by Jane Goodger
John laughed, all coldness gone now, and he gave her the strangest look, one she couldn’t begin to interpret. Then again, many people gave her strange looks that she couldn’t interpret. She’d noticed it on their way from Bamburgh, how people stared at her, and she’d begun to worry there was something odd about her appearance.
“After breakfast, I need to speak with you, John,” her uncle said.
John turned away and gave his father a cheeky grin. “I promise whatever you’ve heard, it isn’t true.”
Her uncle, whom she’d thought of as stern and overly serious, burst into laughter. “What is it, then, that you’ve done but are prepared to claim no knowledge of?”
John shrugged, and Melissa found herself fascinated by the exchange between the two men. How differently they acted toward one another than either did with others.
“A young man was apparently seen attempting to climb the Duke of York’s column,” John said with forced seriousness. “I swear, it wasn’t me.”
“This time.”
“I was present, but just as I was about to join this anonymous man . . .”
“Norris, no doubt,” her uncle interrupted, and John grinned again.
“. . . just as I was about to show this man how it was done, I heard your voice in my head warning me about my frivolous activities.”
His father grunted, but looked amused. “That’s the voice you should always listen to.”
“Of course, Father,” John said, moving to the sideboard and piling his plate with an impossible amount of food.
Melissa looked down at her own plate, at the now-cold sausage and dry toast, and pushed it slightly away. Miss Stanhope saw the movement and stood.
“Miss Atwell, if you will follow me,” she said.
Melissa sighed. Miss Stanhope took her job much too seriously. Each day after breakfast, she reviewed her education to be certain she’d be ready to enter society. Melissa completely dreaded the thought of entering society. The thought of walking into a roomful of strangers was enough to make her break out into a very unladylike sweat.
What Melissa wanted to do was simply explore the garden and perhaps go for a walk in Hyde Park. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, the breeze in her hair. She wanted to see children romping near the lake there; she wanted to feel the grass beneath her hands. People did such things every day and didn’t die of some disease. As long as she didn’t touch anyone, as long as no one touched her, she would be safe.
John, feeling full and contented, rapped sharply on his father’s study door and entered without waiting for an answer. His father smiled up at him and shoved away whatever document had been occupying him. It had always been like that. No matter when he had interrupted his father as a boy, his father would almost always put aside what he was doing and give John his complete attention.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked, curious. His father rarely asked to see him in a formal way as he had that morning. They usually caught up between mouthfuls, talking about the latest political news—or which horse was expected to win at Ascot that year. Or whether he’d won at cards the night before, or if another one of his friends had succumbed to Cupid’s bow. More than one conversation of late had been about just that subject, and John was more than grateful his father had never once hinted it was time for him to choose a wife. Thank God for Norris, he’d thought more than once. The second son of the Viscount Hartley, Charles Norris was his closest friend and one of the few friends he had who had the same dispassionate view of marriage as he.
“I’d like your impressions of Melissa,” his father said bluntly.
John threw himself into a chair and hooked a knee over one of its arms, ignoring the slight look of disapproval his father gave him. “She’s going to give poor Miss Stanhope fits, that’s for certain. I predict a proposal within a month of her debut, even wearing those clothes.”
“Yes. She is lovely,” Lord Braddock said, but there was clearly something bothering his father. “I would trust you with my life, John, so I am about to tell you something that must never leave this room. Do you understand?”
John had rarely seen his father so serious. “I understand. This is something about Melissa?”
“She is not my brother’s daughter,” he said gravely. “My brother knew who the father was but refused to tell me. But from all indications, it was a peer. His wife, Christina, was near death when my brother found her, and Melissa wasn’t much better off. He made me promise to protect her, never to let anyone hurt her, and to keep the secret of her birth safe. I promised without hesitation given my stance on the matter.”
“Of course,” John said. He was well aware of his father’s work with Dr. John Brendon Curgenven. The doctor had just begun an investigation into baby farms, often operated by greedy women who purchased the babies from desperate mothers only to let the infants starve to death. Poor women, with nowhere else to turn, would give their babies to these monsters, fully believing their children would be put up for adoption. In too many cases, the children were allowed to die. It was a barbaric practice that many in Parliament were aware of but chose to ignore. Getting anyone to care about the fate of these poor children was more than difficult given the social and political climate.
His father was a founding member of the Association for the Preservation of Infant Life, a group that had urged the elimination of baby farming. He met regularly with Dr. John Curgenven, an outspoken opponent of the current laws. He himself had sat in on several meetings and was appalled at the reports of infanticide being carried out each day in London. Now John understood his father’s commitment had much to do with his love for his brother.
“So,” John said, drawing out the word. “She is not truly my first cousin.”
“Don’t even think about it. She is your cousin to everyone you meet, and you know damn well that she’s off-limits, no matter her parentage.”
