Drew gazed down into her angry face another moment and then turned away with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Melanie," he said quietly, crossing the room to stand before the fireplace. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You're right, you did the only thing you could, and I thank you. It would have been disastrous if I had been dismissed from my post."
"That is what I thought," Melanie agreed, relieved he was no longer angry with her. "When Miss Evingale mentioned that book, I realized she was offering me the perfect excuse, and I seized it with both hands."
"A tactical decision I am sure Sir would support," Drew said with a slight smile, envisioning his response when he learned of this latest fiasco. "He is a great believer in using whatever tools come to hand."
"Speaking of Sir, have you been to see him? Did you tell him about Mr. Barrymore?" she asked, happy that the awkward moment was behind them. "Was that him creeping past my window last night? Did you follow him?"
"Which question shall I answer first?" Drew asked, hiding his uneasiness behind a smooth smile. He had been an agent for too many years to confide in anyone comfortably, and he honestly felt Melanie was best left out of things. If Barrymore ever suspected she was a part of this . . . he refused to consider the possibilities.
"Did you tell Sir about Barrymore?" she asked, deciding that was the most important thing for the moment. "When is he going to have him arrested?"
"Soon." He felt safe telling her that much, at least. "We are readying a trap now, and the moment he takes the bait, we shall have him. Your father's name will be cleared, Melanie, that much I can promise you."
Melanie said nothing, surprised at how bereft his words made her feel. This is what she had been praying for since she had first heard that woman gossiping at Almacks. Why then did she want to burst into tears at the very thought? Melanie's heart knew the answer to the question, but her head refused to acknowledge the unhappy truth.
Chapter Eleven
"Ah, Melanie, dearest, there you are," the earl greeted Melanie as she returned from making her afternoon calls. "I was wondering if I might have a word with you."
"Of course, Papa," she replied, surrendering her pelisse and bonnet to the footman. A quick glance around the hall showed that Drew was nowhere to be found, and she wondered if he had slipped away to visit Sir. In the two weeks since her presentation, he had spent more and more time away from his duties, often returning with a grim look on his face. She had the feeling something momentous was afoot, and she wished he would confide in her.
"Where are your grandmother and Miss Evingale?" Lord Terrington queried as he led her to the Duchess's Room. "Did they not accompany you to Lady Wilton's?"
"Yes, but they thought to visit the lending library," Melanie explained, taking a seat on the gold settee. She cast a fond look about the sunlit room, thinking how much she had grown to love it. She would miss it once they were back in the country. In fact, she thought unhappily, there were a great many things she would miss.
"I have some news for you, my dear, which I think you might find of interest," her father began without preamble, his eyes glowing with eagerness. "I have been given a new post."
"Papa, that is wonderful!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and throwing her arms exuberantly about his neck. "Where are we going? And when shall we be leaving?"
"Not for a good while yet," the earl chuckled, returning her effusive embrace. "And as to where, I am afraid that has yet to be decided. All I can tell you is that the Foreign Secretary himself took me aside to tell me not to get too settled in my new position, as he had other plans for me."
"Oh, Papa, I am so happy for you," Melanie replied, blinking back tears of joy as she resumed her seat. Sir must have contacted Castlereagh, she realized, impressed by the power wielded by Drew's enigmatic superior. Castlereagh was a man not easily led.
"There, did I not tell you not to worry over those silly rumors?" Lord Terrington teased, feeling magnanimous now that the danger had passed. "All worked out in the end just as I said it would."
"If you say so, sir," she answered with a knowing smile. "But surely his lordship must have given you some sort of hint about your next assignment. What did he say?"
"Only that he had other plans for me," he answered, folding his hands across his stomach as he regarded Melanie with loving amusement. "There was a mention of a more felicitous climate, quite unlike what we endured in America, but other than that the viscount was as coy as a maiden. So what do you think, eh, my dear? Ready to follow the drum with your poor old father?"
"More than ready," she replied, forcing a light note into her voice. "Only tell me when we are to leave and I shall begin packing at once."
"It is odd, but I had rather hoped to see you married by now, or betrothed at the very least," the earl said in a thoughtful manner. "It was the reason I insisted you be presented, after all. Is there not some young man who has caught your fancy?" He studied her hopefully.
"Oh, Papa." Melanie shook her head at him, knowing she could never tell him the truth. "We have rubbed along quite well together all these years. Whyever should I wish to trade that for a life of dull respectability?"
"There is nothing dull about respectability, Melanie," he rebuked her sternly, thinking of the scandal that had dogged him so recently. "But you still have not answered my question. Is there not some man in the whole of society who has caught your interest? It's not as if you hadn't taken, after all. Our house has been filled with beaus since you made your bows."
"Corinthians and fops." She dismissed her suitors with a wave of her hand. They had all been charming and attentive, but compared to Drew they were all shallow little boys, and she could not find it in herself to give them even the slightest encouragement. "Or else they were fortune hunters," she added, remembering some of the other men who had danced attendance upon her.
"Ah, you are referring to Sir Melvin," the earl said with a brisk nod. "Well, you needn't have worried I would even consider his offer! Not only were the man's pockets to let, but he is a younger son with no claim to a title. As my daughter, I expect you to aim a trifle higher than that."
