He knew it because he spoke not just with the nobility but their servants as well, and for the right coin, they were quite happy to tell him what their masters and mistresses really thought of him and his family. As a man of business, it was an important ace up his sleeve.
He knew that the problem was that many noblemen envied them; for title or not, there were quite a number who were impoverished. His father’s cleverness in investing in the Far East, though seen as vulgar, was also very profitable. They might call The Duke of Cheshmill a merchant behind his back, but to his face, they were all gushing platitudes.
Patrick regretted that he was forced to negotiate the fine line between commerce and nobility without any offense to both. It was a delicate undertaking that took him out of town a lot. It was no wonder he had not met the Greyfield daughters before today.
He kept one eye on Lady Melissa even as he chatted pleasantly with Lady Rose. The former was talking animatedly to her dance partner and Patrick wondered idly what she could possibly be saying.
He lazily alternated between watching Lady Melissa and listening to Lady Rose and it was during one of the periods when his eyes swung toward the younger woman, that he saw a man snaking his way over to her, his eyes malevolently bright with intent. Patrick tensed, not knowing what could be going on. He watched the man approach Lady Melissa, and involuntarily took a step toward the ballroom floor. His heart rate sped up as he sensed the onset of danger. Suddenly there was a piercing scream, the music stopped and the man had a knife to Lady Melissa’s throat!
Patrick took another step closer to the action, as the man shouted for everyone to stay back.
“I only want th’ necklace,” he declared, dragging Lady Melissa toward the French doors.
Patrick took another step toward them. Lady Melissa’s eyes were so wide and scared, he felt compelled to remove that look from her face. Stepping lightly, he made his way to the wall, using the crowd of people to disguise his hurried advancement to the French doors. He stopped to grasp a heavy brass candlestick along the way. The man was still shouting to everyone to stay back, the knife had nicked Lady Melissa’s throat and there was a round red bud of blood hanging off his knife.
Patrick moved faster.
“I won’t hurt her. I won’t. I just want th’ necklace,” the man repeated again as Lady Melissa struggled in his arms.
Patrick crouched by the windows, lying in wait. As soon as the man stepped over the threshold, he got up to his full height and hit him across the base of his head.
The man made a strange sound of surprise and loosened his hold on Lady Melissa who promptly leaped away from him. The man wheeled around to face Patrick, his eyes were wide and unfocused.
“What?” he said before Patrick hit him across the temple again, hard enough to put him on the ground. Immediately there was a surge of noise, movement, and excitement but Patrick only had eyes for one person.
“Are you well?” he asked Lady Melissa.
She nodded slowly, her breath hitching slightly, “Thank you.” Her hand went to her throat, caressing her neck in disbelief.
“You’re very welcome, My Lady.”
Chapter 4
In Gratitude
The thief having been subdued; he was promptly thrown in the dungeons in the cellar of Greyfield House to await the arrival of Bow Street Runners. Guests were invited to leave at their leisure, politely handed out the door by the Greyfield butler. Soon only the family was left, gathered in the drawing room as well as the Marquess and his father.
Thalia took hold of The Duke of Cheshmill’s arm, pulling him aside. “Did you do this?” she hissed in his ear.
“Do what, Your Grace?” his voice was low and bored as if he could not fathom what she could possibly be talking about and couldn’t care less.
“Did you send that man to attack my daughter?” every word was snapped off in irritation.
The Duke reared back theatrically, staring at her in disbelief, his hand on his chest, he could not believe that she would dare make such an accusation.
“What fustian nonsense!” he declared, “If I were to send someone to attack one of your children in order to bring this about, it would be your eldest, we both know that. I would have no interest in your youngest.”
The Duchess looked away, lips pursing in annoyance. Due to the Marquess’ bravery, her husband was plying him with drinks, as he expressed his gratitude over and over.
“You must let me repay you in some way,” he was saying, his hand light on Melissa’s arm as she stood gazing up at the Marquess with equal adoration. “Name it, it’s yours.”
Those words made Thalia’s heart sink for she knew without a shadow of a doubt what the Marquess, at the behest of his father, would ask for–Rose's hand in marriage.
“Your Grace, truly I seek no reward. I did what any honorable gentleman would do, honestly.” the Marquess was so self-effacing, it was difficult to believe that he and The Duke were related. Nevertheless, Thalia knew it was all an act.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
* * *
Melissa alternated between feeling dizzy and faint, and feeling quite giddy. Her hands were shaking and when Brynn pressed a hot toddy into her hands, she drank it down without complaint. She could see Brynn hovering in her peripheral vision, hands wringing with worry, but she only had eyes for the Marquess.
They had cleaned the nick on her neck and smeared it with a soothing cream. The hot toddy was beginning to warm her up but the most reassuring thing to her after that shocking ordeal was the solicitous presence of her rescuer. His eyes crinkled with concern as his gaze rested upon her wound and he asked if she felt fine.
