Amanda Scott (17 page)

“Exactly so,” Seacourt said. He had not released Melissa’s arm, and now began to draw her toward the door, adding, “Until I am convinced that you mean what you say—”

“Release her, Geoffrey,” Lady Ophelia said, getting to her feet and facing him without so much as reaching for her cane to steady herself. “You will take her nowhere. Vexford is quite within his rights as her betrothed husband to decide where she is to stay. And if he were not, I think I could still convince you that you would be wiser to leave her here. Aside from the question of her inheritance, I intend that Melissa shall have a proper come-out before she is married. I daresay you will not want to foot the bill for that.”

“I see no reason why I should do any such thing.”

“Well, you will see soon enough once Charlotte and I begin putting it about that you are keeping your daughter a prisoner in Brook Street rather than presenting her to the
beau monde.
People have, after all, been quite curious about Melissa and her mother these past nine years. So long as Melissa is seen to be behaving like a young woman of quality, which she is, little will be said about her by the gossips, but the moment the least whisper gets out that she is not quite what she ought to be, the rumor mills will begun to churn. If that happens, it will not be long before all the tidbits from nine years ago become common knowledge, even if we can manage to suppress the details of what occurred in Newmarket.”

When Seacourt looked thoughtful, she added more cheerfully, “What a fortunate circumstance it is that His Majesty’s gout has forced him to postpone his Drawing Room again. It’s the first in two years, you know, and he has already put it off once, so it is only by the most uncommon good fortune that he is still indisposed. He was to have held it today, but now we shall have a sennight to prepare, and according to the rules for presentations published in the
Times
this morning, there is no reason that I cannot present Melissa next week. I presented Charlotte at the last one, of course. Exhausting business, but I do not begrudge an ounce of effort to see my gels well established.”

Seacourt shook his head and said, “I still do not know why the King must hold such events at all. It was perfectly proper for the Queen to do so, naturally, but I am sure no other King of England has held Drawing Rooms, only levees.

“But why should he not?” Charley demanded. “He is King and can do what he pleases. Moreover, since there is no queen, how would young women enter society if he did not allow them to be presented? Oh, but, Aunt Ophelia, is there not some rule or other about when names must be submitted?”

“Yes, but we have until Wednesday at noon,” Lady Ophelia said. “One used to hand in one’s card at the door, but His Majesty will no longer allow presentations of unknowns by the Lord in Waiting, so now one must send a card to the Lord Chamberlain’s office with the name of the lady to be presented, and that of the lady who will present her. I believe the best course,” she said in a thoughtful tone, turning her attention to Nick, “will be for you to obtain your special license and to set the date for a week from Saturday. That will give a much better appearance than to marry in greater haste, don’t you agree?”

He thought it all sounded too hasty, but to his surprise he had no real objection to her plan. He glanced at Melissa and saw that Seacourt still had his hand on her arm. Shifting his gaze, he caught Seacourt’s and held it until, ever so casually, the older man raised the offending hand to smooth an errant hair, and stepped away from his daughter.

Charley said, “I never thought I’d encourage anyone to enter the matrimonial state, Lissa, but I think it will suit you. ’Tis a pity, of course, that you don’t have a great deal of money and a house of your own, so that you could send them both to the devil.”

Lady Ophelia said dryly, “I will acquit you, Charlotte, of desiring my imminent demise, but if that is the sort of comment you mean to fling into conversations whilst I am attempting to see your cousin launched into the
beau monde,
I pray you will not be dismayed when I begin to leave you at home.”

Instead of being chastened, Charley laughed and said, “I will behave, ma’am, I promise. I wouldn’t miss this for anything less than a chance to put females in charge of the world.”

Lady Ophelia smiled at Nick and said, “I presume that you have received an invitation to the Northumberland House party tonight.”

He grimaced. “I did, but I confess I had not meant to go. Indeed, I believe I may have sent my regrets. I expected still to be in Newmarket, you see.”