"Papa!" Melanie was scandalized by her father's sudden display of snobbishness.
"Well, I am sorry, my dear, but we must live in our world as it is, not as we would like it to be," he replied in his thoughtful manner. "With things as they were, I wanted the comfort of knowing that you would be protected, whatever might happen. As my daughter and my only heir, you will be inheriting a substantial fortune as well as my name. Is it small wonder that I should want the best for you?"
"Yes, but the best need not include an empty title! Just because a man is accepted in polite society, it does not mean he is a gentleman!" she replied, thinking of Mr. Barrymore. The man had ingratiated himself with half the hostesses in London, and when she thought of how he was deliberately using both her father and herself to further his own ambition, it made her long to scratch his eyes out. She could not wait until Drew exposed him for the villain that he was.
"I see."
Her father's contemplative voice brought Melanie's head up in alarm. "And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked warily.
"Only that you have been spending a great deal of time with Mr. Barrymore these last weeks," the earl replied, his glance frankly speculative as he studied her. "And the two of you have always been rather close. In Washington he was your favorite dancing partner."
"In Washington he was the only one who could dance without tramping all over my feet!" she replied with decided heat, horrified by her father's line of questioning.
"Granted, but you cannot deny that you have been setting your cap at him these last few weeks," the earl replied doggedly. "What of the day you teased him into riding with you? And only last evening you danced two sets with him at the Embassy's ball. What else am I to think?"
"Well, certainly not that I am romantically interested in him!" Melanie answered quickly, wondering how she could extract herself from this m
ess. The only reason she had danced with Mr. Barrymore at all was to alleviate any suspicions he might have. And to learn what he was doing chatting with that Senhor Martinez, she thought, remembering how secretive the two of them looked whispering in the corner. She would have to tell Drew what she had seen.
"Are you quite certain you do not have a tendre for him?" Her father was regarding her with a worried frown. "He has been an excellent assistant, but if I thought even for one moment that you were interested in him, then I would have no choice but to dismiss him from my service. A man of his questionable background is hardly the type of man I would allow to pay court to my only daughter."
"I can assure you, Father, that I haven't the slightest affection for Mr. Barrymore above the common," Melanie said, meeting her father's steady gaze. "I regard him as a—" She stopped abruptly, her brows puckering in a frown as she considered his last words. "What do you mean, a man of his questionable reputation?"
The earl colored at Melanie's perceptiveness. "I beg your pardon, my dear, and ask that you forget that last unfortunate remark," he said, looking faintly embarrassed. "It was most unkind of me."
"But what do you mean?" Melanie persisted, leaning forward on the settee to study her father's face. "Has it anything to do with his being Lord Marlehope's bastard?"
"Then you know?" Her father was obviously scandalized. "But how could you? I only recently learned of it myself, and the duke swore me to secrecy. Did Mr. Barrymore say anything to you?"
"Hardly," she answered, nibbling on her lip as she debated what to tell her father. Drew had sworn her to secrecy, but since he had already learned the truth of Barrymore's birth, she could see no harm in telling him more. After a moment's consideration she related the circumstances of that morning ride she had taken with the assistant, including the uncomfortable encounter with Lord Parkinson.
"I would never have suspected it had I not seen the two of them together," she concluded, confident that she had done the right thing. "And after Mr. Barrymore's bitter comment, well, I would have to be a pea goose not to have tumbled to the truth. What did the duke say to you?"
The earl shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I told you, my dear, His Grace swore me to secrecy, and in any case, it is hardly the type of thing a gentleman would discuss with his unmarried daughter."
"Oh, please, Papa, I am hardly a green girl!" Melanie gave him an exasperated look. "Besides, I do not understand why the duke even sent Mr. Barrymore to you at all if he is so ashamed of him."
"But that is just it. Lord Marlehope didn't send the wretch to me!" he blurted out, feeling faintly harassed. "In fact, he wasn't even in Madrid when my letter arrived. It was his son, Parkinson, who intercepted my letter and then decided to send Barrymore to America when I mentioned I had need of an assistant. He was probably trying to avoid a scandal by shipping him safely across the Atlantic. And in all fairness to Barrymore, I really cannot fault his performance. As I have said, he is an excellent assistant."
Oh, Papa, if only you knew, Melanie thought, eager to relay what she had learned to Drew. Perhaps now there would be enough proof to arrest the scoundrel before he ruined everything. It wasn't as if they had all the time in the world, after all. The season would be over at the end of the month.
"You must promise me not to tell anyone," her father instructed her in a stern manner. "Mr. Barrymore may not be all that he should be, but I will not have him gossiped about. Is that clear?"
"Oh, yes, Papa," Melanie answered, casting her eyes down demurely. "Quite clear."
They were to spend a quiet evening at home that night, in order to rest for the ball being held at Clarence House the following evening. The ball was for diplomatic personnel returning from a successful mission to Russia, and with her father's return to grace, they had received an invitation only yesterday. Melanie sat at her place, picking at her food as she debated how to get Drew off for a few minutes of private conversation.
