Hurt flashed in his eyes, and her own heart ached at the sight. He blinked and lowered his lids for a moment, as if in pain. When he spoke, it was with composure. “Yes, my love. We can court all spring and summer, fall and winter, if that’s what it takes to win you. I’ll be patient with you as long as you need. I hope you grow to trust me with your heart, and together we will conquer any fears. With God’s help.”
His kind and patient response humbled her. He’d proved his love. Her own affections were engaged as well. But the dreadful aftereffects of the abduction still hung over her like a dark cloud, and she couldn’t accept his offer. Not yet. She still needed to heal from the harrowing experience.
They wended their way down the hill to the carriage, and Mark returned her to the vicarage.
“I shall count the hours until the dinner party tonight. And I promise to call on you again and take you on another drive very soon, perhaps tomorrow. I know of other beautiful scenery in the vicinity.” He bowed over her hand, and his lips brushed her fingertips.
~*~
“Here’s lunch.” Miss Dean backed into Melissa’s bedroom at the vicarage, holding a tray and turned to push the door shut with her foot.
Melissa unfolded from her perch on the window seat, stood, and came over to examine the tray’s contents. “Thank you. Would you like to join me? There appears to be plenty. I’d like the company. Ooh, lemon cookies. My favorite.”
“Don’t mind if I do. I can use this bread plate.” The companion bustled about, arranging two armchairs near a low table.
Toward the end of the meal, Melissa offered Miss Dean a tidbit of the day’s news. “Lord Russell and I had a pleasant drive.”
Three taps and the door opened to admit Miss Cleaver. “Hope I’m not intruding. How was your drive with Lord Russell?” She approached the table, eyes shining with interest.
“I was just going to tell about that. So glad you came in time to hear.” Melissa pulled another chair up to the table, and Miss Cleaver joined them.
“It was a lovely day for driving. Where did you go?” Miss Cleaver’s eyes peered across at Melissa.
“We climbed a hill. But the where wasn’t as important as the what, ladies.”
“The what?” Two voices spoke and two pairs of gray brows flew up.
“He proposed.” She dropped the remainder of her crisp cookie onto her plate and brushed her fingers over the tray.
“A proposal? Oh, my.” Setting down her cup and pushing back her chair, Miss Dean swept up her knitting bag and resituated her project.
Miss Cleaver clasped excited hands under her chin, and her eyes sparkled.
“It came sooner than I expected. But not unwelcome.” A cold wave of regret washed over Melissa. She couldn’t just enjoy young love because Winstead’s folly besmirched her heart’s peace.
“Well, what was your answer?” Miss Dean’s eyes, lowered to her needles and yarn, gave nothing away.
“I said no for now.” Melissa’s head hung down, and she rubbed her eyes, wiping away an errant tear. She sniffled. “I did give him hope, though.”
“Hope is a good thing.” Miss Cleaver chimed in with wise words and reached to pat Melissa’s arm.
“True. It’s simply too soon after Lord Winstead courted me, and you are familiar with that debacle. Such a shock.”
“You did right, dear. Lord Russell will need to wait. A heart heals at its own pace.” Miss Dean spoke as if experienced with a broken heart once upon a time.
“You are both excellent listeners. I hoped you’d understand.” Amazing how talking it over helped. Melissa’s spirits rose, and she picked up the cookie again. An appetite was a good sign. “And I’ll spend time with him tonight at the dinner party at Russell Manor. I’ll wear my blue silk. The new one.”
After lunch, she spent a few hours assisting Miss Cleaver with the mending, and then making calf’s foot jelly. These domestic activities soothed her anxiety.
Neither Miss Cleaver nor Miss Dean had any personal experience in matters of romance that Melissa knew of. But what a blessing she had two older women to confide in. How would she have born this alone without their support?
The last jar of jelly sealed, she departed the kitchen and sought solitude in her room where she had time before the party to pray, think, and read the Bible.
She was able to nap and slept dreamlessly. She awoke to the sound of knocking—Miss Dean, ready to help her dress.
