The Black Lotus (Night Flower)

by Claire Warner

  “Edward. So glad you could make it, I was about to send out my groom to make sure that you hadn’t got lost on the road. I know how you despise coming to town.” His voice was affected, even lisping, the antithesis to her father’s strong tones. Not normally the type she saw her father associate with at all. Melissa watched the exchange carefully, wondering if her father could contain his sardonic asides.

  “Ah Montjoy. This is the cost of having children. We must all make sacrifices for their futures.” Melissa glanced at her father in surprise, wondering where he had gained this bantering light manner, for he rarely displayed it at home. At her left elbow, her mother was smiling politely, not a sign of her usual revulsion for Montjoy passing her lips.

  “So you have met my wife,” The conversation was moving along and Melissa dragged herself from the strangeness of her parents among strangers. They did hold balls at their home in the city and parties at their estate, but this was the first time she had been allowed within one floor of the action. Until this evening she had been exiled to the children’s playroom with the promise of candied fruits for good conduct. She focused in on the conversation now, knowing that her father would soon be introducing her and sure enough, after several moments of light banter, her father waved her forward.

  “So this is the lovely Melissa.” He had turned and now was facing her head on, his voice buzzing lightly in her ears. “I was wondering when we were going to meet this daughter of yours.” Melissa looked up into a jowly face beneath an overly elaborate wig. His watery blue eyes appraised her carefully, bringing a slow blush to her powdered skin. The gaze was too frank and approving to be polite, it felt as though he were slowly removing the green gown she wore piece by piece. She did not feel flattered, his attention was disturbing and she struggled to keep her discomfort from her face.

  “My dear Edward you failed to mention how stunning she was.” He stepped forward, drawing her hand towards his lips and kissing her skin with dry papery lips. Melissa feigned a smile and bobbed lightly as she had been instructed before dropping his hand as soon as decorum allowed.

  “Oh indeed she is stunning but she is also my daughter.” Her father’s tone was light, jovial even, yet she caught the warning within the smiling tones. Montjoy gave a smile and stepped back, removing his eyes from the inspection of her form with a light wave.

  “And so… let us enter, your daughter will be presented and then she will join in the festivities. I feel this night will be the most talked of event in the season and not least for the appearance of your daughter. She will be the belle of the event.”

  “Thank you sir,” She couldn’t help but reply in a soft, nervous whisper, unused to such lavish compliments and wondering if all of the attendees would be like this. She watched Montjoy turn and remove a glass of canary from the nearest footman as she fervently began hoping that there would be others nearer her own age within, she didn’t think she could stand any more exposure to this fop. Her mother’s delicate hand descended on her shoulder and her light bright voice spoke up.

  “Well Edward, I shall leave you and Montjoy to your talks, I’m not going to have Melissa spend her first ball sitting in a study and she must meet the King. Come along,”

  Melissa waved farewell with a relieved heart as her mother walked her towards the end of the room.

  “Now I know you don’t need to be told, but do not find yourself alone with him.” Her mother’s voice held a soft note of warning. “He’s not above ruining young women,” Melissa nodded, not trusting herself to speak and wondering why her father was friends with such a cad.

  “You’ll do fine, come along,” Melissa felt her mother’s fingers grasp her shoulder and lead her forward. Soon she stood before the King and her mother was announcing her, a curtsey, a smile and she was away, hardly aware that she had just met the most powerful man in all of England.

  “Was that it?” She whispered to her mother as they moved away from the main hall and towards the ballroom.

  “Hmm.. what where you expecting my dear, fanfares? The king is not a young man, time when you could have tilted your head at royal fare is long past,” Her mother glanced down at her daughter, “Unless you fancy the role of royal mistress,” Melissa looked up with shock, unable to find an answer to her mother, who chuckled and led her towards the closed double doors. As they neared the ballroom, the doors were opened by black liveried lackeys and the noise swelled as they passed through the heavily engraved portals into the room beyond.

  A wave of warmth and sensation struck her as they moved beyond the doors and into the loud, golden space. The air was warm, stuffy from numerous candles and people, myriad odours assailed her nostrils, from cologne to powder and she sneezed once as her feet carried her over the threshold. As the ambience of the scene hit her, she was swept away by what she saw. Her troubling thoughts about the episode in the hallway, the king, her mother’s speech and Montjoy were driven from her mind by the scene before her.

  “Well.. what do you think?” Her mother muttered as she smiled at Melissa’s awestruck face, the ballroom was a vision in white and gold, crystal chandeliers swayed delicately from the ceiling housing hundreds of candles and casting a gold glow about the room. From the gold urns on either side of the floor roses spilled free, scenting the air with heady fragrance. Melissa stared open mouthed at the sight before her, watching the couples move in elegant step to the music, their clothes a collage of silks, taffetas, lace and brocade. For several moments, she could not speak, the excitement freezing her voice.

