Song From the Sea (23 page)

“Harold is exactly right. We've been looking high and low for you and have been
very
put out by your thoughtless behavior,” Lady Geoffrey cried, her fingers biting painfully into the tender flesh just above Callie's elbow.

“Have you no idea how alarmed we were when you didn't arrive at Dover on the appointed date?”

“I personally went to meet the
Aurora
and when you didn't appear, I collected your trunks and cases, Miss Melbourne,” Harold said, glaring at her accusingly from small, heavily lidded eyes. “Perhaps you will explain why you did not make the crossing with your belongings, as you were meant to do?”

Callie desperately tried to pull herself together and think of something, anything, to say. Callista Melbourne was her real name? It had to be. These people recognized her, knew that she was supposed to have been sailing to England a month ago. They more than recognized her—they seemed to think they had some sort of claim on her person, given the way they were demanding answers.
Dear God, please, please let them be a very distant connection
, she prayed as hard as she'd ever prayed for anything before.
A very, very distant connection, for I don't think I could bear being related to them.

“Well, my girl? What do you have to say for yourself?” Lady Geoffrey demanded. “Why did you miss your sailing?”

Callie forcibly pulled herself out of the woman's grip. “I was indisposed,” she said, frantically wondering how to extricate herself from this disaster. Adam—she needed Adam. He'd help her to get away from these dreadful people. Every fiber of her being screamed that something was badly wrong. She didn't care if she never found out another thing about herself if she could only escape from their clutches.

“I am sorry to hear of your indisposition, although hardly surprised, given the filthy conditions on the Continent. You might have had the consideration to write to us and let us know you would be coming on a later ship,” Lady Geoffrey said, suddenly sweetening her tone as if she were speaking to a recalcitrant child who needed to be humored. “But never mind that now. You are here at last, and by good fortune we have found you quite by accident. You must be exhausted from your journey. Come, we shall take you home with us where you belong.” She graced Callie with a smile so false and cloying that it curdled Callie's blood.

“Oh—oh, no, that's not possible,” Callie said, intending to run straight back to Mrs. Sorrel's establishment. “I—that is, someone is waiting for me.”

“Naturally, and you must make your farewell to your chaperon. I am sure she will be relieved to see you finally delivered safely into your fiancé's care. Harold, do take your betrothed to her meeting-place while I see to the carriage. Where do you stay?”

Callie's hand crept to her throat. This wasn't happening. It
couldn't
be happening. She knew in the deepest part of her being that she'd never have agreed to marry the revolting man standing in front of her, not ever. She might have forgotten the most basic details about her life, but she couldn't imagine any scenario that would have led her to such a decision. Even if by some fantastic chance she had agreed to marry the dreadful Harold, she couldn't possibly go through with such an arrangement now.

“M-my fiancé?” she stammered, desperately trying to think how to extricate herself from this nightmare.

“Yes, of course Harold is your fiancé. What else would you call my son, given the understanding between our families?”

Callie stared at her.

“Why, I do believe you are shy, child! No wonder you've barely said a word.” She pushed Harold toward Callie. “Now then, you needn't worry about a thing. You and Harold will have ample time to get to know each other before the nuptials. You will not know, but my dear husband died suddenly nearly five months ago, so we must observe the remaining month of mourning before you can be married.”

Callie finally found her tongue and said the first thing that came to her mind, the only thing she could think of as she quickly sidestepped Harold. “I am very sorry about your loss, Lady Geoffrey, but I cannot possibly marry your son. I am promised to another.”

“What
did you say?” The woman paled, looking as if she might faint with shock, and Harold didn't look any steadier on his feet. “Promised to another? Are you mad, girl? You cannot be—you are already promised to Harold. It's all been arranged!” She glared at Callie as if she'd like to strangle her. “Who is this other person you claim to be affianced to? His name, girl—give me his name and we shall see who this rogue is who thinks to usurp Harold's claim.” She poked her finger into Callie's arm. “I expect an immediate answer, Miss Melbourne.”

Callie really hoped she wouldn't go straight to hell for the enormity of the lie she was about to tell, but she couldn't come up with anyone else. “His name is Adam Carlyle and he is the Marquess of Vale.”

