The Mad Lord's Daughter

by Jane Goodger

  “I do hope you do not mind my bringing along Juliana,” Avonleigh said smoothly. “She didn’t want me proposing to anyone she hadn’t yet met.”

  Lady Spencer didn’t even hint at a smile. “Since yours is a bachelor home,” she said with a level look at John, “I suspected you would not have thought of having the proper numbers.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Laura put in, cheerful as ever, although John thought he sensed a brittleness in her tone. Lady Spencer simply turned her head slowly to acknowledge Laura’s input. “I didn’t want the poor girl overwhelmed by all three gentlemen at once.”

  “Surely, the numbers are wrong now with Miss Norris and I both here. The girl’s chaperone will most certainly be joining us, will she not?” She spoke as if she suspected there was no chaperone.

  “Miss Stanhope will certainly not mind if the numbers are off,” John said.

  John thought he heard Laura let out a snort of suppressed laughter, and he made a special effort not to smile at Lady Spencer’s ridiculous starchiness. My God, he thought, she is worse than before.

  Lady Spencer was not an unattractive girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. But it was nearly impossible to warm up to a girl who rarely smiled, and when she did, only because she ought to. John often wondered what had made brother and sister so fiercely serious. At least Avonleigh had escaped for a while and had had a rousing good time before slipping back into his staid, serious life. He realized that Melissa would suffocate with such a man, and he mentally crossed Avonleigh off his list. Melissa could not marry a man who would not delight in her, who would chastise and correct her, and who was related to such a joyless woman as Juliana.

  “When do we meet this long lost cousin of yours?” Avonleigh asked. “I have nuptials to plan, you know.”

  Laura laughed, but stifled herself quickly at the look Lady Spencer gave her. “My brother has no interest in marriage,” Lady Juliana said, her voice sharp.

  “Not so, little sister,” Avonleigh said, and it was clear Lady Spencer did not care to be called “little sister,” for her nostrils pinched. “I must do my duty and have an heir eventually.”

  John gave his old friend a curious look. “Are you serious?”

  “Why else did you invite us here if not to present us as possible husbands?”

  “If you marry, Avonleigh, I’m afraid my days as a bachelor will be numbered. Even my father will begin to take exception to my single state.”

  “I know,” Laura said, fully animated again. “We can make a game of it. List all the single women of marriageable age, put their names on a wall, and the three of you can throw darts at them. You shall marry whomever the dart lands on.”

  Juliana gasped. “That is preposterous.”

  “And we can do the same for you, my lady. But with men, of course,” Laura said, clearly enjoying herself. “It’ll be grand fun.”

  John let out a laugh. “Stop teasing her, Laura. You know she has no sense of the absurd.”

  “Can we have more than one chance?” Charles asked. “I daresay I wouldn’t want to marry just anyone.”

  “Oh, we’d be careful to include only those women you favor.” Laura’s eyes twinkled merrily, and John suspected she was delighting in antagonizing Juliana.

  “Fair enough,” Charles said good-naturedly. “Sounds as good a notion for wife-finding as anything else.”

  “We can draw for who goes first,” John said, joining in the fun.

  “I should go first since I’m the only one of us who is seriously contemplating marriage,” Charles said. “We shall need a paper and pen. And scissors to cut out the squares. You do have darts, do you not?”

  “Avonleigh, make them stop,” Lady Spencer said, seeming to be truly upset.

  “Do you truly believe even these fellows would allow such a thing?” he said, and gave his agitated sister a gentle smile that seemed at odds with his serious nature. “They are simply having fun with you, Juliana. That is all.”

  Her pale cheeks bloomed with two spots of color.

  “I do not understand such jesting,” Lady Spencer said, and lifted her chin.

  “Which is why they so delighted in it,” Avonleigh said, calmly, but he’d made his point with the others, who immediately ceased their teasing.

  “We apologize, don’t we?” John said, and the others nodded, though John suspected Laura was less than sincere. “Melissa will be down right before dinner. In the meantime, ladies, you may rest in your rooms or walk about the gardens. It is unusually warm today, and I do believe the sun shall make an appearance.”

