by Jane Goodger
“That will be amended tomorrow,” George said, then turned to John. “We’re having a small dinner party. Lord and Lady Hartley just arrived in Town yesterday. Unfortunately, the older boy is too ill to travel to London. I do expect you to be there, John.”
John looked as if he might argue, but nodded. “Of course. Are you nervous, Melissa?”
Melissa shook her head, even as she said, laughing, “Terrified.”
“No need,” George said heartily. “They are a fine family. Lord Hartley is quite down to earth and very easy to get along with. No airs. I tell you, it will be rather pleasant to have them part of our little family. It’s been just the two of us for long enough, eh, John?”
John gave his father a level look, one Diane couldn’t begin to interpret. “Yes,” he said softly. “That is true.”
“And I can come visit any time,” Melissa said, looking from one man to the other for confirmation.
“I’m certain you’ll be quite busy setting up house and having babies and being a good wife,” John said with impatience.
“Of course she will,” George said, appearing slightly confused by John’s tone.
“You’re the only family I have,” Melissa said, looking uncertainly from her uncle to John. “It would be dreadful not to see you.”
“Perhaps,” John said, his jaw clenching. “Charles will be your family, dear cousin. And, of course, Laura.” He threw down his napkin and stood. “If you will excuse me.”
“You will always be part of this family,” George said to Melissa, then gave his son a chastising look. “Really, John.”
“I’m not very good company tonight,” John said tightly. “I do apologize.”
“Will we not play cards, then?” Melissa asked, and John drew in a breath, then smiled, his expression softening considerably.
“Of course. Say in an hour? I need a breath of fresh air, that is all.” He gave a small bow and left the dining room, leaving those still at the table looking at one another in confusion.
“Well,” George said. “I don’t know what that was all about. Very unlike John to act so disagreeably.”
“Perhaps he is simply tired,” Melissa said, turning toward the door where John had disappeared.
Diane made a decision, one she prayed she would not regret. She had seen firsthand how devastating it could be to keep a man and woman apart who were deeply in love. She would not be party to such heartbreak again.
John sat sullenly at the card table, gazing at a terrible hand, and wishing he were in his own town house. In bed. With a buxom, willing woman. He was not a sullen man. He was not a man who brooded. But this night, he could not bring himself to pretend he was happy that the woman he loved was marrying someone else. That she wanted to “visit” them after she was married, perhaps with her husband in tow, perhaps with her belly swelling with Charles’s child, perhaps happy and glowing and driving a jagged piece of metal into his heart each time they looked at each other.
“John, it’s your trick,” his father said, giving him a searching look. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if his father stared at him all night. His father was the reason, after all, that John couldn’t claim Melissa as his own. It was his father’s damned sense of honor, his vital work on that damned commission, his damned friendship with Charles Damned Darwin that was causing all this heartache.
“So it is,” he said, throwing in a random card.
“John,” Melissa said, miffed.
Apparently he’d thrown in the wrong card. “What was trump again?”
“Clubs,” Melissa said, looking pointedly at the two of clubs he’d led with.
He could feel them all looking at him. He knew they were wondering what was wrong, and he didn’t care. His father had forced him to attend this dinner and forced this ridiculous card game on him. Just as he was forcing him to attend dinner the next evening so he could watch Melissa be introduced to her future in-laws. Just ducky all around.
They finished playing the hand and once again his father and Miss Stanhope won, much to his father’s glee. Across from him Melissa gave him a look of exasperation, and he had to smile. She was so adorably angry at him for losing yet another hand.
“I thought you were a good player,” Melissa said.
“He is,” George said. “When his mind is on the game and not elsewhere. Just where is your mind tonight, son?”
John’s eyes flickered to Melissa, before he gave a small shrug. “I’ll try to do better.”
It wasn’t easy, for he was trying very hard not to look at Melissa, knowing that how he felt was likely written plainly on his face. But they were sitting across from one another, and they were partners, so it was fairly difficult to avoid looking at her altogether. Everything about her delighted him. From the way she studied her cards so carefully, wrinkling her nose when she didn’t like what she saw, to the way she meticulously organized her cards, to her very poor bids.
“It’s best not to use up all your trump,” Miss Stanhope said during one hand.
“I’ve got plenty more,” she said, so innocently John laughed.
“You shouldn’t let a player like Miss Stanhope know what you’re holding, silly goose,” he said, and Melissa laughed.
“It truly doesn’t matter,” she said, impishly laying down yet another trump card.
“Oh, my, I believe the girl is holding a rather excellent hand,” his father said.
“Why didn’t you bid more?” John asked. “Miss Stanhope would have bid seven on such a hand.”
“I’ll get it whether I bid it or not,” Melissa said pertly, and John was certain that made complete sense to her.
“But I could have outbid you,” Miss Stanhope pointed out.
“But you didn’t.”
“But she could have.”
Melissa shrugged, for she truly didn’t care one way or another. She was having fun, and that was all she cared about, clearly. With a handful of trump, Melissa won the hand, giving a triumphant “hoorah” at the end of play.
