Cross the Ocean (4 page)
“No,” Melinda interrupted. “Mother would let us think the worst of her before she would slander you.
But Grand mama, as you know, feels no such compunction.”
The room was silent. Blake had no revelation to expunge himself with. “These are not the things you should know of,” he said.
“But we do,” Melinda whispered.
Blake stared past her. “Many men, most, I dare say, keep or have a companion of sorts.”
“A companion, father? Companions are spinster aunts. Helena is no companion. I’ve met her, you know,” Melinda said.
“Where?” Blake said as he stood, astounded. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
“No, no. She introduced herself to mother and I when we were at the dressmaker’s last year. I didn’t know of course. And mother withstood the stares as your
companion
greeted us,” Melinda said.
Blake paled, shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to the window. But Melinda was not through.
“If most men have such companions then you are saying when my husband, whomever he may be, chooses his, I should shake hands and smile?” Melinda asked.
Blake turned around. “Your husband will never betray you. I won’t stand for it.”
William hurried to his sister and nearly pushed her out the door.
Melinda stood her ground long enough for one final barb. “Neither would mother.”
Blake sat down slowly in the silent, gilded room. Melinda’s announcement shocked him. He was as embarrassed for himself as he was angry with Helena. The thought of Melinda’s future husband being unfaithful hit him in the pit of his stomach. Like too much goose pudding or a cheap bottle of port. Leave it to Lady Katherine, Ann’s mother, to reveal all. Although proper to a fault, his mother-in-law had never liked him. The signs were subtle but clear. He had never wondered why, until now.
A few moments later, Melinda appeared at the door of the dining room. Quietly dignified ... like her mother. “I’m going to visit Lady Elizabeth.”
The door closed behind Briggs and Melinda. Blake sat up straight in his chair. Melinda would reveal everything to Elizabeth. Blake walked a fast clip, a stilted run rather and pulled the door open to see Briggs’ shocked face.
“Stop the carriage,” Blake shouted.
Briggs turned and called to a footman. “You there. Stop the carriage.”
The livered young man ran but to no avail. Briggs turned to him. “Terribly sorry, Your Grace. Shall I call for your horse to be saddled?”
Blake’s shoulders slumped and he scratched his head.
“Your Grace, is anything amiss? Lady Melinda...” Briggs asked.
“Never mind, Briggs. I’ll speak to Lady Melinda when she returns.”
Blake wandered to his study and plopped in the soft confines of the leather chair behind the desk. What had upset him so to race down the hall, like Donald moreover, and reveal his distress to Briggs? He didn’t relish the thought of Elizabeth knowing about Helena. Blake turned in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. But certainly Anthony had told her everything by now. He was sure Elizabeth had seen him at some time before her marriage to Tony, squiring Helena about town. Elizabeth was not stupid, to be sure. She had certainly put together Helena and Blake’s association. Then why the simpleton’s flight down the hall? Why the rolling in the stomach, he now was experiencing? Damn. To admit what came in to his head, even to himself, was baffling, embarrassing, and uncomprehendible. Blake did not want Gertrude Finch to know of his dalliance. Especially from the lips of his daughter.
The behemoth would laugh at him and the plot of his own making. This would reinforce her bold man-hating claims. “And why do you care,” he said aloud. A footman opened the door.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Nothing,” Blake said. He took a deep breath as the door closed. Why did he care? The question could not be answered rationally nor diminished for lack of one. And one fact remained. In truth, this unsolvable piece of him was the dilemma. He did care.
“Melinda, how good to see you,” Elizabeth said smiling.
Gert saw the young woman at the door of the morning room and her heart clenched. She was close to tears. A torment was revealed on the girl’s stunning face.
“I wanted to … mother and I wanted to know … to know,” Melinda stuttered. She composed herself with a deep breath. “How are you feeling, Lady Elizabeth?”
“Fine, dear. Come sit down. I want to introduce you to my cousin.” Elizabeth turned in her chair. “Lady Melinda Sanders, Miss Gertrude Finch.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Melinda said.
“My God, Elizabeth,” Gert said in awe. “You were right.” Melinda’s eyes darted and Gert realized her gaffe. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Gawking like a coal miner at gold. You are beautiful. More so than Elizabeth described. And I hear you are the picture of your mother.”
