by Jane Goodger
Charles Norris, second in line to a viscountcy, arrived riding upon what John said was an Arabian. It just looked like a horse to Melissa, but she could tell from his tone that this particular Arabian was something special. It was a whitish gray with darker legs, and Melissa secretly thought it rather a homely thing. The man upon the horse, however, was decidedly better-looking. His hair was burnished gold—too light to be considered red and too dark to be considered blond. He was still too far away to see his features distinctly, but from what she did see from a second-floor sitting room window, he seemed like a fine-looking man.
“I’ll take him,” Melissa said, teasing John, who had been in a foul mood all morning.
John shot her an annoyed look. “You haven’t even met him.”
“But he’s rich and handsome,” she pointed out with a grin. “Oh, do stop being so grumpy, John. Mr. Norris is the only young man I’ve ever met other than you, and I’ve been looking forward to it.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he’ll try to kiss me?”
“Not if he wants to live,” John grumbled, and seemed even more annoyed when Melissa laughed.
“You’re a far stricter chaperone than even Miss Stanhope. One look from you and all my suitors will go running away.”
“Norris is not your suitor.”
“He’s not my suitor yet.”
Despite his obvious attempt to remain ill-tempered, John let out a laugh. “I’ve no doubt that Norris will take one look at you and fall to his knees to propose marriage.”
“I shall say yes if he does,” she said, just to see how John would react.
“That would sit perfectly well with me.”
Melissa ignored the dull ache his comment caused and forced a smile. Even though she knew he was teasing, she suspected it must be tedious to have to watch over her when he could be in London doing whatever it was young gentlemen did.
“May we practice the introduction? I’m terribly nervous.” This was a lie; she wasn’t even a speck nervous, though she knew she should be. She lowered her voice. “Mr. Norris,” she said in her best imitation of John, “I’d like to present you to my cousin, Miss Melissa Atwell. You’ll find her far more agreeable company than myself as I have a burr stuck on my . . .”
“Melissa,” he said, a clear warning in his tone.
“So charmed to have this opportunity to make your acquaintance,” she continued, still in a deep voice that was now meant to sound like Mr. Norris. Melissa curtsied to the imaginary Norris. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Norris. It shall be so nice to be in the presence of a pleasant young man.” Then she clasped her hands to her heart. “Marry you? But, sir, we’ve only just met.”
“Please do marry her, she’s quite annoying,” Melissa said in her best John imitation.
“In that case, yes, I will marry you.” Melissa began laughing at her own antics. She had often carried on conversations very much like that one with imaginary brothers and sisters when she was young and so felt quite adept at it. She looked up from her imaginary fiancé to find John gazing at her with bemusement.
“There is no one like you in all of England, you know,” he said, shaking his head a bit. “You’ll be married before the year is out.” He held out his arm for her to take. “Now, my lady, if you will allow me to escort you to your future husband.”
“Of course,” she said, regally taking his arm. Then she stopped and stepped in front of him. “Oh, dear, what if the marquess also wants to marry me? Will there be some sort of contest to determine the winner? Oh, a joust would be marvelous.”
“Your conceit astounds me,” John said dryly.
She wrinkled her nose, and he tapped it with his index finger. “Not every man is going to fall at your feet or find your wit witty.” He took up her arm again and proceeded to walk toward the stairs, where they were met by a harried-looking Miss Stanhope.
“One of the gentlemen has arrived,” she said, giving Melissa a quick look-over. Apparently satisfied, she pulled Melissa away from John.
“It’s Norris,” John said.
“Yes, I know the family.” Miss Stanhope seemed well pleased, so apparently this Norris fellow was a more than satisfactory contender for her hand. Really, it all seemed so silly, Melissa thought. What were they to do, decide whether they suited in the space of a week and then marry? Was that what all women did? “We will greet both gentlemen in the main drawing room at precisely seven. Until that time, my lord, you may do what you wish with them.”
