A loud banging on the door, followed by the sound of excited voices reached their ears. The butler opened the door without warning, “Ma’am, please, there is a ‘person’ clamoring to see you immediately.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Show them in, please.”
Madame Olivier rushed into the room. She tucked a letter back into her reticule. After an aggrieved glance at the butler, she spoke. “I had to prove you sent for me. This man didn’t seem to know I was invited.”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea you’d arrive this soon.” Lucy tried to soothe the modiste whom she had summoned mere days ago, forgetting to mention it to anyone else.
“Mrs. Banting, it’s terrible, it is. Seen a man struggling with two other men before being dragged into zee woods. Just off zee road, right before we turned into zee drive to zis chateau.” Madame Oliver’s agitation mounted as she related what she witnessed.
Lucy noticed Madame’s grammar and her French accent were both slipping due to her rising level of alarm over what she had seen. “Calm down, Madame Olivier. Start over, slower this time.”
Before she began to tell her story again, Mr. Southwood rushed into the room. “I beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, ma’am. Lord Russell and I sent a man to London with a message. We wrote to Lord Russell’s solicitor inquiring about the identity of his heir. We had suspicions over a series of life-threatening accidents which continued to befall him. I’ll grant I am the more suspicious one. But I digress. The response from the solicitor just arrived, and I took the liberty of opening the letter. It contained some disturbing news. Those two misfit relatives visiting? They are numbers one and two in the line of succession. Where are they now? Where is Lord Russell?”
“He took them on a tour of the estate.”
A shriek tore the air. “Sacre Bleu! The fight I saw. It so happened that I look out the window of zee coach when the gates come into view. At zees exact moment I looked out, I see zis upsetting sight.”
Mr. Cleaver and Mr. Southwood rushed out the door. This left Lucy, Priscilla, Cassandra and Madame Olivier to wring their hands and pray.
~*~
“There’s a shortcut,” Crabtree held the front door open, pointing left to an opening in the woods. Homer ran ahead, and Mr. Cleaver jogged after them.
“Come on!” Homer shouted over his shoulder to Mr. Cleaver.
Homer entered the woods to the left of the driveway and ran. He stopped short and held his arms out to each side. “There’s a commotion in a small clearing up ahead. I hear rustling and voices.”
Mr. Cleaver caught up, breathing hard.
“Let’s go,” Homer hissed and barged forward into the clearing, slamming his heft into Armbruster, knocking him flat. Homer placed his knee on the man’s back, at the same time wrenching off his neckcloth, and then handily tying the man’s wrists.
“Don’t hurt me.” Walsh’s voice quavered, taken by surprise as Mr. Cleaver secured the man in a chokehold. Both men sported bruises indicating Mark had put up a fight before being subdued.
The butler arrived in the clearing. From his position on Armbruster’s back, Homer shouted, “Crabtree, check on Lord Russell and Grayson, too. Make sure they’re alive.”
The butler hustled over to where two prone figures lay sprawled. He felt for Lord Russell’s heartbeat, and then Grayson’s before pronouncing their state. “Both be alive, but milord’s much worse for wear.”
Grayson rolled over and sat up, shaking his head.
Homer got to his feet, dusted off his hands, and addressed the bodyguard. “You can tell us what happened on the way back. Are you well enough to help Crabtree carry Lord Russell back to the manor?”
“What about these two coves?” Grayson demanded, blinking and shoving back his disheveled hair.
“I’ll personally escort this shady character, and Cleaver’s got t’other handled right and tight.” Homer nudged Armbruster with his foot. “To your feet, cur.”
Armbruster staggered to his feet, eyes wild. “I hope I’ve killed him. He never deserved to inherit—nor did his brother.”
“Shut yer bone-box, or ye’ll be sorry. A taste of me fives would quiet ye.” Homer’s veneer of refinement slipped, but he didn’t care.
The odd procession moved through the trees traversing the shortcut again, much slower this time— encumbered as they were, leading captives and carrying a victim.
~*~
Lucy rose to her feet, hand at her throat. “I hear someone.” She went to the door.
