Miss Merton's Last Hope

by Heather Boyd

  He glanced toward the door. “She believes she must imitate you?”

  “I had hoped I had imagined it, but after this morning, I do not doubt.” Melanie pressed her hands together at her waist. “I don’t know how to reassure her that the way she has always appeared is best. Perhaps your sister could visit more often and lend her voice as well. Since the marriage, Julia has not been herself. I fear my father’s criticisms have been taken too much to heart.”

  “Keep doing what you’re doing, but I will have a quiet word to Imogen about your fears.” He smiled. “I am glad she listened to you this morning. She did look lovely, as do you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, but her heart fluttered. She’d been complimented for her looks all her life, but this was the first time in a very long time she felt certain the compliment was offered with no hidden motive. “You’re very kind.”

  “As are you. You stepped aside very graciously when your brother married.”

  “It was only right. Julia is his wife and this is her home now.”

  “It cannot be easy.” He turned and leaned his shoulder against the wall, facing her. “You must be very frustrated.”

  She stared at him. “How could you suggest that?”

  “I have been acquainted with you for over fifteen years, and you do like to be busy and do things your way.” He smiled. “That was a compliment, in case you were not certain of my intent. I have a high regard for women who know their own minds.”

  His gaze dropped and her breath caught. Why was he looking at her mouth? “Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

  “Dance with me again,” he whispered.

  He held out one hand and even as she slipped her palm over his instinctively, she wondered why she would do it. There was no music. Her hand rose to his shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her waist. Her breath caught as he tugged her closer, forcing her to look at him.

  He held her gaze a moment longer than comfortable—and when he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, Melanie was utterly surprised. And not just by the kiss, but by the fact that it was Walter George delivering it.

  He’d tricked her!

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t make herself move away from him.

  She stood frozen in place, her feet rooted to the spot, her lips molding to his.

  His kiss deepened to one of gentle exploration. Their lips clung and she couldn’t stop the sound that escaped her control.

  He drew back, searching her face. A question lingering in his gaze that she had no answer to. She didn’t know what he was doing; she didn’t know what she was thinking to allow it either.

  He cupped her face and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. His touch was soothing, unhurried, reminding her of his gentleness of the day before.

  His other hand firmed across the curve of her back and he sighed softly.

  She blushed and glanced down at his chest. She’d rarely allowed a suitor such liberties, for good reason, and Walter was not one of those—never a suitor. In fact, she should stop him before he regretted his actions. She lifted her face to ask for release just as he pulled her against his body and sought her lips again for another kiss.

  The kiss was deeper, overpowering, and Melanie clung to him for balance, swept away by an experience unlike any other.

  She had allowed a kiss or two from one prior suitor but hadn’t particularly cared for the experience of being pawed at. But with Walter, she felt no fear, only familiarity. His tongue danced across her parted lips and she whimpered at the unexpected sensation.

  She pushed at his chest firmly, at last remembering where they stood. Valentine and Julia could come back at any moment and she dreaded to think what they might say of her behavior. They might insist Walter had to marry her, just because of a mere kiss. She would refuse him, of course. Walter did not realize he was making a grave mistake.

  They studied each other a long moment in silence. Words failed Melanie as she struggled to contain her panic.

  Walter nodded finally then cleared his throat. “Thank you again for the dance. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a more enjoyable afternoon.”

  His gaze darted to her lips once more and she trembled anew. What had she done? Anticipation and fear gripped her. She couldn’t decide which affected her more. Walter was just Walter. Her neighbor. Her brother’s friend. He had never once shown romantic interest in her before today. She had to say something cutting to send him away, but words stuck in her throat.

  “Until dinner tonight, Mellie. Perhaps you might oblige me with another dance then.” As he departed the room, a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

  Melanie collapsed against the wall, acutely aware that despite the surprisingly pleasant kiss, she’d dread his return later. She didn’t want to disappoint him but she would. She had no business encouraging any man.

  Seven

  The trouble with eating with friends was that it was entirely possible to eat too much and not feel guilty about it. That lack of guilt was what had led to Walter’s larger size years ago. In recent times, exercise had combatted the worst of his past overindulgence, but hadn’t lessened his sweet tooth.

  Much like his interest in kissing Melanie. Once tried, it was all he could think about.

  He scraped the last of the Empress Pudding from his plate and glanced about him with a warm smile. It was good to be among friends.

  Across the table, one of the most influential couples in Brighton was seated and appeared happy. Mr. and Mrs. Hartwood, an older couple with children grown enough to have children of their own, were not quite finished with the splendid dessert course the Mertons had provided. Julia and Valentine were clearly done and smiled at each other all too often. Melanie, his dinner companion, was keeping pace with Walter and had helped along the conversation when it had lagged all through the meal.

  Of their earlier kiss, she showed no outward sign of reaction to him.

  Mrs. Hartwood pressed a napkin to her lips. “You set a wonderful table, Mrs. Merton.”

  Julia beamed happily as Valentine caught her hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Hartwood. You are very kind to say so, but you should also thank my dear sister. Without Melanie’s help, I would never have managed it all so well. My brother rarely entertained.”

