by Heather Boyd
Abigail wiped a tear from her eye. “How is it you can do all of this? Mine was at least as large. You must have spent a fortune on threads and fabrics. Not to mention the hours involved.”
She smiled. Since she’d never have children of her own, she had indulged quite a bit with her creations. “I enjoyed every stitch.”
And if anyone had ever questioned her work, which happened rarely, it was always assumed she was making something for her own bottom drawer.
Imogen lifted the topmost piece and held it up to the light. This one had a twisting vine of lavender thread embroidered around the hem and small cuffs. It was one of her best efforts.
Julia poked through the contents of the trunk, her eyes widened. “You made all this for Imogen, and the same for Abigail?”
“Yours is upstairs,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it prudent to show you until you give my brother similar good news.”
Julia beamed and hugged her arm. “You will have saved me.”
“I will have saved the garments my nieces and nephews will wear from turning red from your pinpricked fingers,” she laughed softly. She would be able to sew for Julia for years and years and send gifts by post.
She glanced at Imogen as she returned the garment to the trunk. Imogen had not said a word about her gift. Perhaps she expected too much.
Melanie closed the lid. At least she knew where she stood before she left Brighton.
“How could you do this to me?” Imogen’s question had a rough edge to it.
“I apologize.” Melanie dropped her gaze. Perhaps she should have asked Julia to deliver it after she was gone. “I thought to help so you would still have time to write.”
Imogen’s eyes widened and then she glanced at Abigail and Julia guiltily. Both ladies were frowning in confusion though and Melanie was puzzled. Did they not know Imogen and Brahms the author were one and the same?
The whole of Brighton was reading Imogen’s work and quoting her at dinner parties. She’d always imagined them in on the great secret, but perhaps they were not.
Imogen grew pale. “What do you know of that?”
She shrugged. Imogen had been a talented writer even as a child. Back then she’d heard those stories firsthand, and later when they had grown distant, she’d discovered them in her brother’s book collection and been pleased to know she’d continued. “I’ve always known.”
“Imogen,” Julia asked. “What is she talking about?”
Abigail appeared equally perplexed. Melanie swallowed, and glanced at her hands. She had blundered, and badly, yet again. Some claimed Brahms’ work was too bold for young ladies to read. Imogen must be horrified by what she had almost revealed. And that emotion could quickly turn to anger toward her.
She struggled for an alternate explanation that might be the least bit feasible. This wasn’t how she’d wished to spend her last day in Brighton. An idea struck her quickly though, one that was not easy to refute. “Lady Watson has been writing to my cousin in secret.”
“To Teresa Long?” Julia asked. “Why is that a secret? I have written to her myself and told her how much we miss her.”
Imogen nodded and then sighed. “I had hoped her heart had softened.”
Julia appeared even more confused. “Softened from what?”
Melanie caught Julia’s hand. “It was she who alerted my father to Valentine’s behavior and ambitions. She wanted the easy life my father’s money and position could bring. She couldn’t bear the loss of stature, and did all she could to dissuade Valentine from going through with the marriage.”
Imogen caught her other arm. “We didn’t want you to be hurt by the discovery.”
Julia collapsed onto the chaise. “Oh, I worked that out for myself ages ago. I thought at first she must have loved him, but it was only money she loved.”
“She didn’t want to lose.” Melanie sank to her knees at Julia’s side. “He never even realized what was truly going on. Not until the very last day before the banns were read.”
Imogen nodded. “So all that time, Teresa claimed Melanie was against the match.”
“She was lying,” Melanie answered.
“She’s surprisingly good at that,” Julia scowled. “We all believed the worst of Melanie when the truth is quite different.”
Melanie leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Julia’s forehead. “I’ll call for tea.”
She turned to go and made it as far as the steps down to the kitchen before Imogen caught up with her. “Thank you for not revealing the truth.”
“It is not my place.”
“Who told you?”
“No one.” She shook her head. “When I read your stories, I always hear you. I’ll have tea sent up and ask Valentine to deliver the trunk unless you’d rather not have them.”
“No, I want them.” As she turned away, Imogen called out again. “Did you embroider any with yellow roses?”
“Of course not. You hate yellow and swore once you’d never allow the color on your children.”
Imogen frowned at her then shook her head. “Thank you very much. They are beautiful.”
Her spirits lifted a little. She might never be entirely forgiven, but she had made a start. It was enough. “You’re very welcome.”
“Melanie,” Imogen said quickly. “Make sure you come back with the tea.”
Fourteen
“I don’t know what to think,” Imogen exclaimed for the third time.
Walter had been home only a few minutes after making the rounds of his properties. He was weary and hungry and aching to see one person in particular.
That person was not his sister. But she was the topic of their conversation.
“It sounds to me as if you never lost Melanie’s regard.” He met his sister’s gaze, and then sat. Imogen would want to speak of this for a while. The shock of receiving such a large gift from Melanie this morning clearly hadn’t dimmed during the intervening hours. He had to hand it to her; Melanie was certainly full of surprises. She might not want children of her own, but she was excessively generous to have made so much for someone else who did.
