“These items...they be like the guineas an’ shillings we has here, but from backalong times in Italy.” Clem snickered and beamed as if he’d offered the crown jewels.
“Very well, it might be worth a look. But I warn you, no tomfoolery. I am not a man to cross. Or run afoul of, or broadside, and so on.” Griffin nodded and rose slowly to his feet. He felt the cool brass handle of the pistol in his coat pocket, leery of footpads, swindlers and cut-purses.
****
The billowing smoke of London almost choked her, and Melwyn closed the coach window in irritation. “I haven’t visited here in a couple of years, and had forgotten what a beastly stink this city is. The kennels are teaming with offal.”
The coach rumbled over the raised pedestrian walkways, past brick, and wattle and daub buildings that leaned like drunks over a table—the few such structures left after the Great Fire of 1666. The numerous shop signs, which no longer dangled over people’s heads as a few had fallen and killed the passersby, fascinated Melwyn, and softened her pique at having to flee Cornwall.
“How did ‘ee snatch the coach and horses, again, without your father’s knowin’?” Clowenna pressed a handkerchief to her nose.
“I have my wiles. Anything to slip away from that vile Lord Lambrick.” She shivered in revulsion, yet his mesmerizing eyes haunted her dreams. “He’ll never have me to wed and bed. Whatever that might mean, since I’m a virgin and wouldn’t know.”
“But why London, m’lady? After five days o’ travel at indifferent inns?” Clowenna brushed soot from the shoulders of her spencer jacket, then rubbed her tailbone. “Me bum is numb.”
“To hide with my windowed aunt, of course. Doesn’t everyone have a widowed aunt tucked away in London for convenience?” Melwyn tugged her pelisse close. “For people of my class, it is de rigueur.”
At Grosvenor Square, in the exclusive Mayfair district, the two women alighted. The pale-stoned townhomes with Corinthian columns and several stories lorded over the park before them. Elegant carriages clattered over the cobblestones.
“Your father will know where we is.” Clowenna stepped around steaming horse dung. “Your aunt bein’ his sister.”
“I’ll be of age in six months, and then he can’t force me to do anything.” Melwyn regretted she sounded like a child with that statement as she smoothed her wrinkled skirt.
“Six months be a long time, m’lady. What choices does ‘ee have, if not to marry?”
“I’ll marry a footman, if needs must, then run off before the fateful bedding, disguise myself as a man and join the navy and travel to the ruins in Italy and Greece.” Melwyn shoved aside her ire that her maid was correct in her assumption about choices, and approached the intricately carved door.
“Will be flogged in the navy, given your temper,” Clowenna said thoughtfully.
Melwyn laughed, for the first time in a week. She stared again at the door. She hadn’t seen her aunt for two years, and hoped she’d be welcomed. Hesitating, she turned to her abigail. “I still wonder how that brigand Lambrick knew about Mama.”
“We should o’ stayed in Cornwall an’ asked him.” Clowenna flicked a smut from her eyelashes. “An’ I doubt someone with your pride would marry a footman.”
“What do you mean, my pride? If I had any pride, I’d sit home and knit, smile blandly at all men, and sink into despair.” Melwyn jerked the bell pull. “Really, Clowenna, you have the bellicose manner of a virago. I don’t know why I keep you with me.”
“Because no one else puts up with ‘ee, m’lady?” Clowenna rolled her eyes. “An’ if ‘ee wasn’t so fair to look at, you’d never get away wi’ your mischief.”
The front door creaked open and the typical stiff-lipped butler stared down his long nose at them.
“Please inform her ladyship that her niece is here and seeks sequestering.” Melwyn walked past him as if he were invisible, as certain servants should be.
“Very good, m’lady.” The man shut the door, almost closing it on Clowenna.
Melwyn smelled the overstuffed rooms and noticed her aunt’s old-fashioned decor hadn’t changed since her last visit. The rococo still garnished everything like icing on a wedding cake.
“Who is here? I’m not at home to callers today. Who would be so rude as to break that rule?” an imperious voice asked. A woman with a voluptuous figure sauntered down the corridor. Her little lace cap sat atop a mountain of brown hair, like a snow cap on Mt. Everest. Her lilac-colored gown clung to her generous curves. She raised a quizzing glass. “Oh, dear, is that you Melwyn?”
