They smiled conspiratorially at each other.
“Melissa, mother says you are to join her at once,” Lady Rose barged in between them before turning her smile on Patrick. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”
Melissa sighed inwardly, exchanging the very ghost of a glance with Patrick before walking over to her mother, a smile on her face as she thought of her exchange with the Earl of Stenwick. Secret affairs?
Is that what we are doing?
Rose was seething. As much as she tried to keep Patrick’s attention, his eyes kept straying toward her sister. She did not understand it at all. With her darker complexion and boring hazel eyes, her uncouth manners and her loud voice, Rose did not understand how a gentleman like Patrick could be interested in Melissa. Especially when a literal English Rose stood right in front of him!
Rose had heard herself described as such; in fact, her father called her his little English Rose. She was the apple of his eye, an apple-cheeked, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. She was the very antithesis of Melissa known as a scion of beauty across the Isles…why did he not see her?
Why did his eyes slide to follow Melissa’s clumsy gait to their mother’s side instead of noticing Rose’s graceful poise right at his? What did she have to do to have that admiring gaze trained only on her? She turned her head to find the gentleman’s companion regarding her with what looked like sympathy. She turned away with a sniff, not needing some nobody to pity her. She was Rose Elizabeth Alford, first daughter of The Duke of Greyfield. There was nothing in her life that required anyone to feel sorry for her.
She looked away from him.
“I think I shall go and get myself a stiff drink,” the gentleman said and began to walk away. He paused as he came up next to Rose and leaned forward so that he could whisper into her ear.
“You should quit while you’re ahead,” he said very softly.
Melissa pinned a smile on her face as she came up to her mother who was standing with The Duchess of Cheshmill and another lady Melissa had not met.
“Oh, there you are,” Thalia said, “I was just telling Her Grace about your love for playing dress up.”
Melissa’s eyes widened in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, you know you like to dress up in maid’s clothes.” She leaned forward to whisper loudly in Duchess Cheshmill’s ear, “She thinks it makes her more anonymous.”
“Oh.” The Duchess’ eyes shone with glee at exchanging gossip with her much more powerful counterpart, especially at the expense of her daughter. Melissa could see that Duchess Cheshmill was under the impression that her mother liked her now when in reality, this was more about humiliating Melissa than bonding with Patrick’s stepmother. Her face colored all the same with embarrassment, wondering how long her mother had been waiting to spring this on her.
Now that she thought about it, she was not surprised that her mother knew. For surely the Duchess had spies everywhere. She was simply relieved that she had not decided to dismiss Brynn forthwith. Although no doubt, that was due to some nefarious reason that Melissa was sure to find out sooner or later. Perhaps it was a sword of Damocles to hold over her in case she felt a bout of rebelliousness coming on.
She wanted to close her eyes and take deep breaths, feeling anxiety tightening her chest. To stave off what seemed to be a full-fledged panic, she asked the Duchess about the hunt.
“Will it be foxes or some larger beast?” she asked.
Duchess Cheshmill waved a hand. “I’m sure I have no idea. I have absolutely no interest in hunting. Don’t tell me you intend to go?” she seemed shocked at the notion.
“Well…” Melissa cut her eyes at her mother, trying to gauge her opinion, “I would like to go on the hunt. I quite enjoy the sport.”
Her mother put a deceptively gentle hand on her shoulder, her smile vicious, at least to Melissa. “My daughter is quite the adventurous tomboy. I do declare sometimes I wonder if we shall be able to keep a gentleman interested enough in her to take her off our hands.”
“Oh, I’m sure you won’t have a problem. She’s quite pretty…in an exotic kind of way and her dowry is surely substantial?” The Duchess Cheshmill said and Melissa blanched at her uncouthness. Her mother, of course, remained impassive but ignored the question.
“I am quite tired. Melissa, would you fetch the maid to escort me to my quarters?” she couched it as a question but it was an order. Melissa went off at once, in search of anyone who looked like they might know where the Duchess would be staying. Her heart was still thudding with astonishment and fear and she wanted to run up the stairs and collapse from the vapors. But first, she had to get her mother what she wanted.
A maid came scurrying to her, to ask if she could help Melissa with anything and she directed the girl toward her mother. Then she started up the stairs, quite sure that Brynn would be unpacking her gowns and readying them for use. As she shakily climbed the stairs she vacillated, wondering whether to share her panic or not. She had no idea how much her mother knew, perhaps it would be best to keep things to herself. No need to panic them both.
“Melissa.”
She turned to see Stenwick at the bottom of the stairs. “Leaving us already?”
“I’m tired. Just need to lie down a bit.”
“All right then. I expect the journey was long. We shall see you at dinner, wot?”
“Of course.”
Stenwick nodded. “Good.”
