrie took it, her cheeks crimson, and Francis promptly took her onto the dance floor and nodded toward the orchestra. They began a slow, soothing melody.
She could not bring her eyes upward to meet his. "I…suppose I should thank you," she said, quietly.
"Because I rescued you from the matchmakers? Yes, indeed you should."
"You are doing a waltz for the first dance, sir? Not a minuet?"
Francis raised a brow. "My ball. My choice of music. You prefer something more difficult?"
"No! No. I just…" She looked away.
"I owe you an apology, Merriweather. I asked Carlotta to bring you. I feared if I asked you, you might refuse."
"Oh. I see." It sounded lame, even to her.
"So do not blame her for bringing you without telling you."
She was moistening her dry lips, still unable to raise her eyes.
"Tell me, Merriweather—"
"Merrie."
"Merrie," he acknowledged. "Are you still upset with me for threatening you, six years ago?"
She gasped, unable to believe he had actually brought it up. Pulling free from his arms, she took a step back.
But Francis, seeing how close she was to one of the staff with a serving tray full of champagne goblets, reached for her. When she saw his extending hand, she quickly backed up another step.
That is when it happened.
Francis could not reach her quickly enough to prevent it. The servant, with his back turned, did not realize until it was too late that Merrie was right on top of him and turned just in time to have the whole tray of full goblets knocked completely out of his hands. As it went flying, the ballroom erupted in gasps. Merrie, seeing the chaos she had caused, cried out in embarrassment. Francis reached for her once again, but she evaded his grasp and disappeared into the crowd.
And ran.
The house was large; Merrie took twists and turns, until she realized she was in the bath off the ladies' parlor. She ran inside, thankful that it was empty, and hid in one of the stalls, covering her face with her hands and sobbed.
How could Carlotta have done this to her? She had never, ever, been so embarrassed, not even in school, when the headmaster, for a series of ridiculous pranks, had caned her in the office. She thought now, she would rather have been punished a hundred times, than to have to go through this evening again.
Merrie leaned back against the wall, wondering if there was a way possible to be able to get out to the coach and hide out there, until the ball was over. She was quite sure Francis would never wish to speak to her again.
She heard the door open, then close again. "Merrie?"
It was Carlotta's voice. "Merrie, it is me—Lottie. Are you all right?"
She did not answer. Trying to keep silent, she held a hand to her mouth.
"Merrie, I am so sorry. I should have told you that the ball would be here. Francis wanted to see you, and he told me not to tell you, but…" She paused. "I should not have listened. I never thought this would be so difficult for you. If I had, I would have stayed home."
"Lottie," she choked out, finally. "It—is all right. I am—just embarrassed at causing the servant to drop the champagne—"
"Francis tried to reach for you, to prevent it," Carlotta said softly. "But you were too fast for him." She was grinning now; Merrie could hear it in her voice.
Finally, she stepped out. "I had no idea that was why he was reaching for me," she said quietly. "Oh, Lottie! I have ruined a perfectly good ball."
Carlotta reached for her, hugging her. "I am sure that is not the first time the staff has ever spilled champagne." She giggled.
Merrie was giggling now, too. "But, I think, my dear friend, I shall go out to the carriage and wait this out. Please promise me that you will enjoy the rest of the evening?"
"You may try it, Merrie. But you know Francis would come out looking for you."
"Then I shall find some place in the house where I can hide." Merrie frowned. "Someplace where he cannot find me."
Carlotta's expression was incredulous. "It is his house, you know. I think he would find you."
"Trust me. I shall be able to find a spot." Merrie lifted her chin.
"All right. Good luck, my friend," she whispered.
Slowly, Merrie opened the door and peeked out. Seeing no one, she took a few steps out of the ladies' parlor, toward the hallway leading to the front of the house.
She had just turned the corner when she saw Dudley Overton approaching.
Instantly, she turned away, putting her back to him and closing her eyes.
He cleared his throat. "Miss Thatcher," he began, quite loudly. "I would like to command—"
Her eyes opened in fright. Of all the people she had not wished to see here! Could it possibly get any worse?
But Francis Adams' tall figure was standing in front of her now. His expression of amusement was gone. She looked up as if to say, "Help!"
"My apologies, Mr. Overton. I believe Miss Thatcher and I have not finished our dance. Later, perhaps…"
Before Merrie knew it, he had p
ulled her back out onto the dance floor, holding her to him closely.