John gave Miss Stanhope a small bow and winked at Melissa. “I thought we could start the parade now, but of course I bow to your expertise, Miss Stanhope,” John said. “It wouldn’t be right to give Norris an unfair advantage by letting him meet my lovely cousin ahead of time. They might be engaged before Avonleigh even makes an appearance.”
Poor Miss Stanhope was quite taken aback. “I daresay it won’t happen as quickly as that.”
“John has assured me I shall be fighting men off. Perhaps I should carry a stick.”
Miss Stanhope looked from one to another and finally huffed out a sigh of exasperation. “Finding a suitable husband is no joke,” she said sternly, and John and Melissa immediate schooled their features. “As lovely as you are, my dear, your dowry is quite small, which is something you should keep in mind. Conceit is not a virtue, you know.”
“Not a moment ago I admonished her for much the same,” John said with a wicked glint to his eyes. Melissa pressed her lips together but remained silent, hurt more than she would ever admit by Miss Stanhope’s criticism. She did not believe for a moment that either man would be taken with her. What did she have to offer a sophisticated man of the ton? She knew no one, had no connections, had never run a household or been taught to. She was no more useful than a blank piece of paper without a pen. Melissa might not be an expert in marriage, but she did know that young peers tended to be attracted to women who brought more to the arrangement than a pretty face and a few pounds. In the space of a few seconds, her happiness and expectations were dashed as the reality of her situation set in. Miss Stanhope’s subtle reminder that she was not nearly as desirable as she’d been pretending to be was an unwelcome truth. She was the daughter of a second son, a recluse who had never gone out in society, and an impoverished gentlewoman who had become a governess, one of the lowest members of society.
Her face flushed with suppressed hurt and anger, she said, “I have no illusions at all, so you need not fear. I am perfectly aware that I have very little to offer anyone and that my desirability is extremely limited.” John and Miss Stanhope shared a look she could not interpret, but she supposed it was because she’d sounded rather piquant, even though she hadn’t meant to appear so put out. Perhaps she was angrier than she realized.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Miss Stanhope said, and darted another look to John.
Melissa smiled a bit shakily. “I know you did not. I am sorry. That didn’t come out quite the way I intended. John and I were simply having a bit of fun. I do understand who and what I am and that I shall be lucky to find any husband at all.”
“Norris and Avonleigh are good men,” John said forcefully. “I trust them implicitly, and you are worthy of both of them. Do not ever forget that.”
Melissa felt her throat burning and swallowed past the pain. “But I am no one.”
“You are my first cousin,” he said in a voice edged with steel. “That is all they need to know.”
“What else would they want to know?” she asked with a little laugh. “I suppose I could show them my needlepoint. Or my collection of books on philosophy.” Melissa had the distinct feeling that there was some underlying current, as if more were being hidden than said. Miss Stanhope and John kept exchanging looks, as if holding their breaths and waiting for something terrible to happen. “Is it because of my upbringing? Because I have not been in society?” she asked, completely confused.
John relaxed. “You may bring out your needlepoint only if you
wish to impress a man’s mama, and the books on philosophy only if you want to drive a particular suitor away. And as far as your unique childhood, I see that as no barrier to becoming wildly successful in your debut,” he said.
“Certainly not,” Miss Stanhope agreed. “Now, my dear, you should rest before meeting our guests. Shall we all meet in the drawing room at seven, then?”
Melissa was slightly disappointed to not meet their guests immediately, but she headed to her rooms, still unable to shake the feeling that more had gone unspoken than spoken.
John watched her go, once again resisting the urge to call her back. Why was getting a pretty girl married so darned complicated?
“I’m not certain we’re being fair to her,” John said softly.
“Of course we are,” Miss Stanhope said sharply. “Life is filled with harsh realities, realities that so far she’s been completely shielded from. I cannot think of a single reason she should know the facts of her birth.”