Homer’s commanding voice rang out from the hall. “Lock them in the cellar!” He assigned the job of impounding Walsh and Armbruster to the butler and footmen. “Time enough to decide what to do about them later. Cleaver, Grayson, help me with Russell.” The men came through the door of the sitting room. “Good job. We’ll set him on the divan.”
“Oh, Homer! I mean, Mr. Southwood. Oh, I’m elated you found Mark. What happened? Is he all right?”
Unoffended when Homer held out his hand, she slipped her hand into his. How natural to turn to him in a crisis.
“It appears his two visiting relatives tried to kill him,” Homer answered with characteristic bluntness.
Mr. Cleaver’s eyes fixed on her hand in Homer’s. He looked nonplussed, but simply moved to Mark’s side to look him over.
Homer patted Lucy’s hand, speaking soothing words. “Ma’am, don’t worry, now. Those two miscreants didn’t have time to deal him a death blow, and Lord Russell looks to have put up a fight.”
Mr. Cleaver addressed the group. “Yes, don’t worry, ladies. Dr. Swithins has been sent for. Lord Russell’s heartbeats are adequate, but he is insensible and should be kept warm. Is there a blanket handy?”
“Here, use my shawl for now. I’ll ring a maid to fetch a blanket and a cool cloth to help bring him around.” Freeing her hand from Homer’s warm clasp, Lucy moved to ring the bell and gave it a jingle before moving to Mark’s side. “There. Let me think, what else can we do for him before the doctor gets here?”
“Zee young lady. Mademoiselle Southwood. Is she not visiting zis area? I think she should be avec beaux amor.”
Lucy’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Of course! How could I have forgotten? Yes, by all means send for Miss Southwood. Thank you, Madam Olivier. I am certain she’ll want to know of this turn of events.”
51
Melissa entered the room. “Papa! Where is he? Where’s Mark? Oh, my dear Mark! What have they done to you?” She approached the divan, sank to her knees, and put both arms around his neck. A maid appeared with a blanket, and Melissa stopped hugging him only long enough to tenderly place the woolen cover over him.
“I must sit down,” said Miss Dean, who’d followed Melissa into the room. She collapsed into chair at the foot of the divan. Visibly shaken and stunned, the quiet woman fumbled in her large reticule for her knitting and wiped her eyes with the half-knitted stocking on her needles.
Shattered, and with her heart in her throat, Melissa crooned and murmured. Lord, don’t let him die! Please spare him. He is to be my husband. All my doubts and fears are swept away. Please. Her tears soaked through Mark’s shirt in the few moments before Dr. Swithins entered the room.
He touched Melissa’s shoulder. “Now, Miss. Enough saltwater. Let me examine Lord Russell—I’ve done this before.”
Her father appeared at her side and helped her to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Missy, your young man is strong. Mr. Cleaver did a preliminary exam. He’s no medical doctor, of course, but he thinks all will be well in time. Hush now, while we wait for the doctor’s findings.” Homer patted Melissa on the back with one hand and used the other to extract a snowy handkerchief from his pocket. He blotted her face a bit before guiding her over to a comfortable brocade armchair.
Dr. Swithins straightened, turned back to face the occupants of the room, and snapped shut his black bag with a flourish. “This patient will be fine. In fact, other than some banda
ging of scrapes, all he’ll need is rest. His eyelids are fluttering which leads me to believe he’s about to come around.”
Melissa, who’d been holding her breath, let out a sigh of relief, and then murmured, “Thank You, God. Thank You.”
After the others echoed her thanksgiving, the doctor gave instructions, and then Mrs. Banting invited everyone to stay for some sustenance. She bustled out of the room, all vapors over, to make arrangements for servants to carry Mark up to his room, and for a cold collation to be set in the dining room.
Madame Olivier moved toward the door as well. “I must see to my bags. In ze excitement, I jumped out of the coach, forgetting everyzing else.”
~*~
Melissa went back to Mark, whose remarkable sea-blue eyes were open. His large form draped on the rose-colored damask upholstery of the delicate divan now struck her as incongruous, especially the sight of his booted feet hanging off the end. Happiness and relief made her want to laugh. Smiling down at him, she tried to compose her thoughts into the right words. The other people in the large room drew away to give the young couple privacy.