Melissa turned away and continued on down the hall, not sure what to make of Stenwick’s stamp of approval. She was glad of it, but it also scared her. The more people knew their secret, the riskier it became. Her mother might hear something of it too, and then all hell would break loose.
She shivered at the thought of it and entered her room where Brynn was indeed steaming her gowns.
“Cheshmill.”
The Duke turned to see who had addressed him, although he knew quite well who it was. “Nordam,” he nodded at the Earl.
“Why is the Duchess here? What are you doing?” his tone was distinctly unfriendly.
Herbert smiled. “She is here at my invitation, the same as you.”
“And again I ask, what are you doing?”
“Oh, I think a reunion is overdue, don’t you? Things…ended, on such a sour note. It’s unseemly. We can do better.”
Harvey snorted. “Since when do you care about unseemly endings? Isn’t that your stock in trade?”
“I care when it gets in the way of my business.”
“I have nothing to say to her.”
“I’m sure she would say the same.”
Nicholas Harvey lifted an eyebrow. “Well then? Why force things?”
“Ah, I wish I could tell you but just at the moment, I shall keep that to myself.”
Nicholas breathed out noisily through his nose, clearly at the end of his patience. “The time will come, Cheshmill, when these games you play will be too much for somebody and you will end up with a knife in your back.”
The Duke laughed. “Is that a threat? Or a promise?”
Chapter 28
Foxes and Hounds
"Right then, keep that tray steady," The Duke of Cheshmill barked just as Nicholas stepped out the door of Cheshmill Hall, having stayed back to enjoy another cup of coffee before facing this idiotic hunt he’d been strong armed into attending. He still did not understand the reason why he was here, having spent most of his time avoiding The Duchess of Greyfield.
Footmen went around serving mulled wine to the riders who would go on the stag hunt. That seemed a bit of overkill to Nicholas seeing as they’d just had breakfast. He shivered in the sharp morning air and had to acknowledge that they could do with some warming up in the inclement weather–hence his decision to take that second cup of coffee.
The horses were milling about and some very excited dogs leaped about, one of which immediately tried to jump up on him, while riders shouted to each other. All things considered, it was an intimate–
just seven riders–yet quite a loud group and Nicholas got the impression that hunting was not the chief goal of this party.
As he came upon one horse, he was surprised to realize that the rider was, in fact, female. She was riding side saddle, with her skirts on the other side of the horse from him, and of course her hair was up under her hat, so he hadn't noticed on his approach, but she was wearing a fashionable veil and, while not exactly voluptuous, was definitely shapelier than the rest of the riders.
She was a young lady, perhaps newly come out, probably out to impress one of the young gentlemen on the hunt. She surveyed the chaos with a judicious eye that seemed to find fault with everything she saw. At the very least it didn't seem to impress her much.
Nicholas had avoided introduction to her family, with the exception of The Duke of Greyfield, so he could only guess that this was one of His Grace’s daughters although she looked nothing like him. She barely resembled the Duchess which was a relief in some dim way that Nicholas did not want to examine too closely. He offered her a smile when their eyes met and she inclined her head to him in greeting.
Her eyes were a beautiful hazel that reminded him of his dear-departed mother and he felt a pang of regret for what might have been. Quickly, before he became too mawkish, he went to his horse and climbed on. He could not wait to be done with this hunt.
He decided that after this, he was also done with Herbert Dutton, Duke of Cheshmill. He could do whatever he wanted with the knowledge he had. Nicholas would not live with the Duke’s foot on his neck any longer.
“We shall be the first to capture the stag,” Melissa declared, taking the reins of her horse. It huffed as it came to a stop, and her lady’s maid reined in her own, watching her intently. “I’m going to show them all that a lady is as good a hunter as any lord. I'll show them all. We can do it you know; just you and me, Brynn.”
Her lady’s maid laughed. “Good luck, My Lady. I know it is every gentleman’s ambition to fell such a prize. Be wary, though–we approach the outskirts of the hunting grounds–and to be lost after dark is something no one wants, even if it means being the belle of the hunt.”
“Oh, do not worry about it. We’re still on Cheshmill lands, and I’m sure his beaters are around here somewhere. We shall be more than fine.” Digging her heels into the horse’s sides, Melissa caused it to slowly trot forward. “By sundown, we will make our way back with my kill in tow.”
Brynn ushered her own horse forward shaking her head with a smile. “Your confidence is key, I am sure.”
“Is that a jest?” Melissa returned her smile as she turned to face her. “You of all people should know what I can do if I put my mind to it, Brynn.”
“Oh no, My Lady, not a jest by any means.” A small laugh escaped Brynn’s mouth as they both rode further into the forest. The sounds of their party’s hounds slowly faded with each step until they could no longer hear them.
