My Lady Smuggler (19 page)

Still chuckling, Denholm inquired, “How’d the run go?”

Melvyrn glanced around the near empty room.  At this time of day, most of the gentlemen’s club members were tending to business or just rising after a late night.  Observing the two old codgers across the room ensconced in red leather wingbacks reading newspapers, he said, “Ratel would turn his own mother over to the enemy for a gold sovereign, the old Frenchman had soldiers watching his cottage, and the
Arrow
had a run-in with the
Valiant
.”

Denholm let out a low whistle.  “Could things get any worse?”

Melvyrn raised on eyebrow.  “Lady Stainthrope, who arrived unexpectedly, was on hand when I delivered her niece, Miss Wensley, after being chased by the revenuers.”  He was careful to leave out the fact that he’d spent a night with Rosalind, innocent though it was, and swam to shore to avoid interrogation by the crew of the
Valiant
.

Denholm, for once speechless, sat back in his chair.  After a moment, he asked, “Need a best man?”

This time it was Melvyrn’s turn to chuckle.  “I do--pardon the pun.” 

“You
don’t seem upset.”  When Melvyrn shook his head, Denholm smiled. “Ah, smitten at last.”

Melvyrn
didn’t dispute this.  Nor did he explain that his bride to be was anything but happy about the impending nuptials.  “Dare say, my sisters will be ecstatic.”

~~~~~

Once the decision was made to spend the rest of the Season in London, Rosalind was amazed by her aunt’s efficiency.  Trunks were packed and
ready to load on Lady Stainthrope’s traveling coach by early the next morning.  Although over the years, Rosalind had been to London several times with her father, she was still awed by the crowds, the noise, the stench, and the cloud of smoke that hovered over the city.  It was nearing tea time when they pulled up to a large, four story Georgian townhouse on St. Charles Street.  Following her aunt up the flagstone steps, the front door was opened by the butler, an elderly man with sparse white hair and moustache.  “Good evening, Lady Stainthrope.  I took the liberty of ordering tea to be set up in the drawing room,” he intoned in a deep, resonating voice, totally uncharacteristic to his small stature.

“Very good, Felton,” Aunt Eugenia replied, stripping off her gloves, hat, and short cape.  “I dare say an early dinner might be in order as well, for we must be up early tomorrow.”  Leading the way into a long room with tall windows overlooking the street, she instructed Rosalind to pour the tea
as a maid carried the tray in behind them.  “Unfortunately, you have nothing suitable to wear, my dear,” she said.  “You will have to make due with a few ready made gowns for the next few days, while I persuade Madame Collette to hasten several gowns immediately.”  Accepting a teacup, she added, “I will send a note around to Melvyrn to let him know we are in Town.”

“Please, Aunt,” Rosalind said beseechingly, “can it wait for a
couple of days, or at least until I have a few new gowns.”

Tapping her index finger to her chin, Aunt Eugenia eyed Rosalind.  “Yes . . . perhaps that is the thing to do.  Let Melvyrn see you in a more sophisticated role.”

Thus, early the next morning, Rosalind’s aunt dragged her first to the modiste in Oxford Street, the bootier in Regent Street, then the haberdashers for ribbons and buttons, and the Royal Exchange for hats, trimmings, feathers, and artificial fruits and flowers.  And every afternoon upon their return, Fulton presented Lady Stainthrope with a silver salver piled high with invitations.  Both days the Earl of Melvyrn’s calling card crested the pile with the corner turned down, signifying that he’d called in person.

Since Madame Collette had promised Rosalind alterations for several gowns would be completed by the
second day, the next morning Lady Stainthrope informed her that they would attend a dinner given by Lady Matilda Egremont.  “She is the Earl’s oldest sister, and most likely Melvyrn will be there.  You will, of course, want to look your best,” she said, preparing to take Rosalind on another round of shopping.

Despite her ambivalent feelings over seeing Melvyrn again,
Rosalind took meticulous care dressing for Lady Egremont’s dinner party.  Her apricot silk gown moved with her figure, softly clinging to her slender hips.  The low neckline and short puffy sleeves exposed more skin than she was used to, but with a short string of pearls and long white gloves, she felt confident enough to meet the Prince Regent.

T
hat was until Lady Stainthrope’s coach pulled up in front of the Egremonts’ enormous townhouse.