He had arrived at the house to help serve dinner, and there was no time to take him aside. She had tried shooting him meaningful looks, but he ignored them, serving the earl his meal with what she regarded as unwarranted devotion. Finally in frustration she decided she could wait no longer and set her fork down.
"Mr. Davies," she began, making her voice as haughty as possible, "I would like to see you in my father's study after dinner, if you please. There is a small problem with the footman I should like to discuss with you."
Drew's eyebrows rose not only at her superior tones, but at the bold way she had made her announcement. It was obvious the little minx was up to something, and with the plan already set into motion, he could not afford any distractions at this point.
"Very well, my lady," he said, inclining his head politely. "I shall place myself at your disposal."
"Really, Melanie, if there is some problem with the staff, you might let me handle it," Lady Abbington said, shooting an angry scowl at her granddaughter. "I know you are used to being mistress in your own household, but may I remind you that I am your father's hostess? If there is something amiss, I should be the one to speak to the butler."
"I know, Grandmother." Melanie gave the marchioness a soothing smile. "But you have done so much already that I do hate to bother you with what is really a trifling matter. Besides, did you not say you and Miss Evingale meant to finish Dark Moor tonight?" She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully.
"Eh? Dark Moor?" Lady Abbington blinked in confusion. "But haven't we already . . . oh!" Her brow cleared as if by magic. Dark Moor! "Yes, you are quite right, my dear. Edwina and I are longing to finish that book. Is that not so?" She addressed the question to the companion, who was looking on with wide-eyed eagerness.
"Indeed we are, your ladyship, indeed we are," she replied, all but rubbing her hands in glee. "There is nothing like a good Gothic, I have always said."
"Well, mind you, don't tie up my study too long, my dear," her father said, finishing the last of his mutton. "There are some new dispatches I am to examine before they are released to the House of Lords."
"Would you like any assistance, my lord?" Mr. Barrymore inquired, his manner solicitous. "I have hardly had a thing to do in these last weeks, and I am beginning to feel I am not earning my keep."
"What nonsense, my boy," the earl replied with a hearty laugh. Despite what he knew of the lad's birth, it was obvious he was determined not to hold it against him, and the smile he gave him was a genuine one. "You have been of more help than you realize. Besides, did you not tell me you were invited for cards at a friend's club?"
"Yes, but my plans can always be changed if you should have need of me," Mr. Barrymore said with a fawning smile. "And as I am a poor card player, I dare say it might be better for my pocket if I did stay at home."
"Nonsense, Mr. Barrymore, a good game of chance never hurt anyone," Lord Terrington assured him with a low chuckle. "Just mind you are in at a decent hour, as we will have a full day ahead of us what with the debating session and then the ball at His Highness's house."
Drew poured the earl fresh coffee as the two men continued discussing politics in an animated fashion. He found Barrymore's remarks about his lack of card skill to be most interesting in the light of what Sir had learned. It seemed that the man was a cardsharp who had won enough markers from Lord Parkinson to place the earl firmly in his pocket. That was one hold over Marlehope's head, which doubtlessly explained why the duke had been so eager to fob him off on Terrington. The other hold was his illegitimacy, which although yet to be proven, was unquestionable. As Melanie had said, Parkinson and Barrymore could easily be taken for brothers.
Thinking of Melanie brought to mind her bold demand to see him in the study. What maggot did the little hellcat have in her brain this time, he wondered, shooting her a thoughtful glance. From looking at her now, dressed in a demure gown of soft cream-colored satin trimmed with bunches of violets, one would think her innocent as a lamb. But he knew better, of course. Melanie was about as innocent as a loaded
musket!
After dinner Melanie sailed grandly into the study, her heart beating with eagerness. She had barely settled in her chair when there was a knock at the door and Drew stepped inside the room.
"Yes, your ladyship, what is it I can do for you?" he asked, bowing stiffly.
Melanie leapt up from her chair and hurried to his side. "Drew! You are never going to believe what I . . . umph!" She gasped as he clamped his hand over her mouth.
"Quiet, you little fool!" he instructed her harshly, pulling her away from the door. "Hasn't it occurred to you that Barrymore might be listening?" He pushed her none too gently back onto her chair and went to press his ear against the door. Satisfied there was no one there, he turned away, his eyes icy with displeasure as he studied Melanie sitting stiffly in her chair.
"I want to know what the devil you think you are doing," he said, folding his arms across his chest as he confronted her. "How are we to keep my identity a secret if you persist upon arranging these little assignations?"
"Assignations?" she gasped, her eyes narrowing with indignation. "How dare you, sir! And how else am I to arrange to speak with you, I should like to know!"
"There is no reason at all you should need to speak with me," Drew answered harshly as he took a chair facing hers. He had just come from seeing Sir, and the knowledge that this would be all over in a matter of days had left him feeling decidedly raw. In the few weeks he had come to know Melanie, he had grown surprisingly close to her, and the thought of never seeing her again filled him with grim despair.
"Really?" She gave him her sweetest smile. "Not even the news that Marlehope admitted to my father that Barrymore is his illegitimate son?"
Her Ladyship's Man Page 14