Melinda’s lip trembled. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth stood and reseated herself next to the nervous young woman. “Are you alright, Melinda?”
Elizabeth asked softly.
Melinda whimpered.
Gert stood. “I’ve been thinking of touring the stables. Excuse me.”
Melinda shook her head. “You needn’t leave. I’m fine,” she said stiffly as Elizabeth’s arm reached around her.
The tortured look on the girl’s face tugged at Gert’s heart. “My father left me at my Uncle Fred’s when I was about your brother’s age.” Melinda’s head came up as she continued. “I had a hard time of it that first year.”
“What happened?” she asked.
Gert smiled ruefully as she remembered. “I was mad at the world. Mad at my father for leaving. And my mother for dying. Aunt Mavis finally sat me down and gave me a talking to.”
“What did she say?” Melinda asked.
Gert smiled at Melinda. “She told me to say whatever was on my mind. Let it all spill out. The good and the bad. That the talk was staying right there. I miss Aunt Mavis. There’s not been a day since her death I don’t think of her.”
Elizabeth kissed Melinda’s forehead. “Nothing you say will leave this room.”
Melinda stood gracefully. Her full skirt barely moved as she walked to the window. Her hands were neatly interlaced at her waist. Gert remembered the shame and anger in her own voice the day she finally broke down to Aunt Mavis. But clearer still, Gert relived the lifting and release of emotions that had weighed her down and plagued her thoughts.
“Your mother left your father,” Gert said.
Melinda whirled around. “She should have years...” She bowed her head.
Elizabeth glanced at her and back to Melinda. “Well, your father doesn’t seem to be an easy person to love. A little stiff, I think,” Gert said.
“He’s my father. I love him but….” Melinda faltered and looked at Gertrude beseechingly.
“Of course you love him,” Elizabeth said.
Melinda whirled in a bustle of skirts and Gert and Elizabeth sat back in their chairs. “I hate him too. I hate him. I’m angry with mother, as well. Why didn’t she stop him?”
“Stop him from what?” Gert asked.
And then the words came in torrents, unleashed and bald. Melinda hissed Helena’s name and swayed from unabashed love to unbridled anger for her parents. Self-doubt emerged as she questioned any part she may have played. Confusion in her now shaking world. Deep shame to reveal to anyone their family’s situation and embarrassment for her own shallowness. And the hopelessness she felt when her mother stood her ground to William and refused to come home. Melinda wilted in to Elizabeth’s arms for a long cry.
When the hiccoughs ceased, Gert leaned forward and asked, “Do you feel any better?”
“A little,” Melinda said.
“Good,” Gert said resolutely. “The matter at hand now is to understand that none of this is your problem.”
Melinda looked up from Elizabeth’s neck. “Of course it’s my problem.”
Gert shook her head. “No. It’s not. Your parents are adults. You can be angry and unhappy but it doesn’t change a thing. They’ve made their own decisions.”
“There will be such gossip and my come-out is this spring,” Melinda whispered.
“Do you believe a child of a murderer should be hung next to their parents?” Gert asked. Melinda shook her head. “Or that the mother of an outlaw should be jailed? Of course you don’t. We, each of us, are responsible for our own actions. Have you done anything to be ashamed of?” Gert asked. Melinda sat up and shook her head again. “Then to hell with the gossips, Melinda. They’re not worth your time.”
Melinda covered her mouth and looked at Elizabeth. “I never heard a women swear.” Then she giggled.
Melinda sobered as the other women laughed. “It won’t be easy to not care about what they say.”
Elizabeth held Melinda’s hands. “No, it won’t. Life isn’t always easy.”
Gert smiled. “But look around you, Melinda. You live lavishly in lovely clothes. With plenty of food on your table. And you’re beautiful. Getting ready to meet a handsome prince to sweep you off your feet.
How lucky you are.”
Elizabeth laughed with Melinda. “Cousin, how romantic. I would have never guessed you had such a tender streak.”
Gert laughed but not heartily. How silly notions came to her head sometimes. A longing unfulfilled left her hollow. Melinda’s announcement awoke her from her own pining.
