Patrica Rice (4 page)

She didn’t understand, and she didn’t like being treated like a simpleton, but she realized he protected her because she was a maiden and not a wife. Wives apparently had a great deal of understanding of the world simply due to whatever the marriage act entailed. Melanie had only vaguely wondered about that in the past because she had long since given up any dreams of becoming a wife. Now entire new horizons opened before her. Damien said he would have her as a wife. She still didn’t quite believe him, but the possibility existed for the first time in her life. She might actually learn the secrets of the marriage bed. The thought so amazed her that she scarcely noticed who Damien hired after that.

When the room finally cleared of the last potential servant, Damien turned and gave her another of his concerned looks. “I’ve exhausted you, haven’t I? I should have sent you to your room to rest.”

Finally waking from her trance, Melanie shook her head vehemently. “No, not at all. I am just learning that freedom involves a great deal of responsibility. I had never thought about it clearly.”

He gave her an approving smile. “Some people never learn that, I fear. They live for the moment and ignore the results of their actions.”

She thought he might be speaking of Jane, but she didn’t want to hear a word against her sister. She knew Jane had always been the tiniest bit selfish, but their parents had made her so, doting on her as they had. But Jane had never hurt anyone. She just knew how to enjoy herself more than Melanie did. She couldn’t find a flaw in that.

Damien stood and helped her from the chair. She found herself standing much too close to him, but he didn’t back away as was proper. He continued holding her hand and looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“If the modiste delivered that gown as promised, would you care to go to the theater with me this evening? I’ll send one of our newly hired footmen to a friend of mine for his box seats, if you’d like.”

Any thoughts of exhaustion vanished. With a cry of delight, Melanie hugged his neck. As she limped hurriedly from the room to check on the gown, Damien watched her leave, a look of sadness haunting his eyes.

* * * * 

 “I have never seen anything so absolutely marvelous in all my life,” Melanie said with satisfaction as she sat back upon the carriage squabs the next day after Damien had paid off his debts.

Damien gave her an indulgent look as he took the seat across from her. “You have never been to the theater in your entire life,” he reminded her. “You are scarcely a fair judge.”

She pouted playfully. “Then you shall have to take me every night to a different production so I might become one. Shall we go to the Drury tonight?”

Damien shook his head. “After the announcements appear in the paper today, you will find your drawing room deluged with callers and invitations. We will be the current gossip sensation. I think an evening of rest is called for while we choose our next battlefield carefully.”

Melanie’s eyes widened. “Invitations? I don’t know anyone yet. I haven’t been presented. I haven’t had a come out. Why would anyone send invitations?”

Damien just continued to shake his head at this ingenuousness. “You really do have crackers for wits, don’t you? Perhaps I ought to find a place in the country and abscond with you there. Perhaps if I keep you to myself for a while, you’ll see what an eminently wonderful husband I will be.”

“You are already an eminently wonderful husband, albeit a borrowed one. Jane is the one with crackers for wits. Surely once she sees the announcements she’ll return and all will be right again. I just hope it takes a few days for the papers to reach her. I really am enjoying this much too much.” She gave him a look of inquiry. “However do you mean to explain to the world that actually Jane is your countess and not me? Perhaps we ought to stay out of society until it is all straightened out. You could say the papers made a misprint.”

“If I were not content to have you as my countess, I would not have put the announcements in the paper, Melanie,” he informed her firmly. “You may deny it as much as you wish, but in the eyes of the world, you’re mine. You need only say the word and we’ll make it so in the eyes of God, also.”

“Faradiddle,” she said tartly as the carriage drew to a halt in a narrow city street. “You cannot take a cripple as wife. I cannot dance or ride or do any of those things your countess ought to do. I’m just being shamelessly selfish while I have the opportunity. I’m perfectly aware you’ll return to Jane the moment she snaps her fingers. I’ll quietly disappear from the picture when that time comes.”

Exasperated, Damien didn’t open the carriage door but glared at her. “If you have so little confidence in me, what are we doing at your solicitor’s? You will have a hard time explaining that to him when Jane returns and you turn me over to her.”