“I think we should quit while we’re ahead,” Miss Stanhope said. “Why don’t you escort your cousin to her room. Tomorrow is a big day, with her future in-laws coming, and Melissa needs her rest.”
John frowned at Miss Stanhope, both at her mention of Charles’s parents, as well as at her forcing him to be alone with Melissa. It was the last thing he wanted—and the thing he wanted most.
Melissa, oblivious to his anguish, readily agreed, her cheerful attitude beginning to grate. Couldn’t she feel even a tiny bit miserable? Was this love so unrequited then? John had never felt so foolish in his entire life.
He bowed before her, and she took his arm with a smile, bidding his uncle and Miss Stanhope a good night.
“You are a terrible card player,” he said, smiling down at her. She let out a gasp of outrage.
“I won that last hand, if you recall,” she said. “And all I need is a bit of practice. That was the first time I’ve played pairs, you know. I think I did rather splendidly.”
Her hand on his arm, warm and small, was a subtle torture. She had a habit, he noticed, of squeezing his arm when she spoke, an unconscious thing that was like a caress in his fevered mind. He found himself walking unaccountably slowly, simply to prolong the trip.
When they reached her room, she dropped her hand and lifted her face up to him, her brows furrowed. “What is wrong, John? You were not yourself tonight. Have I done something to make you angry with me?”
“I’m perfectly well, and of course I’m not angry with you.”
“Oh.” It was almost as if she were disappointed.
“What on earth would I have to be angry about?” he demanded, sounding rather angry even to his own ears.
“See? You are angry. Is it about Charles?”
He could feel his cheeks redden, but he forged on with his lie. “Of course not. Charles is my best friend.”
“And you are happy we’re to marry?”
“Ecstatic.”
He gave her a curt bow and knew he should say his good nights before he lost the ability to keep his hands by his sides. She couldn’t have looked lovelier at that moment if she’d tried, gazing up at him with those eyes that drove him mad with want. Almost against his free will, his eyes drifted down, past her pretty nose, to her full lips, slightly parted as if ready for a kiss. He felt himself sway toward her before staying himself and taking another step back.
“I shouldn’t walk you to your door,” he muttered.
“No.” A whisper, breathy and soft.
“Because it’s too much of a temptation.”
She said nothing, but grew impossibly still, her eyes never leaving his.
“Because I want to kiss you.” Oh, God, what was he saying?
“I know.”
“I want to do more than kiss you. I want to make love to you.” He clenched his fists by his sides, and he nearly groaned when she took a step back.
“Stop it,” she said, angry suddenly. “You’ve made your decision.”
“What decision?” he asked, feeling his own anger surge.
“Never mind,” she said, turning toward her door. He reached out without thinking and grabbed her arm.
“What decision?” he repeated, this time more gently.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m marrying Charles and glad of it.”
“If you are glad, then I am glad,” he said, shocked that he didn’t choke on those words. “I only want you to be happy.”
She swallowed, and looked down at her arm, where his hand still lay like a manacle holding her in place. “Then let me go,” she said, bringing her clear gaze up to his. There was a wealth of meaning in those words, and John felt his heart beating leadenly in his chest as he dropped his hand. He could have held on. He could have kissed her. He could have told her he loved her and would do anything for them to be together. Instead, he stepped back and walked away without uttering another word.
Melissa, nervous beyond words, stood by her uncle and greeted Charles and his parents, Lord and Lady Hartley. Their greeting was warm and welcoming, and Melissa knew instantly Charles had said nothing about her birth. She wasn’t certain whether she was grateful or bothered that he’d kept it from them. It was probably best, she thought. Though Charles had insisted they wouldn’t mind about her birth, Melissa knew they would have. And in the end, so had Charles, apparently.
Lord Hartley looked like an older version of Charles. He was still a handsome man, younger than Melissa had imagined, and just beginning to grow thicker about his waist. Melissa could tell that his hair, now shot with gray, had once been the same hue as Charles’s. His mother was petite, with lively brown eyes and an enormous amount of dark brown hair piled artlessly atop her head. Melissa liked her instantly. Even though Laura took after her father more, Melissa felt the same warmth from the mother as she had from Laura. Her uncle had been right—they put on no airs at all, but she couldn’t help wondering whether their attitudes would change if they knew the truth. It was such a terrible thought to have, but it somehow entered her mind as she smiled back at her future in-laws. She told herself it would be nice to be part of this family, to have a sister and a husband and people she could come to love as a mother and father.
But then John walked into the large foyer dressed immaculately in a black coat, forest green vest, and dark gray trousers, and her heart felt as if it stopped. He gave her a grim smile, before smiling in earnest while greeting Lord and Lady Hartley. Clearly, they were all good friends. How nice that she would be able to visit with John and her uncle, that everything would be so amiable, that she would be able to break her heart over and over again.
Melissa smiled and forced herself to stop her torturous thoughts. Why couldn’t she be happy that a good man with a warm and welcoming family had asked her to marry him? She wished she could simply turn off her feelings for John, that the three weeks they’d been apart had proven to her that what she had felt had been nothing more than her first infatuation with a man who’d paid attention to her. She knew it was possible that the entire newness of feeling desire, of being desired, was enough to make her believe she was in love. After all, she had so little experience with such feelings.
