Amanda Scott (31 page)

“You came because of my message, didn’t you?”

“No, I … I’ve been out riding.” She could not explain that, after a long night and morning of wretchedness, she had come to St. Merryn House in hopes of begging a hundred pounds from Lady Ophelia, or that she had slipped out of the house and ridden for two hours in Hyde Park with only a groom for company, thinking. She had watched other riders, and people strolling on the green, until the clouds that had been gathering since late morning became truly threatening. Smoothing her hair now, she kept an eye on her cousin but continued to avoid meeting her gaze.

Charley said suspiciously. “You are not yourself today. Have you had a tiff with Vexford?”

“No, of course not.”

“I don’t see any
of course
about it. I’ve scarcely seen you to talk to since the Drawing Room on Thursday. Now that the Season is in full course, what with four and five engagements each night, one never has time for a comfortable coze. And it won’t be any better this week, since Vauxhall opens tomorrow, and the Derby is Thursday, but I’ve scarcely seen you for days!”

Melissa was well aware of that. Having taken great care to evade her perceptive cousin even at the few evening affairs she and Nicholas had attended since Thursday, lest Charley demand a new report on the state of her marriage, it was all she could do now to say casually, “We have been amazingly busy, have we not? But you said that you had sent for me. What’s amiss?”

Charley gave her another sharp look but said in a tone of pure exasperation, “Your father is up to mischief again, that’s what, and he’s been making Aunt Susan miserable, because she doesn’t know if or when he means to charge her with bigamy. I don’t believe he will, myself, for he abhors scandal as much as the next person does. Still, in the midst of it all, what must your step-papa do but set up a flirtation with some other woman. I daresay he is merely feeling his oats, but—”

“He is doing no such thing,” Melissa said indignantly, looking directly at her at last. “You must be all about in your head to suspect such a thing of Penthorpe. He is mad about Mama. He would never—”

“Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Lissa. All men do such things, and it must be rather flat for him always to leave Aunt Susan home when he goes out and about, which he does nearly every night.”

“She would be snubbed if she did go with him,” Melissa said. “People do not approve of divorced women, and they can be very cruel.”

“Oh, yes, that must be it,” Charley said sarcastically. “In fact, Penthorpe is so protective that he refuses even to take her to the opening of Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening. Everyone will be masked, Lissa. No one would slight her, for no one would recognize her so long as she left before the unmasking. It is, in fact, the first chance she has had to do anything that is the least bit of fun, since he has not made the slightest push even to take her to the theater again.”

“Do you mean to go to Vauxhall?” Melissa asked, hoping her expression did not reveal her fear that Charley might somehow discover her assignation with Yarborne.

“No, for Aunt Ophelia means to play cards, and so I’ve cozened Rockland into making up a party to visit Astley’s Amphitheater. I have never seen the equestriennes there, and since he is so determined to fling himself at me, it seemed an excellent opportunity to make use of him and do something I’ve really wanted to do.”

“I’m sure you will enjoy Astley’s,” Melissa said, profoundly relieved. She could not even be sorry that Susan would not attend the gala opening of Vauxhall Gardens. Certain as she was that her mother would enjoy the outing, Melissa knew she would find it even harder to avoid Susan’s eye than to avoid Charley’s. It was going to be difficult enough—without their presence—to elude Nicholas, even for the short time she would require to meet with Yarborne. Even so, she said thoughtfully, “It does seem odd that Penthorpe refuses to take Mama to Vauxhall.”

“He makes it sound utterly noble,” Charley said. “He says he means to see her wholly out of danger of being incriminated, or of being cut by old friends, before he will let her be seen in company. Of course, I’ll wager that he does not mean to miss the Vauxhall opening himself. Indeed, I think he must be going with you, for he mentioned being engaged with Vexford for the evening. It’s all part and parcel of the way men have everything their own way in this world. No one casts aspersions on Penthorpe for marrying Aunt Susan after her divorce, only on her for being divorced from beastly Uncle Geoffrey. And Uncle Geoffrey is received everywhere! If Aunt Susan were widowed, heaven knows, she could do as she pleased. She could even take a married man as her lover, as long as she was discreet about it. But then, of course, if Uncle Geoffrey can be believed—which one takes leave to doubt—Aunt Susan is not a divorced woman at all, since she is still married to him under English law.”