Imogen sat forward. “Abigail tells me that she sent a similar-sized trunk to London two months ago, and there is supposed to be another tucked under her bed for Julia too.”
He blinked. “Is there one for herself?”
“I don’t know. She never ever discusses her own hopes with me in the room.”
More than likely there was not anything for herself, and he was still disappointed in that. Her decision was probably made some time ago. “If memory serves, she has often sat in her parlor with a scrap of white linen in her lap. I never paid much attention to what she was doing.”
“None of us did. I don’t know what to do.” Imogen stood and paced the room. “All this time I thought she’d forgotten me and she goes and does something nice.”
Imogen bit out the word “nice” like it was an insurmountable inconvenience.
“You sound churlish about it.” He sighed deeply. “Would you rather she changed back to the way she was before Valentine raced Julia?”
“No.” Imogen sank into her chair again. “But she is different again since then too. Quieter, less opinionated. She defers to Julia, for heaven’s sake!”
“Why should you complain about that?” He shook his head. “By your own telling, Mellie has spent hours and hours to provide you with clothing for your unborn child. What you have there is a sign of great love. For all of you.”
“She knows I’m Brahms.”
He grunted. He’d suspected but never had gotten round to confirming it. Few knew his sister was the author K.L. Brahms. It was supposed to be a well-guarded secret. He winced. “At dinner with the Mertons one night, one of your books was discussed, particularly Findings from a Castaway and the custard incident. She never let on then. What did she say about your writing?”
“Nothing untoward, and in fact she managed to change the subject so completely that Julia and Abigail
remain in the dark even now. She must have assumed they knew about my secret writing life. We spoke later in private and she said she recognized my voice in the stories she read.”
That could be quite awkward later. “I wonder if she knows you based the difficulties the heroine of The Temple of Truth faced on her experience with Percy McWilliam a few summers ago. It’s a unique man who would propose twice in three years.”
Imogen winced. “I hope not.”
“Melanie is not stupid. If she read the stories then she could very well have pieced together the inspiration for more than a few residing in the township of Brighton, and made quite a fuss.” That she hadn’t, pleased him. “Perhaps you should not do that again.”
Imogen collapsed back in her chair, her hands resting over her belly. “I am so ashamed.”
He glanced to where her hands rested. “How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Happy.”
“Good.” He smirked. “I am glad to hear that Peter is keeping up his end of our bargain and being a good husband.”
“He is wonderful.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “All we need to do now is see you settled.”
“I am settled.” He stood and caught his sister’s elbows as a knock sounded on his front door. “Don’t even think of setting up another dinner and playing matchmaker again. I won’t stand for it.”
Imogen resisted his efforts to haul her upright. “Is that because you’ve someone in mind?”
“None of your business.” He could tell her his hopes, but to do so would place undue scrutiny on himself and Melanie. He didn’t think that a good idea yet. He was hoping to have a chance to talk Melanie around. They had something, or could have if only she were brave enough to trust his love and that everything would be all right.
“Might I suggest something to you?”
Imogen smiled. “Anything.”
“Try again with Melanie. You might be surprised that what we thought of her past is quite wrong. Teresa Long embellished her flaws quite a bit, I’ve come to suspect.”
He opened his front door to find David Hawke grinning at him. “Mr. George.”
“Hawke. What a surprise to find you in Brighton. What is this, four times this year?”
“Five,” he countered then tapped a folded paper across his palm.
Excitement gripped Walter at the sight. Could it be the information he’d requested from Hawke about changing his finances for marriage? Hawke had not written but Walter did not want his sister to know about his interest in marriage until the moment after Melanie agreed to be his. “Are you hand-delivering the investment information I asked for?”
Hawke’s brow furrowed and Walter silently pleaded with him to play along with the pretense. At last the banker nodded. “Yes indeed. Everything you need to know.”
The paper passed to his hand and he sighed in relief. He nudged Imogen out the door. “Run along home now, little sister, and put your feet up. We have business to discuss.”
Imogen gripped the doorway tighter. “But I didn’t tell you the worst part. Does one nice thing and before I can get used to the idea I found out she’s returning to Oxford. So inconsiderate.”
“Whom are you babbling about?”
“Well, Melanie, of course. She leaves Brighton tomorrow. Valentine arranged it despite Julia being very upset to see her go. Melanie refuses to reconsider, even if she’s obviously very sad too.”
His stomach lurched. “That is news to me.”
“I expect Valentine will tell you all about it tonight at cards.”
He had other plans for tonight that did not need cards but was just as risky. He hoped to lure Melanie out tonight for another private conversation. “I must give my apologies, actually. I have something to do that cannot wait.”
Imogen kissed his cheek. “Come and have luncheon with me tomorrow and tell me about your business. I’m hosting a small dinner tomorrow night, but there will likely be no chance for private conversation.”
“No matchmaking, Imogen,” he reminded her quickly.
She merely smiled.
As soon as Imogen slipped out, Hawke closed the door. “Why is Melanie Merton leaving Brighton if she’s to be your wife?”