“Mark, when I heard you’d been injured again, my heart was struck to the core.”
“Melissa.” His voice was weak and exhausted, “When they attacked me, I fought so hard for fear…I’d not see you again.” A tear rolled out of the corner of his eye.
“Darling, let me speak. You must rest.” She dropped to her knees and placed her hands on his blanket-covered arm. “Now I am on my knees, dearest. I have had my mind marvelously cleared by this occurrence. Do you remember what you asked me at the hilltop?”
“Yes.” His words a hoarse whisper. “I remember.”
“I can’t go on without you, Mark. At least I don’t want to. At all. If I cast my mind to a future without you in it, I see a bleak and empty picture. You were patient with me, but now I am ready to answer. I’d be honored to be your wife.”
His eyes closed and a smile spread across his face. His lips were moving, and she leaned forward, a futile effort to hear his words. She squeezed his hand and closed her eyes. Lord, thank You for sparing the man who is to be my husband. I know You brought him into my life. Let me be an excellent wife to Mark.
The servants arrived in the room with a stretcher on which to carry Lord Russell to his rooms. She stepped back. The others gathered around.
“Not to worry, Miss. He’s in good hands.” The doctor waggled his brows at her.
“And I’ve sent for the magistrate,” Mr. Cleaver reassured. “Something the men said lead me to believe they were behind the death of Mark’s brother as well.”
The men all left the room in the wake of the stretcher, leaving Melissa to the tender mercies of Priscilla, Miss Chesney, and Miss Dean.
“My dear girl, such a sickening state of affairs boggles my mind. To think those two cousins may have been behind all of these misfortunate incidents in Lord Russell’s life.” Miss Cleaver clasped her hands under her chin.
“I agree—shocking.” Melissa put a hand over her heart. “How thankful I am, though, for how it has turned out. If I hadn’t found Russell in the ditch, and if he hadn’t learned of my existence and followed that by coming to try to court me in London—ooh, it’s terrible to think about it all.”
“Melissa, you mustn’t forget this outcome is not made up of ‘ifs’. It’s God’s hand sustaining you through His good providence.” Miss Cleaver easily slipped back into her role of teacher. “But you know that, don’t you, dear?” She patted Melissa’s hand. Miss Dean sat by, needles clicking as she stitched another row on the socks she’d cried into moments before.
“Yes, I do. What a comfort to know this whole circumstance has been in God’s hand all along. It just seemed iffy.”
She fell silent for a moment, heart welling with gratitude.
“Let’s all join the others in the dining room, shall we? All this commotion has given me an appetite.”
Madam Olivier emerged from the green service door as the group of women crossed the hall. When she saw Melissa, she became animated. “There you are. You are c’est tres jolie.”
Melissa’s hand shot up to hide her smile and her amusement that the modiste was no more French than she was. “Madam Olivier, what brings you here? Did Lord Russell’s aunt, Mrs. Banting, require your services?” She spoke in a low voice.
“Non, mon infant, I was called out to Russelton for you.” Madame Olivier whispered back. “She thought you would be in need of zee wedding clothes?”
“I see. How very thoughtful of her. Let the three of us meet tomorrow.”
~*~
Madame Olivier went below to eat with the housekeeper. Melissa, Priscilla, Cassandra, and Miss Dean joined the convivial group already gathered in the elegant dining room. Oil lamps and beeswax candles shed their light and dispelled the gloom of the cloudy, dark day. Mr. Cleaver sat at the west end of the table, nearest the window. He had a heaping plate of food and was deep in conversation with Dr. Swithins. Papa and Mrs. Banting were ensconced at the opposite end, sitting side by side, smiling at each other, clearly having forgotten all about the food on their plates.
Moving over to the buffet, Melissa picked up a plate. Slivers of ham, a small wedge of cheese, and five fat strawberries from the succession house was plenty. She went to the table and sat beside her father. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Cassandra slipped into the chair next to Mr. Cleaver, who promptly ceased talking medicine and turned his entire concentration toward the lady.