“Well, you must attend. If it troubles you to go after saying you would not, just attach yourself to my party. I shall have to send a note round, in any event, telling the duchess that Melissa will be with me. It provides an excellent opportunity for her to make a first appearance. She needn’t face Almack’s till Wednesday, and what with the new exhibition at the Royal Academy, morning calls, and other entertainments, she will have her feet pretty solidly on the ground by the time I present her. Oh, and one other thing,” she added. “She can be married from this house. No one will think that odd in the least, for it is much larger than Geoffrey’s Brook Street house, and the garden court will be quite a lovely setting if it doesn’t rain. So now that that’s all settled, you men can go away. We females must discuss a few details.”

Left with nothing more to say, an odd state for a man generally able to speak up even in the face of Ulcombe’s temper, Nick made no objection to being shooed out of Lady Ophelia’s drawing room. He half expected Seacourt to speak to him in the street below, but when the man turned his shoulder and walked away, he was not sorry for it. In the carriage, thoughtfully considering what had just come to pass, he realized that instead of suffering the shock he might have expected, he was looking forward to a party that only a day before he would have thought not worth his time or effort to attend.

Alone with her cousin and Lady Ophelia, Melissa felt as if she had survived a dangerous storm, but she was not left long to ponder her fate. With Charley demanding to know every detail of her life since their last exchange of letters and Lady Ophelia demanding the help of both young women to plan details for the next ten days—not least of which was to order clothes for Melissa—she was scarcely able to think at all.

Vexford’s declaration had astonished her. She had looked to him for protection, even rescue, but her hopes had been vague, for since he had flatly disclaimed interest in marriage, she had no notion of what he might do to protect her. Now that it seemed he did indeed expect her to marry him, she felt numb and more disoriented than ever, but Lady Ophelia proved once again that her years had done nothing to diminish her ability. Shortly after eight o’clock that evening, Melissa, elegantly attired in a gown of clear book muslin over a pale blue satin slip, emerged behind Charley from her ladyship’s town carriage at Northumberland House, a grand old pile facing the Strand with rear gardens that sloped down to the Thames.

“For such a great house, this entrance courtyard is singularly inadequate,” Lady Ophelia said tartly, looking around the crowded yard as she allowed a footman to help her from the carriage. “I’ve told Northumberland over and over that he ought to enlarge it, but since he never has to enter his own house amidst a crowd, he pays no heed to those of us who do. Perfectly typical male.”

Inside, Melissa followed in Lady Ophelia’s wake. Grateful for Charley’s presence beside her, she responded politely when she was introduced to her host and hostess at the top of the left wing of a grand marble staircase, but otherwise remained silent. It was not the first time she had attended a party in a grand house, but it seemed to her that Scottish parties were more relaxed and less clamorous. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and she could not imagine how anyone made himself heard above the general din.

Lady Ophelia paused. Leaning closer to Melissa, she said, “They have just finished a number of alterations, including the staircase, my dear, which is the reason for this party, I daresay, and why there is so much commotion.”

The staircase was certainly grand, Melissa thought, looking down. From the ground floor, a single flight led to a wide landing, from which two branches swooped up and back to the gallery above. Just then, she caught sight of Vexford, coming up the central stairs from the ground floor. Since she stood above and a little behind him, near the gallery railing, she could not see his face, but she was sure it was he. He was with another gentleman, and when they turned at the half-landing, she saw that the latter was several years younger. He looked as if he would rather have been elsewhere. She saw Vexford murmur to him, whereupon the younger man flushed, but he straightened and smiled as they approached the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland.

“Why did you stop?” Charley demanded, behind her. “We shall lose Aunt Ophelia in this crush if we don’t stay near her. I think she went through that door ahead. My goodness me, just look at that room! That must be the glass drawing room one hears so much about. Why there must be eight or ten pier glasses, and windows everywhere.”

The room was spectacular, and large enough so that as the crowd passed through the doorway, Melissa thought the party seemed less of a crush. The walls were paneled with shimmering red and green glass, framed and overlaid with delicate neoclassic motifs. She recognized them as the work of Robert Adam, for he had designed Hopetoun House, across the Firth of Forth from Penthorpe House. Nothing about the glass drawing room was understated. Because of the motifs, little space remained on the walls for paintings, but there was ample space for Adam’s settees, chairs, and pier tables, which were scattered liberally throughout the room. On top of the tables, numerous candelabra lighted the scene, which was reflected many times over in the legion of mirrors.

