“We can’t just go walking together. Are you mad?”
“We shall keep within sight of the house. Come, Melissa. Don’t you want to?”
She shivered. Her given name sounding oddly intimate on his tongue. Of course, she wanted to walk with him. She was just afraid that her mother would somehow know.
“And what can she do even if she did somehow find out?” he asked and she realized she had spoken aloud.
Melissa’s brow furrowed as she thought about it. In truth there was little her mother could do after the fact without creating a huge scandal.
“Fine,” she said inserting her arm into his. He led her outside and they walked sedately, alongside other groups and couples taking the morning air.
“My engagement has not been announced yet.”
Melissa looked up at him. “And therefore?”
He shrugged his shoulders, looking down at her. “I don’t know, Melissa. I really don’t.”
“Perhaps you can get out of it.”
“Would that I could.”
“Will you marry my sister after kissing me with such passion?” Melissa made sure to whisper the words to ensure no one else could hear them.
“Marriage has nothing to do with love or passion, Melissa,” he replied, looking sadly down at her. “It is about partnerships and mergers. Joining one’s money to another’s title and so on.”
“But both of you have money and a title so it does not apply in this case.”
Lord Bergon sighed. “Not all titles are born equal. Yes, our fathers are both Dukes, but yours is revered, while mine is reviled.”
“And he wishes this marriage to change that?”
“Yes.”
“But I am His Grace’s daughter too!” Melissa moaned plaintively.
“And yet somehow they have all fixated on Lady Rose.” Lord Bergon shook his head uncomprehendingly. “I am sorry, Melissa. I wish it could be different.”
Melissa sighed. “It’s my mother, you know. For some reason, she is repelled by me. She would do anything to thwart my desires in favor of Rose’s. I do not know why she hates me so much.” she sniffed, unable to restrain a tear from falling.
Lord Bergon made an aborted motion as if he wished to take her in his arms. But he remembered himself and returned his hand behind his back.
“I am sure that is not true.”
Melissa merely gave him a look.
“Well perhaps you know better than me, but it pains me to imagine you all alone and feeling unloved and so I wish to believe that you are mistaken.”
Melissa’s look softened and she sighed. “I wish to believe I am mistaken too, but the evidence is overwhelming.”
“Well, if it means anything, you are not completely unloved.”
Melissa lifted her gaze to his, noting the openness in his face, his eyes shining with everything he felt for her. She could feel her chest tighten, breath coming short. “Oh,” she said softly.
He reached out and squeezed her hand, and they resumed their walk.
Halston had given him a sideways glance when he came back from his walk with the beautiful Lady Melissa but said nothing else. Nobody commented on their obvious closeness for which Patrick was grateful. The Pickerings’ visitors from out of town had a lot of questions about their botanical gardens and their hosts were mostly occupied with answering them.
Patrick took the chance to simply sit with Melissa, breathing in her scent and enjoying her company. Not only was she a delightful conversationalist, but she was also sharp, witty and quite mischievous. He took the opportunity to ask her why she went to Convent Garden dressed as a lady’s maid.
“It’s because that is the only time, I can be myself. When I am among my peers, I feel like a performing monkey, going through the expected paces. But in the mornings, haggling for a kilo of ham or a bunch of peonies, nobody cares who I am. They only care about whether I can pay. It's very freeing.”
Patrick nodded his understanding even as he frowned with worry for her safety. “I wish I could take you to Spain or North Africa for a while, where you would be free to be yourself without censure.”
Melissa snorted. “For a woman, there is always censure, no matter where you go. But perhaps I can just be Melissa Alford instead of Lady Melissa, daughter of the revered Duke of Greyfield.”
Patrick gave her a sideways glance seeing her anew. “You are remarkably wise for nine and ten.”
Melissa smiled sadly. “I have a lot of time to think.”
“Well...” Patrick almost leaned in to capture her lips before he remembered that they were in company, “I wish I could occupy more of your time.” he whispered.
“I wish you could too,” she whispered back.
Melissa sighed. “I don’t want to go home.”
Brynn reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “I know you don’t. But the party is breaking up. We have no choice.”
“Spending time with Lord Bergon has been so magical,” she sighed deeply, eyes far away.
Brynn smiled. “I’m sure it was. Now we just have to hope word of it does not get back to your mother.”
Melissa narrowed her eyes at her lady’s maid. “You are such a wet blanket.”
Brynn shrugged theatrically, widening her eyes at Melissa. “I am just a realist, My Lady. Somebody has to be.”
“Really? Who says?”