Melissa tapped her father’s arm to get his attention. She spoke in hushed tones for only Mrs. Banting and Papa. “Papa, I have decided to accept Lord Russell’s offer. You’ll get your heart’s desire.” It pained her the way his ambitions for a title had ruled him for such a long time, but with the good outcome now in hand, Papa’s ambition didn’t hold the sting they once did.
“My darling girl, what wonderful news.” His eyes glistened and he patted her hand. “You and your Lord Russell have my absolute approval. I will meet with you two tomorrow morning. I have some news for you as well.”
News. She wondered if she could guess—but no, she’d wait to hear it. “Fine, Papa. We’ll meet you in the drawing room at ten if Mark’s up and about.” She hoped her father hadn’t come up with another condition to obstruct her wishes, but she suspected it was something else.
“Very good. If he’s still on bed rest, we’ll go to his rooms together.” He turned back to Lucy.
~*~
Melissa entered the sunny drawing room the next morning. Ensconced on a divan, with his legs propped on an ottoman, Mark looked less peaked. When she approached, he swung his feet to the floor, shoved the ottoman aside, and sat up straight. He patted the divan, indicating she should sit next to him, a wish she was happy to grant. He immediately captured her hand in his.
“I wasn’t dreaming it, was I, my love? You agreed to be my wife?”
Her face flamed, and she lowered her eyes, the intensity of her emotions too much to reveal. “Yes.” She spoke just above a whisper, remembering her forwardness.
“No, darling, don’t be shy. This is the happiest day of my life.” His fingers found her chin and he tipped her face toward his. Her heart tripped at the nearness of his lips to hers. When his mouth descended upon hers, it sent trills rippling over her, as if she’d landed in a cool river and a warm blanket at the same time.
She let herself wilt into his arms as they went around her and she leaned against his chest. The pure feeling of love, combined with the warmth of his kiss, brought such pleasure that she felt weak. After what seemed a long time, he left her lips bereft but recaptured her hand, holding it like a delicate treasure.
“You’ve made me the happiest of men. I’ll live my life proving my love.”
The clocks struck ten, and Melissa’s father and Mrs. Banting walked in. When the timepieces stopped their cacophony, Mark spoke. “I must reduce the number of clocks in this room. Three different chimes going off at on
ce are too much for even a healthy man to endure.”
“Indeed.” Melissa’s father smiled at Mrs. Banting.
Melissa couldn’t help notice that the older pair were also holding hands. “Papa, I’m anxious to hear your news. Let me guess.” Melissa’s eyes twinkled. “You are going to buy a home in Russelton?” She wanted to make her father squirm.
Papa’s mood was jovial, and his jesting good-natured. “How many guesses do you need?”
“Oh, I know, you finally talked Lord Russell into selling you that horse you want? Mrs. Banting has consented to introduce you to some nobles?” She decided to end the teasing before he got too embarrassed.
His face red, her father harrumphed and cleared his throat. “Let’s stop all the guesswork now, my girl. I’ll tell you flat out. Lucy here has consented to do much more for me. More than I had ever thought of when I met the dear lady.”
At this, Melissa squirmed. When would he get to the point?
“I am the happiest of men. Lucy and I…well, she said she’d be my wife before the year is out. Prior to any congratulations, however, I must give all the credit to God. He brought us together and gave me all the many blessings I do have.”
Touched and thrilled by her father’s words, Melissa clasped her hands in front of her heart. Her mouth opened to speak, but words weren’t sufficient. She arose and threw her arms around his neck. His beefy arms encircled her slim back and she laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right now, and Lord Russell will regain his health, you’ll see. There, there, Missy.” He used her childhood name as he patted her back.
After a few moments of hugging, Melissa extracted herself and wiped her eyes. She joined Mark on the divan, and he again secured her hand in his.
Congratulations in order, Melissa enthused, “How perfect. I’m very happy for you both. Now Madam Olivier will have a gown to make. Aunt Lucy…may I call you that? You will have the modiste all to yourself.”
A Match for Melissa Page 27