  “Well, you are in good hands now.” Mrs. Hartwood glanced at Melanie approvingly. “You must both come for tea tomorrow and meet my grandchildren.”

  Melanie smiled warmly at Julia and allowed her to answer. “We should like that very much.”

  Such a gracious woman to defer to a younger sibling-by-marriage, but he supposed that was how it was meant to be in such a household. He cast a glance over Melanie and saw more that appealed to him. She was wearing a modest burgundy gown with dark seed pearls decorating the neckline and silver embroidery across the bodice and capped sleeves. It was a simple gown really, but made unique by the careful details, and one that suited Melanie to perfection. She did not try to draw attention but she claimed it anyway.

  One had to look hard to see the effort the woman made to suit the situation. Julia, seated across the table, outshone Melanie with her gold necklace and elaborate curls. Her gown was of cream silk and lace, a costly gown by any standard. But of the two, Walter preferred Melanie.

  After their kiss that afternoon, he was afraid that he preferred Melanie very much indeed.

  He’d gone for a very long walk after their kiss to clear his head, to talk some sense into his galloping heart. He’d listed everything that was wrong with Melanie Merton in his head, and yet still he burned for her.

  She was haughty, opinionated and standoffish.

  He was astonished with himself that none of those failings mattered so much anymore.

  He knew she could do better, he knew he wasn’t as distinguished as her past suitors.

  But, all that aside, the woman had kissed him back!

  He knew what was required, of course. A gentleman did not carelessly kiss a woman like Melanie Merton without hol
ding himself accountable. And he wanted to kiss her again. Soon and often.

  So he’d written to David Hawke in London and requested advice in setting up his affairs for a marriage he’d never anticipated.

  “Word has it you had an eventful week, Miss Merton,” Mrs. Hartwood murmured.

  Melanie set down her spoon carefully as all eyes turned her way. “To what do you refer, madam?”

  But Walter had an idea. He’d been waiting for this moment with dread all night. Linus Radley had not been slow to gossip at the tavern they frequented, and he had not painted Melanie in a favorable light because she’d spurned him. A wrong response could put Melanie on the outs very easily.

  “Why, the proposal of marriage from Mr. Linus Radley,” Mr. Hartwood cut in. “It is all anyone can talk about.”

  She winced. “You’ve heard?”

  Mrs. Hartwood appeared honestly worried. “Heard and been dismayed.”

  Walter relaxed a little at her words. “A regrettable incident,” he murmured, thinking of striking Linus Radley. At the time he hadn’t known what had come over him to make him react so strongly, but no woman deserved spite just because she did not agree with a man.

  Mrs. Hartwood frowned in confusion. “Do you regret turning him down?”

  “Not at all.” Melanie drew herself up. “I am simply sorry he misunderstood my overtures of friendship to mean more than an honest desire to be polite. Through my brother’s marriage, he is family.”

  “How extraordinary.” Mrs. Hartwood glanced at her husband. “When I heard from those who gossip about such things that you, of all young ladies, were supposed to have led him on to the point of proposing, I couldn’t credit it for anything but a mistaken report. It’s hardly in your nature to be scandalous.”

  “My sister acted appropriately at all times, I assure you,” Valentine insisted. “Radley is quite in the wrong.”

  “I believe you. A most unpleasant development.” Mrs. Hartwood nodded then turned to Walter, and the matter was dropped. “I hear you bought that lovely little cottage on Russell Road. Are you finally ready to settle down, sir?”

  “I am settled. Here, or rather, next door.”

  “A man is not settled until he marries,” Mrs. Hartwood glanced around the table with a knowing smile, “and has a babe to hold in each arm.”

  “In due time.” He’d heard every variation on the topic before, of course, but as one of the last bachelor’s in his circle of friends, the discussions about marriage were now rather pointedly aimed at him. “I will marry when the time is right, and rest assured I will call on you to help keep an eye on all the little Georges one day.”

  Mrs. Hartwood clapped her hands in delight and all around the table were smiles and good-natured support for that suggestion. Over the years he’d found half-truths more satisfying a response when it came to marriage, rather than outright denial. “I will not live in the Russell Road home, but lease it out after repairs are completed.”

  Mr. Hartwood huffed. “Again, sir, you have beaten me to a property I wanted.”

  Walter grinned. “I assure you it was not done intentionally, but what is clear to me is that we both have excellent taste in property.”

  Mrs. Hartwood soothed her husband. “Forgive Hartwood. He’s still grumbling over losing out to you over the Forsythe house all those years ago.”

  “What’s this about the Forsythe house?” Valentine interrupted. “My mother’s family lived there when I was a boy.”

  “I own it.” He eyed the remaining dessert. Empress Pudding was a favorite and one of the Mertons’ cook’s specialties. He had not managed to convince the cook to share the recipe but he would one day soon. “Is anyone going to eat that?”

  Mrs. Hartwood immediately declined, and silenced her husband with a stern look when he appeared to be about to accept. Everyone else remained silent so he glanced around—to see varying degrees of astonishment on Valentine’s and Melanie’s faces.

  Melanie gasped. “Since when?”

