Miss Merton's Last Hope (13 page)

Melanie froze but then tears filled her eyes at the hard way Imogen delivered her news. The thin edge of hostility reminded her that no matter what she might feel for Walter, his sister could never forgive her for the hurt she’d caused.

She smiled awkwardly, unsure how to convey her happiness. She had only ever wanted Imogen to be happy. Imogen had always wanted a little girl to bounce on her knee. She felt so very low. “Congratulations. I trust you are well.”

“I am.” Imogen’s chin rose defiantly.

“I see.” She took a deep breath as she inspected Imogen. There was no outward sign of her condition so she couldn’t begin to guess when the babe would come. She would also most likely never see Imogen’s child, and that made her terribly sad. It was really too late to make a difference, but this might be her only chance of mending any fences with the woman. “Would you excuse me a moment?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, but rushed from the room and up the staircase. She raced to her bedchamber and grasped the handle of the first trunk stored under her bed. It was heavier than she remembered it being and she could only drag it from her room by one handle. At the top of the stairs she paused, listening to Julia plead with Imogen to stay a while longer. She eyed the stairs anxiously, but there was no help for the noise she would make and she had to hurry before Imogen left.

With a deafening clatter, she pulled the trunk down each tread. At the halfway point, she blew her hair from her eyes.

Valentine rushed up to her. “Melanie, what the devil are you doing with that trunk? You don’t leave until tomorrow.”

“I have to give this to Imogen. Would you help me carry it the rest of the way? She’s in the parlor at this moment and about to leave.”

Valentine grunted a little as he hefted the full trunk. He manhandled it the remaining distance to the parlor and departed, giving her a concerned glance. She had not time to explain to him what she was about to do.

Abigail caught her eye and suppressed a smile. She had already received her trunk a few months ago and had clearly guessed what this one also contained.

Imogen crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at it.

“Open it,” Melanie urged when she did not move.

At Abigail’s urging, Imogen slowly lifted the lid and let it fall open—to reveal a trunk full of children’s clothes, and wraps, and blankets. Items all stitched by her own hand over the past dozen years; enough to last a child until they were toddling around on their own steam.

She had begun making small items for her friends at Andy’s urging, and even though she had fallen out of grace since those days, she still made a few pieces for each year.

Abigail wiped a tear from her eye. “How is it you can do all of this? Mine was at least as large. You must have spent a fortune on threads and fabrics. Not to mention the hours involved.”

She smiled. Since she’d never have children of her own, she had indulged quite a bit with her creations. “I enjoyed every stitch.”

And if anyone had ever questioned her work, which happened rarely, it was always assumed she was making something for her own bottom drawer.

Imogen lifted the topmost piece and held it up to the light. This one had a twisting vine of lavender thread embroidered around the hem and small cuffs. It was one of her best efforts.

Julia poked through the contents of the trunk, her eyes widened. “You made all this for Imogen, and the same for Abigail?”

“Yours is upstairs,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it prudent to show you until you give my brother similar good news.”

Julia beamed and hugged her arm. “You will have saved me.”

“I will have saved the garments my nieces and nephews will wear from turning red from your pinpricked fingers,” she laughed softly. She would be able to sew for Julia for years and years and send gifts by post.

She glanced at Imogen as she returned the garment to the trunk. Imogen had not said a word about her gift. Perhaps she expected too much.

Melanie closed the lid. At least she knew where she stood before she left Brighton.

“How could you do this to me?” Imogen’s question had a rough edge to it.

“I apologize.” Melanie dropped her gaze. Perhaps she should have asked Julia to deliver it after she was gone. “I thought to help so you would still have time to write.”

Imogen’s eyes widened and then she glanced at Abigail and Julia guiltily. Both ladies were frowning in confusion though and Melanie was puzzled. Did they not know Imogen and Brahms the author were one and the same?

The whole of Brighton was reading Imogen’s work and quoting her at dinner parties. She’d always imagined them in on the great secret, but perhaps they were not.

Imogen grew pale. “What do you know of that?”

She shrugged. Imogen had been a talented writer even as a child. Back then she’d heard those stories firsthand, and later when they had grown distant, she’d discovered them in her brother’s book collection and been pleased to know she’d continued. “I’ve always known.”

“Imogen,” Julia asked. “What is she talking about?”

Abigail appeared equally perplexed. Melanie swallowed, and glanced at her hands. She had blundered, and badly, yet again. Some claimed Brahms’ work was too bold for young ladies to read. Imogen must be horrified by what she had almost revealed. And that emotion could quickly turn to anger toward her.

She struggled for an alternate explanation that might be the least bit feasible. This wasn’t how she’d wished to spend her last day in Brighton. An idea struck her quickly though, one that was not easy to refute. “Lady Watson has been writing to my cousin in secret.”

“To Teresa Long?” Julia asked. “Why is that a secret? I have written to her myself and told her how much we miss her.”

Imogen nodded and then sighed. “I had hoped her heart had softened.”

Julia appeared even more confused. “Softened from what?”

Melanie caught Julia’s hand. “It was she who alerted my father to Valentine’s behavior and ambitions. She wanted the easy life my father’s money and position could bring. She couldn’t bear the loss of stature, and did all she could to dissuade Valentine from going through with the marriage.”

Imogen caught her other arm. “We didn’t want you to be hurt by the discovery.”

Julia collapsed onto the chaise. “Oh, I worked that out for myself ages ago. I thought at first she must have loved him, but it was only money she loved.”

“She didn’t want to lose.” Melanie sank to her knees at Julia’s side. “He never even realized what was truly going on. Not until the very last day before the banns were read.”

