by Heather Boyd
Peter sidled up to him. “What did you think of Miss Lane?”
He tossed back the contents of his glass and continued pouring for everyone else. “What’s to consider?”
He shared the glasses around and then made himself comfortable for some peace, quiet and preferably masculine conversation.
Miss Lane’s father, now with port in hand, raised it in a toast. “To the ladies.”
“To our ladies,” Peter murmured before setting his glass aside.
Mr. Lane thought himself something of a poet, and knowing he had a captive audience, began to quote his work out loud. Walter’s friends clapped respectfully and then turned the conversation to local events. He was praised for his assistance to Mrs. Clemens then Peter leaned close. “I must warn you. If you have not noticed, the ladies have it in their heads to find you a wife.”
Walter paused with his drink halfway to his lips. “That would be a mistake.”
“Imogen thought so too at first, but I fear Mrs. Hawke and Mrs. Merton have convinced her you just need to meet the right woman.”
He’d met her when he was ten years old. He took a long sip of his drink and shook his head at the astonishing idea.
He glanced across at Valentine Merton, noting the man was deep in his own thoughts again. Valentine had been that way all night and he was puzzled by it. Even Julia had been quiet enough during dinner to make him concerned. Was something wrong between the newlyweds again?
Walter moved toward Valentine. “What’s the matter?”
The man considered his answer a long time before he said, “My sister wants to leave Brighton.”
“She might have mentioned something of that nature in passing, I think.” He’d not believed her serious about it though.
Valentine sipped his port then grimaced. “She set a date. Friday.”
Walter was left reeling by the news he only had two more days to see her. “You couldn’t change her mind?”
“I’ve never been very good at that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “She’s like a dog with a bone when she makes a decision. Even more so when I don’t like it.”
“I see.”
Stubborn woman. Her mind had to change or they’d both be miserable alone.
He accepted another drink as he pondered how convincing her to stay might be accomplished. Short of compromising her, he was left with kidnapping and imprisonment as his only other option.
Mr. Lane returned and droned on for a while about his latest project but when it was time to rejoin the ladies, Walter made his excuses and fled the party. Rather than go home, he headed for the seashore to do some serious thinking. Spending the night hours by the water was a particular favorite, even if one always had to keep an eye open for any unscrupulous scoundrels who preyed on the weak and unmindful.
He halted at the edge of the grass, unwilling to ruin his best boots in saltwater and sand, and absorbed the view. Moonlight shone silver upon the restless channel, lighting up the night and the incoming tide. There was always something to see on the shore and tonight was no exception. How could Mellie think to leave all this beauty again?
Ahead of him, a deep shadow marked debris left behind by earlier waves and he peered at it curiously. Once, he’d discovered a satchel of women’s clothing and had concluded it part of a cargo lost from a passing ship.
The shape on the beach grew in size however and he stared, and then laughed at his folly. Judging by the shape, a woman, long skirts clinging to her legs, had allowed the sea to claim her attention a touch too long and now suffered the consequences of being waterlogged. She was struggling to walk.
He hurried to offer aid, skidding down the slope haphazardly in his haste. She drew back, glancing left and right, her arms outstretched to keep him back.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said quickly. “I only wished to give you the aid of my arm.”
“Walter?” Melanie exclaimed. “Oh, you scared me half to death!”
“Mellie?” He glanced left and right too, searching for Melanie’s maid, and failed to find any sign of the woman, or indeed any other person nearby. He rushed to her side. “What the devil do you think you are doing out here alone?”
“Attempting to gather shells to take home with me,” She glanced around her. “I remember seeing some here this afternoon but they are gone now.”
“Your brother will skin you alive.”
She trudged past him, hands fisted into her skirts. “He will say nothing.”
“Like hell he will,” Walter grumbled as he followed her.
“My brother believes I am at home.” Melanie stopped a little farther up the beach and paused to make a futile attempt to wring out seawater from the bottom of her gown. “I would appreciate it if you could keep our meeting here tonight between us.”
A breaking wave surged toward them and Walter swung her up into his arms to carry her away from danger.
She struggled the entire way. “Unhand me!”
He pulled her tighter against his chest. “By the time you make it off the beach, the bottom of your skirts, your footwear and stockings will be beyond salvation. Stop fighting me and I’ll have you sorted out in a moment. At the rate we are moving, anyone could see us together and I don’t care to contemplate the assumptions they will make.”
The township would question her virtue if she were caught alone with him on a night like this. During the day was one thing if they were simply walking side by side, but out at night—everyone would get the wrong idea.
She ceased her struggles and he set her atop the grassy slope gently. Her skirts slapped wetly as he released her legs and he caught a handful of the sodden garment and squeezed out as much seawater as he could manage. “You should not be out at night alone,” he scolded and then urged her toward home. “Anything could have happened to you.”
She shrugged. “I do thank you for your help. A wave caught me unawares.”
“You must know it is dangerous for you to be out alone.”