“But if she is not divorced, then she is guilty of bigamy,” Melissa pointed out, “so her situation would be worse, and she still would not be received anywhere.”

“Yes, and isn’t that the maddest thing? Why on earth England should see fit to recognize a Scottish marriage—even if it is only a matter of a man and woman saying before witnesses that they are husband and wife—but refuse to recognize a Scottish divorce that was properly decided in a court of law, I shall never understand if I live to be a hundred.”

“No, it does seem odd, but even Vexford’s papa says that is the way things are. He says it will continue that way until a great many more members of Parliament demand that the laws be made equitable. In the meantime, I do wish Penthorpe would take Mama home before Sir Geoffrey can make real mischief for her.”

“Yes, so do I,” Charley said, “for I can tell you, I grow weary of their problems. I do sympathize, but what with Aunt Susan wearing a Friday face and refusing to speak to anyone when Penthorpe goes out for an evening, my patience is at an end. He looks guilty whenever one asks where he has been, or when he means to return to Scotland—or when he means to begin making all tidy for Aunt Susan, for that matter. His habit of procrastination and his casual air of doing exactly as he pleases quite make one want to shake him. The servants gossip, you know, and I’m certain Aunt Susan has heard things, for I have heard more than one rumor myself.”

“What sort of rumor?”

“Oh, just things, mostly about his flirting. I’m sure the man cannot help himself. Most of them do it, and of course, since she cannot be with him all the time, and refuses to insist that he stay home with her instead of going out, she imagines the worst. He tells her not to worry her pretty head—that sort of thing.” Charley’s scowl made her opinion of Penthorpe’s manner very clear.

“What about Aunt Ophelia?” Melissa asked. “What does she say about all this?”

“That your mama ought to make Penthorpe behave himself,” Charley said, grinning. “Oh, you needn’t tell me it’s useless to give Aunt Susan such advice. Even Aunt Ophelia knows that, but she says your mama must rise above her weaknesses if she means to keep her husband and sort out her life. Personally, I think Penthorpe should just challenge Uncle Geoffrey to a duel and put an end to the whole mess.”

“But duels are against the law!”

“Nonetheless, men fight them. Why, only last week I read that there was a meeting between the Marquess of Londonderry and a man named Battier.”

“Well, yes, but nothing came of that. They both fired their pistols in the air. I assumed it was some sort of mad gesture, not meant to be real.”

“They say that Mr. Battier’s pistol misfired,” Charley said. “He did not fire into the air on purpose, and if Penthorpe ever calls your papa out, his pistol won’t misfire. Penthorpe was a soldier, after all, and fought at the Battle of Waterloo. I think it would be a good thing for everyone if he
would
shoot Uncle Geoffrey.”

“Excuse me, Miss Charlotte,” a footman said from the doorway, startling them both. “Lady Ophelia sent me to ask Lady Vexford to step up to the drawing room.”

“Yes, of course,” Melissa said, flicking a warning look at Charley. “We’ll come at once.” As they mounted the stairs together, she said in a casual undertone, “If Mama is sitting with Great-Aunt Ophelia, will you see what you can do to draw her away for a short time? I-I want to speak privately to our aunt”

“Of course,” Charley said with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be grateful if you can help resolve this business, Lissa. I can’t tell you what it’s like, living in the same house with them. If only they would explain themselves to each other, I’m sure things would be more comfortable. But don’t run away after you talk with Great-Aunt Ophelia. I want to enjoy some normal conversation with you.”

Melissa made no promises, nor did she explain that her desire to have a private word with Lady Ophelia had nothing to do with her mother or Penthorpe. They did find Susan sitting with Lady Ophelia, but although Melissa greeted her with a hug, she was not sorry to see her go with Charley a few minutes later to look over the outfit the latter intended to wear to Astley’s the next evening. When they were gone, she turned to Lady Ophelia, only to discover that elderly dame gazing fixedly at her. Summoning up a smile, she said, “Have I got smut on my face, ma’am?”

“More likely, it’s apprehension on your mind, my dear. What’s amiss?”

“Oh, dear, is it that obvious? I hope Mama didn’t notice.”