She scowled at him. “You’re not a pet dog. You said you would help me learn about my investments. He’s much more likely to answer questions from you than from me. We’ll just brush it off as a jest by bored nobility later. Who is he to argue? He works for me.”

He didn’t try to explain that she played right into his hands every time she introduced him to another person as her husband. He ought to feel more remorse at trapping her so callously, but as he sat before her solicitor’s desk a while later, he decided his trusting wife actually needed someone like him to look after her.

With incredulity, Damien flung the list of investments back on the desk and slammed his palm against them. “She is not making enough interest on these to stay ahead of rising costs! At this rate, you’ll have her living off assets in a year or two. Devil take it, man! You’ve got her invested like an old lady of ninety-three.”

The bespectacled man behind the desk squirmed slightly, cast a glance to Melanie who merely watched the scene with interest, then returned his attention to the Earl of Reister. “Of course, we always understood . . .” He squirmed some more, then looked again at a radiantly healthy Lady Reister. “Her father always made it plain…  Well, we thought the lady an invalid, my lord. And since she never spent what she earned, it seemed unnecessarily risky to invest in anything but certain income.”

They’d thought her at death’s door. Grimly accepting that explanation, Damien stood and pulled Melanie up with him. “I’ll expect you and your banker in my office by tomorrow with a better plan of action than this. I have a few suggestions of my own I will make at that time. The lady will need to live off her income in the future, so keep that in mind.”

The solicitor coughed into his hand as they prepared to depart. Damien turned and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Ahem. There is the matter of the marriage lines, my lord. We will need them for confirmation that the lady’s fortune is now in your hands. There are transfers to be made, you understand.”

Damien gave a curt nod, placed a hand at Melanie’s waist, and steered her out. He’d known the subject would arise. He had just hoped it could be postponed for a while. The awful danger of this whole scheme tumbling down on his head still loomed in the murky future. Melanie might not realize it, but this whole charade rested on a house of cards that could blow away with any gust of wind. He wondered how he would persuade the archbishop to change the name on the special license he still carried in his pocket.

Melanie glanced up at him uncertainly as they entered the carriage. “Does that mean we can’t change the investments until we have the marriage lines drawn?”

“You would do better to look at it another way, gosling. Once I persuade you to the altar, everything you own becomes mine. Are you ready to run back to your papa yet?”

She stared at his blank expression with concern. “This gets very complicated, does it not? I’m of age. If we tell him we left our marriage papers with my father, will he let me sign the transfers until he receives them?”

“Not if you insist on saying you’re married. I’ll just go over with him the changes I want made, and you can make them if you decide to heave me out. I think I can earn my keep in the meantime just by increasing your return on investments. I wouldn’t have thought your father would have been so bumble-headed.”

Melanie shrugged. “The fortune came mostly through my mother’s family, and he paid it little mind. He gave Jane a generous dowry when she married in addition to her own fortune.” She gave him a wry smile. “Marriage papers or not, I don’t think he’ll do the same for us. It’s not as if we asked his permission or anything.”

“I’m sorry, Melanie. Your generous act of saving me from myself will cost you more than you can understand. I wish I knew how to make myself a better man for your sake.”

She gave him an appraising look. “I wonder how I should go about improving you? You are already dangerously good-looking. Any more so, and I would have to fear fighting off all the ladies in London for you.” She ignored the way his eyebrows rose in surprise. “You take no exception to my lameness. I have yet to find a man capable of that particular piece of goodness. You are not a gambler or wastrel that I can discern. You are intelligent and not a coward. You have dealt very well with my domestic and financial problems. In what way could I improve you, sir?”

He was grinning now, laughing at her, she supposed, but she could not slight on honesty. Other than the fact that he wanted her beautiful sister, she could not think of a better man for husband.

“All right. You have me convinced. If you will not have me, I shall go into the marriage mart believing I am superior to all others. I will not need Jane. I shall no doubt find wealthy women aplenty ready to throw their fortunes at my feet.”

“Don’t be facetious,” she returned, disgruntled. “I am only saying we are in this equally. Neither of us is perfect.”

