Chapter Eight
Revenge must be plotted carefully. Observe the lay of the landfirst.
T revor was debating the newest trend in fashion fabrics with Eleanor when Seelye coughed discreetly at the door. Trevor didn’t really care much for fashion one way or another, but he’d learned young how to discourse easily with a woman such as Lady Eleanor. And truthfully, there was comfort in knowing the pattern of a conversation even if the individual steps were beyond boring. But they knew their duty when Seelye appeared.
“We should continue our discussion with His Grace,” he said to Lady Eleanor. They both knew which conversation he meant—Eleanor’s sponsorship of Mellie—but the lady chuckled happily.
“Radley couldn’t care less about the different choices in cotton.”
“The Philistine.”
She laughed and took his arm. “It’s been very odd, you know, seeing him wear the title. But I think I have learned how to manage him.”
Trevor didn’t comment. He very much doubted that Eleanor had learned to “manage” the man at all. She had simply found a way to make peace while residing in his household. And now their bargain regarding Mellie’s come-out would get her enough money to find a home of her own.
So they were in companionable accord when they ventured back to the receiving parlor. Trevor’s gaze found Mellie immediately, and what he saw made him slow his steps. To anyone else, she looked composed and quiet. Too quiet, actually, because her body was statue-still, an image reinforced by her pallor. Her only sign of life was when her gaze cut to his and held.
Panic. That’s what he saw there: an angry, wide-eyed panic.
“Mellie?” he said carefully as he pasted on a friendly smile. “Don’t fret. I’m here now. Everything will be fine.”
Her panic turned murderous.
He swallowed, somewhat at a loss. What could have happened in the half hour he’d been talking with Eleanor? He looked to the duke and duchess, but saw no help there. The man appeared genial as he sipped his brandy, and his wife studied Eleanor with a quiet, serious expression. No one seemed interested in talking. No one, that is, except Eleanor who had been reared since the cradle in handling tense social situations.
“My goodness, it’s gotten late. Cousin, would you mind terribly if Trevor and his fiancée stayed to dine? I have an exciting idea that I’d like to pursue, but it requires your permission.”
The duke’s eyebrows rose. “My permission? Eleanor, in my experience, you do exactly as—”
“Yes, yes, but you are head of the family now, and we must see to the proprieties.”
The duke’s mouth flattened as he set aside his glass. “Then by all means, let us see to the proprieties.”
The duchess flashed a canny smile. “I have already sent word that we would have two more to dine. You can’t say no, Mr. Anaedsley, because I’ve already sent down the order.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered, not liking the expression in her eye. He’d seen that look before on merchants and aristocrats alike. The lady saw advantage and was ready to seize it. She wasn’t evil or even cruel, but he’d be a fool to underestimate the woman.
Meanwhile, the duke wandered forward and set a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. It was a small gesture—definitely an intimate one—and the lady’s expression softened as she turned to her husband.
So the stories were true. The two were a love match, their strengths and weaknesses complementary. He pegged His Grace as the genial one—Her Grace would be the one to measure advantages. Together they would make a formidable couple. But what could they possibly have said to upset Mellie?
He looked to his fiancée and drew on his vast experience dealing with his mother and two sisters. Settling near her, he took her hands in his and patted them as he might a small child’s. His mother especially appreciated this gesture.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you dearest? Dinner with the duke and duchess?”
Mellie’s eyes narrowed, and her fingers stiffened into claws. Hell. That was not the reaction he’d hoped for.
“I…um…” He swallowed.
Meanwhile, Eleanor released a musical laugh. “Don’t pester her, Trevor. Can’t you see she’s nervous? It’s not every day she dines in such exalted company. But if my cousin is agreeable, I should like to make it a commonplace occurrence.”
“Oh?” Her Grace asked, the gleam was back in her eye.
“Why yes. Trevor and I are old friends, you see. Similar stations and the like. He has just asked me—well, begged me—to help him smooth things with Melinda.” She glanced over at Mellie. “May I call you Melinda? I think we shall become the grandest of friends. At least I hope so.”
“My lady.” Mellie’s words were clear and precise. She even dipped her head as was entirely appropriate—in a servant. She appeared completely docile except, of course, beneath his fingers her hand was still rigid with fury.
