He worked out his latest idea with Aunt Lucy over breakfast. “Can you help me organize an afternoon party to feature lawn games? Perhaps for tomorrow afternoon? I have a short guest list and getting invitations out won’t be too difficult.”
She put down her fork. “Lawn games? Such as what?”
“To begin with, battledore and shuttlecock. It’s easy to learn as well as to play.”
“I agree. Sounds like fun. The rackets are light, so we ladies can participate. I may even practice today so I can compete. It would be so humorous to best Mr. Southwood.” She gave a short burst of jolly laughter.
“We have five from the estate—us and the guests—and there are five from the vicarage. That’s enough.” Mark toyed with his cup’s handle while envisioning Melissa at the gathering.
“I can take care of inviting and refreshments. Lemonade and shortbread come to mind. Perhaps some berries.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “Simple fun, yet so engaging. Can’t wait to see the men battle it out. You’re all so competitive.”
“Right now, I am only concerned with competing against Melissa’s fears.” He drank the last of his coffee, and then stared into the bottom of the cup as if the answer to his woes lay written there.
“Rest assured, she will come about, and all these days of waiting will become a bittersweet, distant memory.
~*~
Melissa donned a sprigged round gown for the lawn party. Miss Dean helped her with the fastenings and dressed her hair.
“Miss Dean, you are a wonder. I love this style, and it will fit so well under my bonnet.” Melissa lifted her favorite chip straw bonnet, carefully placed it upon her hair, and tied it under her chin. “I’m ready. Is Mr. Cleaver driving us?”
“Yes. I just looked out the window, and he’s waiting with the carriage.” Miss Dean positioned her own bonnet on her gray curls and picked up two parasols, two reticules, and two shawls.
“Thank you for thinking of everything. I’m so excited I can’t remember my own name.” With Miss Dean following close behind, Melissa descended to the carriage. Bubbles of anticipation raised her mood.
She greeted Miss Cleaver and her companion Cassandra, already ensconced in the carriage, saying, “Remember ladies, regardless of how ridiculous my attempts at sport, you must not laugh.” The carriage took off with a jolt and gales of merriment rang out.
“I assure you, I will be too mortified by my own efforts to think of yours.” Miss Cleaver chuckled, smiling, and went on, “Being as the last time I played battledore and shuttlecock was a good twenty years ago, I know what to expect.”
“We will only hope the men are as rusty. I wonder if we’ll play as teams or individually.” Miss Chesney joined the conversation. “I’d like to be on a team, so my deficiencies can perhaps be hidden.”
The south lawn of the manor lay to the left of the drive. As the carriage slowed, Melissa spotted Mark immediately and her heart leapt. Gratitude welled up that her beau was so patient. She sensed he’d wait forever, but she didn’t want that. She wanted to move on. The tender place was a bit less sore and would soon be gone.
Mr. Cleaver stopped the vehicle, handed the reins to a groom, and stood by to help the ladies down. A footman appeared with a set of portable steps. Melissa had to hold back from rushing out to Mark and forced herself to a demure pace, arm hooked with Miss Dean’s. How nice that Cassandra and Miss Cleaver got along so well. They followed, meandering along, also arm in arm.
“Welcome, ladies. Feel free to be seated under the pavilion.” Mark gestured toward an open-sided tent a few yards away and approached Melissa. “May I escort you?”
He smiled down at her, and her heart melted a little bit more. He treated her so politely, so patiently. She’d love a lifetime of his kindness. “Yes, of course.” She laid her hand on his arm, and they meandered to shelter.
“How have you been, Melissa?”
“Do you mean since yesterday?” She smiled up at him. “I’ve been excellent, and with such beautiful flower bouquets arriving on a daily basis, there’s no fear that I’ll go into a decline.”
“So glad they’ve had a good effect on you.” He cast a gentle, teasing look at her and his eyes roamed her face. Melissa’s cheeks grew warm.
“Aunt Lucy had the cook bake some of my favorite shortbread. We have chocolate and lemon. Would you like some? With lemonade?”