Imogen nodded. “So all that time, Teresa claimed Melanie was against the match.”

“She was lying,” Melanie answered.

“She’s surprisingly good at that,” Julia scowled. “We all believed the worst of Melanie when the truth is quite different.”

Melanie leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Julia’s forehead. “I’ll call for tea.”

She turned to go and made it as far as the steps down to the kitchen before Imogen caught up with her. “Thank you for not revealing the truth.”

“It is not my place.”

“Who told you?”

“No one.” She shook her head. “When I read your stories, I always hear you. I’ll have tea sent up and ask Valentine to deliver the trunk unless you’d rather not have them.”

“No, I want them.” As she turned away, Imogen called out again. “Did you embroider any with yellow roses?”

“Of course not. You hate yellow and swore once you’d never allow the color on your children.”

Imogen frowned at her then shook her head. “Thank you very much. They are beautiful.”

Her spirits lifted a little. She might never be entirely forgiven, but she had made a start. It was enough. “You’re very welcome.”

“Melanie,” Imogen said quickly. “Make sure you come back with the tea.”

Fourteen

“I don’t know what to think,” Imogen exclaimed for the third time.

Walter had been home only a few minutes after making the rounds of his properties. He was weary and hungry and aching to see one person in particular.

That person was not his sister. But she was the topic of their conversation.

“It sounds to me as if you never lost Melanie’s regard.” He met his sister’s gaze, and then sat. Imogen would want to speak of this for a while. The shock of receiving such a large gift from Melanie this morning clearly hadn’t dimmed during the intervening hours. He had to hand it to her; Melanie was certainly full of surprises. She might not want children of her own, but she was excessively generous to have made so much for someone else who did.

Imogen sat forward. “Abigail tells me that she sent a similar-sized trunk to London two months ago, and there is supposed to be another tucked under her bed for Julia too.”

He blinked. “Is there one for herself?”

“I don’t know. She never ever discusses her own hopes with me in the room.”

More than likely there was not anything for herself, and he was still disappointed in that. Her decision was probably made some time ago. “If memory serves, she has often sat in her parlor with a scrap of white linen in her lap. I never paid much attention to what she was doing.”

“None of us did. I don’t know what to do.” Imogen stood and paced the room. “All this time I thought she’d forgotten me and she goes and does something
nice
.”

Imogen bit out the word “nice” like it was an insurmountable inconvenience.

“You sound churlish about it.” He sighed deeply. “Would you rather she changed back to the way she was before Valentine raced Julia?”

“No.” Imogen sank into her chair again. “But she is different again since then too. Quieter, less opinionated. She defers to Julia, for heaven’s sake!”

“Why should you complain about that?” He shook his head. “By your own telling, Mellie has spent hours and hours to provide you with clothing for your unborn child. What you have there is a sign of great love. For all of you.”

“She knows I’m Brahms.”

He grunted. He’d suspected but never had gotten round to confirming it. Few knew his sister was the author K.L. Brahms. It was supposed to be a well-guarded secret. He winced. “At dinner with the Mertons one night, one of your books was discussed, particularly
Findings from a Castaway
and the custard incident. She never let on then. What did she say about your writing?”

“Nothing untoward, and in fact she managed to change the subject so completely that Julia and Abigail remain in the dark even now. She must have assumed they knew about my secret writing life. We spoke later in private and she said she recognized my voice in the stories she read.”

That could be quite awkward later. “I wonder if she knows you based the difficulties the heroine of
The Temple of Truth
faced on her experience with Percy McWilliam a few summers ago. It’s a unique man who would propose twice in three years.”

Imogen winced. “I hope not.”

“Melanie is not stupid. If she read the stories then she could very well have pieced together the inspiration for more than a few residing in the township of Brighton, and made quite a fuss.” That she hadn’t, pleased him. “Perhaps you should not do that again.”

Imogen collapsed back in her chair, her hands resting over her belly. “I am so ashamed.”

He glanced to where her hands rested. “How are you feeling otherwise?”

“Happy.”

“Good.” He smirked. “I am glad to hear that Peter is keeping up his end of our bargain and being a good husband.”

“He is wonderful.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “All we need to do now is see you settled.”

“I am settled.” He stood and caught his sister’s elbows as a knock sounded on his front door. “Don’t even think of setting up another dinner and playing matchmaker again. I won’t stand for it.”

Imogen resisted his efforts to haul her upright. “Is that because you’ve someone in mind?”

“None of your business.” He could tell her his hopes, but to do so would place undue scrutiny on himself and Melanie. He didn’t think that a good idea yet. He was hoping to have a chance to talk Melanie around. They had something, or could have if only she were brave enough to trust his love and that everything would be all right.

“Might I suggest something to you?”

Imogen smiled. “Anything.”

“Try again with Melanie. You might be surprised that what we thought of her past is quite wrong. Teresa Long embellished her flaws quite a bit, I’ve come to suspect.”

He opened his front door to find David Hawke grinning at him. “Mr. George.”

“Hawke. What a surprise to find you in Brighton. What is this, four times this year?”

“Five,” he countered then tapped a folded paper across his palm.

Excitement gripped Walter at the sight. Could it be the information he’d requested from Hawke about changing his finances for marriage? Hawke had not written but Walter did not want his sister to know about his interest in marriage until the moment after Melanie agreed to be his. “Are you hand-delivering the investment information I asked for?”

Hawke’s brow furrowed and Walter silently pleaded with him to play along with the pretense. At last the banker nodded. “Yes indeed. Everything you need to know.”