“Still, I never realized how difficult it would be for me to lie to Melissa about who she is. It seems so dishonest to allow her to continue to believe she is my uncle’s daughter, especially given the chance that someone will discover her low birth. It does trouble me, far more than I thought it would.”
“I fear you would be very much more bothered if word got out that Melissa was illegitimate and not your uncle’s daughter. She does not need that taint when she is looking for the best match possible. It’s not as if she has a dowry to overcome such a thing. Indeed, even a large dowry cannot overcome all undesirable qualities.”
John suspected Miss Stanhope was bitterly referring to herself. “I’m certain Melissa will find a good match. I personally will see to it. Good day, miss.” He gave her a small bow and headed down the stairs to greet his old friend, only to find Norris with a young woman on his arm.
“Laura, a pleasure,” John said with real delight. Norris had brought along his sister, a pretty girl with sparkling brown eyes and light brown hair.
“I was fiercely bored at home and begged Charles to let me come. I do hope you don’t mind. He told me you likely didn’t have the proper mix anyhow.” She smiled up at him so charmingly, he couldn’t even pretend to be put out.
“You are absolutely right,” John said, dropping a kiss upon her cheek. The three of them had grown up on neighboring estates and were as close as family. Laura had always trailed after the boys, getting into all kinds of trouble as she tried to keep up with them. After their coats, hats, and gloves were taken, John led the pair to the drawing room where the three sat.
“Still climbing trees, are you, now that you’re such a fine old lady?” John asked.
“As a matter of fact, just last week a kitten got stuck in a tree, and I helped it down.”
“It was on the first branch,” Charles put in, holding his hand up about shoulder high.
“Well, I would have climbed the tree if the little scamp had gone any higher. And I’m not so old. Only eighteen. Or soon to be. And I shall expect you to ask me to dance at every ball this season.”
John gave her a look of horror. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love with me again. So tiresome.”
Laura made a face. “I was twelve and quite delusional. I actually thought you were a fine young gentleman. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m already in love and half engaged.”
John shot a query to Charles who was looking disgusted by the conversation.
“Brewster succumbed,” Charles said as if the man had died.
Laura waggled her hand at her brother. “Not yet,” she said, indicating her empty ring finger. “And I no doubt have your scowls and ill humor to blame for that. But I’ve every indication that my Thomas will propose to me any day now.” She looked ridiculously happy at the prospect, and John mentally crossed Brewster off his list of contenders for Melissa’s hand. In fact, Brewster had been one of his top choices for Melissa.
“Despite your delirium, I’m quite glad you’ve come. You do know that my first cousin, Miss Atwell, is here preparing for her first season?”
Laura clapped her hands together. “Yes, Charles told me and I cannot tell you how happy I am. Someone younger and greener than I whom I can take under my wing. I shall feel very old indeed.”
John cleared his throat. “Actually, Melissa is twenty-three. She’s been living in Bamburgh these last years and has had no entry into society.”
“Bamburgh. Goodness. That’s the end of the world,” Laura said, aghast.
“Yes. And so she doesn’t know a soul in Town and is a bit shy. You can meet her tonight right before dinner.”
“John’s invited me here to get a gander at her before the season begins so I will have an advantage,” Charles explained.
“You and Avonleigh,” John put in.
“Avonleigh is coming? Good God, that only helps my case.”
Laura swatted her brother’s arm. “Lord Avonleigh is one of the most desired men of the ton. You’re just jealous.”
“If he’s so wonderful, why didn’t you set your cap for him instead of Brewster?” Charles asked.
“Because Thomas is perfect for me. Lord Avonleigh is far too stern for my taste. And too handsome. Imagine having women staring at your husband everywhere you go. No thank you.”
“Yes, indeed. Brewster is a bit of a horseface, isn’t he?”
Laura narrowed her eyes but did not take her brother’s obvious bait. “My point is, big brother, if Avonleigh is coming, you don’t have a chance with the girl.”
Charles laughed. “Avonleigh is nearly as opposed to marriage as our John here.”
“Are you saying you are not?” Laura asked, clearly surprised.