  “The house? Oh, the property was my very first investment.” Although it was no great secret, Walter considered his property investments, and his wealth to be no ones business but his own. Mr. Merton senior had dispensed with the property for a song long ago without one trace of hesitation, and had actually set him on the path of his own small fortune. He glanced at Valentine curiously. “Did your father not tell you of the sale?”

  Valentine glanced at Melanie instead of answering him. “No wonder he has refused to discuss the house,” Valentine murmured to her.

  “Ah. The Forsythe property was in quite a state the first day I walked in as owner. A leak in the roof had ruined the ceilings of a bedchamber and a drawing room. It took time to afford the repair. Once the building was sound, I leased it to a large family whose occupation as painters was put to good use to bring the home back to rights for a reduced rent.”

  And he’d never looked back. He’d used that experience as a model for his future investments.

  Walter shook his head. “I thought you knew. I’ll send a note round to the tenant to expect your visit if you still wish to go.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I should like that very much. I had such a happy time visiting my grandparents there as a child.”

  He nodded in sympathy. She should cling to those happier memories and forget the sad ones. “Now then, Miss Merton, shall we fight for the last helping, or merely toss a coin and let fate decide for us who gets to eat what remains?”

  He peered at her with one brow raised and, as hoped, she smiled at his ridiculous suggestion. “I certainly won’t fight with such slim odds of success. We all know it is one of your favorites.”

  They would share, of course. He grinned, served her a modest amount, and placed the remainder on his own plate. “Any dessert is my favorite until I meet the next helping. Don’t waste that.”

  “Has there ever been a battle won over dessert?” Valentine chuckled.

  Mrs. Hartwood’s eyes widened. “Why, yes, there was, or at least there was in fiction. Over the summer I read this delightful little book. There was just such a scene as you described. Oh, what was that book called?”

  There was a scene from a K.L Brahms book that described such an event; however, few knew that Walter was the inspiration for it. As a boy, he’d been slow to temper and Imogen had often annoyed him with her nattering. At one meal, she’d gone too far over something of no importance. A well-flung spoonful of brandy custard had silenced her until she’d retaliated and they’d gone to war. At first, he’d been amused his sister had remembered a long-ago battle over dessert and had used it in her book.

  Until now.

  Melanie laughed softly. “That’s in Findings from a Castaway? From what I can gather, everyone in Brighton has read the story and is talking about what makes the perfect dessert worth fighting over. I don’t believe I’d care to have food flung across our dining room, but it makes for a dramatic reading.”

  “Indeed it does,” Mrs. Hartwood said with a shudder. “The scene is described so clearly I can almost see it happening when I close my eyes. Those charming porcelain kittens falling off the mantle and the dollop of custard sliding down that poor girl’s cheek.”

  The girl had been Melanie at age ten or eleven.

  Imogen had possessed terrible aim and had been responsible for the broken ornaments. Hitting Melanie had been entirely his fault. Melanie hadn’t been expected that day and had been caught by a misaimed shot of his. He winced, remembering her tears over her ruined dress.

  Did she remember her part in it? He glanced at her but could detect no recognition in her expression. Perhaps she had forgotten all about it, along with her friendship with Imogen. It had been a long time ago.

  “Well,” Melanie set her napkin aside, “I hope there will be no similar incidents in this house tonight.”

  Her gaze lingered on him briefly before she turned to Julia. At the subtle rise of her brow, Julia urged Mrs. Hartwood to the parlor fo
r tea, leaving Walter puzzled and eager to know if the family secret was out or not. He truly couldn’t accurately gauge Melanie’s mood tonight and that meant he’d have to try to find out if she would make trouble for Imogen. He’d have to get her alone again.

  He couldn’t wait.

  Eight

  “We simply must find that darling man a wife, and soon,” Mrs. Hartwood gushed as Melanie stirred half a spoonful of sugar into her cup of tea. There was always a point in every evening entertainment when matchmaking came up, so she wasn’t surprised. Since the remark was directed at Julia, and not to herself, she kept her mouth closed and her eyes down.

  Julia had made a great start on winning over Mrs. Hartwood, a woman who could help her become a fixture in Brighton society one day if she cultivated a friendship with her.

  “I do agree,” Julia enthused. “Mr. George would make a wonderful husband indeed.”

  Melanie set her cup aside, waiting, bracing herself for the suggestion that a match be made between her and Walter, since they were so well acquainted. She lifted her gaze slowly.

  “I think Miss Langston would be perfect,” Mrs. Hartwood suggested.

  “There is always Miss Harrow, and of course Miss Enid Vickers has many fine qualities.” Julia shook her head. “What do you think, Melanie? You’ve known Mr. George much longer than I have. Who do you think he should marry?”

  That was a question she’d never been able to answer to her own satisfaction and it troubled her now. “I’ve known him perhaps a year longer on account of my being marginally older than you.”

  Such a good and amiable man should have married already. Over the past weeks, she’d come to appreciate Walter. He deserved the perfect wife. But now that she had heard the names of other young ladies thrown about as a match for him, she was outraged on his behalf. Those young ladies would never do.