“Oh, excellent!” Eleanor cried as if she had been given a treat.
Meanwhile, Radley released a loud sigh. “Out with it, Eleanor. What are you asking?”
“Well, nothing so very terrible. I thought it would be nice if I had a companion, so to speak. For the Season.”
Trevor stiffened, but it was nothing compared to the jerk that went through Mellie’s hand. Though tiny, he felt her reaction all the way to his toes. “Not a companion, Eleanor,” he said coldly. “A friend.”
“Well, what is a companion except a friend?” She turned back to the duke and duchess. “You see, I thought Melinda could stay here with us for her come-out. She and I will have the grandest time. We could go together to balls and such. Don’t worry about her attire. She’s going to get completely outfitted. I thought we’d go to your dress shop, Wendy. And then—”
“Stop.” The word was soft, but no less clear. It came from Mellie like the single ring of a bell, and all eyes turned to her.
Trevor’s fingers tightened on her hand, alarm shooting through his body. “Mellie, dearest, you must trust me.”
“I am not accustomed to trusting others with my life,” she said simply. “Nor am I a beggar to be thrown at their doorstep like a lost child.”
“Of course not—”
She didn’t allow him to finish but turned directly to the duke and duchess. “Your Graces, I apologize for intruding into your home. The thought had been to seek Lady Eleanor’s sponsorship during the coming Season, but I see now that that won’t work.”
Trevor patted her hand, desperate now for the gesture to soothe her even though it had already failed. “It will work, my dear, if only you would allow me to—”
“Why won’t it work?” asked the duchess. There was no animosity in her tone, but neither did she allow others to speak over Mellie. When Trevor turned to her, she waved him to silence with an impatient gesture. Her gaze was on his fiancée as she waited for her answer.
Beneath his hand, he felt Mellie wage an internal war between honesty and prevarication. He knew because he recognized the symptoms. Her breath accelerated, her fingers twitched, and her gaze dropped to the floor. The changes were subtle, but he was watching her closely. Sadly, he couldn’t help her in this. If their scheme were to work, she would need to face the duchess regularly. And yet, he still tried.
“It has been a long, exhausting day, hasn’t it? You’re feeling quite overwhelmed and probably would like a lie-down.” That is, after all, exactly the suggestion his sisters would adore.
Her expression broke, and she shot him a glare. “I began the day fearing for your life, Mr. Anaedsley. Then I wallowed in the mud with you before being cast out by my father. What exactly do you think is overwhelming about sitting in a parlor with pleasant people?”
The duke barked out a laugh as he settled on the arm of his wife’s chair. “Sounds like a lively tale.”
“It isn’t,” Mellie said in exasperation. “It’s an embarrassing tale. Just as this conversation is rather…”
“Humiliating?” offered the duchess. “Feeling like a piece of rubbish being tossed about on the wind?”
“Yes.” Mellie’s body tightened then released, her breath coming out in a soft sigh. Exactly the reaction he’d wanted, but he hadn’t expected the duchess to understand what he had not.
“But there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said. “I’ve got it all handled.”
The duchess snorted. “She’s not the type to want to sit quietly while others do everything. If you don’t understand that about your fiancée, then the two of you don’t suit.”
Trevor rounded on the woman, outrage at her statement overruling his good sense. “On the contrary,” he said coldly, “it is one of the things I most admire about her.”
“Really,” drawled the damned seamstress. “Then why did you just go off with another woman to arrange things on your fiancée’s behalf? Did you think she’d appreciate being left with strangers while you bartered her future behind her back?”
“I wasn’t bartering!” Except, of course, he had been. And the guilty flush that heated his cheeks showed him for the liar he was. “I was…I was arranging things. But that’s what we wanted, isn’t it dear?”
Mellie didn’t comment. She’d gone mute. Even her hand had stopped moving, which was a sure sign that she’d locked herself up tight. He’d bet his fortune this was exactly how she acted when Ronnie got out of hand. But he wasn’t Ronnie to blather on in ignorance of her wishes. “Damn it, Mellie, we discussed this and agreed.” She’d even kissed him in full view of the entire county.
Her gaze dropped from his. “I know. But I hadn’t realized…I didn’t know you’d meant here. With…” Them. She didn’t have to say it, but her gaze encompassed the house and all its exalted occupants.
