“I expect he could arrange that, but think how lonely you would be. You deserve better. I may not be perfect, but I can offer you wealth and respectability. It may be difficult at first, but after a while you will regain your acceptance in society, particularly if we show ourselves to be happy in our marriage.”
“But we wouldn’t be happy.” She bowed her head, staring at her clasped hands, and then met his tired eyes. “It is most noble of you to offer for me, Lord Garrison, but you do not love me any more than I love you. I could not reconcile it with my conscience to force you into marriage.” She squeezed her hands so hard she shook. “Please, please do not press me anymore.”
He stood, his face hard again, and cold. He bowed and turned away.
A woman with character and a conscience—just the sort he’d advised his friend Fellowes to seek.
Or maybe she was merely mouthing excuses. Maybe she found the thought of marrying him too horrifying to bear.
He wouldn’t blame her. Of course a Starling would refuse to wed the notorious Lord Garrison. She’d been unexpectedly considerate, given his reputation. Given his refusal to explain the monstrous scandal in his past.
He never, ever spoke of that scandal. At one point, he had almost dismissed Mrs. Timms for trying to discuss it with him.
He would hold his peace until Sir Edward Starling arrived. They hadn’t liked each other much in school, but perhaps Edward would have the sense to see that marriage to Miles was the only reasonable course. In the meantime, Miles had already asked his lawyer to draft appropriate settlements to prove his good intentions.
If Edward didn’t see sense, or if Melinda continued to refuse, Miles would be off the hook—and a complete social outcast. People would say he had managed to put Melinda aside by subtle means, or that she was so disgusted that she preferred a life of shame to marriage with him.
Once he had mastered his emotions, he turned to Melinda again. “Very well, but I suggest we maintain the pretense until your brother arrives. Mrs. Timms is a stickler for propriety, and—”
As if on cue, Mrs. Timms opened the door and barged through. “My lord, what are you doing in here? This is most improper. You must not enter Miss Starling’s bedchamber until you are wed.” She set a tray on the table by the bed, practically elbowing him out of the chair.
“Quite right, Mrs. Timms,” Lord Garrison said, before Melinda could blurt out a denial. He caught her eyes, and she lowered her gaze again, saying nothing. He let out a breath of relief. Absurd of him, because Melinda, not he, was the one who would suffer if Mrs. Timms disapproved of her presence in the house. As it was, the housekeeper had all but ordered him to spend the night elsewhere. Propriety in this case was not only ridiculous, but a damned nuisance. However, with Melinda refusing to marry him, even the slightest nod to propriety was better than nothing.
“Look at her, poor thing,” Mrs. Timms clucked. “She’s pale as chalk and needs nourishment and rest. Be off with you, my lord. You should know better.”
“Indeed.” He also should have known better than to think Melinda Starling might agree to wed him. He should probably be thankful; social anathema was preferable to life with a wife who found him loathsome. He bowed to Melinda. “I beg your pardon, my dear, if I fatigued you.” He left the room, and five minutes later, the house as well.
Whether from anxiety or from sleeping all day, Melinda tossed and fretted most of the night. When she did sleep, ghastly dreams assailed her, in which Edward threw her into a midden while Grandmama cackled and even her dear sister-in-law Adriana nodded her approval. Lord Garrison watched coldly from afar. She got up and paced the room, throwing open the curtains, staring into the unfriendly night, then huddled in the bed again. At last she succumbed to exhaustion, but too soon, the brisk voice of Mrs. Timms wrenched her from the depths of sleep.
“Time for your morning chocolate, Miss.” She flung the bed curtains across with one hand; in the other she carried a pile of clothing. A maid appeared with the chocolate on a tray. She set the tray on the table by the bed, curtsied, and left. Melinda blinked wearily.
Mrs. Timms laid the clothes on a chair and came to plump up the pillows. “You shall sit up in bed and drink it whilst I have the footmen bring up a bath.”
A bath—how wonderful. Melinda yawned and sat up. She must look on the bright side. Today Edward would come for her, and all would be well.
“His lordship asked me to purchase some clothing for you. It is not what I would have wished the future Lady Garrison to wear, but at short notice and without calling in a dressmaker . . .” She tsked. “Men simply don’t understand. What a pity you don’t have your own clothing with you.” She paused, a questioning gleam in her eyes.
“Yes, such a pity,” Melinda said flatly.
“I hope you will be satisfied with what I found,” said Mrs. Timms.
“I’m sure I shall,” Melinda said, fending off a combination of annoyance and embarrassment. Lord Garrison shouldn’t supply her with clothing. She would ask Edward to pay him for it.
“I trust you will have one of your own gowns for the wedding,” said Mrs. Timms. “You will want to wear your best for such an occasion.”
“Of course.” She wished Mrs. Timms wouldn’t so blatantly fish for information. Perhaps she should do some fishing of her own. “Have you been with Lord Garrison for long?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Starling.” Mrs. Timms shook out a saffron morning dress with pale yellow flounces. “This isn’t quite the first stare of fashion, in fact it’s last year’s, but the color will go beautifully with your hair.” She laid it at the end of the bed. “Yes, I’ve been with the Garrison family since his lordship was a boy. I started as a housemaid and worked my way up.”