It was late autumn, and though the weather was still warm, the winter chill had begun to make itself felt in the biting cold of the breeze, causing Melissa to shiver and hold her cloak closer to her chest. The hunt had been called at the crack of dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The Duchess Greyfield had been present, as had all the ladies, to see the gentlemen off. When Melissa had arrived wearing her riding habit, the Duchess had taken the chance to disparage her–gently of course, so as not to expose her malevolence in front of the other guests.
“This isn’t one of your games, darling. What do you think you will do with that rifle? It's twice as long as your arm!”
The gentlemen, including her father and Patrick, had laughed, taking it as a joke. Only the Earl of Nordam had looked away with a frown. It had incensed Melissa more than she could say and she had taken off as soon as the horn blew, determined to prove herself. She paid no attention when she heard her name being called; they could bloody well eat her dust as far as she was concerned. She would show them all!
The chirping, twittering birds rustling about above the treetops were a distraction she didn’t need, and Melissa cursed at them for the noise since they covered any sound the stag might have made. Birds were excellent early warning systems if a predator was about, but a stag would not disturb their song.
She searched the soft earth at her feet for any sign that the stag had been this way, looking out for hoof prints or fecal matter, only to be disappointed. The only signs she could see were those made by horses or hounds.
Melissa sighed, and Brynn took note, smiling up to her. “We shall find the beast, don’t you worry,” she said, and Melissa smiled back.
“Oh, we will. Do not take me for a quitter.” Melissa grinned mischievously, and Brynn laughed.
“We both know you do this to please your beau and irritate your mother.”
Melissa suddenly snapped her head to the side and glared at Brynn, the movement caused her steed to startle slightly as did her lady’s maid. She had been dealing with Melissa’s strange mood swings ever since she’d retired to her chambers after the welcome buffet the previous day and it had the lady’s maid feeling very unbalanced–her position more precarious than ever before.
Brynn swallowed as a sudden surge of bile filled her throat. She sometimes forgot that Melissa had a temper, legacy from her mother. This was especially so, since when they were together like this; they usually talked with the casual ease of long friendship. Brynn had seen manifestations of Melissa’s temper after interactions with her mother, but now it seemed that she herself was not safe from the bite of her mistress’ temper, no matter how fond the relationship.
“Too far, Brynn. I am more than my relationship with other people. I would like to capture this stag on my own account.” Melissa said with a snarl, although in Brynn’s humble opinion, it was a bit of an overreaction. “And you would do well, dear Brynn, to have more respect when you speak of my mother. Moreover, you should never assume that I am trying in any way to prove myself to her. I have nothing to prove. She must accept who I am–her daughter–and if she does not like it, she can surely go to…”
Before Melissa could further curse her mother’s name, there was a snap in the forest. They both stiffened and turned their heads toward the sound hoping to find the source, but the forest was far too thick for them to detect any signs of life save for the warbling birds and the rustling insects. Melissa’s breath caught tight in her chest as she searched for movement.
There was another snap.
Melissa and Brynn tensed, waiting. Melissa had her rifle at the ready. So, they were both very surprised to see the Duke of Cheshmill step into the clearing.
“Your Grace...” Melissa said.
“Forgive me. I seem to have misplaced my horse. I was wondering if you would spare your lady’s maid to escort me back to the house.”
Brynn and Melissa exchanged glances. It was a most unusual request for the Duke to make.
“What happened?” Melissa asked.
“We came across a fox and my horse shied. Threw me and then took off. She's a new horse. Barely broken in. I should not have tried to ride her. I would walk back but I fear I twisted my ankle.”
“Weren’t you with the others?” Melissa did not know why she was asking so many questions but she was uneasy.
“No. I had left them behind, in pursuit of you as you had pulled far ahead of everyone.”
Melissa’s face colored with embarrassment. She knew that taking off like that, separating from the main hunting party was frowned upon. She had just been so angry.
She turned to her lady’s maid. “Brynn, would you please escort His Grace back to the house?”
“What about you My Lady? You should come with us.”
Melissa shook her head slowly, “I shall continue with the hunt. Don’t worry, I’ll join the others and not hunt alone.”
Brynn just continued to watch her, a worried frown marring her forehead.
“They are over by the creek if you want to make your way there,” the Duke broke into th
eir staring contest, startling them both.
“Yes, all right, I shall make my way there. Brynn, come join us once you are finished.”
Brynn nodded, looking a little relieved. “I’ll do that.”
The Duke limped slowly to Brynn’s horse and got on it behind the lady’s maid. With one last glance at Melissa, she turned her horse back to the Hall. Melissa watched them go before making her way down to the creek.
Patrick felt bad for laughing at Melissa, especially after the reckless way she’d taken off. He had wanted to follow her at once but his father urged him to stay with their guests.
“I’ll go and find her myself,” His Grace nodded to the other gentlemen, “this is why ladies don’t hunt...”
Bewitching the Forbidden Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 24