“It is dangerous for a woman anywhere. Even stepping onto a terrace for a breath of cool air can place her reputation in jeopardy.”
“So being caught kissing you would not be in your best interests.”
She sighed. “My brother would be very angry with me if he ever found out I’d allowed you to.”
“Still, it is an enjoyable pastime. Kissing you,” he clarified.
She shifted subtly away from him, and shivered. Walter quickly tore off his coat and wrapped her in the heavy wool without asking her leave. “You need to wear a thicker coat at this time of year.”
She shrugged again.
He leaned into her a little. “When I saw you on the beach, I thought I’d found another bit of lost property.”
She hugged his coat tighter around her and struggled on. “As apt a description as any.”
“You were not at Imogen’s birthday dinner tonight.”
Mellie sighed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I was not invited,” she whispered softly.
That startled him. In times past, no matter what might be preferred, Melanie had never been excluded from an entertainment. His own sister delivered the most stinging cut. It would be noticed, remarked upon, questioned.
When he married Melanie, he would have to do something about Imogen so future snubs did not occur. He had not revealed to Imogen the details of Andy’s death yet, and how Melanie had suffered such a terrible shock at a young age. But he might have to. It could soften the friction between the two women so peace was restored.
“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around Melanie and briskly rubbed her arm. “I could have done with your company tonight.”
“You did not enjoy dining with Mr. Lane, his wife and daughter?”
Dear God, of course she would know who would be in attendance. There were few secrets in Brighton kept longer than a day. “Mr. Lane likes the sound of his own voice very much. Miss Lane chatters. Sets a man’s teeth on edge. I had littl
e conversation with the mother. They are likely still at Imogen and Peter’s. I left as soon as I possibly could.”
She glanced at him swiftly then glanced away again. “She’s a lovely young woman. Very accomplished.”
“To someone else’s standards perhaps.”
She said nothing to that.
“Every man has them, you know.” He laughed to himself. He had very high standards indeed. He didn’t think there was another woman to match them but the woman at his side. “But it doesn’t do to mention them out loud or other people start making plans for your future.”
She shrugged off his coat and pushed it toward him. “I am warmer now. You should put this back on before you catch a chill yourself.”
“And I had best see you safely home.”
“I can find my own way,” she said quickly, attempting to dismiss his protection.
He slipped her arm though his as soon as he’d donned his coat. “Good, because quite frankly, I might be lost without you.”
She did not laugh at his attempt at humor. In fact, she appeared downright suspicious of his claim. As much as he’d like to explain further, he had to return her home. He’d already taken too many risks with her reputation as it was, although he did not exactly regret parts of their interactions.
With dryer skirts, Melanie was able to move swiftly. Once they’d reached the well-trod path, she hurried forward without looking back. It was as if…
He sprinted after her and blocked her way. “What’s wrong?”
“Please, just leave me be,” she begged.
He was taken aback by her wail, so unlike her usual calm demeanor that he was concerned. “Not until you tell me what’s changed. I thought we had settled our differences.”
“I can’t ever be what you want.” She wrung her hands. “You know I won’t, so if you are after female companionship, you should look elsewhere.”
He grabbed her arm and felt the tremble in her limb. “What the devil has gotten into you to speak this way?”
She stared up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “I promised Valentine I wouldn’t encourage you, and I don’t mean to.”
Walter gaped. Valentine was scolding the wrong party in this affair. He cupped the back of Melanie’s head and drew her against his chest in a clumsy embrace. “I could hardly be disappointed. I only want you to be happy and you are not. I enjoy our time together too much to risk losing you. I felt it necessary to set you straight about avoiding conception and overstepped. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I won’t even kiss you if you say you don’t want me to.”
He held his breath.
She met his gaze sadly and turned away. “Good night, Mr. George.”
“Wait, I will need the name of a comfortable inn in Oxford.”
She faced him again. “Why would you want that?”
“Because if you’re leaving Brighton on Friday, I’m going to follow you there.”
“You can’t do that!”
“As you discovered last week, I am wealthy enough to do anything I want. You certainly couldn’t imagine I’d want to stay behind this time. If you go, I’ll be moving to Oxford, temporarily I hope, so I can claim my favorite dance partner and talk to you again.”
He’d ruined his chances of a slow courtship by speaking precipitously of intimacy before she was ready, but he wasn’t going to let the obstacle of distance deter him.
He bent to press a gentle kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, and every morning after that no matter what you say.”
“Walter, you can’t mean that.”
“But I do.” He met her gaze. “Moving will not keep us apart, so just give up and stay. Agreed?”
She stared at him so long his heart began to thump against his ribs. He drew a breath, willing her to find her courage—and then he jumped as a servant from her home stepped outside. They were undoubtedly spotted. Thankfully it was only her maid.
She licked her lips. “You’ll come to hate me.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.” He caught her elbow and urged her toward her maid. “Take your mistress inside and make sure she is warmed as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” The maid grinned. “Not a word about this, I suppose?”