Since she had absolutely no idea how imperfect he was, Damien kept silent. When they returned to the house, he helped her inside, then departed to go about some long-neglected business. Knowing he had no right to the money in his pocket, he still went off with a lighter heart than before.

Melanie welcomed the opportunity for a few hours of her own. Accustomed to loneliness, she didn’t know how to act with so many people about and so many things to do. As she took off her hat, a maid rushed in to ask if she wished all the covers in the house lifted, or if she wished some of the rooms closed off for now. Declaring boldly that she would have all the covers lifted, she limped up the stairs to her own chambers. She would like to see some of the ancient fabrics changed in there, but she hesitated about redecorating those rooms first. If she truly entertained the fantasy of marrying Damien, they would share the master chambers at the other end of the corridor. Now that she’d directed those rooms uncovered, it would look odd if she didn’t see to them first. The servants would expect them to have adjoining rooms.

That thought made her exceedingly nervous. With the intention of overcoming her foolish fears, Melanie made her way down to the dark back chambers where maids were already dusting and polishing and sweeping. Someone had decorated the master’s room in heavy browns and golds that faded with too much light. For that reason, apparently, they’d kept the draperies drawn. She ordered the draperies pulled back and the windows opened to air out this room while she inspected it.

If they were truly married, she’d ask Damien how he would like the room furnished. They could go out to the warehouses together. But if he had no intention of staying, it would be foolish to waste money on changing anything. She would never use this room on her own. The huge bed on the raised dais alone intimidated her. Or perhaps the thought of what must happen on that bed to make a marriage scared her.

She had no illusions about her lameness. Damien had had her fitted for a boot that would keep her from limping quite so much. She appreciated the gesture, but it did not undo the fact that the leg in question was twisted and ugly. Men didn’t like taking ugly women to bed. She supposed Damien might do it for the necessary heir if they married, but then he would find someone whole and perfect with whom to spend his time. She didn’t think she could bear that.

No, better that she find Jane and bring the two estranged lovers together. She just hoped Jane would be forgiving when she discovered what Melanie had done.

She informed Mr. Watson that she would not be at home to visitors today. She had no desire to meet perfect strangers without Damien at her side. She didn’t know if she ought to meet them until the matter of Jane got straightened out. She had only envisioned the freedom of seeing London. She had never dreamed of entering society as a countess. Her one act of rebellion had landed her into hot water deeper than she had ever dreamed.

But she wasn’t yet ready to give it up. She hadn’t seen all of London yet. She hadn’t gone driving in the park. She wanted to see the opera and the circus. Perhaps Damien would take her to Hatchard’s when he returned. If she only had a few days to enjoy this freedom, she would squeeze in everything she could.

She didn’t even bother to go down and inspect the cards that had arrived while she hid on the upper floors. They were Damien’s friends. He could decide what to do with them. She happily made lists of changes she wished to make in her new home.

When Watson actually came upstairs to knock on her sitting-room door, Melanie glanced up from her desk with surprise. “What is it, Watson?” She’d already approved the cook’s menu, directed Mrs. Watson to the rooms she wished cleaned first, and given orders for the dinner hour. What else could they possibly need of her?

“There is a personage at the door, my lady,” Watson intoned formally. “She insists that she must see you.”

Melanie’s hand instantly went to her hair. “Jane? Has Jane come?” She wished more of her new gowns had arrived. She wanted Jane to see her as a sensible adult, not the child she remembered.

“I don’t believe so, my lady. She says her name is Pamela, and the hackney driver is awaiting payment.”

Pamela! Pamela was just a baby. This couldn’t be. Surely Pamela was with Jane. Or her nanny. Or someone besides a hackney driver! Thoroughly bemused, Melanie started to leap from her chair, and caught herself on the desk when her weak leg wouldn’t allow such a hasty movement. Cursing softly, she emptied some coins from the desk drawer where she had placed them this morning, and dumped them in Watson’s hand. “Pay the driver, Watson, I’ll be there directly.” She let him take the stairs at a faster pace than she could manage.