She’d expected a small, intimate dinner party.  But upon e
ntering a long drawing room decorated with gold, green, and yellow fabric on the walls, Rosalind was overwhelmed by the number of people already present.  As she followed a half step behind her aunt, their hostess, a tall woman resplendent in a purple gown and a jewel-studded ribbon threaded through her dark brown hair, quickly met them, taking Lady Stainthrope’s arm. 

“Eugenia, I am so glad you and your niece were able to come upon such short notice
.” Lady Egremont’s smile reached her deep blue eyes, so like Melvyrn’s.  “I have been most anxious to make her acquaintance.”   After Aunt Eugenia made the introductions, Rosalind found herself on her hostess’s arm, being led around the room for more introductions.  She kept an eye out for the Earl, but there were so many people grouped in small clusters that she didn’t immediately see him.

When they came to a group of gentlemen standing about
one of the room’s two fireplaces, Lady Egremont singled out a tall, distinguished gentleman with graying sandy blonde hair.  “Egremont, I have brought Melvyrn’s Miss Wensley to meet you.”

Rosalind was not quite sure how to react to that
and wondered if Melvyrn had already told his sister that they were engaged.  She hoped not, for that would make her plan more difficult. But before she could respond, Melvyrn himself stepped forward and bowed over her hand. His touch set her heart pounding.  He looked exceedingly handsome, impeccably dressed in black pantaloons that hugged his long, muscular thighs, a matching jacket that outlined his broad shoulders, cream silk waistcoat, and snowy white cravat.  She drew her eyes from the dark brown locks swept from his high brow.  “Don’t let Mattie intimidate you, Miss Wensley.  As the oldest of my sisters, she has a tendency to see herself as a matriarch.”

“Is that all it is?” asked Egremont, taking his wife’s arm and giving her a loving smile.  “Here, I thought I’d married the Queen herself.”

“I’m glad you decided to come to Town,” Melvyrn said.  As Rosalind met his deep blue eyes, she wanted to believe he genuinely was happy to see her.  But she knew better, for each night in her dreams she encountered his melancholy eyes as they registered the despairing acceptance of their betrothal.

D
inner was announced, and Melvyrn took Rosalind’s arm and led her into a dinning room with a table set for thirty.  Leaning his head down to hers, Melvyrn said, “My brother-in-law is a very active member of the House of Lords and prefers politicking over several removes when his guests’ mouths are full and less likely to argue with him.”

They were seated together, much to her dismay.  Her other dinner partner was Lord Brentwood who, she learned, had recently come into his vicountcy.  He was slightly older than her, with cropped red hair, a freckled face, and blue eyes.  He entertained her with his impressions of
sitting with the House of Lords for the first time, and she all but ignored Melvyrn--which didn’t seem to bother him.

A very attractive brunette, wearing a primrose satin gown with a shockingly low bodice,
diverted Melvyrn’s attention.  But when finally dessert was served, Melvyrn leaned toward her and, his warm breath tickling her ear, whispered, “I should warn you, Egremont will likely toast our engagement later.”

~~~~~

If anything, Rosalind’s reaction to his words told Melvyrn that she was far from resigned to the marriage.  Her large slate blue eyes widened, her smile slowly vanished.  “Is there no way
you can stop him?”

Her reply puzzled him, until he remembered Lady Stainthrope’s note included her hope that, given time
, Rosalind would come to accept the engagement.  “Have you seen a newspaper recently?” he asked.  When she shook her head, he groaned inwardly.  Minutes later, Mattie gave the signal for the ladies to withdraw to the drawing room while the gentlemen indulged in their cigars and port.  As he watched Rosalind’s rigid back retreat, he decided a tête-à-tête would be in order when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies.

Melvyrn’s
attention was drawn back to his host as Egremont asked, gesturing to his still discolored jaw, “Did you forget to duck going a round with Gentleman Jackson, Melvyrn?” 

At
Denholm’s low chuckle from across the table, Melvyrn suspected it was his friend who’d pointed out the bruise to Egremont.  “A mishap of sorts,” Melvyrn replied and then quickly asked, “Have you an idea on how to raise corn prices?” 