“My thanks.” He kissed the back of Melanie’s glove and then left her, grinning ear to ear. He could change her mind eventually. He was sure of it.
Thirteen
“Melanie, we need you in the parlor,” Julia called from the hallway outside her closed bedroom door.
Melanie set the last of her packing into the trunk and closed the lid. After all the years she’d spent in Brighton, she was having trouble reducing her possessions to a reasonable amount for travel. She was going home, despite Walter’s plea to stay. Leaving Brighton behind for the regulated life of a daughter who could never make her parents happy was a small price to pay for peace of mind.
After a night spent contemplating her feelings, she understood she had fallen in love with Walter George.
She just couldn’t figure out when it had happened.
Not that she could or should do anything about her feelings. He wanted children and she still did not. She couldn’t deny him what he wanted most, so that meant going ahead with her original plan on Friday without telling him what she was doing.
She dragged her feet to the doorway and then squared her shoulders. Time to pretend she was happy about leaving in the face of Julia’s mournful expression.
Dearest Julia just didn’t understand how painful living here would be after Walter had given up on her. Even the idea of him with other women in her imagination was painful.
She made her way downstairs and stopped short in the parlor doorway. Julia hadn’t shared her plans for the day so she was surprised to find the room was full. Her stomach flipped. “Lady Watson, Mrs. Hawke. What an unexpected pleasure.”
Many months large with child, Abigail Hawke waddled across the room to kiss her cheek in greeting. Her rounded stomach bumped her. “It’s good to see you again.”
The small dog she owned bounced around them, paws raised as if eager to say hello too. Melanie bent to pat its head, knowing the animal would continue pleading for attention if ignored. “I had not heard of your arrival.”
Abigail squeezed her hand. “We arrived from London very late last night. Hawke surprised me with this trip so I had no time to send a letter ahead to announce we were coming. He has some great secret he will not share no matter how much I plead with him.”
“A matter concerning your husband’s bank?”
Abigail frowned. “No, I do not think that is his business that brings us. Mr. Knight and the new partner, Lord Beecroft, are involved though. They would not answer my questions either so it remains a surprise. I am terribly intrigued.”
Melanie nodded but dismissed the matter. She glanced at Julia. “You said you needed me?”
“Not me,” Julia said quickly.
Abigail twisted to look at Imogen. “It is not us who drags you to the parlor, but Lady Watson.”
“Oh.” Melanie glanced between the ladies. Julia practically bounced in her seat, Abigail beamed and Imogen sat impassively, regarding her curiously but without the faintest trace of warmth in her expression. “What is it I need to hear?”
Silence lengthened and Imogen’s brow rose.
“Am I supposed to guess?”
“I suppose not.” Her lips pressed together tightly a moment. “Julia insisted I tell you myself. I am with child.”
Melanie froze but then tears filled her eyes at the hard way Imogen delivered her news. The thin edge of hostility reminded her that no matter what she might feel for Walter, his sister could never forgive her for the hurt she’d caused.
She smiled awkwardly, unsure how to convey her happiness. She had only ever wanted Imogen to be happy. Imogen had always wanted a little girl to bounce on her knee. She felt so very low. “Congratulations. I trust you are well.”
“I am.” Imogen�
��s chin rose defiantly.
“I see.” She took a deep breath as she inspected Imogen. There was no outward sign of her condition so she couldn’t begin to guess when the babe would come. She would also most likely never see Imogen’s child, and that made her terribly sad. It was really too late to make a difference, but this might be her only chance of mending any fences with the woman. “Would you excuse me a moment?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, but rushed from the room and up the staircase. She raced to her bedchamber and grasped the handle of the first trunk stored under her bed. It was heavier than she remembered it being and she could only drag it from her room by one handle. At the top of the stairs she paused, listening to Julia plead with Imogen to stay a while longer. She eyed the stairs anxiously, but there was no help for the noise she would make and she had to hurry before Imogen left.
With a deafening clatter, she pulled the trunk down each tread. At the halfway point, she blew her hair from her eyes.
Valentine rushed up to her. “Melanie, what the devil are you doing with that trunk? You don’t leave until tomorrow.”
“I have to give this to Imogen. Would you help me carry it the rest of the way? She’s in the parlor at this moment and about to leave.”
Valentine grunted a little as he hefted the full trunk. He manhandled it the remaining distance to the parlor and departed, giving her a concerned glance. She had not time to explain to him what she was about to do.
Abigail caught her eye and suppressed a smile. She had already received her trunk a few months ago and had clearly guessed what this one also contained.
Imogen crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at it.
“Open it,” Melanie urged when she did not move.
At Abigail’s urging, Imogen slowly lifted the lid and let it fall open—to reveal a trunk full of children’s clothes, and wraps, and blankets. Items all stitched by her own hand over the past dozen years; enough to last a child until they were toddling around on their own steam.
She had begun making small items for her friends at Andy’s urging, and even though she had fallen out of grace since those days, she still made a few pieces for each year.