“Adam!”
Lady Geoffrey gasped in horror, staring at her as if the world had just come to an end. Harold uttered a vicious curse under his breath, and Callie, who wasn't sure whether invoking Adam's name had been such a good idea after all, stood absolutely still, wondering what on earth she was going to do now.
When in doubt, pray
, a small, still voice reminded her.

Closing her eyes, Callie swiftly sent up a prayer to the entire celestial body of angels to somehow rescue her. A split second later, and to her absolute astonishment, her prayer was answered in the form of Adam himself.

“Good afternoon, Aunt Mildred, Cousin Harold. What a surprise.”

Adam's voice came from directly behind her and his hands reassuringly closed around Callie's shoulders in a familiar touch. “I see you have met my fiancée. What a peculiar coincidence, but I suppose it saves me the trouble of paying you a call to inform you of my impending marriage.”

Callie could barely believe her ears. Adam was actually
claiming
her as his fiancée? Not only that, he was addressing these two awful people as if they were related to him. He tightened his fingers on her shoulders in a clear message to let him deal with the situation. Obviously he had overheard her statement and decided to come to her defense. She was overwhelmed by gratitude.

“You say you are engaged to Miss Melbourne?” Mildred choked. “This is impossible. You are playing a very cruel joke, Adam, and I am not amused in the least. Miss Melbourne is engaged to Harold and has been these many months.”

“I assure you I do not joke in the least. We are to be married shortly. Given that I am the head of the family, I confess I am surprised Harold did not inform me he had any plans for marriage. I am particularly surprised to hear that his supposed fiancée is Miss Melbourne, who has only very recently arrived in England. Do you recall agreeing to marry this man, my pet?” he said, speaking softly into her ear.

“I have never met him before in my life and I have no recollection of making any such promise,” Callie said honestly, wondering how on earth Adam was going to extricate them from this pickle.

“There you are,” Adam said, as if that resolved the matter.

“But—but it was agreed,” Mildred sputtered, her face mottled with red splotches. “They didn't have to meet. Your uncle and his dear friend Magnus Melbourne arranged it between them after Magnus fell ill. Ask the girl—Callista was coming all the way from Greece to marry Harold in accordance with her father's dying wish! Go ahead—ask her!”

“Callie?” Adam turned her to face him, his expression betraying nothing but slight impatience. “I think you had better tell Lady Geoffrey and Mr. Carlyle the obvious—that you never had any intention of marrying a complete stranger. Isn't that true?”

“That is the truth,” she said, her gaze locked with Adam's, willing him to tell her what to say next. Her head spun with so many colliding pieces of new information that she struggled just to stay upright. Her only safety lay with Adam—Adam might be able to fix this awful problem if she could just manage to follow his lead.

He smiled at her. “Now I see. This is what you referred to when you said in Paris that you had some silly misunderstanding to clear up when you arrived in England?”

“I'm sorry—I should have told you everything,” Callie said, trying to look remorseful, “but the whole business seemed so—so ridiculous. My plan was to pay the Carlyles a visit and explain that I couldn't possibly marry a man I didn't know, let alone love, that my father was too ill to know what he was doing when he made the suggestion. Of course, that was before I met you, and … well, everything happened so quickly that I just put it out of my head,” she continued, trying to think how to subtly tell him everything relevant she'd learned so that he wouldn't be caught short. “I feel terrible, Adam. Mr. Carlyle met my ship in Dover and he even collected my luggage when I didn't appear, and all because I changed my passage at the very last moment. I didn't even remember to write straightaway, but I've been so busy with all the preparations for our wedding, and of course I wasn't in urgent need of my old clothing after all the shopping we did in Paris.”

“Well, at least that saves us the trouble of sending to the harbormaster for your luggage now, dearest. My cousin can send it on to Stanton now that he knows your direction.” Adam turned back to them. “There you have it. You misunderstood Miss Melbourne's purpose in coming to England. I hardly think she would have agreed to marry me if she thought she was under an obligation to you, Harold.” He smiled lazily, and Callie's eyes widened, knowing exactly what that smile meant. Lady Geoffrey and the unfortunate Harold were about to be made mincemeat of.