“I’m a little shaken, but I shall be well. I cannot express to you enough how grateful I am to you…”
The Marquess was already shaking his head. “Please Lady Melissa, you have nothing to thank me for. I only did what any self-respecting man would have done.” He reached out, hand hovering over her arm but not touching, “Now please will you sit down? You’re shaking.”
Melissa hastened to comply, realizing as he said it that yes, her knees did feel rather weak. He hovered worriedly over her as if she might disintegrate if he went too far. “Do you need anything? Another hot toddy perhaps? Laudanum?”
Melissa smiled. “I am fine, thank you for your concern.”
Brynn stepped forward at once, hands on her shoulders. “We should get you to bed now, My Lady.”
Melissa turned her head to glare at Brynn but her lady’s maid would not be dissuaded. “Come on Milady. Let us go,” she said urging Melissa to stand up. With an inward sigh, she did as Brynn urged but not before turning once again to the Marquess.
“You must promise me that you will call upon us tomorrow for tea, so that I can thank you properly.” She widened her eyes in entreaty because she had found in the past that it worked on most people except Brynn and her mother.
“Yes of course, if that is your wish, I shall be here,” he said making her a very elegant leg. Melissa smiled and left with reluctance, wanting to turn around and keep him in her sights as she exited the drawing room but knowing that her mother would rail at her for being unladylike if she did.
She sighed. “Oh Brynn, did you see him?” she asked as they climbed the stairs, her eyes dreamy and far away.
“I did. T'was a very brave thing he did.”
“Yes.” Melissa sighed again as her eyes grew heavy. Now that the Marquess was no longer in her sights, she could admit that she was rather tired and worn down. It had been a long day even without having a knife at her throat. She let Brynn undress her and get her into her nightgown before collapsing on her bed, eyes long closed, already dreaming of knights in shining armor.
* * *
Patrick was not surprised when his father grasped his arm and pulled him aside. He had been making polite conversation with Lady Rose, who insisted upon giving him a recap of his own exploits as seen through her eyes. It was extremely melod
ramatic, in Patrick’s opinion, and he had winced inwardly more than once at the praise she lavished upon him.
He leaned closer to his father so that The Duke could whisper in his ear.
“Ask Greyfield for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Patrick froze, unable to understand his father’s words. “I beg your pardon?”
“He asked you what you wanted. Tell him you want his daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Patrick’s heart sped up at the thought of having Lady Melissa as his bride. “It is too soon. Lady Melissa hardly knows me.”
“Not her, you dolt,” The Duke hissed, “The elder one.”
“What?”
“She has clearly set her cap at you, now make her the happiest woman on earth and ask for her hand in marriage.”
“I-I c-can't.” Patrick did not know why he was stammering but he felt his entire being was rebelling at the thought of taking Lady Rose to wife. She was the wrong Greyfield sister!
“You can and you will. Our family reputation depends upon it.”
Patrick stiffened, straightening up to face his father with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, clearly you haven’t heard the latest fudge about me. They are saying I forced myself upon a girl and then obligated her to marry my steward to hide the resulting baby.”
Patrick paled. “That is not true,” he breathed.
“Of course, it isn’t. But seeing as my steward took off to parts unknown, there is no way to prove it. This is exactly the sort of thing that can get a man and his family shunned. But with connections like the Greyfields, the ton will be more inclined to overlook these little faux pas.”
Patrick’s brow beetled. Faux pas?
“A-are you saying you did do it, father?” the confusion in his voice caused it to rise to a higher pitch.
“Of course not!” The Duke said impatiently. “I simply mean that that is how other people would perceive it.”
“Well, Lady Melissa is as much a Greyfield as Lady Rose.”
“Humph. The younger cannot marry before the elder. And besides, the elder is the favorite. She is the better choice.”
Patrick looked away; his heart troubled by his father’s words. He did not understand how he had not heard about any of this. It seemed strange to him because he made sure to have his ear to the ground.
He glanced at Lady Rose, knowing that he would ask for her hand because it was his duty if his family needed this from him. Nevertheless, for just a little while, he wanted to rail about it, if only in his mind.
She came up to him, a tentative smile on her face. “Are you quite well, Lord Bergon?” Her voice was so soft and gentle, her eyes concerned. He regretted deeply that her presence did not elicit the same reaction in him as her sister did.
“I am fine, Lady Rose. But it’s late and no doubt you all need to get your rest, so I will be taking my leave.”
Her face fell with disappointment and Patrick felt hollow as he realized that she was enamored of him. It would be a simple job to get her to agree to be his bride. In his mind’s eye, her azure eyes were replaced by ones of dancing hazel, so full of life and mischief. He sighed inwardly, made a leg to her before going to pay his respects to The Duke and Duchess. He could feel his father’s eyes on him the entire time and knew that he took in everything. He was sure that he would be betrothed as soon as his father could make it possible.
The morning brought with it the evidence that his life was altered in interesting ways. His morning mail, usually comprising of bills, the day’s newspaper, and perhaps a letter from his sister or one of his country aunts asking for money, now held a myriad of invitations. Venetian breakfasts, teas, picnics, house parties, he was now invited to them all.