He did not know exactly, but he feared she was trying to run from her feelings. He sighed deeply and turned back to his desk. “She hasn’t agreed.”
“Not agreed? But I thought it was all settled. That’s why I secured a license for you to marry.”
He looked at Hawke in astonishment. “I didn’t ask for that. You’ve gone to so much trouble.”
“Our new partner at the bank has excellent connections.” Hawke set his hand to Walter’s shoulder and regarded him sadly. “Does the lady even know you wish to marry her?”
He shook his head and unfolded the paper Hawke had given him. He’d never seen a special license before. They were so rare outside of London. However, having one meant he could press his case without delay if he could catch Melanie first. “I wrote to you before I discovered she did not want children. Indeed, that is why she’s refused so many suitors. She would refuse me for the same reason, I fear. You might have wasted a favor for this.”
“So, no little heir to the George family fortune. Hmm,” Hawke murmured before settling himself before the desk. “You couldn’t change her mind?”
“I don’t see how I can convince her in one night.” He shook his head. “She is utterly determined on her path to live alone.”
Hawke nodded. “Marriage is not an easy adjustment. Sacrifices must be made. Let me ask you this: what would you rather? Melanie, or to have children with someone else?”
Walter closed his eyes. The answer was so quickly presented in his mind that he almost swore. “Mellie, of course.”
“That is what I thought you’d say.” Hawke chuckled. “Let me know if I can be of any service for the wedding arrangements. I’ve not told my wife why we have come, by the way, so you still have the element of surprise.”
“I might have to travel to Oxford tomorrow if I want to convince her.”
“That’s the spirit. Don’t let her get away. As soon as I started reading your letter, I knew who your wife would be before I saw the name. An excellent choice.”
“I hope you are right.” When Hawke wandered out a few minutes later, Walter stared at the pile of correspondence on his desk. He didn’t have much time to attend to his business before tomorrow if he intended to follow her but there were certain things he had to do.
He tucked the special license into his coat pocket and reached for the topmost letters. One was addressed from a Mr. Clemens of Southampton and it took a moment for the name to register. How could he have forgotten that the late Mr. Clemens had an older brother? He’d moved away many years ago and Walter had not heard him mentioned since.
He quickly scanned the note but then frowned at the message within. Mr. Daniel Clemens had written to enquire after his brother’s widow and offered to help support some of the children. But his help came at a high price. Perhaps too high. He wanted to bring half of them into his home and had even chosen them by name. The two eldest were to be his.
Walter folded the letter slowly, astonished by such an offer. It would be hard for anyone to give their children away, but to lose so many, and at once. He scraped his hand over his jaw. He needed advice before he proceeded—and he knew just the woman to offer it.
He left his home and knocked soundly on the Mertons’ front door. Valentine greeted him after a short wait. “Good afternoon.”
“Hello there. I need to speak to your sister.”
Valentine folded his arms across his chest. “Concerning?”
“Mrs. Clemens and her brood of children. I need her advice on a proposition I received in the post today.”
Valentine frowned, clearly suspicious, but sent him into the parlor to wait while he went to fetch Melanie from above. He paced impatiently as the minutes ticked by, and only when she entered the parlor did he realize how much he’d feared she w
ouldn’t see him.
His heart thudded hard against his ribs. “Miss Merton.”
“Mr. George.” She dipped a curtsy and bid him to sit. “My brother suggested you were in a hurry and needed advice.”
“Not so much in a hurry but I do need your advice.” He dug into his pocket. “I have a letter from the late Mr. Clemens’ older brother.”
“I did not know there was a brother.”
“Estranged.” He handed over the letter. “Mrs. Clemens does not read so the man, remembering our past connection, wrote to me instead when he learned of his brother’s death. He has offered his assistance.”
She unfolded the letter and frowned at it. “What sort of assistance does he offer? Funds? A larger home?”
“He’s offered to take on half of the children and raise them as his own, if I’ve read that letter correctly.” He bit his lip. “He particularly asked for the elder two.”
Melanie held the letter to the light and read through the single page quickly. Her eyes widened impossibly by the end. “She’ll never agree.”
“I expected as much, and I do not particularly care for the offer myself.” He shook his head. “However, I feel bound to offer her the choice and I am concerned she might feel pressure to comply in order to keep her current abode.”
“You could be right.” Melanie stared at him a long moment then looked down. “I saw her yesterday afternoon, and while she appears content enough in her new home, she also cannot stop praising you for what you’ve done to help her. She might feel obligated to lighten the burden on you.”
She folded the letter and handed it back.
“I hoped you might be willing to visit her, break the news of Mr. Clemens’ proposal, and lend assurance she did not need to take it. Her elder children are almost of an age where they will be able to find work soon. I’d like to help them stay together.”
A brittle smile twisted her lips before she glanced over his shoulder. “Might I go with Walter, Valentine?”
He turned toward the door. Valentine lounged there, listening to every word of their conversation avidly. He nodded slowly. “Be back in one hour. Take the maid.”