  With that, the small group dispersed until that evening.

  Lord Braddock felt strangely out of sorts. Perhaps it was because he was in London while John was home in Flintwood taking on duties that should fall on his shoulders. He trusted John and Miss Stanhope completely to get his niece prepared for the season, but he felt uneasy somehow. It was as if he’d missed some important fact, something critical that he’d forgotten to take care of.

  Part of it, he knew, was due to Miss Stanhope and her prickly nature, which seemed so at odds with what he’d seen of her in the past. She’d seemed so serene, almost otherworldly in her calm, which was one of the reasons he’d selected her as Melissa’s chaperone. He’d not expected her to fight him on any front, particularly not when it came to his niece. And his reaction to her smile was rather curious. George was not a man who put too much weight on what he deemed to be the natural physical reaction of a man to an attractive woman. But his physical reaction to Miss Stanhope was bordering on the bizarre. Perhaps it was just as well he was staying in London while she schooled Melissa in proper behavior.

  Lord Braddock was far happier in the bustle of London at any rate. When he was rusticating at Flintwood House, he could never fully relax, for there were always so many more productive things he could be doing in Town. He’d just finished a meeting with his solicitor, ensuring that Melissa would be taken care of financially upon his death. His brother, God rest his soul, had left his daughter nearly nothing but debt. That would not happen should Lord Braddock suddenly die.

  Braddock was on his way to his townhome not three blocks away when he spied the Duke of Waltham departing a bookstore and was sorely tempted to stop and turn around. Braddock didn’t care for the man, mostly out of solidarity with his brother, who had loathed him for reasons unknown. Braddock had heard rumors of unsavory activities and mistreatment of his female servants, particularly the young ones, and the duke’s rages were nearly legendary. The man at times seemed unhinged. Braddock didn’t know what had happened between the duke and his brother, but it had gone dangerously deep and had nearly led to a physical altercation years and years ago. His brother had always claimed Waltham wanted him dead, but had refused to tell George why.

  He had never been a man to put stake in rumors, but Braddock knew there was something off about the duke, something one could not easily pin down. It was almost as if Waltham had a scent that one was unaware of smelling until it made one nauseous.

  “Braddock. Good day to you, sir,” Waltham said, sounding overly friendly considering George’s brother had counted him his greatest enemy. “I understand condolences are in order.”

  Waltham gave Braddock an appropriately sorrowful look and George got the distinct feeling the duke was being disingenuous. “Thank you. I’m certain the news of my brother’s death saddened you greatly. Good day, sir.”

  George was about to move on, glad the encounter was over, when the door to the bookstore opened and a young girl stepped out, smiling broadly at Waltham and holding a book up in front of her. “Oh, Father, thank you. Missy will be ever so jealous when I show her I got the very first copy.”

  George was quite certain at that moment that every function in his body, his breath, his heart, his very brain, stopped functioning when he saw that girl. She was lovely, with curling dark hair, a creamy complexion, rosebud lips. And violet eyes. She was, quite shockingly, Melissa’s twin.

&nbs
p; George looked from father to daughter, his world slowly crumbling about him. It could not be. Could not. Melissa could not be the offspring of this scoundrel. But the facts were, at that moment, nearly undeniable. The duke had those same disturbingly beautiful eyes, the same dark, curling hair. The resemblance was unmistakable.

  “Caroline, this is Lord Braddock. Braddock, my daughter.”

  George schooled his features and gave the young girl a small bow. “A pleasure, Lady Caroline,” he said with utmost formality, which for some reason tickled the girl.

  “Caroline has not yet made her debut,” Waltham said, looking down at his daughter with slight distaste. “Her manners require some improvement. Go to the carriage, my dear.” Just like that, the girl’s smile was gone, as if Waltham had wiped it clean with that sneer. “Be thankful you had only a boy.” He paused. “But I understand you have your niece now. Is she in Town with you? I should like to meet her. Our families have been at odds long enough.”