John let out a laugh. “She is rather delectable, Father. You must agree.” It was a vast understatement. When he’d first laid eyes on her, he had found her ethereally beautiful—and it was more than just her eyes. It was her creamy complexion, her curling black hair, which framed her face so charmingly, the way she studied him—even the way she blushed when he’d offered her his hand. His reaction had been immediate and physical, one he had doused as soon as he learned who she was.
“Delectable,” his father muttered. “And I must agree with nothing. However, you must agree not to look at her with anything other than brotherly disinterest.”
John didn’t know why he would argue, except to drive his father to distraction. He certainly had no interest in the girl, no matter that she was perhaps the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Virgins wanted marriage, and God knew he wasn’t ready for that particular adventure. “Must I agree, Father? What if I fall madly in love with her?”
Now, it was his father’s turn to laugh, because they both knew just how absurd that suggestion was. For one, John would never be allowed to marry a first cousin, even if such marriages were generally accepted by the upper echelons of society. His father was a long-standing member of the Royal Commission currently debating the issue, and an outspoken opponent of first-cousin marriages. He was a personal friend of Charles Darwin, a naturalist with rather radical ideas about natural order. His father believed such unions weakened the line and made it more likely that unwanted traits would be passed on. John’s father’s views were well known among the ton, which at times made for social difficulties.
But none of that held as much weight as the absurd notion that John would fall in love. Fortunately, the two men agreed on the utter ridiculousness of love between a man and a woman. There could be lust, yes. Men lusted after women, perhaps grew fond of them, but in both their experiences the emotion most people thought was love was nothing more than an illusion. The two men believed in science, not fiction. And this thing all the poets expounded upon was pure drivel. If there was an exception, they had yet to see it. The only pure lov
e was that of a parent for a child and a child for a parent. Everything else was nonsense.
“All right, then, John. But I cannot express to you how important this girl is to me. My brother loved her and protected her for eighteen years from the prying eyes of outsiders. He kept that poor girl imprisoned in a suite of rooms all that time,” his father said heavily.
“My God.” No wonder the girl seemed a bit socially awkward and almost otherworldly. “She actually seems amazingly normal, then, considering.”
“Yes, but I don’t think we’ve yet discovered all the effects of this confinement. You have noticed she doesn’t like to be touched.”
John remembered her odd reaction to his hand. “Yes, I have.”
“That’s because my brother was convinced she would die of disease if she was touched by anyone. And I think he was equally convinced her real father would somehow do her harm. My brother went a bit mad, I think, when his wife died.”
“Do you really think the true father would have taken steps to have an illegitimate daughter returned to him?”
“I don’t know, but Rupert was convinced he might. But if we all protect her, perhaps we can have her safely married off before there is any possibility of discovery.”
John drew his leg around, giving his father all his attention. “I cannot imagine anyone wanting to hurt Melissa.”
His father shook his head slightly. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. I only know that my brother asked me to protect Melissa, and I swore to him I would. I want you to be Melissa’s guardian angel until we get her safely married. Protect her from gossip, introduce her to good, gentle men who will care for her. Keep her away from anyone who offers up speculation about her birth. Help her to adjust to the real world. Can you do that for me?”
John smiled at his father. “You can count on me, Father.”
Chapter 3
Diane perused the Times, searching for an event at which they could ease Miss Atwell into society. She wasn’t so foolish as to think the girl was ready for a dinner or a ball—or any event in which she would have to interact a great deal with people she did not know. Melissa might appear to have all the polish of a debutante, but her lack of experience with social interaction would make even the most insignificant appearance rife with potential difficulties for her.
Diane tapped one finger against her mouth, scanning the Times for an appropriate venue, and wondering if there was a single place where Lord Braddock could take the girl without creating unwarranted interest. It was certainly a dilemma—this need to launch her and the equal need to do so with caution. She even considered bringing Melissa to Nottinghamshire, where she would have far more sedate entertainments than in London.
Melissa would cause a stir no matter where they brought her, Diane realized with a sigh. She was just that beautiful. And the fact that she’d never before been seen in society would cause even greater interest. How on earth could they explain why she had not been seen? Of course, Diane knew the best explanation was none at all. To react to such questions with surprise and confusion. Why has she not been introduced? My goodness, what a forward question. Diane smiled to herself, for she had used such tactics more than once in her life.
She was about to put the paper away when she noticed an advertisement for a new Julius Benedict opera debuting at the Covent Garden Theatre. She slowly smiled. The opera would be perfect, as they were unlikely to encounter anyone who would demand an introduction. She didn’t know whether Lord Braddock had a box at the opera house and was about to go find him when he walked by the small sitting room.
“Lord Braddock, a word if you please.”
As always, when Lord Braddock walked toward her—or even looked at her, for that matter—her heart sped up a notch. She couldn’t stop it any more than she could stop his look of complete boredom. That thought nearly made her smile, but she stopped herself just in time, because each time she smiled, Braddock gave her the oddest look.