“It is I, dear Auntie Hedra.” Melwyn rushed forward and kissed the air on each side of her aunt’s papery but still lovely face. The woman smelled like rose water, and a hint of Canary wine. “Can you hide me for a few months, six to be precise?”
“What have you done now, gel?” Her aunt arched a mouse-skin covered eyebrow. “Are you still the hoyden that my poor, delusional brother has never managed to curtail?”
“I am guilty as charged, Auntie.” Melwyn removed her pelisse and dropped it in the butler’s hands. “I’ve tried and tried not to vex Papa, but I just can’t squeeze myself into the paper-doll conformity that is expected. And why is it expected? Don’t women have brains the same as men?”
“We do, m’lady, but should use them quiet-like...the power behind the throne, an’ all that.” Clowenna stepped forward, still rubbing her butt.
“And did you travel all the way to London with no companion, only this person of questionable birth and actions that I see before me?” Aunt Hedra sneered. “This creature stares at me and not at her feet as she ought to.”
Melwyn winced. She thought of her maid as an older sister, though would never admit that to her, thus giving her a bigger head then she already had. “You’ve met Clowenna before; she’s been with me for over a decade. I agree that she has the mouth of a fishwife sometimes, but we are inseparable. She’s my trusted abigail.”
“Hmmm, I see my brother’s household is still in pandemonium. Why are you here, and in need of hiding? Aren’t you to wed Lord Lambrick?” Aunt Hedra’s lips quirked. “He might put a knot in your proverbial tail.”
“That gentleman, and I use the term loosely, is why I’m here. I don’t wish to marry him, ever. He is contemptible, and not in the least intimidated by me.” Melwyn fought a quiver.
“High praise, indeed. He is a man of mysterious, even dangerous, repute.” Aunt Hedra walked with her up the grand, sweeping staircase designed by Adam. “But you’re right; we do want husbands that we can manipulate successfully. My late husband, Lord Penpol, was an indulgent man, with a kind heart. I managed to tread on his every nerve. Cut his life short, I daresay.” She stopped, her mouth in a frown. “I do miss him, oddly enough.”
“No one will tell me, but why must I marry? Men can go their entire lives and never marry, why not women?” Melwyn huffed, even as the idea that the viscount had a dangerous repute piqued her interest. “Why are we unattached women treated as spinsters who must be hidden away and pitied?”
“Only the quality be expected to marry. Me, I was sold into service, an’ hard toil, like a plow ox.” Clowenna sighed.
“Some of those unmarried males are whispered about as fowls of a different feather...but I digress.” Aunt Hedra’s cheeks reddened a shade. “As for we women, we are deemed to have weak minds, and willful natures that must be tamed. You do fit the willful nature portion.”
“I think men fear us, that’s why they make all these regulations to keep us downtrodden.” The familiar frustration pricked along her neck.
“You do have a point, little minx.” Aunt Hedra opened a door on the left. Her grey eyes reminded Melwyn of her papa—but her aunt’s gaze was far from melancholy. “You may occupy this room, my dear, but don’t be surprised if my brother seeks you out here.”
“I told her the same,” Clowenna muttered. “But would she listen?”
“Your gel does remind me of a fishwife.” Aunt Hedra sni
ffed, studying the maid with her quizzing glass. “Well, put on your finest gown, Mellie. Tonight I’ve been invited to Vauxhall, and you may go with me, but the abigail stays here.”
“I’d love to visit the famous pleasure garden.” Melwyn clapped her hands together, chasing aside her guilt at deserting her father when he thought he was doing what was best for her. “Purely for observational reasons.”
“Oh, la, there goes them gardens.” Clowenna moaned and shuffled into the guest room.
****
The sun hung low over the Thames and painted the tops of the elm and sycamore trees in orange light.
“If Papa shows up in town, which I doubt, can you pretend you never saw me?” Melwyn said as they left the boat at the Vauxhall Stairs, paid their one shilling apiece for admission and walked into the cool Grove of the pleasure garden.
“My sweet niece, we will meet several of my dearest friends here.” Aunt Hedra hurried down the path, petticoats rustling. A footman followed behind, carrying her fan. “How will I introduce you, if you wish to keep up this charade of hiding from my cully of a brother?”