"And those eyes," he said in her ear. "Voiced a silent call for help if ever I saw one."
"Thank you, sir," she whispered. "I so did not wish to see him."
His arm was still firmly about her waist; but he leaned her shoulders back, slightly, looking down into her eyes. "I was the lesser of the two evils, then?"
Suddenly, unable to stop it, she let a giggle escape.
"Ah. That is much better." He smiled. "I promise you I shall not let you back into any more of the champagne."
"I am sure they will avoid me for the rest of the evening." She shook her head.
"It would not be the first time one has dropped a tray. Do not be dismayed. I shall watch over you carefully."
This time, she raised her eyes to his, curious to see if he was poking fun at her. But there was no hint of it in his gaze.
"May I ask for every dance this evening, Miss Thatcher? To keep your former suitors away?"
"How—sir—did you know?"
"Your eyes do not lie, Merriweather. It was evident."
She lowered her gaze. "Am I that transparent, then?"
His grin flickered over her face.
"Yes, indeed, you are,"
"Ooh…"
"Should I marry you, do not think that you would ever get away with trying to lie to me."
Her eyes flew to his at that, wide. "I—do not understand you, sir."
He pulled her closer. "Oh, but I think you do." He glanced to the sidelines to see that Mr. Overton was not far away and carefully guided her to the other side of the ballroom. "Are you thirsty, Miss Thatcher?"
"A little, sir," she admitted. He guided her to the refreshment table and handed her a glass of punch.
"For you."
She giggled, suddenly. "I was hoping for champagne." Her dimples were teasing now.
"Ah. No champagne for you, little girl." He added, "And do not take long to drink your punch. Mr. Overton is heading this way."
She took a gulp, handing the glass back, and he set it down. A moment later, they were back out in the middle of the floor. When he looked down at her, however, her chin was lifted defiantly.
"I assume, young lady," he said into her ear. "There is a reason for those defiant eyes I see? Is it because I called you a little girl? Or because, perhaps, I would not allow you champagne?"
"I am not a little girl, sir," she said.
"You are nineteen."
"I—yes. How did you know that?"
"Carlotta told me."
She scowled.
"And you may remove the scowl. I asked her or she likely would not have told me."
"Well, still…" she trailed off.
He leaned back somewhat. "Are you always this difficult, Merriweather Thatcher?"
"I am not difficult, sir," she retorted.
"Indeed, you are. I believe I shall have to work with you on being less so."
She stiffened. "And how, sir, do you intend to do that?"
She grimaced, wishing she had thought out her question before speaking.
"Do you wish me to demonstrate, young lady? Here, in the middle of the ballroom?"
"I…" She gulped and glanced around at the crowd of people. "I do not think so…sir."
"That bothers you, I can see. Here comes Mr. Overton again. And Charles Wilmington. You must avoid him at all costs, Merriweather."
She exclaimed in dismay. "I agree, sir. I have heard stories…"
He frowned. "Shall I take care of the situation for you? Unless you wish to dance with these men."
She shook her head. "I do not."
"All right. Then be silent, Merriweather." He waited until Mr. Overton approached and asked if he might cut in. "I do apologize, Mr. Overton, Charles. But I believe her card is full for the rest of the evening."
Mr. Overton politely returned a bow and backed away. Charles looked indignant.
"I believe, Francis, that is against etiquette."
"So it is. Enjoy your evening, Charles, and tell your parents greetings from me."
Charles frowned but bowed, after a moment, and left. Francis, leaning down, said softly in her ear, "You do realize you are now forced to dance the rest of the evening with me?"
She grinned. "You are my hero, sir. I shall not mind."
"I can rescue you from everyone except Father Michael."
She looked up. "He is here? I have not seen him."
"He is. So is my friend, Geoffrey. But I shall not allow him to dance with you, either." He was grinning now. "I prefer to keep you to myself. And you have not answered my question, Merriweather."
She frowned up at him. "I shall not answer any questions unless you address me as Merrie," she said defiantly.
"This defiance needs working on, I see. But I am up to it."
She looked away. "And what was your question, sir? I seem to have forgotten."
"It is whether or not you have forgiven me for threatening you, six years ago. Merrie." His emphasis on her name, along with the question, brought another blush.
"Well…" She bit her lip. "I suppose, since you have rescued me three times this evening—"
"Four."
"Four." She nodded. "I think it would be rude of me to continue to hold it against you." Her eyes were twinkling now.