He was a formidable-looking man with broad shoulders and a physique that had yet to show his age. She’d wondered more than once through the years how a man who had to be in his fifth decade could appear so well formed when so many men had gone to fat or were forced to wear girdles to keep their burgeoning stomachs in place. She’d admired him from afar for more years than she’d like to admit and had danced with him only that one time when he’d inquired about her chaperoning Melissa. Still, her heart sped up. Still, she felt like a nervous young girl whenever he walked into a room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, my lord, but I believe I’ve come up with a good venue to introduce your niece. The Covent Garden Opera House. I was hoping you had a box there?”
Braddock frowned. “Is this something I would have to attend, then?” he asked.
“It would be best,” she said. “I take it you don’t like the opera.”
“It’s the people who attend such events I don’t care for,” he said dryly, then frowned even more heavily when Diane laughed outright.
She quickly sobered. “I do believe it would be beneficial to her to make her entrance into society at such an event. Little would be asked of her but to stand beside you and look charming.”
His brows drew together, and Diane couldn’t help thinking that the man would look far more attractive if he actually smiled once in a great while. “Are you worried about her entrance?”
“Yes, I am,” Diane said, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. “The poor child has been hidden away for nearly two decades with nary a soul to talk to but her father and servants. While she’s been taught how to act and what to say, she has never had the opportunity to put such lessons into practice. I fear if we introduce her into a situation where more interaction is needed, she will find it overwhelming.”
“Has she said as much?”
Diane shook her head. “She has no idea whether she should be nervous or not. She has no experience with society. She may do splendidly, but it would be best to have you there by her side should things go awry.”
He tapped a fist lightly against his chin in thought. “John can go, too,” he said finally. “That would at least make it more palatable for me and perhaps more entertaining for Melissa.”
Diane stared at him, wondering if he knew he’d just insulted her. “I’m sure that would be best,” she said. “And you do have a box?”
“I do, not that I can recall ever sitting in it beyond the grand reopening of the place. Santanella, I believe it was. I fell asleep.”
Again, Diane laughed and suffered that look from Braddock. Really, it was too much. Was she to go around frowning her entire life because some unfortunate feature on her face made him nearly wince in pain each time she smiled?
“Lord Braddock,” she said in her coolest voice. “Is there something about me that offends you?”
The look on his face was so astounded, Diane nearly smiled again. “Offends, Miss Stanhope?”
She could feel her nostrils flare and knew from looking in the mirror that such an expression definitely was not attractive. “Every time I smile, you look as if you’ve swallowed something unpleasant. It is quite disconcerting, and it’s gotten to the point that I take great pains not to smile in front of you. I wish you would either tell me what so offends you or try to ignore whatever it is you find so distasteful.” Despite her resolve to appear stern, Diane was slightly mortified to realize that her throat was beginning to close up, and that if Lord Braddock said a single unkind thing she would likely be unable to utter a sound.
“You think . . .” It was Braddock’s turn to smile, leaving Diane completely confused. It was not at all amusing. Not in the least.
“Miss Stanhope, please let me put your mind at ease. You are not a beautiful woman,” he said. “In fact, most men would probably describe you as rather plain.”
She stood there, his words hitting her like soft blows to the heart. She’d seen it more than once, men who thought that women past a certain age were impervious t
o hurt. But it wasn’t true; her battered heart was proof enough of that. She schooled her features to show not a single emotion, as he blithely talked about her complete unattractiveness.
As if suddenly realizing what he was saying, the great lummox, he abruptly stopped talking. “I see I am not saying this correctly,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “When you smile, Miss Stanhope, you become another woman altogether. You must know this is true. It transforms you. When you smile, you become rather”—he stopped, his cheeks going ruddy—“stunning.”
“Oh,” she said, through a throat suddenly gone tight for another reason altogether. “Well. Thank you.” She smiled, then immediately covered her mouth, horribly self-conscious. “Now, I’m afraid, I’ll never be able to smile in front of you.” She’d gone quite red in the face, her eyes twinkling above her hand. Braddock grinned back, as if enjoying her discomfort.
“You mean to say you thought I was offended each time you smiled?”
Diane nodded, feeling foolish. “You did make the oddest expression,” she said, laughing. “The first time I thought I must have something rather horrid stuck between my teeth.”
“The Browning ball,” he said, and Diane couldn’t stop the foolish rush of happiness that he had remembered. “I do apologize if I made you feel self-conscious.”
Diane smiled again, this time not hiding her face. “Apology accepted, sir. Now, about the opera. It is Monday. Are you available?”
“Yes,” Braddock said, clearly wishing he were not.
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll go tell Melissa. No doubt her first outing will be nerve-wracking.”
Melissa sat on a small settee in the well-equipped library, looking up at Miss Stanhope, who was lecturing about the proper behavior of a young lady attending the opera. Looking up, but not listening. All her life she’d listened to people lecturing about how to act but had never gotten the chance to put such lectures into action. She knew how to act, what to say, how far to curtsy, how not to fidget.