“Then you were with him when that horrid scandal occurred.”
“Not at the London household,” she said repressively. “Such goings-on would never be allowed in a house under my charge.”
Did she mean orgies? Melinda didn’t see how a housekeeper would have the power to prevent them. She must mean something else, then.
“I was employed at another of his lordship’s estates.” Mrs. Timms held up a green walking dress. “This will do nicely for the drive down to Sussex.”
“Thank you,” Melinda said. “I like both gowns very much.” She probed further. “It must have been a most trying time for him.”
“Dreadful, Miss, absolutely dreadful, and—” She broke off. “But I mustn’t speak of it with you. His lordship would be extremely displeased with me. He has forbidden all mention of it, on pain of dismissal.”
Melinda frowned. “I wonder why?”
“I daresay he wants to leave it in the past where it belongs—and rightly so.”
Melinda nodded, pretending to agree. She knew about keeping horrid feelings cooped up inside. Perhaps Lord Garrison had no one in whom he could comfortably confide. She knew how that felt, too.
“Such a subject is inappropriate for discussion with one’s lady wife,” Mrs. Timms said.
“Indeed,” Melinda said, but how could she help but be curious? The last glance she’d had of him the night before, he had shuttered his emotions. Had her refusal hurt his feelings?
What else could she have done? She couldn’t marry a man she barely knew, particularly one who wouldn’t even explain his questionable past. Didn’t she have the right to know what had happened?
If she were going to marry him, that is, which she wasn’t.
All she knew about him, apart from his undoubted kindness, was . . . his kiss.
She’d been so caught up in her misery that she’d almost forgotten that kiss. Almost forgotten how wonderful, how magical that kiss had been. She hoped that the man she eventually married would kiss like that . . .
If she ever married, she thought glumly. More likely she would never b
e kissed at all again, much less in such a delightful manner.
This was such a sad thought that she set it firmly aside. She drank the cup of chocolate as Mrs. Timms displayed shifts, stays, stockings, a pelisse, gloves, a pair of kid half-boots, and a straw bonnet to go with the walking dress. Two footmen arrived with a big copper tub and pails of water, and as Melinda got out of bed, she made a discovery. In her pain and distress, she had forgotten that her monthly bleeding was due.
“Oh! My courses just began,” she said.
“Well, it’s no matter. We’ll make the bath a quick one, and I’ll fetch up some rags for you.”
Melinda submitted to being bathed and having her hair washed.
“If you are feeling well enough, Miss, I believe you should come downstairs to breakfast,” Mrs. Timms said. “What a pity his lordship is not here to bear you company, but I couldn’t let him stay in the house overnight. It wouldn’t be right.”
Poor Lord Garrison, forced to sleep elsewhere. She couldn’t marry him, but she would certainly apologize to him for putting him out of his house. And thank him with all her heart—
Her throat swelled with tears. Aghast, she swallowed them down. She never wept; she had learned not to years ago when a child in her grandmother’s house. This unaccustomed weakness must be due to lack of sleep. She did her best to be cheerful while Mrs. Timms clucked and fussed, apologized that there was no lady’s maid in the house, and proved herself an excellent substitute.
Melinda went downstairs and breakfasted on eggs, toast, and coffee. She wasn’t ordinarily a cheerless person. She had learned to look on the bright side while young; otherwise she would never have survived the years she had endured with Grandmama. Everything would work out all right in the end. It always did. One only had to be optimistic and determined, and—
Mrs. Timms bustled into the dining room. “There’s a gentleman here to see you, Miss Starling.”
Colin? Oh, she hoped so. “Who is it?”
“I told him you weren’t quite well yet and might not be accepting visitors, but he assured me you would be willing to see him. It’s Lord Bottleford, Miss, so I didn’t like to refuse him without consulting you first. He is in the blue drawing room.”
Melinda’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. Lord Bottleford was one of her most persistent suitors and a favorite of Grandmama. What could he possibly want with her now that she was ruined?
Had Grandmama sent him? No, that made no sense. She had better go see him and get it over with. At least he wouldn’t prose on and on about his estate in Hampshire, as he’d done each and every time he had asked for her hand.
She found Lord Bottleford pacing back and forth in front of the drawing room windows, scowling at his watch.
“You wished to see me?” Melinda said.
He whirled, flipping away a lock of pale hair that had fallen over his brow. “I am shocked, extremely shocked I should say, to find that the gossip is true. You are indeed living in Lord Garrison’s house.”
She put up her chin. “What business is that of yours?”
“It is the business of every decent human being to decry such blatant immorality.”
Melinda bristled but managed to say with commendable calm, “There is no immorality in my presence here. Lord Garrison gave me refuge and is staying elsewhere.”
“Is that the story you’re setting about? It won’t do. Everyone knows he ravished you.”
“They can’t possibly know that,” Melinda said, “because it isn’t true.”