“I’d love some.” A swift jolt of bereftness landed on her as he moved away. My, one got used to a loving presence, didn’t one? Should she be steadier, not needing him close? These warring thoughts played havoc with her serenity until he returned, and worries receded at the sight of him advancing with a cup and plate for her. Footmen served the others.
She took the proffered refreshments and sampled them. “These are delicious—lemon cookies and lemonade. There’s no such thing as too much lemon.”
“Sweet and tangy. Just perfect.” Mark smiled down at her as if his words had a double meaning.
“Can you sit with me for a time? Or do you have host duties?”
“No duties. Everything’s ready for the games.” He sat next to her, surely too big for the delicate folding chair. She hoped it didn’t collapse under him—such chairs were meant for ladies—wallflowers, perhaps.
As she nibbled the crisp, thick, buttery cookies and sipped the tart, fresh beverage, Melissa surveyed the other guests. There were the two cousins, off to the side of the temporary court. They each had a racket, also called a battledore, and were whacking them against their palms and making aggressive practice swings. It looked as if they were bickering as well.
“Mark, those two scare me. I hope I don’t have to compete against them. They’ll defeat any efforts I make, by the looks of them.”
“Ha ha. Those two will probably give up after a few volleys. They’re all show.”
There stood Papa, weaving a story, she was sure, for Lucy Banting’s enjoyment. Whether his tale was a true one or not, Lucy appeared highly amused and chortled softly. Up walked Mr. Cleaver, an uncertain, but determined look on his face.
“Your father looks none too pleased at the presence of the minister,” Mark commented.
“No, I wouldn’t suppose so. Papa’s got his heart set on your aunt, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Banting stood silent while the two men interacted, and all laughing ceased. Miss Chesney sidled up to the group and tapped Mr. Cleaver on the arm, spoke, and gestured toward a hedge. He followed her, and using his great height and long arms, proceeded to rescue a kitten she pointed out. After freeing the mewing, crying animal, he handed it over to Cassandra, who wore a worshipful expression and couldn’t take her eyes off the man. He stood straighter, threw back his shoulders, and a considering look came over him.
“I’d like to know what he’s thinking.” Melissa thought she knew but wasn’t sure enough to speak of it.
“I more wonder about you, my dear. How blessed I am, and I marvel at how my life is so full of hope now. There’s room in it for you, whenever you are ready.” Mark folded his hands in his lap, and his posture was one of humility and defenselessness.
Melissa knew the answer he wanted but wasn’t quite prepared to give it. Not yet. And it appeared the games were about to begin. Mark laid out the rules. Then he and Grayson played a sample volley as a demonstration. When that ended, Mark explained more. “Since we have ten players, we’ll play three games, best two out of three with mixed teams. Then we’ll break the teams up into the ladies against the men.”
Some murmurs arose, but Mark tamped them down. “One of the excellencies of battledore and shuttlecock is that ladies can excel as well as the men. It’s not a game of strength, but one of agility, and sometimes even delicacy.”
Melissa rose, and Miss Cleaver and Miss Dean, who were also in the pavilion, clustered near. They moved out to be divided into teams. Mr. Cleaver, Miss Chesney, Lord Armbruster, Miss Dean, and Sir Walsh made up a team. Melissa, Mark, Priscilla, Lucy, and Mr. Southwood the other. A mix of heights, a
ges, and gender on each side.
Melissa enjoyed being on the same team as Mark. She got off a few handy returns and acquitted herself fairly well, not embarrassing herself like she dreaded earlier. A refreshment break after the first game, and then back at it.
“We won, but we mustn’t let down our guard.” Mark coached his team as they stepped into formation on the other side of the line for game two.
So busy watching the shuttlecock, yet Melissa had time to catch glimpses of interplay between the players on the other side. Mr. Cleaver stinted not at all with praise for dainty Miss Chesney, who revealed acute hand-eye coordination and emerged as the best player on that team.
“Miss Chesney, surely you are not an athlete, too—along with all your other talents?” He jested, just loudly enough that Melissa, close to the net, could hear him.
