“How sweet. I love apple blossoms.” She propped a finger under her chin, clearly waiting to see what he wanted.
He threw himself into a chair—the one nearest her—took a calming breath, and spoke. “Have you ever thought of marrying again?” There. He dove in. No going back now.
“In general?” She tilted her head, quizzical, and then capped the ink bottle before turning her full attention on Homer.
“In general, yes, but in particular as well.” Homer yanked on his vest, pulling it down to cover a bit of shirt which emerged when he flopped down. His thumbs went into the vest pockets.
“I must say, I’m surprised by your query, but I’ll try to answer.” She paused, tapping her cheek a few times. “I’ve thought of it here and there, fleetingly, but never dwelt on it in particular because the question hasn’t arisen until now.”
“Well then, I am particularly interested in pursuing getting to know you better. I lo—like you very much and would be very happy if you said we could spend time together, doing the things courting couples do. I know we’re not that young anymore, but it would be pleasant and appropriate to go on drives, picnics, walks, and the like. Do you agree?
“That it would be appropriate? Yes. And I would very much like to explore our friendship in the manner you’ve laid out. Now, since we are close to becoming an on-dit, you must leave before scandal brews. We can’t be alone together like this. We are no longer simply hostess and guest. We are partaking of the marriage mart, and we must follow the rules.” She smiled and held out her hand. Homer clasped it, trying to rein in the silly smile on his own face. But it couldn’t be helped—not when a new chapter in one’s life was about to begin.
43
With satisfaction, Mark spotted a mounted groom emerging from the stable at a fast clip mid-afternoon. The task of acting as a courier to London thrilled the young worker. To anyone else observing him, a servant on a horse appeared as a common sight, and if noticed at all, the activity would be surmised to be a trip to exercise one horse or another. Only Mark and Mr. Southwood were aware of the rider’s important errand.
Life at Russell Manor must continue with routine activities, though Mark’s awareness remained heightened because of the mysterious words spoken by the distant relatives. A strained atmosphere floated around the dining room that evening. The tension easily attributable to the two unappealing, unexpected guests arriving and topped by Homer’s suspicions, a miasma of unease hovered in the air.
“Mr. Southwood, I understand you deal in shipping interests. Can you tell us any fascinating tales of voyages?” Aunt Lucy said.
“I’ve never experienced the drama of a ship sunk, thank the Lord, but have had a ship embargoed. In order not to take a complete loss on the cargo, the captain slipped out of a guarded harbor during a moonless, cloudy night. He waited until the deepest dark of night, caught the tide, and away he went. Would have loved to be there. But most of my work finds me in my London offices.”
“I can picture that. A ship gliding silently—ooh, gives me chills.” She tapped Southwood’s arm with her fan and flashed her dimples.
Mark admired how Aunt Lucy did her best as hostess to make the meal a success, but he could see it was tough going. He interjected a remark to provide direction. “I’m sure Lord Armbruster and Sir Walsh have had a long day. As have I. What say we forgo cards tonight and make it an earlier evening?” The suggestion met with approval, and relief swept over Mark as the others agreed to retire early after the meal.
“Excellent. That’s a fine idea.” Aunt Lucy hid a delicate yawn behind her fingers and made to rise. A footman appeared to assist with her chair, and all the men leapt to their feet and bowed as she rose, and then sailed out of the room, silk gown’s train flowing behind her like the frothy wake of a boat.
“Russell, won’t you partake of brandy and cigars?” Lord Armbruster, forward as ever, boomed in an insistent tone.
“Only if Sir Walsh and Mr. Southwood care to.”
“No cigars for me.” Southwood puffed out his chest and smacked it with his fist. “Got to keep my lungs clear. I’ve many good years ahead, I hope.”
“Gents, what say I pass out some of my Jamaican cigars and you two can blow a cloud out on the terrace?” Mark addressed the relatives.
“Excellent idea. Giles, let’s take Russell up on this offer. I can’t abide missing my smoke after a fine dinner.”