~*~
Mark spent some time alone in his study after the drive with Melissa. While staring at a blank sheet of paper, he daydreamed about the day she would become his bride. Even though she’d said no, he believed she was to be his.
She’d been shaken to the core by her harrowing experience at the hands of that bounder, Peter Winstead. Mark himself witnessed the denouement of that heinous scheme. Her caution made sense, and he didn’t want to rush her to a decision.
Reviewing the morning’s interactions, he doubted his own timing. He hadn’t intended to propose yet. He’d gotten carried away by the moment on the hilltop. He was grateful she hadn’t recoiled from his importunities, but he kicked himself for rushing his fences.
Nothing, however, would keep him from his goal. She was the one woman for him, and of that he was certain. He’s never cared anywhere near this much about any of the young misses who crossed his path in the past. The drive to love, protect, and provide for Melissa coursed through his being like the blood in his veins.
He ordered lunch to be brought in on a tray. Without much appetite, he ate merely out of habit. After a few quick bites of food, he shoved back the plate, pushed his papers and books into the semblance of a pile, and got up. He stretched his arms above his head, and then put on his jacket to go in search of his aunt.
46
“There you are, Aunt Lucy. Are you alone?” Mark entered the sitting room at Russell Manor after lunch, his mind searching for the right words.
“Yes, for now. The cousins are napping, and Homer—I mean, Mr. Southwood—is visiting his daughter. This is perfect timing for a coze.” Lucy patted the seat of the high-backed settee. “Sit by me. That way we can both enjoy the gardens.”
“A view of the gardens is always a pleasure.” He sat and leaned his chin on his fist.
“I am partial, but I still think Russell Manor is an exceptionally beautiful estate. I believe it to be one of the finest in this part of the country.”
“I’m glad. I hoped to bring momentous news for you today, but the young lady involved answered otherwise.” He kept his voice light, but his heart gave a twinge.
“Mark, don’t say you proposed to Melissa and were rebuffed.”
“Yes, I did. And she turned me down.” He held up his hands, palms out, to forestall further expressions of sympathy or consternation. “She asked for more time.”
Exhaling a ladylike, yet flustered sigh, Lucy sat, temporarily wordless. Surely, she’d have some wisdom for him.
While waiting for her answer, he inserted a plea. “Don’t allow disappointment on my behalf to lead you to withdraw your approval of Melissa. Your support means a lot to me.”
“My dear nephew, never fear on that count. I cherish that darling girl. You have every reason to hope, don’t you?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“She seems favorable towards you. What I see when you two are together tells me that much. I’ve even begun to mull over a few preliminary wedding plans.”
“All signs do point to a positive outcome, Lord willing.”
“I imagine you are in a bit of a quandary. Your urge is to press on to your chosen goal, but you must restrain your strong inclinations.”
“So true. I have never experienced such a strong tendency toward a young lady.”
“Restraining one’s penchant when in love can be a trial.” Lucy uttered her agreement in a soothing, reassuring tone and reached out to touch his hand.
“I must strike a balance.”
“A balance between
showing encouraging love to Melissa and not putting on undue pressure?”
“Exactly, Aunt Lucy.”
“I certainly advise you to put no pressure on the poor girl. Remember, the Lord doesn’t tempt us more than we can bear. Therefore, you must be patient and trust providence with the outcome.”
Mark stood, paced the room several times, and then stopped to brace his hands against the mantel, leaning forward, head down.
“You are correct, of course, Aunt Lucy.” A faint moan escaped his lips.
“It is a strong belief of mine there should be no manipulation or compulsion in the procession to the altar. Too many friends and acquaintances of mine have born the results of marrying under familial duress. I have an absolute loathing for the like.” She smacked her palms together for emphasis.
He lifted his head, swung away from the fireplace, and came back to join her on the settee. “Her father gave me permission to court Melissa.”
“That’s a blessing.”
“He also permitted her the final say as to the outcome of the courtship.”