Cassandra responded, shy pleasure audible in her voice. “You’re too kind. I simply played this for hours on end back home, entertaining the parish children.”
Expert opponent or not, because Melissa’s team won the first two bouts, the round in which the ladies competed against the men began.
“Miss Chesney, with you on our side, we have a chance.” Melissa cheered her team of ladies on. “We can do it.” They clasped hands a moment, and then got into position.
The men looked embarrassed to be playing against ladies, but they went ahead and defeated the ladies’ team roundly in the first game. Chivalry didn’t preclude the looks of satisfied glee some of them tried to hide. Armbruster and Walsh strutted and preened as if their efforts had made the win.
The ladies took the men by surprise the second game, winning by one point.
“Let’s have a break before the last game.” Mark herded everyone to the pavilion. “Gents, it appears we may have been overconfident. We took a beating.”
The two cousins glanced at each other. Melissa looked away. Odd—those two had the distinct taint of guilt on their faces. What were they up to?
Scattered around the perimeter of the tent, a few couples seemed to form naturally. Melissa and Mark, and her father and Mrs. Banting being the most obvious. But to Melissa’s keen eye, another couple, recently formed, was Mr. Cleaver and Miss Chesney. She was a nice-looking lady of about thirty-some years, good posture, and more than passable manners. It was no accident that Mr. Cleaver carried a cup and plate over to Miss Chesney and proceeded to sit on the vacant chair, not one foot away from her.
She’d be a perfect minister’s wife. And wouldn’t that make sense, since it was clear that Mrs. Banting and Papa were well down the garden path to love. And sensible because Miss Chesney was a minister’s daughter and would know all about how best to be a help to a husband who was a minister. Besides, the thought of the elegant Mrs. Banting burrowed away in a country vicarage made her laugh softly.
Mark spoke up from his place at her side. “Is something funny? I could use a laugh.”
“Just thinking about your aunt. She’s so amusing. I treasure a hope that she’ll become a member of my own family soon.”
~*~
Mark swallowed the comment that sprung to mind. Marrying him would achieve that same goal. In a more pleasant way, in his opinion.
The final game fell to the men. He wouldn’t have minded losing the round to please Melissa, but some of the men would have taken that amiss, no doubt. As he walked her to the carriage for her trip home, he reflected that the lawn party was a success. Everyone was chatting and having a wonderful time, win or lose.
He chafed with impatience, but since she enjoyed the status quo, he refrained from hurrying on to formal engagement and all the corresponding public attention. This idyllic interlude of life was too special to be cut short. It isn’t as if I need to be concerned about another man winning her heart first. She’s to be mine.
Handing Melissa into the carriage, he gave her hand one last gentle squeeze. “Until tomorrow.” After gazing deep into her eyes, he turned away and went to stand under an oak tree, watching the carriage ’til it went out of sight.
~*~
The day after the stunningly successful lawn party dawned cloudy and breezy. Windy weather precluded taking out an open carriage. Mark penned a note:
Dear Melissa, as it is too windy, we must forego our drive this day. My thoughts, prayers, and heart are with you. May I look forward to a drive—perhaps a picnic—tomorrow? Yours, Mark
With a flourish, he signed it, sealed it, and set it in a basket with other outgoing missives. The servants would know to trot over to the vicarage with this one. In fact, they could deliver it with the bouquet. The plan of a daily floral offering was going on like clockwork, the staff getting a big kick out of be a part of the master’s romance.
Windy, cloudy days can have silver linings. Perhaps a day without seeing him would allow Melissa the needed spur to decide.
When would he receive word from the solicitor? The unknown hung like a cloud over his head. He pushed away from his desk and heard a tap on the door. “Enter,” Mark responded. His relatives—Sir Giles Walsh, all in puce and Lord Anthony Armbruster, in glaring yellow—sidled into the room. These two—what brought their suspicious arrival at Russell Manor without an invitation? Because they were rarely known to leave London, so it was odd for them to be traveling in the area.