  George thought he might vomit. He silently cursed his brother for not letting him know this rather important detail of Melissa’s birth. Did Waltham know? Oh, God, did he know Melissa was his illegitimate daughter?

  “She is not in Town,” George said. “If you’ll excuse me, I am late for an appointment. Good day.”

  George walked past Waltham, feeling his skin prickle as he drew near the man.

  “By the way,” the duke said silkily. “I’ve purchased your brother’s home. Perhaps his daughter would like to see it sometime. Out of nostalgia. I’d be more than happy to let her.”

  George stopped dead. Then he turned slowly around, his eyes hard, his smile dangerous. “If you don’t mind, Your Grace,” he said with steely politeness, “I would like you and your family to stay away from my niece. My brother would have wanted it that way.”

  With that, he turned and continued down the street, but he swore he could feel those violet eyes on him as he walked away.

  Diane looked at her reflection and let out a sigh, rather dreading this evening. Once again, she would be the fifth wheel, the unnecessary appendage. The old spinster who faded into the scenery, not even significant enough to pity. Tonight there would be three men, three women, and her. Tonight would be yet another night when she would be nothing more than an extra seat filled with a breathing body.

  How she loathed such nights. She closed her eyes and turned away from the mirror, wondering fiercely how her life had come to this. The worst bit was that she still felt the same as when she’d made her debut, full of life and fun. And hope. She still felt that cruel hope that someone would fall in love with her, would fall to his knees and beg her to marry him. It was nonsense, of course. But as much as she protested the existence of love and the foolishness of young girls in the throes of their first passion, she still secretly believed it might happen to her. Diane left her room and checked in on Melissa, who was still having her hair done by her maid. She looked lovely in her dark lavender dress, and Diane was glad the girl was in half mourning now.

  Diane walked into the drawing room with a smile pasted onto her face and allowed John to make introductions to Lord Avonleigh and Lady Spencer, whom she had never met. They were polite, but dismissive, as if she were a governess and not the wealthy daughter of an earl. Perhaps she was being overly sensitive this night, but she hadn’t felt quite so bothered by her position in years.

  John pulled her aside after introductions were made. “How is Melissa?”

  “She’s a bit nervous,” Diane said. “I expect her down any minute, and then I’ll let you young people have your fun.”

  John gave her a look of concern, which Diane waved away. “I’m perfectly content to eat in my rooms,” she said.

  “Perhaps I can write my father and have him return early.”

  Her heart gave an unexpected leap, which mortified her. This infatuation she had with Lord Braddock was beyond ridiculous. “My goodness, you don’t have to bring him home on my account,” she said, oddly moved that John would think to do so.

  “The numbers are wrong,” he whispered, glancing over at Lady Juliana. “I shall never be able to show my face in London again if I do not immediately remedy the situation. I’ll write him tomorrow, shall I?”

  Diane heard a small noise near the door and watched as Melissa entered, head held high, eyes sparkling and seeking out her cousin. While all eyes went to Melissa, Diane watched the reactions of the others in the room with amusement. Laura put a finger beneath her brother’s chin to close his mouth, which had gaped open in utter and instant infatuation as soon as he laid eyes on Melissa. Avonleigh narrowed his eyes and became subtly more rigid. Lady Spencer lifted one eyebrow, sensing a challenge to her role as reigning beauty. And Laura smiled in welcome. Diane always had liked that girl.

  John felt fierce pride when Melissa walked in, and noted with a bit of alarm the reactions of the other men in the room. Charles in particular looked as if he’d been hit by a runaway carriage. John strode to her side and took her arm, whispering in her ear, “Not even a flinch. Good girl.”

  She smiled up at him, but he could see by the fire in her eyes that his jibe had hit its mark, and she squeezed his arm almost painfully. “Could you please simply introduce me to my future husband?” she asked quietly, and his smile faltered as she let out a delighted laugh. How was it he was always forgetting what his role was?