Charles shrugged, and something about that shrug put John on alert. Could it be that Charles was actually contemplating marriage? Even though he’d invited his friend for the express purpose of meeting Melissa, he found this realization somewhat disturbing.
“Let’s simply say that I’m not as opposed as I was a year ago. I’ll be thirty next year. Practically middle-aged. Before you know it, I’ll be too old to attract someone other than widows or spinsters.”
“I daresay your money would attract just about anyone,” John said dryly.
“Is that why you’re opposed to marriage?” Laura asked.
“I’m not at all opposed to marriage. I’m simply waiting for a match that will be mutually beneficial.”
“How romantic of you. You’re not still harboring the belief that love doesn’t exist? I thought that was simply juvenile angst.”
A footman entered carrying a tray of tea and small pastries. He set it down quietly on a table, stopping conversation for the moment. John was relieved he wouldn’t have to again lecture someone on the subject of love. He’d learned it was impossible to convince someone under the delusion of love that the emotion did not exist.
“Shall I pour?” Laura asked.
“I was planning to break out my brandy, but tea will do for now,” John said, and watched with strange contentment as Laura went about the ritual of pouring and serving the tea.
The same footman appeared moments later. “Sir, Lord Avonleigh and Lady Spencer have arrived.”
“I don’t recall asking for sisters,” John murmured good-naturedly.
John noted that Laura pressed her lips together in displeasure. The two women did not get on well, as Laura was a buoyant spirit who often ignored society’s rules, and Lady Spencer was a bit of a stickler. While not entirely unpleasant, she was a girl who understood her place in society—and everyone else’s, as well. The daughter and sister of a marquess, Lady Spencer had debuted two years ago and had rejected three suits, because she was holding out for something better than a mere mister or baron.
“No doubt Lady Spencer is well aware that you did not plan properly for this little party of yours. Three men and one single woman is simply not the thing, you know,” Laura said with the slightest mockery. “Now we are even. Three men. Three
women. And you do know that Lady Spencer is madly in love with you.”
John gave her a withering look. “She may join the line of ladies in ‘love’ with me,” he said dryly. Laura rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“She would be the perfect match for you, my lord. You are both wealthy. Both sticklers. Both boring beyond bearing.”
John chuckled. “I take exception to that last. I am not boring.”
Laura smiled and conceded that point. “No, sir, you are not boring. And I do not believe she would suit at all. She would suck the joy out of you, then stomp on it with those heels of hers.”
“My, my. I didn’t know your animosity went quite that deep.”
Laura let out a sigh. “I’m being rather ill-tempered, and I apologize. I will try to be pleasant as long as possible.”
“Thank you,” John said with a bow, then stood as the pair entered the drawing room.
Lord Avonleigh and Lady Juliana Spencer were the epitome of English aristocracy. Avonleigh was a tall, imposing man, who appeared far older than his years. He’d inherited his title two years earlier at age twenty-five, and it seemed to everyone who knew him that holding the title had aged him. Avonleigh now stood at the fringes of the large group of young men who’d invaded London several years earlier, looking for entertainments that mostly included women, drink, and gambling. Most had since taken a more serious bent, but Avonleigh had embraced his title with a fierceness that was both unexpected and curious. He had been the prankster among them, but now took life entirely too seriously. John had hopes that something—or someone—would snap Avonleigh out of his tedious duty and perhaps bring a smile to the chap’s face.
Lady Juliana Spencer, on the other hand, had never been anything but a proper lady. She wore her title like a mantle that protected her from underlings and anyone who was not a member of the ton. She was only nineteen but acted like a dowager. Unfortunately, she wielded power like a dowager as well, a position she seemed to savor quite a lot. John disliked her only because she frowned so heavily upon anyone who stepped even slightly out of the bounds of proper behavior. And John and his friends often did so. John couldn’t help but wonder why Avonleigh would have dragged his sister to the country, but he found out nearly immediately.