“Morning, Russell.” Bushy eyebrows raised, Lord Armbruster intoned with his deep voice, “Splendid party yesterday. Yes, a very entertaining diversion. Wondering if you’d take us about on a bit of a tour? We’ve been here quite a while, and we’ve not yet seen the full extent of your fine estate. We are sure you want to do your hospitable duty by us. I insist on a tour before we depart for London.”
Mark didn’t relish giving them a tour, but the intimation they would depart soon motivated him. If a tour was required to get them to leave, he would oblige. He had neither a fondness nor particular antipathy toward them. But because of their odd remarks, overheard by Homer, their mere presence proved awkward and unpleasant. Perhaps the courier would return from London soon with the information reporting the identity of his heir.
“Right-o! I was about to ride out myself. I’ll order three horses brought around to the front door in one half hour. With this wind, we must take a sheltered route, but you should still be able to view most of the highlights of the property.” He rounded the corner of the desk and herded them out the study door. The two would-be dandies went upstairs to change into riding clothes.
Grayson came forward from where he’d been standing by. “Should I mount up as well?”
“Yes, that’s an excellent idea. Make arrangements for four mounts. We’re riding out in one half hour.” Grayson withdrew.
Mark began scheming to rid the house of the cousins. Perhaps mention a boxing match or a racing meet scheduled soon and somewhere on the road to London. Tell them about the Red Lion Inn, about five hours away, which had one of the best chefs in the region. Maybe have a farewell lunch, send them on their way, and they could be at the inn by supper.
Would it be too rude to take more direct measures? No, they’d been here long enough. Mark resolved to see their backs. Deciding to give some discreet departure assistance to the two cousins, he gave instructions to Crabtree. “Have their trunks and bags brought down and placed in their rooms. Tell that valet to pack up their things.” When they got back from the tour, they’d see the luggage and get the message.
Thinking about them ending their visit put an extra spring in his step, and in one half hour, he and Grayson sat astride their horses waiting for the other men to emerge from the house. Mark relished the breezy, cool weather. Two other mounts stood at the ready, held by a couple of grooms. Where are they? The guests were taking a long time to prepare for a simple ride over the estate.
50
Lucy sat reading her Bible in her private sitting room when the footman tapped on the door. He stuck his head in and informed her, “Mr. Cleaver and Miss Cleaver have arrived to pay you a call. They’ve got Miss Chesney with them, as
well.”
“Thank you. I’ll come out to greet them.” She closed the book and set it aside. At a good stopping point, she was in the mood for visitors.
She stepped out into the hall to find the ladies having just handed bonnets and shawls to Crabtree when Armbruster and Walsh brushed past to leave the house.
Their abrupt demeanor brooked no delays. “Morning. We’re going to tour the estate with Lord Russell. Sorry to miss visiting with you.” Armbruster styled himself a ladies’s man and took time to ogle Miss Cleaver on his way out the door. He made awkward attempts to be ingratiating toward whatever women crossed his path.
Mr. Cleaver, Priscilla, and Cassandra followed Lucy into the morning room. The clip-clop of hooves could be heard through the open window. The sound faded away as the riders left on their tour, heading down the sheltered, tree-lined drive. Reverend Cleaver spoke as he stood watching out the window. His voice held mild curiosity. “So you still have your guests? We saw Lord Russell outside waiting. How is the visit faring?”
“It’s going tolerably well, but I still don’t understand why they are here. Arriving unannounced for an unprecedented visit and staying for such a long time is unusual. But it is my nephew’s home and not for me to say who comes or stays. And how is your houseguest enjoying her stay?”
“Melissa’s blooming here. The country does wonders for one’s state of mind.” Mr. Cleaver didn’t elaborate, veering toward discretion whenever discussing a parishioner, houseguest or not.
“I’m sure you are aware my nephew has his heart set on winning her hand. I have enjoyed getting to know her. What an exceptional girl she is. Interesting how the Lord brought them into each other’s lives, no?” Lucy smiled.
“We also approve of Lord Russell. You are no doubt aware that Miss Southwood found him left for dead and that he was brought to the vicarage. We had the privilege of being used by God as a small part of the conversion he experienced. Providence is seen clear in such a circumstance as this.”
A Match for Melissa Page 26