Half listening to the heated discussion that followed over imported corn lowering domestic farmers’ prices, Melvyrn
’s thoughts drifted as he remembered Rosalind’s warm response to his kisses, and he contemplated how he could elicit such emotions again.

When the men entered the drawing room, Melvyrn noticed
Rosalind was talking with his dinner partner, Lady Rhys, and couldn’t help comparing them.  Though only a few years older than Rosalind, Lady Rhys’s elaborate gown and lightly rouged cheeks appeared overblown to Rosalind’s elegantly simple gown and fresh countenance with her remarkable slate blue eyes.  Looking about, he saw several other gentlemen eyeing the two women and wondered if Rosalind realized what a stunningly beauty she was. Somehow, he doubted it, as she had so willingly donned the shabby breeches and worn coat of a youth, even blackened her face with soot.

Walking over to Lady Rhys, he smiled.  “Would you mind if I borrowed Miss Wensley for a moment, Lady Rhys?”

The older woman playfully tapped his arm with her fan.  “You claimed my company at dinner.  And now, my lord, you are too eager to trade me in,” she said, smiling back at him and fluttering her long, dark eyelashes. “I should be offended, but as you are engaged . . . well, I see my husband has returned.” 

Just as Lady Rhys turned to join her spouse, Lady Stainthrope came up beside Rosalind. 
“Ah, there you are. Do forgive me, Melvyrn, but I want my niece to meet a dear friend of mine.”  Then, without further ado, she looped her arm with Rosalind’s and led her away.

The
n the guests for the ball began arriving, and Melvyrn found he was unable to get anywhere near his betrothed. 

Over the last several years, Rosalind had wondered if she’d had a Season if she’d have been a success.  She certainly didn’t see herself as a diamond of the first water.  However, she had passably good looks and enjoyed dancing and often ruminated over what her life might have been if Edward and her father had lived. 

T
hen tonight, while in the ladies’ room repairing a small tear in the hem of her gown, she learned that being engaged to an earl also made one successful. 

“La, Rosalind,” cooed Sylvia, “aren’t you the sly puss?” 

“Hello, Sylvia,” Rosalind answered.  “Are you enjoying your stay with your aunt, Lady Willis-Altson?”

“Don’t be coy,” replied Sylvia viciously.  “Everyone knows the Earl is quite
the catch.  And Mama was very hurt when she’d heard how you treated us.”

“I don’t understand,” Rosalind said.

“Really, Rosalind, after the many times we have invited you to balls and dinners and picnic, and . . . and then you have Melvyrn over to the Hall and never invite us,” huffed Sylvia.

“It was not like that.” 
Rosalind shook her head.  “I never invited anyone.  He--”

“
Oh, say what you like,” Sylvia hissed at her, just as two other girls entered. “But I will not forget this.”  With one last glaring look, she turned on her heel and flounced out.

With only half an ear,
Rosalind listened to the other girls congratulate her on her upcoming wedding to the Earl while she finished pinning up her hem.  Though she’d never been close to Sylvia, it was demoralizing to learn that the silly girl believed Rosalind had actually set out to snare Melvyrn.  Especially when she considered that were it not for circumstances there would be no engagement.

When she entered the ballroom, the orchestra w
as playing the opening strains of a waltz.  Except for the waltz, Rosalind didn’t have a single dance open on her dance card.  She headed for the row of chairs designated for the chaperones and dowagers.

“There you are, my dear,” Lady Stainthrope greeted her with a beatific smile.
“And here’s Melvyrn, who has been asking for you to dance.”

“But I have not been given permission to waltz,” Rosalind said.

~~~~~
  Taking Rosalind’s arm, Melvyrn tucked it in his and place his hand over hers when she made to pull away.  “Then take a turn around the room with me, please?” he said affably, guiding her away from Lady Stainthrope.  He slowly ambled his way toward the French doors that stood open to a wide veranda.  Once outside, he led her over to the stone steps which led down to a small topiary garden lit by strategically placed flambeaux.  He started for the back of the garden, where there was less light, when she tugged on his arm and dug in her heels.