He sighed with bemusement as he put all of them aside to savor his coffee and ponder this turn of events. He had barely finished his first cup when his butler announced that his father had arrived.
“Show him in,” Patrick said with a sigh, “and set another place.”
The thud of his father’s walking stick on the parquet floor alerted Patrick to his presence and he got to his feet, fixing a smile on his face. “Father. How nice to see you although it is a bit early for visits.”
The Duke lifted an eyebrow, “Am I not allowed to have breakfast with my son?”
“Of course, you are father, in fact, I just asked them to set another place. How are you?” Patrick sat back down a moment after his father settled himself into the chair on his right.
“I am well. Your stepmother is driving me mad with all the decorating. Thought I’d look for some peace and quiet.” He aimed a smile at Patrick who returned a commiserating one. “You’ll soon understand what I mean.”
Patrick grimaced, “Can one get married and escape the obsessive redecorating?”
“Not possible. Can’t have one without the other. You just have to endure it.” The butler set a steaming cup of coffee in front of his father and for a little while, they sipped in companionable silence.
“Mmm, is this Java?” The Duke asked.
“Yes indeed. From the last shipment from Indonesia. I believe I sent some to your townhouse.”
“Mmm, well, Her Grace prefers tea or hot chocolate,” The Duke grumped, “and so I try to indulge her.”
Patrick patted his father’s arm in sympathy. “Would you like another cup?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
Patrick lifted his hand and his butler appeared, ready to pour more coffee. It occurred to him to share with his father the pile of invitations he had obtained. If he was getting so many in spite of the damned hum, then it meant that the ton was not taking the stories seriously. Surely that meant he did not have to marry Lady Rose?
His father put down his cup slowly. “Son, I know that what I am asking you to do seems hard. You have clearly set your sights on the younger Lady Greyfield. However, I need you to trust me when I tell you, she is not the right girl for you.”
“Why?”
“There are things about her you do not know and I cannot tell you. Now, put her out of your mind. Lady Rose is delightful. She comports herself well, she plays the pianoforte wonderfully and is well read. She will be of value to you.”
Patrick sighed. “Yes, father.”
* * *
Melissa was quite excited about tea with the Marquess even if she knew she was only invited because it had been her neck he’d saved. If her mother had it her way, only Rose would be present. She did not understand why her mother was pushing her sister at the Marquess. Perhaps it was because Rose had shown interest.
And anything Rose wants, she gets, Melissa thought bitterly.
Nevertheless, she called Brynn to help her coif her hair and apply some color to her cheeks and lips as well as some cream to lighten her skin. She chose a simple chicory muslin gown embellished with gold lace, suitable for receiving guests at home. It cinched just beneath her breasts emphasizing their lushness without sacrificing modesty. Around her neck, she wore a gold-lace choker, which drew attention to the cut on her neck–and the reason they were all here.
“You are looking well this afternoon, Lady Melissa,” the Marquess murmured quietly to her as he took her gloved hand and kissed the air above it. “And how are you feeling?”
She turned, to find her sister glaring daggers at her, her mother pale with anger. Sighing inwardly, she crossed the room and lowered herself obediently next to her mother. Rose immediately took her place by Lord Bergon, plying him with honey cakes.
“So Lord Bergon, it seems passing strange to me that we have not met before. How is that possible?”
Melissa glared at her sister, “Really Rose, what a thing to ask!”
Rose narrowed her eyes at her. “I was just curious. It’s not rude and the Marquess does not mind me asking,” she turned to face him. “Do you?”
“Oh, it’s perfectly fine. I do not mind the question,” the Marquess hastened to assure her. “I am
not in town much as I have businesses that take me to the Far East and indeed, sometimes to the New World.”
“That is indeed fascinating,” Rose said moving closer to him. “I have always wanted to see the world. Maybe one day you can take me.”
The Marquess simply stared, his teacup halfway to his mouth seemingly at a loss for words.
“That would be my pleasure,” he swallowed, looking away from Rose, his eyes flicking toward Melissa and then down to his cup. Melissa frowned.
“Don’t put him on the spot like that Rose. The poor Marquess hardly knows what to say.” She kept her voice pleasant, all the vicious anger she felt plain in the look she directed at her sister.
“Oh, I’m sure he can speak up for himself if he needs to.” Rose actually reached out and touched his arm with her fingertips. Melissa gasped, affronted on his behalf.
“Well, we shall not put him in that awkward situation, shall we? Would you like some more honey cakes, Lord Bergon?”
She reached out, handing him the plate.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said sounding choked.
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.” Melissa smiled at him, glad to draw his attention to her at last.
The Duchess stirred beside her. “I understand you have some interest in the arts?” she said neatly capturing the Marquess’ ear. “Would you like to visit our art gallery? Rose can take you.”
Melissa grounded her teeth in anger.
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Also by Scarlett Osborne
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