“Do you mean—” He paused, going through some internal struggle. He often did that when particularly moved by some tedious subject. “No, surely not.” His mouth writhed with distaste. “You cannot possibly mean to say that you gave in willingly?”
“I didn’t give in to anything,” she retorted. “If you have come here only to insult me, I shall have you shown out.” She reached for the bell.
“Hold!” he said pompously. That lock of hair had fallen over his brow again. “My disgust got the better of me. I did not come to insult you but rather to offer to marry you.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“They say you are engaged to Lord Garrison, but that is nonsense. Even if he has told you some such thing, you mustn’t believe him. He will use you and then desert you, like the libertine he is.”
She found that impossible to believe. If he meant to desert her, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so already. Instead, his behavior seemed excessively honorable—and yet, his dreadful reputation hovered like a black cloud. She didn’t know what to think.
She also didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t say she was engaged to marry Lord Garrison, because it wasn’t true. She couldn’t say she wasn’t, because Mrs. Timms or one of the other servants might hear.
She needn’t have worried. Lord Bottleford, as usual, was prepared to carry the entire conversation himself. He flipped back the lock of hair. “It is not what I would wish, but given the distress you have caused Lady Starling, I had no choice but to step into the breach.”
“I don’t know what story my grandmother told you, but—”
“As I was saying, into the breach. You are a mere female and cannot understand the gravity of your situation. A speedy marriage is all that can save you.”
This was precisely what Lord Garrison had said, but at least he hadn’t insulted her intelligence. Lord Bottleford had a habit of maundering on about male wisdom. She tried to imagine Lord Garrison lecturing in such a way, and couldn’t.
“Lord Bottleford, I am no more willing to marry you now than I ever was. Did my grandmother put you up to this?”
“Lady Starling begged me to help her. Poor lady, she opened the door to welcome you home with open arms, but that fellow had lured you back into his carriage, and it was too late.”
Melinda wavered. Could this be true? Had she misunderstood her grandmother’s intent? Perhaps she had been addled from that blow to the head. Perhaps she could just . . . go home. She would have to apologize to Grandmama, but she’d done that countless times. Edward would come, and . . .
Edward had supported her so far in her insistence on marrying for love. Now, he would agree with everyone else’s assessment of her situation. He might try to persuade her to accept Lord Bottleford’s offer.
“Allow me to know what is best for you,” his lordship said, and that lock of hair flopped back down over his brow. In the past, his hair had made her want to giggle. Now, imagining what it would be like to face it every day of her life, she shuddered. As for kissing him . . . She almost gagged.
“Before now, I could afford to be patient with your refusals to marry me. I thought it best to wait until you had outgrown your flirtatious tendencies.” He sighed heavily. “I hope you have now learned the dangers of overly familiar manners, but if not, I shall school you into appropriate behavior. However, my willingness to save you from the consequences of your folly requires that certain conditions be met. First of all, we shall wait to see if you have conceived a child.”
She gritted her teeth. “Did you not hear a word of what I said? The gossip is nothing but lies.”
He tutted as if she were a little girl denying she had stolen a jar of sweets. “If you have not conceived, I am willing to allow the marriage to take place as soon as can be.”
Melinda had borne enough. “You are wasting your time, my lord. Please leave.”
“Otherwise,” he went on, “I shall have you sent away to give birth. I could not allow the evidence of such immorality to sully my beloved estate in Hampshire.”
She should have known he would come around to the stupid estate sooner or later. Grimly, she shoved her growing fury back down her throat.
“The child will be fostered out, after which time we shall start over as if nothing had happened.”
> She wanted to kill him then and there, but instead she said calmly, “Nothing has happened. I shall not marry you. Go away.”
He stared. He shook his head, and that lock of hair jiggled crazily. “I don’t believe it. You would refuse my respectable offer of marriage to stay with that—that fiend?”
“Lord Garrison is no fiend. He is a kindly, considerate man.” A good man, the sort one would marry if one loved him—or so he seemed. His behavior towards her made it well-nigh impossible to believe the gossip about what he’d done in the past. But there must be some truth in it, surely, or people wouldn’t still speak of him with loathing and disgust.
Regardless, he was kind to her now, and that was what mattered.
She put her hands on her hips and stared Lord Bottleford down. “You may tell my grandmother that she is too late to salvage the precious Starling name. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive.” She rang the bell. “Leave this house immediately.”
He huffed. “Very well, I shall. I didn’t want to come in the first place. Against my better judgment, I allowed your grandmother to persuade me. Now I see that all the gossip is true.” He stomped toward the door. “You’ll be sorry. He will drop you like a hot coal, and you’ll end your life in the gutter. As for Lord Garrison, some credulous fools believed his side of the story last time, but they won’t anymore. He will be shunned by high and low alike, and rightly so.”
Comprehension washed over Melinda. She’d dwelt only on the consequences to herself, never realizing how this whole catastrophe would affect the man who had rescued her, cared for her, and nobly offered her the protection of his name. If she didn’t marry Lord Garrison, everyone would believe the worst of him—and it would be all her fault.
To Kiss a Rake (Scandalous Kisses) Page 5