“I do. Now come. Sitting here and moping will not help anything. Let us get home and see if there is any music to be faced.”
Melissa got to her feet with the utmost reluctance and followed her lady’s maid out of her temporary room. She hoped she might catch one more glimpse of Lord Bergon before she left but he was nowhere to be seen. With a last disappointed look at the house, she entered her carriage, eyes out of the window as they drove away.
Her spirits continued to drop the closer they came to Greyfield House. With distance from Lord Bergon, came sobriety and the knowledge that the ton loved to gossip. There was absolutely no way that the news would not reach Her Grace that Melissa and Lord Bergon had walked together in the garden, heads close together for more than an hour.
There was no way she would not hear that they had then sat together during the picnic, talking in low tones. It was more than impossible.
“We didn’t do anything untoward,” she murmured, preparing her defense.
If one left out the kissing and the groping, a laughing voice pointed out in her mind.
She could still feel his lips on hers, hot and wanting. She had been scared to death and yet her heart had never pounded with so much excitement in her life. How could a man go from touching her like that to…?
Melissa tensed, wondering if Lord Bergon had kissed her sister in the same way he had kissed her. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility. After all, he had confessed to her that his engagement was as a result of an embrace. Perhaps Melissa was nothing special. Perhaps she was just a warm available body for the Marquess to sate himself on.
“Is something the matter, My Lady? Why are you shaking your head like that?” Brynn’s voice brought her out of her swirling thoughts. She turned, circling Brynn’s arm like an iron band with her fingers.
“Brynn, I need you to take a letter to Grosvenor Street, please.”
Her lady’s maid gave her an extremely skeptical glance. “Are you sure that’s wise, My Lady?”
“I don’t care if it’s wise or not, Brynn! I have to know.”
“Know what?”
“I just need you to take this letter for me, please. I would take it myself if I could but I can’t.”
Brynn reached out and patted her arm. “It’s fine, My Lady, you know I’ll do it.”
“I’m sorry for always pulling you into my peccadillos,” Melissa said, her voice small and miserable.
“But what are friends for, eh?” Brynn grinned at her, slapping at her shoulder before turning to peer out of her window. Melissa smiled at her friend, welling up with affection and gratitude. She really did not kn
ow what she would have done if she didn’t have Brynn.
“My life would be a barren wasteland without you,” she said.
Brynn just gave her a smile.
The Duke of Cheshmill received a note from Mr. Pickering detailing his son’s activities the night before. He could feel his chest tighten with anger as he realized that Patrick was getting close to the wrong daughter. He ground his teeth, grabbing his monogrammed notepaper and wrote a memo of his own which he promptly gave to the footman to deliver to Grosvenor Street.
As soon as Brynn was done with her morning purchases, she turned her horse to Grosvenor Street where she delivered Melissa’s note to the footman at the door. Not wanting to spend any more time there than was necessary, she exhorted him to ensure that the Lord received it first thing.
“Of course, ma’am. His lordship gets all his morning correspondence at breakfast. I shall give this to the butler right away to add to the rest.”
Brynn nodded. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“Oh no, I’m no sir. I’m just a footman. Henry’s my name.”
Brynn smiled at him. “And I’m Brynn. Thank you, Henry,” she said as she prepared to ride off.
“You're welcome Miss,” he called, watching her go with bright eyes. Brynn could not help but feel that the day had gotten off to a good start.
Patrick looked through his letters as he drank his coffee, unsurprised to see yet another one from his aunt–probably asking for more money. He snorted, putting it aside to look at the other letters.
He recognized his father’s uncompromising spiked lettering and wondered what else had happened now. The next letter stopped his heart, for he knew that hand as well. Soft, rounded letters, with a bit of elan at the end. Why was Melissa writing to him?
Chapter 12
Epistolary
Dear Lord Bergon,
This must be passing strange to you, getting a letter from me after everything we spoke about. But, short of coming to see you at Grosvenor Street, I saw no other way to get the answer I need.
As I rode home from the Pickering gathering, our words–and actions–ran through my mind and I realized that what transpired between us was an earth-shattering event for me.
But I began to wonder if it was the same for you seeing as you got engaged to my sister because you kissed her. And I wondered if I was not perhaps blowing things out of proportion.
Forgive me if I did. I am but a young girl with not much experience of the opposite sex. I do not wish to be anybody’s fool. So, if this is simply some rakish attempt to get two sisters to fall in love with you, I beg you, please tell me. You have already achieved your objective if that is what you set out to do, so telling me will make no difference to you.