“Papa isn’t a coward, Auntie. He’s only so meek tempered to not be very dynamic.” Melwyn bristled at the insult to her parent. She adjusted the over-tunic of her embroidered gown, the turquoise color glistening in the sunlight.
“Your mother found him not very dynamic, I dare swear, or she wouldn’t have absconded with the under-butler.” Her aunt nodded sagaciously. “Not that I could ever approve of such depraved actions.”
“The second under-butler,” Melwyn corrected. She remembered her mother calling her papa weak-minded, and Melwyn had risen to his defense by throwing a shoe in her nursery. She increased her pace. “Now, you promised me you had a scientist friend from the Royal Society who is supposed to be here. I wish to discuss the ongoing discoveries in Pompeii and Herculaneum with him.”
“Ah, the Roman ruins in Italy? Why are you interested in them?” Aunt Hedra steered her down another path called the Grand Walk, past the golden statue of Aurora. The piney and earthy scents of the thick foliage tickled Melwyn’s nose.
“I intend to become an archeologist. Digging in the dirt, unearthing fascinating antiquities. Learning how people lived in the past.” Melwyn preened. “It is a far better prospect than being buried alive on some gloomy estate while a husband carouses in cheap taverns.”
“You will be the death of me and your father.” Aunt Hedra sighed. “I suppose you wish to sail off to Egypt and examine one of those pointy objects they build there?”
“The pyramids, I can hardly wait. Hopefully the French won’t go there first, then Admiral Nelson will follow, and the Battle of the Nile will take place.” Melwyn’s heart soared. She imagined herself in a flowing white dress, sitting atop a camel. “But then they’ll discover the Rosetta Stone, or perchance I will.”
“Such foolish tales infect your unfathomable brain. Leave any Rosé stones in the desert with the heathens.” Aunt Hedra dragged her along, past piazzas framed by shrubbery, and exclusive supper boxes for private parties. “Look, there is my dear friend, the Duchess of Dumfort. I’ll introduce you. Her husband, the duke, resides in Bath most of the year, for his health, so he says.”
Framed in the glow of the last rays of sun, a short, wide woman grinned at Aunt Hedra as they approached. Her ostrich feather, stuck in a chignon of silver hair, wavered in the cool breeze. “Hedra, a glorious good evening. The splendor of fresh air. Who is this exquisite young woman with you?”
“My niece, Melwyn Pencavel. She is up from Cornwall for a visit, Your Grace.” Aunt Hedra pressed both of Melwyn’s shoulders. “Her father is my cherished brother.”
“Melwyn? Hedra? You Cornish have such curious names, you’d think you were part of another country.” Duchess Dumfort sallied forth in her wide-skirted gown like a green galleon. “How nice to meet you, my child.”
“We Cornish are an unusual strain.” Melwyn curtsied, recalling a fraction of her deportment training. “I’m certain I’m honored to meet you as well, Your Grace.” The woman looked like centuries of good breeding, perhaps a little in-breeding.
“Of course you are, on both counts.” The duchess took her arm in her plump, be-ringed, fingers. “Such a lovely child; have you been presented at a season yet?”
“Indeed she has, three seasons ago, then the one after that,” Aunt Hedra said. “The young men were all in a flurry over her.”
But her outspoken ways had dismayed any beaux, Melwyn mused. “I was betrothed at the time, as I have been for many years, to the unsuitable Lord Lambrick.”
“Griffin Lambrick? The Viscount of Merther?” The duchess’s eyes flashed. “I’ve not seen him in London at any social event for many a year.” She leaned close to Hedra and whispered, “a bit of a rogue, isn’t he? The child would be no match for him. He is very much unsuitable, I agree.”
“Alas, she is all of twenty now, and needs to be settled, soon.” Aunt Hedra shook her head gravely as if Melwyn had some noxious disease.
“Or I’ll wilt on a shelf,” Melwyn announced with irony. “And I believe his roguish lordship is no match for me, yet I’ll never find out, because I’ve refused him.”
“With your father’s permission, of course?” The duchess gave her a simpering smile.
A group of jugglers sauntered by, followed by laughing patrons.