  He brought her to Charles first, rather disgusted by his friend’s obvious admiration. “Charles, Laura, may I present my cousin, Miss Melissa Atwell. Melissa, my dear friends, the Honorable Mr. Charles Norris and his sister, Miss Laura Norris.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you both,” Melissa said, bravely holding out her hand for Charles to take.

  Charles bent over her hand gallantly, and John could feel her holding her breath to see if he’d actually press his lips upon her gloved hand. He didn’t, and she relaxed.

  “Well done,” he whispered by her ear, inadvertently breathing in her intoxicating scent. Lemons, he thought, and something spicy.

  “Is it true you lived in Bamburgh?” Laura asked as if Melissa had lived in China her entire life.

  “Yes. It’s very isolated, but I’m so looking forward to the bustle of London.”

  “You must allow me to be your social director this season. I’m engaged, or nearly so, and I can help you find your way around the ton.”

  “Thank you, Miss Norris. I’m afraid I don’t know a single soul in London. Or anywhere else.”

  Laura’s eyes widened. “You mean to say you’ve never even been to London? Not even for a single season?”

  Melissa laughed. “I’ve never even been to a ball.”

  “Oh, you poor dear,” Laura said, sounding both horrified and delighted by such information. “I will take you under my wing and get you married in no time. And please call me Laura.”

  “Thank you, Laura. And congratulations on your engagement,” Melissa said. “Of course you may call me Melissa.”

  “She’s not engaged,” Charles put in. “You really must stop telling people that you are. Poor Brewster will hear about his engagement before he gets to ask.”

  “Oh, very well,” Laura said, pretending to pout.

  “Just so you know, it’s not the thing to announce one’s engagement before it occurs,” John said to Melissa as he winked at Laura.

  “You’re just jealous because no one will have either one of you,” Laura said.

  John pulled Melissa over to Avonleigh and Lady Spencer, who stood rather stoically near the more animated Norrises.

  “Melissa, may I present Graham Spencer, Marquess of Avonleigh, and his sister, Lady Juliana Spencer.”

  Melissa dipped a little curtsy and gave Avonleigh her hand. He bowed over it, staring at Melissa in a way that made John want to step in front of her and protect her. “A pleasure to meet John’s long lost cousin,” he said, putting a subtle emphasis on the word “cousin.” John instantly became alert.

  “Thank you,” Melissa sa
id, sounding slightly uncertain. She turned to Lady Spencer expectantly, likely thinking she would be much like Laura. “It’s so nice to meet you, my lady. Please do call me Melissa,” she said.

  “Indeed.” The smile she gave Melissa was more than frosty, and John instantly stiffened. If Lady Spencer dared insult Melissa, he could not guarantee he would act like a gentleman.

  Melissa darted an uncertain look at him, clearly sensing that this woman’s welcome was less than friendly. Laura came to the rescue, stepping in with her cheeky grin. “Lady Spencer and I were discussing the season and thought it would be fun to come up with the names of eligible bachelors for you.”

  “We were doing no such thing,” Lady Spencer said. “However, we could do so now.” Some of her frostiness melted, and John felt slightly relieved. Perhaps he was simply imagining Avonleigh’s strange reaction to Melissa.

  The three young women sat together in one corner of the room, no doubt debating the various men who would be candidates for Melissa’s hand. “Thank God I never had a sister,” John said to no one in particular.

  “It’s rather maddening to think of little Laura as a married woman. Every time I picture Brewster touching her, I want to slug him. But I s’pose I should just let her grow up,” Charles said morosely. “Sometimes when she walks into a room, I wonder who that pretty girl is, and then I realize it’s Laura.”

  “Brewster’s a good man, at least you have that,” John said. “Funny. I thought I knew all sorts of good men until I had to come up with a list of them for Melissa.”

  Both men laughed. “We’re none of us good, that’s the problem,” Charles said.

  John felt a rush of misgiving. Charles was right. Who did he know who could possibly make Melissa happy, who would treat her the way she ought to be treated? At that moment, he couldn’t think of a single soul.