“I’ll be right back.” Mark left the room, shoulders relaxing as he traversed the hall, relieved they didn’t insist on following him.
Upon return, Mark handed each man a cigar. “After you.” He herded them out the door of the drawing room, which led directly to the terrace. He chuckled at their looks of surprise when he swung the door shut from the inside. He turned away with a sigh and went through the room to the hall where he bumped into Southwood.
“You’re back. Good. I was disturbed that you were going outside for a smoke. Not with those two. Russell, I’ll be seeking you out tomorrow to talk. Good night.” With that, he turned and marched up the stairs.
~*~
The next day dawned and promised to be another one of those rare days of English late spring: light breezes, sunny, but not too hot. Mark stretched his arms above his head and relished the moment. A brand new day with appropriate weather for a drive with one’s intended. Tonight’s another dinner party—I’ll see Melissa twice today.
He got out of bed with eagerness and ate breakfast before any of the other inhabitants of the house stirred, and then went to the study. The peaceful room soothed, and he passed by a book-lined wall trailing his fingers along the spines, past his desk and over to a sparkling diamond-paned leaded glass bow window. He put a hand on either side of the frame and leaned forward to stare out, not really seeing the pretty grounds before him but instead lifting his cares to God.
Lord, please allow my pursuit of Melissa to be successful. Please help me to be honorable and righteous.
After meditating a few moments, he sat at his desk. He attended to some estate matters, wrote a couple of letters, and then grabbed his hat. A morning drive should provide the perfect opportunity to carry the courtship forward. The grooms would be happy to pull a carriage out—a break in their daily tedium of mucking stalls and brushing horses.
He helped the grooms hitch a horse to the small open carriage. He swung up onto the seat, slapped the reins, and tooled along, inhaling the fresh air, redolent of the surrounding woods. Happy thoughts flew ahead to guessing Melissa’s reaction when she learned he’d obtained her father’s permission to proceed toward possible matrimony. His face ached from smiling. Would she be receptive or hold herself aloof out of fear?
He didn’t really blame her for being a bit skittish after the contretemps with Winstead. Shuddering with disgust as he recalled Winstead’s shocking abduction attempt, he thanked the Lord that Melissa retained the air of innocent purity which held great appeal to a once-jaded former libertine such as himself.
Mark pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the vicarage. He sat a moment before alighting as an idea coalesced. Perhaps a number of casual, innocent outings would be best to help Melissa be comfortable. Maybe he should pace his quest in a more gradual fashion.
But he had to know. He could reassure her of his love their whole life long. High hopes animated every vigorous move as he jumped down, tied the horses, and covered the ground to the entry. He used the brass knocker on the gray door, schooling his features to calmness while waiting.
~*~
Melissa looked up from her book at the sound of banging on the front door.
“Who do you suppose is knocking?” Miss Dean said, looking up from her knitting, brows raised.
“We shall see.” Melissa yearned. Mark, let it be Mark. Oh, it was nice to allow her thoughts to drift to him. They’d agreed to use each other’s first names, and the simple notion of him possibly being the one knocking at the front door of the vicarage gave her a charge of pleasure unlike any she’
d experienced when Lord Winstead courted her. Winstead’s arranged courtship had been a prosaic duty compared to this bubbly joy.
The maid’s footsteps sounded in the entry hall. The door creaked open, and a deep male voice sounded. The maid gave a soft rap on the sitting room door before stepping in.
She spoke, just above a whisper, “Miss, Lord Russell is calling. Are you home?”
“Yes, have him step in here.”
Soon he stood before her, his large frame crowding the cozy sitting room. Very masculine, yet she sensed no threat from this man. She enjoyed his presence. The two shared a smile, and he spoke at the same time she did.
“Miss Southwood?”
“Lord Russell?”
Flustered, she lowered her eyes and said, “No, you first. What were you saying?” Composing herself enough to look up, she found she experienced a compelling sensation when she looked into his dark sea blue eyes. Her hands yearned to reach for his.