Her uncle led the small group to the parlor, and Melissa listened as they chatted about a new grain mill being built on Braddock’s property in Flintwood.
“Charles tells us you spent your childhood in Bamburgh,” Lady Hartley said. “How exciting London must seem to you.”
“Oh, yes,” Melissa said. “It’s a bit overwhelming at times, but I am getting used to the noise and crowds. Your son has been an excellent guide.”
“I must say, this is all very exciting for us all. I truly despaired of seeing Charles marry,” Lady Hartley said with a fond look at her son. “I can hardly wait to tell my friends, though I do understand the need for postponing the announcement. I’m afraid the news will cause quite a flurry of activity surrounding you, and Charles tells me you are not quite ready for all the hubbub.”
“I don’t know if I shall ever be ready,” Melissa said, smiling down at the older woman.
“None of us ever is, my dear,” Lady Hartley said kindly.
The two families were comfortably ensconced in the home’s most formal parlor, Charles sitting next to her on a settee, the two elder men standing by the fire, with Miss Stanhope and Lady Hartley sitting across from the young couple in a pair of matching wingback chairs. John stood slightly apart by a tall window, staring out at the traffic as it rolled down Piccadilly.
“So, John,” Lord Hartley called out jovially, craning his neck to look back at John. “With Charles biting the bullet of matrimony, you’re next, eh?”
“I do believe I will forgo the institution if at all possible,” John said, still looking idly out the window.
“But you must marry,” Charles said. “My children will need cousins to play with.”
A muscle twitched in John’s jaw before he turned and gave Charles an easy grin. “I’m certain Laura will provide plenty of playmates for your children. I do believe she’s already named all four of them.”
Charles laughed, and Lady Hartley frowned mightily. “I do wish Laura would stop telling everyone she meets that she is nearly engaged. What if it doesn’t happen? The poor girl will be humiliated.”
“I don’t believe she’s even given that possibility a passing thought,” Charles said. “Where is the girl, anyway?”
Lady Hartley looked a bit uneasy at the question. “She was supposed to have attended a play with Brewster, but he cried off at the last minute, claiming he had to remain home to help his ill mother.”
The men in the room gave one another a knowing look that Melissa didn’t understand. “Mama’s boy,” Charles said.
“Charles, really. There is nothing wrong with a young man’s attending his mother. If I became ill, I would think it quite nice of you to stay home with me.”
“Really, Mother?” Charles asked, raising one brow, and Melissa smiled. Charles, she realized, was much more amusing to be with when they were in a crowd. He was witty and intelligent, and these attributes showed even more when with others. It was only when they were alone that Melissa found him less than desirable. Perhaps, she thought with sudden insight, he was nervous when it was just the two of them. Why anyone would be nervous around her, she didn’t know, but perhaps that explained why he was so charming in a crowd.
Lady Hartley gave in with a laugh. “I suppose most men would not stay home with their mothers.”
“Especially when he could be out with someone as lovely as Laura. I think I should call him out for changing their plans so abruptly.”
“Yes, a duel for a broken appointment,” John said as if mulling the possibility. “Pistols at dawn or swords, do you think?”
“Fisticuffs,” Lord Hartley said, joining in the bant
er.
Melissa hid a smile and looked over at John, and was startled to see he was staring at her. He averted his eyes, but not before she saw the heat of his gaze. She flushed, a rather shocking rush of desire sweeping quickly through her, and she moved uncomfortably in her seat. She reminded herself forcefully that lust was not love. She knew John desired her, but he did not love her, and he had not asked her to marry him. Certainly, she should not be having carnal thoughts about John when she was sitting next to her intended.
“Surely a broken appointment doesn’t call for a duel,” Melissa said.
“Of course not. They are simply being foolish men,” Lady Hartley said.
The conversation turned to the coming season, with speculation about whether Laura would truly be engaged by the end of it. Melissa had thought, given Laura’s complete confidence in the matter, that her marriage to Lord Brewster was a foregone conclusion. But she realized Lady Hartley was not as convinced about either a forthcoming engagement or whether Brewster would be a good match for her daughter. Melissa found this fascinating, the interaction of the group, the dynamics between Charles and his parents.
She felt quite like she was a scientist observing animals in their natural habitat, rather than a participant. Her own family life had been so very strange compared to anything that occurred outside her sheltered life in Bamburgh. For all her life, she’d thought it completely normal to have a father visit her once or twice a week. While she had adored her father, theirs had been a formal relationship compared to the warmth she detected between John and his father and Charles and his parents. As they talked about various topics, the conversation was often interrupted by hearty laughter and amusing side stories, and Melissa was delighted by it all.
It made the prospect of marrying Charles far more attractive. She would be part of his family. She would be their daughter; she would have a sister to gossip with, a mother to shop with. Even if she never came to love Charles, she at least could be content to be part of such a family.