“Come to dinner tonight, Miss Finch. With Elizabeth and Anthony. I want you to meet my brothers,”
Melinda said.
“Your father doesn’t think much of me. I think I’ll make him uncomfortable,” Gert replied.
Melinda smiled shyly. “Did you do anything to be ashamed of?” She watched Gert shake her head with a knowing smile. “Then to Hades with my father.”
“Apparently I’ve been beaten with my own words,” Gert replied with a smile.
So Ann Sanders grew a backbone after sixteen years, Gert thought as she watched Melinda climb into the carriage. The philanderer kept a mistress all of his adult life and she waited this long to leave.
I would
have dumped him and his handsome face years ago.
* * * *
“Melinda?” he said hesitantly.
She turned from removing her bonnet and faced him. “Father. I was just about to come looking for you.”
Melinda tilted her head with small smile. “We’re having guests for dinner.” She turned to Briggs. “Would you please tell Mrs. Wickham there will be three more for dinner? Thank you.”
Blake stood hands on his hips and stared. His eldest looked so much like his wife; sometimes he forgot she was not. But Ann would have never announced guests. She would have questioned his wishes quietly. But not this vixen, even more beautiful than her mother. Oh no. She sashayed in, explained her plans and was now about to climb the stairs.
“Am I to know whom I’ll have the pleasure of dining with this evening?” Blake asked.
Melinda’s curls tossed over her shoulder. “Sir Anthony, Lady Elizabeth and their houseguest, Miss Gertrude Finch.”
Blake gritted his teeth. Melinda was less unhappy and angry to be certain. Was he willing to risk this truce by barring the houseguest from the door?
“Is there a problem, Father?” Melinda asked.
Blake stared at the wall.
Melinda came down the two steps of the staircase and put her dainty white hand on his cheek. “I didn’t think entertaining the Burroughs would upset you. We’ve not had a guest for such a long time.”
“It’s not them,” Blake said.
Melinda’s brows rose. “Oh, so it’s Miss Finch who has you anxious.”
“I’m not anxious,” Blake whined. Sounding even to his own ears, suspiciously like Donald after the denial of his third dessert. “I just don’t like her.”
“Don’t you?” Melinda’s eyes opened wide and then she smiled. “I adore her. We had a lovely chat.”
She turned to the staircase. “I’ll be in my rooms if you need me.”
Briggs stood at attention still. “How many for dinner, Your Grace?”
“You heard the exchange, Briggs. Apparently however many my daughter has invited.”
* * * *
Certainly his daughter would not reveal family business to the woman. Certainly her own embarrassment would keep her silent. But what of Elizabeth?
Blake paced. From the fireplace to the curio cabinet and back, steadily staring down at the elaborate design in the carpet.
I am anxious. Why?
He had nearly convinced himself to cloister in his study and dally long enough to keep them all waiting when a sight coming up the drive caught his attention. Donald and William had seen it too just as they walked into the library. Two horses, running full tilt, charged down the drive, with a carriage coming sedately behind. Were those skirts blowing in the wind?
“Do you see her?” Donald shouted.
William stood with his younger brother at the long window. “She’s riding astride,” Blake’s heir breathed.
That was when Blake realized for certain. Cousin Gertrude, the Amazon American loud mouth was riding full out with Anthony trailing her.
“She’s going to beat him,” William said with worry as he looked at his father. The three of them raced to the door. Briggs’ hand was on the ornate knob when he saw the trio running at him. The servant backed away.
Father and sons charged through the foyer to stand together on the marble walkway. There was the American, pantaloons flapping, and bonnet flailing as her skirts rode the wind. Miss Finch leaned in close to the neck of the mare with a smile on her face.
“Good God,” Blake said.
Donald jumped up and down and slapped an imaginary steed. William appeared forlorn. Anthony looked horrified and Elizabeth hung her head out the window of the carriage shouting encouragement.
And this woman, Blake realized, was stunning. Shining masses of black hair flew around her head. And then she winked at him. Winked. At the Duke of Wexford. Cheeky girl. Woman, Blake corrected. Girls didn’t have breasts that bounced quite like that. The two riders stopped in a cloud of dust, just feet from the marble entranceway.