“I’m calling with the purpose of inviting you for a morning drive. I spoke with your father and want to tell you about it. Are you able to accept, or do you have plans?”
“There’s nothing I’d like better.” She stood and glanced out the window. With relief, she saw he’d brought an open vehicle. “Miss Dean, I’m going on a drive, and I won’t need you to go along.”
“Have a splendid time.” Miss Dean didn’t miss a stitch.
I love you, Miss Dean. You’re the perfect companion. “I’ll get my wrap from the hall tree. If they ask, tell Reverend and Miss Cleaver I’ve gone out for a drive.”
“That’s right, Miss Dean. I’ll have her back well before noon, and I’ll look after her as if she were my own,” Mark stated.
Miss Dean answered with a light titter, keeping her eyes on her handwork.
In the hall, he retrieved his hat, and Melissa draped a blue cashmere shawl over her arm and selected a bonnet from several hanging on the hall tree. The chip straw decorated with silk daisies complemented her white muslin dress and blue sash.
He held the door ’til she passed through and gave her his arm. The pleasant sensation of being protected by this man swirled through her. He assisted her onto the padded seat before climbing up beside her. Contentment swept over her. This could go on forever.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked as he arranged the shawl around her shoulders.
“Yes, very much so.” She patted the seat, indicating the plush leather cover.
He snapped the reins, spoke to the horse, and they were off. Another strong wave of well-being swept over her as the beauty of the day sank in. The less-confined life she experienced on these visits made her not ever want to go back to London. There, every move was put under scrutiny and restricted by rules and societal expectations.
A fizzy bubble of hope rose in her breast. This is what courting should be. Happy and exciting, not tense and pressured.
44
Melissa settled in to enjoy the outing. Compared to the bustle of the streets of London, where she took drives with Lord Winstead, this country drive suited her taste better. The scents of spring delighted her—from the simple smell of wet soil to the lush perfume of flowering trees. Bowling along in the open carriage, nature surrounded her senses. Her hand developed a mind of its own, as it yearned to reach across the seat to touch Mark.
She liked this new sensation of romance. She’d had little enough affection in her life since her mother’s death and father’s subsequent descent into bitterness. She longed for the day she’d have her own husband and family to love.
Comfortable silence together. Wasn’t that a sign of compatibility? Her dream of a husband of like faith was materializing and within her grasp. Mark had a strong faith. She had plenty of evidence. And would God allow her to have this strong attraction toward Mark if he wasn’t the one? She didn’t think so.
He glanced at her every few minutes and before long, turned into the beginnings of a field road and stopped the carriage. He hopped down, tied the horse to a fence post, and moved around to her side.
“There’s a scenic overlook at the hilltop. It’s not to be missed,” he said as he reached up to assist Melissa.
He gently grasped her around the waist and swung her down, letting go after she had her footing.
Thank you, Mark.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the exercise. As I recall, you take a daily constitutional, so this won’t be too hard for you?”
She drew in a happy breath, realizing he remembered those little things about her. Lord Winstead never had. She smiled up at him and hooked her arm through his. “An excellent idea. And I’d love to climb the hill. Hills are among my favorite things.”
Touching his arm gave delight. Reveling in it for only a moment, she reined in her wayward imagination, deciding to bring the conversation to a higher-minded level. A little probing wouldn’t be amiss.
“I’ve noticed you attended services on Sunday. Do you like the preaching?” she asked. He shouldn’t be reluctant to discuss church matters.
“Yes, it’s quite satisfying to my soul. I daresay Mr. Cleaver rivals the best I’ve heard—so erudite, yet sensitive. So logical, yet soul-stirring. I found his sermon from the Book of Philippians extremely edifying and inspiring.”
“Any verses in particular?” She extended this conversational thread while rebellious romantic thoughts kept slipping off to the handsomeness of her escort.
“Yes, the ‘whatsoevers.’ Do you remember it? ‘Whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely…’?” Mark placed his free hand over hers.