“So excellent to hear. I am sure you are thankful for the gift of faith which sees one through earthly love’s tumultuous circumstances.” She patted his knee. “I will keep the matter in my prayers.”
“That’s what I need.” He crossed his legs and leaned back.
“Things are smiling upon your suit, though.” She ticked off a list on her fingers, touching each digit as she made her points. “No one else is courting her, her father has approved, you are an excellent catch, and didn’t you say she insists on marrying another believer, which you are?”
“Yes, I agree, Aunt Lucy, the outlook’s optimistic.”
“Waiting for love is a trial. It’s against your nature to be passive.” She took up her knitting, fumbling the needles into position. “My dear boy, I have a very good premonition about this all. Don’t fret.”
He absently watched stitches form as she knitted. Then she sighed, and he glanced up at her face, wondering what caused the sigh.
Aunt Lucy’s eyes took on a faraway appearance for a moment. “My perspective sees something beyond the momentary trials you face. I have a letter to write, my good nephew. Please open the writing desk for me on your way out.” She returned the knitting project to her workbasket.
He got to his feet and assisted his aunt to rise. He opened the desk, pulled out the chair, and helped her get situated.
She patted his hand. “I promise. It will be fine. You’ll see.”
“You’re right. The Lord already knows the outcome, and that’s a comfort to me.”
She chewed the end of her pen and gave the last word. “So true. He knows our needs. Summon a footman for me, please. I’ll need a message delivered.”
47
Lucy leaned forward to allow the maid to fasten the necklace. Jewelry provided the finishing touch as she readied herself for the dinner party.
She stood, smoothed the purple taffeta skirt of her gown, and then touched the high-waisted black velvet sash, making sure of its position. Tilting her head this way and that, she noticed a pleasing sparkle glinting off the jet jewelry. Wearing deeper, darker colors was one consolation for getting old. By contrast, she’d wager Melissa would appear in white or pastels—not that the dear girl wouldn’t look lovely as can be.
She flicked at the black lace trim on her sleeves. “That will be all. Thank you, and don’t worry, the party will not last until all hours.” She hated for the maid to wait late to help her undress, but it couldn’t be avoided.
Filled with happy expectancy, she journeyed to the drawing room where she’d receive the guests. A simple country dinner party seasoned with the prospect of an evening with her admirers. Acting as hostess came naturally, but having two swains circling heightened her nerves to a pleasant level of anticipation.
“Mrs. Banting?” Crabtree intercepted her.
“Yes, what is it?”
“One of yer guests is here already. The minister.”
“I see.” She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and moved through the doorway, deciding to stop a few steps in. It had been a long time since she’d made a dramatic entrance, and it was fun.
Mr. Cleaver shot to his feet. In several long strides, he reached her and swept up her hands, bowing over them, murmuring fervently words she couldn’t make out.
She yanked her hands away, and then to cover her abrupt withdrawal, inquired after the others. “You’ve arrived without the rest of the group from the vicarage?” Not to mention early.
“The ladies are coming in a carriage which seats only four. I enjoy a good walk, however, and came on ahead, hoping for a chance to be alone with you.”
“Alone with me?” What is the man thinking? Only recently had she even realized his interest, and he was openly stating his hopes of finding her alone.
“How else shall we know if we suit?”
He did have a point. Though she’d not given serious attention to evaluating his suitability.
Ignoring the remark, she indicated a settee and proceeded to sit. He seated himself next to her, and wasn’t it a hair too close?
He angled toward her, his knees almost touching hers. “I enjoyed our visit in the garden. Would you have time to go on a walk there with me tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” He continued to rush on, didn’t he? “Perhaps. I must see how I feel after teaching my knitting class. Amazing how much energy that takes. Shall I send a note once I decide? For I couldn’t say yes or no just now. My mind is full of tonight’s party, of course.”
“That would be fine. I will await a message from you. So good of you to teach knitting to the women of the district.”