“No, with my own permission, your grace. I told him I’d never marry him, and that was that.” Melwyn fisted her hands, then flexed out her fingers, deciding that was juvenile. “I never consulted my father, and then I left for London.”
“Upon my word.” The duchess blanched. “What sort of impudent behavior is this? You will be damaged goods, my dear. You cannot forsake a proposal on your own. Your father must find a good enough reason to refuse a peer. There are ramifications, child.” She spoke as if imparting news about an impending French invasion.
“I’ve warned her about this, your grace. I thought I’d show her the gardens tonight, then send her packing back to Cornwall when she’s rested, to either accept the betrothal or have my brother find an appropriate reason to refuse.” Aunt Hedra snatched her fan from the footman and fanned herself quickly, tousling her few loose tendrils of hair.
Nightingales warbled from the overhead tree branches.
“I am aware that Lord Lambrick has many sinister rumors about him, so a reason should be easily found.” The duchess nodded, as if satisfied with this outcome.
“What are these sinister rumors, pray?” Melwyn stiffened, ready for battle; no one would send her packing. She needed more ammunition, or a passport.
“Nothing fitting for your young, innocent ears.” The dumpy duchess glanced around. “Shall we partake of some ice cream? The French, now and then, do create something interesting, other than a machine that chops off heads. Such savagery.”
“I’m in agreement for the ice cream, and then we can look for Auntie’s friend from the Royal Society.” Melwyn walked beside the duchess, whose voluminous skirts almost tripped her. They passed the huge Rotunda, where inside concerts were held. “But I read the Arabs invented ice cream ages ago, then Marco Polo brought it to Europe from China.”
“Oh, my dear, stop reading so much, or you will never make a catch of consequence.” The duchess patted Melwyn’s hand. “You are too pretty to waste your time on books.”
“Do not mention your mother, we must keep up appearances,” Aunt Hedra whispered from behind her fan. “Your grace,” she said aloud, “you might know some fascinating and eligible young men to introduce my niece to?”
“I am in no hurry to marry, Auntie, as you well know,” Melwyn said through tightening lips. “Where is your friend so we can discuss antiquities? And excuse me for saying, your grace, but reading for knowledge shouldn’t be discouraged in young ladies. Many of us don’t wish for brains that turn to mush from disuse.”
“You will manage your household and a team of rudely unreliable servants, so don’t talk s
uch foolishness,” the duchess prattled. “A girl without a husband is like a ship without an udder.”
Melwyn stifled a laugh. This highly placed peer obviously couldn’t tell a boat from a cow.
At the ice cream pavilion, ice packed in straw held pewter bowls of the creamy dessert in various fruit flavors. Melwyn chose raspberry, and wandered to the perimeter of the fading light, half in the shadow to enjoy her treat and calculate her next move. She hated to return to her father if he continued to insist on this marriage. And she wasn’t certain of the viscount’s feelings after his parting comment in their parlor. She’d repudiated the match, but without her father’s permission, as she’d told the duchess. Shame would be brought upon her family, and that was the difficult part. Enough humiliation had been heaped on her papa.
Music drifted over the air, and laughter from the visitors punctuated the antics on the various outdoor stages. The creamy smoothness of the ice cream caressed her taste buds with the tart tang of fruit.
Strong fingers grasped her arm and jerked her into the darkness of high, prickly bushes.
Chapter Four
The chit’s wrist felt sparrow-thin in his hands. Griffin glared down at her, as she stared up, raspberry ice cream on her lips. At first startled, she didn’t scream and composed herself quickly; he had to admire that.
“How is your sojourn in London, my lady? A sudden urge to travel, had you?” Griffin smiled at the rising anger in her blue eyes.
“How dare you follow me, sir. And drag me into bushes.” Miss Pencavel pulled away from him, chin jutted out. “I told you my wishes in Cornwall. You have wasted your time if you’re here to change my mind.”
“Truth is, I did have business in town, so it’s not a total waste.” He rocked back on his heels, arms now behind his back. His actions were irrational, and totally alien to his usual demeanor. “You intrigue me, Miss Pencavel, such as a wasp might intrigue one. You wonder how close you may hover before being stung.”
The Defiant Lady Pencavel Page 3