“I do love that passage. Honor, truth, justice, virtue—to think God gave us His precious word to inspire us on our paths in life leaves me awestruck. What are the other two whatsoevers? I know there are more.”
Mark took a moment. “I’ve got it. Praise and good report, which means good reputation.”
Reputation. A small niggle of worry crept in. Though they traveled in an open carriage, this secluded spot provided something of a risk of temptation. As soon as the thought entered, she put the fear away, knowing unless she or Mark revealed it, no one would ever learn of this idyll. Their reputations would not be harmed. She trusted him with her honor.
Hoping he hadn’t noticed her lagging response, she said, “Oh, good, Mark, you thought of the rest. It would have nagged at me otherwise.”
They reached the top of the hill, and she let go of his arm to drink in with awe the charming vista before them. As she admired the prospect, a flash of insight filled her imagination, showing her that life lay before her—for the taking. What a wonderful time to be alive and in love.
She let out a small gasp of exasperation at her own wayward thoughts. She must stop this fantasizing. Trying to anchor herself in the present, she looked down at the clover and violets interspersed with the grass covering the ground. She breathed in the languorous sweet scents perfuming the warm air, and her unruly mind raced ahead again to a fantasy of Mark’s arms around her.
“Shall we sit down?” He shrugged out of his well-fitted blue coat and laid it on the grass at the brink of the hill. Sweeping his arm in a charming courtly way, he smiled at her with a question in his deep blue eyes.
Her heart beating at an excited pace, she stepped forward and sat, with as much poise as possible, on the coat. She wondered if it offered enough sitting space for both of them. Gladness bloomed when he dropped to the ground as well. They sat next to each other, her legs bent and out to the side, and his out in front and crossed at the ankle.
She kept her eyes forward, admiring the vista before her. A patchwork of fields and roads, hedgerows and fences created a feast for the eyes. She plucked a stem of clover and twirled it between two fingers.
She turned toward him, about to comment on the scenery, when he cleared his throat. “I spoke to your father, my dear. He gave approval, but of course, you hold the final say.”
He maneuvered onto one knee in front of her, blocking the view, and all she could focus on we
re his dark sea-blue eyes. He picked up her hands, lacing her fingers through his. It surprised her how warm his hands were. A proposal? She wanted a proposal, but was she ready? “Mark, you’ve amazed me.”
45
He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder, and then brushed a strand of rose-golden hair off her cheek. “Melissa, my love, the impediments are cleared. Can I hope for the day we will belong to each other? All that I am and all that I have will be yours. Will you be my bride?”
Melissa’s head and heart reeled with happiness. She hadn’t expected him to declare himself so soon. Her loving heart wanted to reach out and accept the love being offered, but her cautious mind checked her response. As much as she would like to say ‘yes,’ a knot of inner turmoil held her back.
“Mark, I need more time. This is sudden. When did you speak to my father?” Even to her, this babbling sounded like a coy tactic, but she couldn’t just rush in and agree to everything this compelling man proposed. He released her hands, and she drew them back into her lap.
“I spoke to him yesterday morning. The choice is yours, but it’s clear I’m rushing my fences.”
The realization bore down on her that she hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of Lord Winstead’s sickening betrayal. It affected her ability to trust. But Mark lived a different sort of life, and a man of honor such as he would respect her and treat her well. Her heart still hurt, though, and only time would heal it. She didn’t want to go into a pure and holy marriage before dealing with the traumatic aftermath of betrayal and abduction.
Mark got up from his knees, and reaching out, pulled her to her feet before he spoke again.
“Melissa, my love, please tell me how much time you need before you can be sure. I, for one, have never been surer of anything in my life. You see, I love you.”
She wasn’t ready to exchange the words ‘I love you.’ “Can’t we go on with our courting for a few weeks more? I very much want to accept, but something is holding me back. Please be tolerant with me. I must overcome my fears.”
A Match for Melissa Page 23