Good Lord, didn’t she understand? “I am the grandson to the Duke of Timby. Did you think I spent my days with merchants and a baron or two? You wanted a Season. This is what it means to have one.” With me. He didn’t say the words, but she had to understand them. He was a peer.
The room settled into an uncomfortable silence until the duke finally spoke. “So Eleanor, you want to sponsor Miss Smithson. Introduce her to society, but what exactly does that mean?”
Eleanor immediately brightened. “Well, I should like her to live here,” she said. “We’ve plenty of room, and she does need some education.”
“Actually,” Trevor cut in, wondering why he was suddenly irritated by his childhood friend. “She’s had a better education than you. Certainly a better grounding in the sciences.”
Eleanor huffed. “Well, what is that to the point? There’s not a soul who will ask her anything about that.”
Surprisingly, Mellie spoke up next. “She’s right, Trevor. There are things I should learn before I enter society.”
Eleanor beamed at her as if she were a particularly bright child. “See, she understands.”
“ She has a name,” he growled back.
“But she hasn’t given me leave to use it. Not really.”
Trevor frowned. Hadn’t she? Damnation, why was this conversation so hard?
“You have my leave,” Mellie said woodenly, which was even more worrisome.
Meanwhile, the duke tried to keep things moving. “So you’d like her to live here, and then the two of you would go to parties.”
“Yes, exactly,” Eleanor answered.
The duchess entwined her fingers with her husband’s. “I expect it will take a great deal of Eleanor’s time and attention.”
The duke frowned as he thought. “Keeping her busy, you mean? So she can cease nattering at us?”
His wife smiled. “I doubt that will ever truly stop.”
“Truly spoken.” But he did smile. “I should like a little less of Eleanor’s attention.”
Eleanor released a puff of disdain. “If you would but listen closer when I speak, I would be happy to instruct you less.”
The duke proved Eleanor’s point by roundly ignoring her. “There are plenty of rooms in this house. We could put her next to Eleanor’s bedroom.”
His wife’s expression turned indecently intimate. “And if you are not called upon to chaperone all the time—”
“Sold!”
The duchess grinned, but Trevor did not like the tone of the conversation. “Mellie is not at auction!” he snapped.
“No,” the duchess agreed, “but we have a bargain. Miss Smithson, it is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to our home. Eleanor, pray make sure to keep her—and yourself—well occupied. And in the meantime,” she said as she pushed to her feet, “I should like to eat.” She looked over their shoulders at the butler. “Seelye, that is why you are here, is it not? Is dinner served?”
The man bowed in a most proper form. “It is indeed.”
The duke was also on his feet. “Excellent! My lady?” he said, extending his arm to his wife.
“My lord,” she answered as she touched her fingers to his forearm.
Eleanor stood as well, though her expression was sour. “You are ‘Graces,’ not lord and lady.” Then she turned to Trevor as she waited for his arm. “They make an effort in public, but at home everything scatters to the wind.”
Trevor had been busy helping Mellie to stand. She was clearly still angry, but there was more to it than that. Panic seemed to rest on her shoulders like an ugly cloak, but there was no time to address the problem. Propriety demanded that he lead Lady Eleanor to the table.
“Mellie—” he began, but Eleanor cut him off.
“Begin as you mean to end, Mr. Anaedsley.” Then when he still hesitated, her voice became sharper. “Trevor, you came to me for a reason. Trust me to know how to polish a raw girl.”
“She’s not a raw—”
“In this, she is.” She glanced at Mellie. “You understand precedence? Who goes in to dine in what order?”
“Yes, my lady.”
She nodded. “Excellent. Come along, Trevor.” Then she grabbed his arm, sank in her talons, and pulled him toward the door.
He had to go or be rude, not to mention gauche and ridiculous. One did not fight with a lady, and certainly not Lady Eleanor. So he turned his back on his fiancée, feeling like the lowest heel. He listened as they walked, every cell in his body attuned to Mellie, trying to discern her thoughts, her emotions, her…anything. But she was as blank to him as a darkened room.
Meanwhile, Eleanor began to prattle. “Now here is what I plan…”
And so began the most bizarre dinner of his life.