“Impressive, is it not?” Vexford spoke from behind her, and Melissa turned quickly, hoping the warmth flooding her cheeks was not visible in the golden candlelight, and glad that Northumberland was not one of the few aristocrats who illuminated his town residence with the new, bright gas lights.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, thinking he looked particularly elegant in the dark coat and pantaloons he wore. He was not so magnificently attired as the young gentleman beside him, but the simple elegance suited his height and breadth very well.

Beside her, Charley said, “So you did come, Vexford. Aunt Ophelia will be pleased, but don’t you want to say something complimentary about Melissa’s new gown? You would not believe what lengths we were put to, to acquire it so quickly.”

Vexford said, “To be sure, Miss Seacourt, that dress becomes you well.”

Melissa thanked him, repressing a wish that he had said something before Charley prompted him to do so. She turned a politely inquiring gaze toward his companion, who was openly looking her up and down.

Vexford said dryly, “May I present my brother, Oliver Barrington. Ollie, this is Miss Seacourt and her cousin Miss Tarrant.”

“Well, by Jove,” Mr. Barrington said, “I’ve been as curious as a cat all night to meet you, Miss Seacourt. Nick tells me you and he are to be buckled in little more than a sennight, and I swear today’s the first I’ve heard about it.” He looked around, adding, “I say, Nick, haven’t they done something to this room, too?”

“Made it larger,” Vexford said tersely, “but here is Lady Ophelia bearing down upon us. I wondered where you two had left her, How do you do, ma’am,” he added when she joined them. “You see, I am here, obedient to your will. I have even dragged my disreputable brother, Oliver, along to meet you. Make your leg to Lady Ophelia, Ollie. We had expected our parents to have arrived by now, ma’am, but they had not yet done so when we left the house. We left word of our whereabouts, however, so they may join us here before the night is done.”

“Well, I don’t intend to stay long,” Lady Ophelia said. “With such a sizable crowd this early on, I shudder to think what it will be like by ten. We should have to wait a good half hour after we called for our carriage before they could produce it. Moreover, we’ve a rout and a cotillion to attend before we retire for the evening. You may lend us your escort to them both, if you please.”

Oliver Barrington looked dismayed to have his evening thus arranged for him, and although Vexford said they would be delighted, Melissa soon discovered that his delight did not include dancing attendance on them. When both gentlemen disappeared soon afterward, she asked her cousin where they had gone.

“Good gracious, Lissa, you can’t expect them to sit in our pockets. That simply isn’t done. Moreover, men always think that their desires must precede ours.”

“But surely, true gentlemen—”

“Fustian! Any gentleman is still a man when all is said and done. He may follow certain rules, but he is still a selfish beast all the same. Just look at them now.”

Following Charley’s gesture, Melissa saw both Vexford and Oliver standing with a beautiful blond woman in a low-cut, emerald-satin gown, who glittered with a myriad of jewels. The manner in which she spoke and the intimate way she touched Vexford made it clear they knew each other well. Watching them, barely aware of creeping annoyance, she recalled Vexford’s remarks about the sort of women he preferred. Knowledgeable women, he had said, women who knew the rules of the game and could play it with confidence.

“Melissa,” Lady Ophelia said just then, “I should like to present Lord Rockland to you, my dear.”

Turning, Melissa looked at the tall, handsome young man before her, lowered her lashes, and said demurely as she made her curtsy, “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

When she looked up again, a pair of laughing dark eyes twinkled back at her. Taking the gloved hand she held out to him, he assisted her to rise, giving her hand a squeeze as he did so, then pressing his lips lightly against it.

A stifled sound—half laughter, half irritation—reminded Melissa of Charley’s presence just as Lady Ophelia said, “You know Miss Tarrant, of course, Rockland.”

“I do, indeed,” he said, adding sweetly, “Been gelding any stallions of late, my dear Miss Tarrant?”