“I hope the skill becomes a form of provision for the families. Scarves, socks and the like come in quite useful.” She was blathering, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Lately, I find several women of the congregation knitting at their homes when I visit. No idle hands.” His right hand sneaked along the back of the settee, and his left hand crept inexorably toward hers. What to do?
The answer was taken out of her control when footsteps alerted them to the presence of another person entering the room. Mr. Cleaver pulled back his hands and smoothed his cuffs while a blush slunk up his cheeks.
“Mrs. Banting, good evening.” Mr. Southwood, looking elegant in severe evening garb that would make Brummel proud, passed by the hand extended in his direction by the now-standing minister.
Instead, he bowed over Lucy’s hand, kissed the air above her knuckles, and then gave her a speaking glance—the eye-contact holding a promise she’d need to think about later.
With an air of impatience, he turned to Mr. Cleaver. “Cleaver. I’m surprised to find you here so early.” He jutted out his hand, gave a shake, and turned back to Lucy. “If tonight’s dinner has half the panache of your ball, I am in for a rare treat.”
“The ball? You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” She looked up at him, reminiscence bringing a warm flush of pleasure at his compliment.
Turning again toward the minister, Mr. Southwood spoke to him once more, tone laced with irritation. “Where’s my daughter and the rest of the group from the vicarage? You didn’t escort them?”
“I came on ahead. They are properly attended by a coachman and groom.”
“Somewhat surprised, what with the robbers who beat Lord Russell still not apprehended, that you’d not stay with them.”
Nonplussed, Mr. Cleaver fumbled for words. “I thought—I believed—it’s never been a problem.” He ended weakly.
Lucy cringed at this awkward interchange, at a loss for how to smooth things over. She, being the cause of the friction, wanted to solve it. Lack of any ideas of what to do, however, caught her in a limbo of inaction. Each man had an aggressive gleam in his eye, chest puffed out, and hands clenched. Deliverance came with the announcement of another arrival.
“Lord Russell.” intoned Crabtree.
Thank the Lord. Her jaw un
clenched as she flew to her feet and sedately scurried to Mark’s side. “Help, these two are daggers drawn. I’ll explain later,” she whispered these words out of the corner of her mouth.
Mark didn’t let her down. He welcomed both men, putting them on equal footing, and launched a rousing discussion of horse breeds, distracting them with his equine knowledge.
She laughed inwardly, marveling at Mark’s excellent choice of topic. The older men’s faces took on the gloss of boredom. When each one glanced her way, she smiled, fluttering her lashes. That would give them solace and perhaps cool their anger at finding themselves not alone in their attraction to her.
“Miss Southwood, Miss Cleaver, Miss Dean, Miss Chesney.” Crabtree held the door and disappeared when all four women gained the room.
Much calmer now, Lucy stepped over to the cluster of ladies and greeted each one. “Melissa, Priscilla, how good it is to see you.” She patted their hands. “Miss Chesney, I am so delighted to entertain you here for the first time. And you too, Miss Dean. So kind of you both to help a befuddled hostess make up her numbers. When our distant relatives arrived, it threw the seating completely out of order.” Lucy laid her fingers over her bosom in mock discomfiture. She meant her words sincerely but overlaid them with a jesting tone to lighten the moment for all. And she wanted the two dowdy companions not to feel any awkwardness in their position.
The pair of cousins entered unannounced, either ignoring the aged butler’s attempts to announce them, or perhaps Crabtree had his fill of the pair.
“Oh, here they are now. Lord Armbruster and Sir Walsh are cousins of ours. Do come over and pay your respects to the ladies who’ve just arrived.”
As the two men complied and introductions were made, Lucy winced at the mustard yellow breeches worn by Armbruster, which clashed horridly with his orange and plum-striped waistcoat. His black evening coat may have been a nod to fashion, and she was thankful it toned down the putrid colors paired with it. Walsh sported satin knee breeches and a frock coat of emerald green, stylish twenty years ago, as well as frothy jabot and cuffs, the lace worse for wear. He preened as though all present were blessed by his appearance.
A Match for Melissa Page 24