  “Whatever else you may say about him, he plans a good event,” her mother said as she led her awestruck daughter onto the dance floor

  “Ah.. Lady DeVire.. I presume this is Melissa,” A short, rotund man declared as he kissed her mother’s hand. “Oh she’s going to break hearts.” He turned to face her and held out his hand. “Roland Montcrief.. It’s a pleasure to see you again. You weren’t nearly as attractive the last time I saw you!” Melissa looked at her mother, she didn’t recall the fat man before her and though he wasn’t as slimy as Lord Montjoy, she wasn’t too impressed with her mother’s seeming inattention to men of her own age.

  “Oh don’t tease her,” Lydia De Vire had not missed the barely concealed expression of panic in her daughter’s eyes. “Roland met you as a small child.”

  “You and your miscreant older brother were making mud pies and terrorising your governess as I recall,” The man said with a cheery laugh, making Melissa cringe at the unwanted memory, the last thing she wanted to be reminded of was that. What if this was the only impression she raised, that of a small child covered in mud. Her eyes sought out her mother’s and she was rewarded by a gently encouraging smile.

  “I’ve grown up since then,” She replied, putting as much strength into her voice as possible, trying to still the whispers of unease that were fluttering through her head like butterflies. She fervently hoped that this flabby, embarrassing old fool wasn’t going to keep her occupied all night with stories of her childhood.

  “I can see,” Roland replied with a smile. “Well I don’t want to hold up your conquest of the room and I’m sure you wish to find others closer to you own age.” He kissed her hand again and straightened up. “Have a pleasant night,” He bade her mother farewell, turned on his heel and drifted back into the crowd. Melissa managed to hold the sigh of relief that was teetering on her lips as she watched the almost puce coloured velvet clad back disappear into the crowd.

  “And may I present Edward Danvers,” Melissa had barely enough time to process that conversation before she was introduced to another man and then another. Moving like some social whirlwind, Lydia De Vire presented her daughter to the room.

  Once the bewildering round of introductions had been concluded, her mother finally left her side to conquer the room. Reeling from her whistle stop tour of the room she was finally stopped by a young man in plum and rose brocade. His eyes were a periwinkle blue and they twinkled merrily as she looked up at him. />
  “Do my eyes deceive me?” He declared in an overly dramatic tone. “Such a vision of beauty and loveliness that it dazzles me,” As he finished speaking, he lent forward and kissed her hand. “Rupert Avery at your service.” He dipped into a low bow and moved forward, looking down at her with a delighted gleam in his eyes. “I would be honoured if you would give me the next dance.”

  Melissa gave a delighted smile as she offered Rupert her arm and allowed him to sweep her onto the dance floor. The night progressed smoothly after that. She was a novelty, fresh to the scene and therefore of interest. As soon as the dance ended with Rupert declaring undying love, the next suitor had appeared. In a whirl, she moved from suitor to suitor hardly knowing their names but hearing them declare themselves in awe of her beauty. It was an exhilarating yet terrifying experience, several of these bravos had been known to duel for the affections of a lady and she was not experienced enough to play the tease. Melissa felt somewhat sorry for the gallants who promised her the stars, for she only felt a passing affection for some of them. In truth after the third or fourth declaration of love, she felt bored with the whole affair. It all sounded false as though it were the form to be so extravagant. Of course the point of such affairs was to snare an acceptable husband. Flamboyant though it may be, these overly elaborate events were essential to barter her out to the mode. Though she had been brought up for this, she could not quite suppress the dissatisfaction with her lot.

  “Do you want me to take you away from all this?” A humour filled masculine voice intruded on her thoughts. Melissa glanced up at the speaker with her first genuine smile of the evening.

  “Marcus,” She gave her older brother a relieved hug and allowed him to take her onto the dance floor. “I was beginning to get overwhelmed.. Does this always happen?”

  Her brother smiled and chuckled. “Oh fairly frequently, it’s de riguer you know to over indulge in emotion.” Melissa smiled as her brother steered them towards the middle of the room. Beneath the laden chandelier, her brother led her through the steps of the dance, his footsteps sure and steady. It was strange, Melissa concluded, to see him in this setting. Marcus could dress well when the occasion demanded, but he usually preferred riding attire when he resided at home. To see him in powder and court dress gave her an eerie unsettled feeling. He seemed almost unreal. In this attire, he was a member of the court and not the brother who teased her mercilessly.

  “But would they really….” She began, wondering just how much she could ask and not cause a fuss. “You know.. um.. duel for my honour?”

  “If they thought it would impress you,” Marcus replied with a serious note to his voice. “Though technically, you’re not supposed to know about it and I’m supposed to keep the more impassioned ones away from you.” Melissa rolled her eyes as they executed a perfect turn.

  “Because of course I can’t deal with the annoyance myself,” A small note of impatience crept into her voice.