"Yes." His were twinkling as well, "It would, indeed."
CARLOTTA WAS ALREADY in the coach when Francis escorted Merrie out and put her inside. He had asked permission to see her again and to take her for a ride Sunday afternoon after Mass. Merrie agreed, without hesitation. He bowed over her hand and returned to say goodbye to his guests.
Carlotta was grinning when Francis closed the door.
"Well, Merrie?"
Merrie stared back, blankly. "Well?" she echoed.
Her friend merely threw back her head and laughed. "The ballroom floor, in Francis' arms, is a unique place to choose for hiding from him," she said, grinning. "But I did get a chance to hear what some of the local girls thought about him dancing every dance with you. It was not pretty." She was giggling now and added, "But oh, Merrie, it was choice!"
CHAPTER 2
M ass seemed short Sunday morning. But Merrie, who had chosen to sit between her parents, was fidgety. More than once, she found Francis, sitting one aisle away, gazing upon her. Even from a distance, the expression on his face seemed to say, "Be still."
Once it was over, however, her parents said goodbye, and she went to find Lottie.
"Good morning, Miss Thatcher," a deep voice said, behind her.
Merrie felt the censorship of his gaze before she saw it. Taking a deep breath, she turned.
"Good morning, Mr. Adams." She had lifted her chin, without realizing it.
His brow rose. "As defiant as ever, I see. Hmm."
Merrie was becoming rapidly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. It was a relief when she heard Father Michael's voice behind her.
"Good morning, my dear child." The kindness in his voice was always a delight to hear. "I hope we shall get to keep you from now on. I missed getting to speak to you at the ball."
"Father!" Merrie turned and threw her arms around his neck. "I hope so too, Father. It is so good to be home. And I apologize; I did not see you there."
Father Michael's indulgent smile flickered from her to Francis. "I understood completely. Your focus was a little…narrowed. Both of you seemed to be in the same state."
Merrie's cheeks became instantly pink; Francis, however, was grinning widely. The priest chuckled. "But I did not seek you out embarrass you, Miss Thatcher; only to say, 'Welcome home.'"
Father Michael moved on as Francis turned her to face him. "I shall come to Carlotta's for you this afternoon at two, if that is an appropriate time for you."
She looked back up at him, wondering at his ability to cause flutters in her the nearer he came. "That is…fine, Mr. Adams."
He bowed. "Until then, Merriweather."
She trouble
d her lower lip with her teeth, but did not correct him this time. His mouth turned up at the corners as he walked away.
Lottie's voice spoke into her ear, "Oh, Merrie. I do believe Francis Adams is quite enamored of you."
Merrie frowned. "I do not, for the life of me, understand why. He must be blind."
Lottie laughed and took Merrie's arm. "No, my good friend; it is you who is blind."
MERRIE WAS WATCHING for him through the window when she saw the white horse and the light carriage approach. Her breath hitched, and Carlotta came over to the window.
"Did you know, Merrie, he has been knighted?"
Merrie scowled. "No. I wondered at the guests addressing him as 'Sir.' When did that happen?"
"When he took his father back to England to bury him. He tried to get people to ignore it when he came home. But they did not." She was giggling now. "If you marry him, they will probably call you 'Lady Adams.'"
Merrie rolled her eyes. "Trust me, Lottie. That is not going to happen. The last person in the world I wish to marry is Francis Adams."
But Lottie was still peeking out the window, as Francis approached the house. "He does present a fine figure, does he not? I am fond of his smile. It is like David's."
Merrie made a face. "He smiles? I must confess I have not seen it."
Carlotta's laugh filled the room, and Merrie stayed at the window until she could no longer see him.
A knock sounded at the door, and a voice said softly, "Miss Merriweather? A gentleman to see you downstairs, miss."
Merrie grabbed her cape and a small beaded bag. “I am coming, Melody. Thank you."
She could see him, still standing in the foyer, as she reached the first floor. He moved over and reached for her hand, guiding her down the last few steps.
"You look quite lovely, Merriweather." He smiled down at her as he lifted her into the open carriage.
She gave him a withering glance. "May I just say how very intensely I dislike being called by my first name? That is what they called me in school. I hated it."
"You prefer Lynne?"
"I prefer Merrie."
"Hmm." He considered it. "All right. Then I shall only call you Merriweather when you are in trouble. But be warned, my little girl. With your defiant streak, you may hear it a lot."
Merrie's Hero Page 2