It will mean the world to me.
Please, Lord Bergon, I need to know.
The letter was unsigned.
Patrick put it down on the breakfast table and closed his eyes. And then he read it through again.
What shall I do? He wondered. Lie to her?
Patrick did not want to lie to her. He wanted to tell her the truth.
But why would she believe me?
He put her letter aside and then picked up his father’s.
Bergon,
What is this I hear about you cavorting with the younger Alford girl at the Pickerings? Need I remind you what is at stake? Cut her loose at once and announce your engagement. I will not abide this foolishness.
The letter was also unsigned but came duly sealed with the ducal crest. Patrick sighed, not knowing what to do about any of it. On the one hand, he wanted to help his father. On the other, he was in love.
“What does it matter which Alford I marry? The connection is the same,” he grumbled to himself. And then he stiffened, straightening up as his words caught up to his tired brain.
Why did it matter if he married the younger instead of the elder? It made no difference. If Lady Rose needed to be married first, Patrick was perfectly willing to find her a husband. If it was the potential scandal of the kiss, the fact was that nobody apart from The Duchess, her daughter and himself even knew about it.
“This can be done,” he said hopefully to himself and got to his feet.
“Jeffries,” he called as he hurried down the hall, “I will need my horse.”
He needed to speak with Lady Melissa before anything else happened and he had no idea how to do that. Then he remembered her maid, Brynn, her name was. He called for a footman and one came hurrying toward him at once.
“I shall need you to come with me, Henry, for I will require the delivery of messages.”
“Yes, My Lord. Shall I fetch the carriage?” Henry was already hurrying beside him, picking up on his urgency.
“No. Get a horse,” he said even as he leaped onto his own mount and set off at a canter. Soon enough, he heard the clip-clop of horse’s hooves behind him and knew that his footman had caught up. Once they arrived at Mayfair, he turned off into Hyde Park and handed a note to Henry.
“Take this to a lady’s maid named Brynn at Greyfield House. Can you do that?”
His footman perked right up. “Yes, I can sir.”
“Good, go now. And be discreet about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Henry took off at a trot and Patrick found a tree to tie his horse to. Then he sat down to wait.
Brynn burst into Melissa’s chambers, with scared-looking eyes, causing Melissa to sit up from her bed.
“What is it?”
“I have a note for you. From Lord Bergon.”
“How did you get it?” Melissa slid off her bed and darted toward Brynn, unable to hide the eagerness in her face.
“His footman brought it to me,” Brynn whispered.
Melissa held out her hand for the note and Brynn slowly dropped it onto her palm. They stared at each other expectantly before Melissa looked down and unfolded the note.
Brynn watched her keenly as she read. “What does it say?”
Melissa inhaled sharply before looking up at Brynn. “He wants me to meet him at Hyde Park, now.”
Brynn looked thoughtfully away, “That would explain why the footman is still waiting outside.”
“What do I do, Brynn?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to meet him, what do you think?”
“Well then, we shall take the air. You are feeling a little nauseous and need some air. I shall inform The Duchess.”
Melissa nodded. “Good idea. I’m going to change my gown.”
“Yes, fine,” Brynn said distractedly as she left the room. Melissa rushed around a bit like a headless chicken, heart beating double time as she tried to decide which gown to wear while trying to tame her hair into something resembling a coiffure and search for her shoes at the same time.
Brynn came back to find her nowhere closer to being ready and sighed.
“Come here,” she said pulling Melissa down onto the chair while she did her hair before crossing to her wardrobe to extract a walking dress of white muslin with puffed sleeves lined with tiny blue flowers. She placed a small brooch over Melissa’s heart and then fetched her boots for her feet.
“There you go. Very beautiful,” Brynn finished with flourish.
Melissa examined herself in the looking glass and nodded. “I’ll do,” she said.
Patrick watched her approach with wide eyes, following the sway of her hips as the horse she was riding minced toward him. Her hazel eyes were on him, watching him almost with trepidation. He imagined she was afraid of why he had come. Afraid that he had come to break her heart.
Bold of you to assume that you hold such power over her, a voice that sounded very much like his father’s interrupted his musings.
She came to a stop in front of him and slid gracefully off her beast.
“Lord Bergon.”
“Please, call me Patrick.”
“Fine. Patrick. What brings you here.”
“I got your letter. I wanted to give you a r
eply in person.”
She took a deep breath. “I see.” Her eyes fluttered with nerves, hands twisting against each other. She looked anywhere but at him.
Bewitching the Forbidden Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 10