“You had better have a damned good explanation for this piece of work,
cousin
.” Harold's face had gone the color of a ripe tomato. “I think you somehow got wind of my engagement and you—you deliberately went to Paris to find Miss Melbourne, didn't you? You only asked her to marry you just to thwart me.”

“Really, Harold. Now you are being ludicrous.”

“Well, why else would you want to marry an uncouth chit who has never even been introduced to society? It's not as if
you
need her money.”

“Harold, that's enough!” His mother grabbed his coat sleeve, her face turning even more ashen.

“I see,” Adam said, looking as if he'd like to take Harold apart limb by limb. “You planned to marry this ‘uncouth chit, ’ you say, because you wanted her money. I'm hardly surprised. I suppose you talked your father into this scheme?”

“No—it was his idea, his and my mother's. I had nothing to do with it. They made me go along with them.”

“I told you, it was Mr. Melbourne's idea,” Mildred said quickly, her voice rising with what Callie took to be fear. Mildred had good reason to be afraid, given the dangerous way Adam was regarding them both. “We merely agreed to it.”

“Did you. Why don't you explain exactly how this ‘agreement’ came about?”

“Mr. Melbourne wrote to us when he knew he could not live much longer and suggested that his daughter come to us, that Harold would make a fine husband. He said he didn't feel comfortable sending her to her cousin, Lord Fellowes, as the relationship was distant and—and her trustee, Sir Reginald Barnswell, was a bachelor and no longer young, so he would find caring for a young girl difficult.”

“Tell me,” Adam said. “Does Sir Reginald have any knowledge of this highly questionable arrangement? It would be he who would have drawn up a marriage settlement.”

Mildred's hand jerked. “There was not enough time,” she said, looking at Adam with true hatred as he unwound the threads of her story one by one. “It is a lengthy process as you well know, and Mr. Melbourne died seven months ago before any details could be properly arranged. However, he made his wishes
perfectly
clear in his last letter, and furthermore informed us of the terms of his will: Miss Melbourne was to inherit his fortune and the money would go directly to Harold upon her marriage.” She stopped and looked at him suspiciously. “But you would know her financial particulars, surely, if you
are
engaged to Miss Melbourne?”

Adam ignored her. “What I know, Aunt, is that you and Harold planned to take advantage of an innocent young woman, recently bereaved and a stranger in this country. Unfortunately for you, you did not know Miss Melbourne, or you would have realized that she is not a woman to be manipulated.”

“Oh? Then why did she bother coming to England at all?” Harold said nastily. “She could just as easily have written a letter saying that she was defying her father's wishes and remained in Corfu. I say she wanted to leave that backwater and live the life of a fine English lady of society, and I was the only gentleman prepared to offer for her. At twenty-five years of age the girl is not in her first blush, you know.”

“You seem to forget, Harold, to whom you are speaking,” Adam said, his eyes flashing with anger. “Miss Melbourne is shortly to become my wife, and I will not stand here and listen to you and your mother insult her.”

“I do not forget to whom I speak. You are a marquess, and therefore my better, which you never cease to remind me.” Harold sneered. “You don't think Miss Callista Melbourne is marrying you for anything but your title, do you? She didn't miss the first opportunity to seize a better matrimonial prize—it's little wonder she didn't tell you that she was promised to me. I think your finger points in the wrong direction when you accuse me of being an opportunist.” He turned his sneer on Callie.

Adam moved so quickly that Callie didn't even register his intention. His fist shot out and caught Harold's jaw, the force of the blow knocking Harold to the ground.

He lay there, a trickle of blood seeping from the side of his mouth as his mother screamed and dropped to her knees, covering Harold's body as if to protect him from further harm.

“Get off me, woman,” Harold spat, shoving at her and glowering up at Adam. “I'll call you out for this, don't think I won't,” he cried, dabbing at his cut lip.

“I wouldn't,” Adam said calmly. “You never were a very good shot. I'd get up if I were you—you look more ridiculous than usual. Good day, Aunt, Cousin.” He turned his back on them. “Come, Callie,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “I think you'll find the air more pleasing at the other end of the street, and the carriage is waiting.”