“She didn’t. Susan’s thinking only of her own troubles these days. If she would only …” With a gesture that looked as if she had waved the rest of the sentence away, Lady Ophelia let her words trail to silence, then said briskly, “I daresay Charlotte took her away on purpose. Since Charlotte saw your arrival from the window and ran downstairs at once, we’d been wondering what kept you below. I daresay now that you were concocting a way for her to draw your mama off. Can’t say I think much of her solution to the problem. Don’t think she’s asked anyone’s opinion of a dress since she came out of leading strings.”

Realizing that her mission was not going to get any easier, Melissa blurted out, “Ma’am, I-I need a hundred pounds.”

Lady Ophelia was silent for a moment, but her direct gaze did not falter. Melissa waited for the inevitable question, her heart pounding, her cheeks hot, still not knowing what on earth she could say to express her desperation without revealing the whole tale. To her shock, Lady Ophelia said calmly, “Yes, very well. Is that all?”

Scarcely daring to breathe, Melissa said, “Th-thank you, ma’am. I-I daresay you must want—”

“I cannot give it to you now,” Lady Ophelia said, “for I do not keep such a large sum in the house, but if you will return tomorrow morning after eleven, I shall have it for you then.”

“But don’t you want to know—?”

“Do you want to tell me any more?”

Melissa bit her lip.

“Then you need not, my dear. Someday you may tell me, if you wish to do so. In the meantime, I choose to assume that you know what you are doing.”

“I-I hope I do, ma’am. Thank you.” Her throat ached, and she felt a nearly irresistible urge to burst into tears and cast herself down to lay her head in the old woman’s lap. Instead, she collected herself and said quietly, “I won’t stay, ma’am. Please tell Mama I will visit with her tomorrow.”

Scarcely waiting for Lady Ophelia’s dignified nod, Melissa slipped quickly down the stairs, through the empty hall, to the parlor, where she collected her hat, gloves, and riding whip. Then, casting a wary eye toward the stairs, half expecting to see her cousin lean over the railing to demand to know why she was leaving so soon, she let herself out of the house.

Somewhat to her consternation, she discovered that it had begun to rain. It was still little more than a heavy mist, but her stylish hat gave her no protection, and she knew she would be soaked before they reached St. James’s Square. She said apologetically to her groom, “We are going to get very wet, I’m afraid.”

“As to that, my lady,” the man said, flicking a glance toward a pair of carriages drawn up on the opposite side of the street near the entrance to the square’s central garden, “I were already told to get on home, but since I takes my orders from you—”

“Who told you to leave?”

“Ah, there you are, Melissa,” Sir Geoffrey called, appearing from the far side of the front carriage and striding toward her.

Stiffening, Melissa felt an impulse to run back into the house. She repressed it, squared her shoulders, and said calmly, “Good afternoon, sir.”

The front carriage began to draw away, and for just a moment, she saw a blond head framed in the window. An ornament on the figure’s hat sparkled even in the gloom of the afternoon, and she was certain the occupant was Lady Hawthorne.

Sir Geoffrey said, “I recognized the Barrington livery on your man and knew you must be visiting here, my darling. I didn’t want to intrude, but with it coming on to rain, as it is, you certainly ought not to ride home. I’ll take you in my carriage.”

Her hand tightened on her riding whip. “Oh, no! That is, if I require a coach, I can ask Great-Aunt Ophelia for hers, but I don’t think—”

“Don’t be nonsensical, Melissa. You will come with me. I’ve some things I want to say to you.” He smiled warmly and shook his head at her, his expression one of fond understanding. “I know I’ve blotted my copybook, darling, but you won’t deny your old papa the chance to mend things, will you?” When she hesitated, he said gently, “Tell him to go home, darling. You don’t want the man to catch his death.”

Making up her mind, she said to the groom, “Sir Geoffrey will see me home.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Watching him mount and ride away, leading her horse, she calmed her remaining unease with the thought that since the groom would tell anyone who asked that she had gone with her father, Sir Geoffrey would not do anything horrid.

He helped her into the carriage, gave the direction to the coachman, and climbed in beside her. “I like that habit,” he said. “Soft colors always did become you best.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Silence fell between them for several moments before he said in a conversational tone, “I hope you are happy, my dear.”

“Yes, thank you.”