  “My sister, you could take care of yourself, I taught you how to fire a pistol personally, against our father’s instruction and I trust you would use it, but you have to think about your reputation,” He looked down at her with a very serious look on his face. “Your reputation is fragile and easily bruised; these young bucks could cause a scandal and leave the capital for a few months. When they return their scandal is forgotten, any breath of scandal attached to you would not be.” Melissa nodded; she had heard variations on this speech numerous times before from both her parents. A man could shot his rival in a duel, lose his fortune, elope with a woman and get away with it, a woman could not. She sighed and looked away; depressed at the direction this conversation was taking. Her gaze roamed around the room, past chattering ladies and laughing men. This was to be her world for the next few months or longer if she were unlucky. The point of all of this was to snare a husband, for without that, she was lost.

  “I understand,” She answered her brother with only the merest touch of heat to her words. “Mother and Father have instructed me endlessly on this point. You don’t need to add to it.” It was infuriating, this constant harping about good behaviour and consequences. She knew the difficulties, why did they feel the need to keep on at her.

  “Force of habit sister mine,” Marcus replied with a laugh. “Father would pitch a fit if I didn’t keep an eye on you,” He looked down at her with a comradely smile. “We’re on the same side you know.”

  “I know.” She allowed a smile to touch her lips as he swept her past a planter of roses, the heady fragrance tickling her nose. Another couple swept past and Melissa found her eyes wandering again. An orchestra played in the corner of the room and before it, across the floor; the crowd were dancing and laughing. It all combined together in one glorious medley of sound and colour. She kept looking, drinking in the experience yet bewildered by it at the same time. Still her eyes roamed, beyond the punchbowl and open doors to the garden until finally they found the one still point of the room. Melissa almost stopped dancing at the sight that greeted her gaze.

  Standing in the corner of room with a glass raised to his lips was a young man. Impeccably and dramatically dressed in dark blue and gold he stood aloof from the crowd, watching the proceedings with little interest.

  “Marcus.” She nodded towards the corner. “Who is that?”

  Marcus glanced up and across the room, his eyes falling on the young man with what seemed to be concern.

  “That is Justin Lestrade..” He answered her calmly as he drew her through the crowd, away from the man and towards a pair of chairs.

  “I’ve heard of him,” Melissa felt disappointed. That handsome young man had one of the worst reputations in London. Barely a week went by without some scandal or other. Sensible women did not vie for his attention yet he never seemed to lack female company.

  “I’m not surprised,” Marcus murmured as he guided her to sit. “He has a poor reputation though and I do not believe that father would ever admit him to his company,”

  “Oh.” Melissa gazed across the room again, yet several dancing couples obscured her view of the corner.

  “If you must find someone to moon over,” Marcus began, noting her roving eyes. “I would hope that it would be someone other than him,”

  “I won’t moon over him, I’m just curious,” She drew her attention back to her brother and smiled.

  “Ah yes but we know what curiosity did and I’m just warning you that Father would have a fit if you turned up on Lestrade’s arm,” Marcus held her gaze and she saw warning within there. “So save your curiosity for more worthy types,”

  Melissa pursed her lips in frustration but said nothing. Her thoughts seethed with questions and though she adored her older brother, she could not make him aware of them. Father was friends with Montjoy and he was hardly what she considered gentlemanly. How could he be friends with one person with a low reputation yet ostracise another? And how could Marcus feel that she would fling herself on a complete stranger just because she asked his name.

  “I didn’t mean to preach.” Marcus said finally as the silence lengthened. “But it’s best you hear this from me and not father.” He patted her gently on the arm and stood up clearly feeling that the conversation was finished. “Are you alright here?” She nodded and watched her brother move away across the floor. For several moments she sat quietly, watching the dancers sashay past her and across the floor. Taking a glass of canary from the silver tray of a lackey, she let her gaze drift past Rupert dancing with Emmeline Marsters, away from the blue eyed flirt that was Mary Westbury and into the corner of the room where Lestrade stood. Slowly the dancers parted and she allowed her eyes to drink their fill. He was moderately tall beneath his powdered hair and dressed in a midnight blue coat. The heavy velvet was embroidered extravagantly with gold thread and jewels. Beneath that he wore a waistcoat of gold brocade over a white silk shirt. At his throat, a blue silk cravat fixed with an enamelled cravat pin in the unusual design of a black lotus completed the ensemble.
It was a rich dress, signifying much personal wealth yet that was not what called to her. His face drew her attention like nothing else had. She didn’t wish to stare like some yokel, yet she couldn’t drag herself away. The young man, for he was clearly not that much older than she, was looking at the crowd with an expression of unfathomable humour. A mocking yet slightly sad expression creased his brow and though she could not tell the direction of his stare from this distance, she was sure that they were not watching the soiree with any great interest. He was handsome, she realized as her gaze traced his features and his figure was lean and muscular beneath the rich clothing. As she trailed her eyes over his profile for the second time, he turned his head and his eyes locked with hers. Blushing furiously beneath the powder caking her face, Melissa immediately tore her eyes away and glanced down at her feet, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Feigning an overwhelming interest in the embroidery on her shoes, she hoped to divert his attention. So concerned she was with faking disinterest, she missed his slow walk through the crowd towards her and was unprepared when his shadow fell over her and drew her attention.