The Lyon’s Legacy (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Six

A s the sun dipped lower, the rhythm of the day began to shift.

“Where’s the list with the fabric selections for each chamber?” Melissa mumbled to the kitten she’d been carrying, trying to ensure he wouldn’t scratch the area underneath his bandage. Well, truth be told, she enjoyed holding his little warm body against her aching heart. It was rather difficult to be near John and not blush when he smiled at her, especially now that Lexi and Dustin had left for London. Melissa could think of a thousand corners, moments, and reasons to steal a kiss from John, but he remained stern and steadfast in his role as Dustin’s replacement duke—although it had an air of being the other way around.

“Oh, Melissa!” John jumped up from his desk when she entered. “Lady Thumbridge, I mean. How do you do this morning?” He bowed, and Melissa clutched the kitten to her chest.

“I ahem… My apologies for disturbing you. My sister said she’d left a list of the curtain fabrics she liked, so I may order swatches for them.”

“Over there in the cabinet,” John indicated the bottom row of cabinets underneath the mahogany shelves that lined the walls. “Feel like at home, Lady Thumbridge.” And with these words, he left the room.

As the door clicked shut behind John, Melissa stood rooted to the spot, a peculiar sensation washing over her. Her fingers grazed the polished wood of the cabinets, yet her mind was elsewhere, caught between the strangeness of his abrupt departure and the lingering warmth that seemed to blossom in her chest.

She sat Angus down on the parquet, and he found the fringes of the rug, instantly getting his thin white claws stuck in them. “Oh darling, no!” Melissa freed his paws and produced an old tassel that the butler had given her as a toy for Angus. While the kitten turned on his back and played with the tassel, Melissa squatted and turned the key to one of the cabinets. Ledgers and leather binders tied with tattered ribbons were stuffed in the cabinet shelves. Oh, where to start , Melissa thought. Lexi had mentioned a leather binder with all the notes for the renovations. “It has everything you need,” she’d said.

What I need is not a list of fabrics. What I want—who I want—has left the room, and now I have to find the list among this enormity of documents.

Just then, a double-folded set of papers caught Melissa’s eye. It was stuffed between the ledgers. That must be it , she thought and began to read.

London, July 15 th , 1818.

Dear Mr. Stonebridge,

We extend our heartfelt gratitude for your generous contribution to the Rehabilitation Center at Cloverdale House. This correspondence serves to confirm that a dedicated wing for lung patients shall bear the distinguished name of the late Duchess, Marianne Stonebridge, Duchess of Duncan. May her esteemed memory, coupled with the blessing of your generosity, serve as a beacon of hope and healing for countless patients. If and when your son chooses to join us for an apprenticeship upon completing his studies in medicine, we are certain that the late duchess would be very proud.

With profound appreciation,

Lady Philippa Folsham and Dr. Nick Folsham

Cloverdale House, Abbotsberry Road

Melissa’s chest tightened at the lines she’d read. John seemed so aloof, almost disapproving of Herbert’s interest in medicine, yet he’d already secured an apprenticeship position with Dustin’s friends, the founders of the Rehabilitation Center. If John approved of his son’s interest in pursuing a career like the doctors on Harley Street, why did he not admit it?

But before Melissa could complete this thought, she glanced over the second page. It was quite a bit more tattered and yellow at the edges. Then she noticed the date:

Starcliff Castle, February 21st, 1814.

Dearest Marianne,

A week has passed since you left us, and our dear Herbert’s tears have yet to cease. Your funeral drew more souls than our wedding breakfast; all gathered to bid farewell to the kindest duchess they have ever known. They expressed gratitude for our efforts to lift them from poverty, assuring me of your pride, yet I feel naught but foolishness. Had I returned to you sooner, placing our family above the estate, perhaps I could have spoken these words to you in person.

If you can hear me from beyond, I implore you to send me guidance, for I am lost without you, my love.

Ever yours,

John

“Where did you get that?” John’s voice came from behind Melissa.

She rose and expected him to be cross with her, but instead, he held out his hand to help her up.

“I am so sorry. I was looking for the list Lexi had left me, when your letters caught my eye.” Melissa handed him the papers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not a secret.” John looked at the papers as if they held lousy news he didn’t wish to share and yet had to. “I should have put them away, but—” He sighed. “Where does one file away love?” He folded the letter he’d written to his late wife into quarters. “And where should I put this for the future?” He held the letter about Herbert’s apprenticeship at Cloverdale House.

Melissa’s throat felt tight when she saw the pain in his eyes. “I think you did the right thing, putting them together.”

“The future and the past are at odds, I’m afraid. But I shall assist you in finding the list you were searching for.” He gently touched Melissa’s upper arm as if he would guide her to another cabinet, but she took his hand instead and held it with both of hers.

“The future and the past belong together; they are not at odds.”

“What do you mean?” He arched a brow, and Melissa broke out in goosebumps under his intense gaze, pained but loving. He was truly a man who’d borne the burden of loss, not merely of his wife but also of the estate that he’d nurtured. “I don’t know how to put these together.”

“I don’t think you have to. Herbert will forge his path, and it seems you’ve already begun to ensure he can pursue his passion. Is there any better way that you could honor the love for your wife than by continuing to look after your son?” Melissa swallowed hard when she said it. She loved John more and more the more she learned about him, and yet, at the same time, he seemed further out of reach. He looked so youthful and strong that she’d never considered that his heart had been broken when he lost his wife, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to help him heal it.

“Thank you, Lady Thumbridge. Not only for your understanding but also your compassion and friendship.” He reached out in the cavalier way of a duke—regardless of his lost title—and Melissa’s upbringing helped her to automate the movement to offer her hand. She’d been frozen by the closeness to him and the depth of the emotions she’d uncovered.

Melissa’s heart skipped a beat as John stepped closer, his presence enveloping her like a warm breeze on a cool morning. Her breath caught slightly when he gently took her hand, his grip firm yet tender. Deep and unwavering, his gaze locked onto hers, and she felt a familiar heat rising to her cheeks.

As John’s lips brushed against her knuckles, sensations rippled through her. The softness of his touch sent a shiver racing up her arm, settling as a delicious warmth in the pit of her stomach. Her skin tingled where his lips had been, a gentle reminder of the moment they shared. She swallowed, trying to steady the flutter that had taken residence beneath her ribs.

Melissa’s hand lingered in his, feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse, a reassuring presence that contrasted with the erratic beat of her own heart. Her senses heightened; she was acutely aware of the subtleness of his scent, fresh wind mixed with something uniquely him. It was intoxicating, drawing her closer despite the proper distance she tried to maintain.

There was a yearning there, nestled beside the uncertainty, both vying for her attention. Yet, at this moment, all she could truly focus on was the way John’s touch made her feel alive, as if awakening a part of her that had been dormant, waiting for this very connection.

“If there is anything you need during your stay at Starcliff, please don’t hesitate to let me know,” John said a bit hoarsely when Melissa pulled her hand back when she heard the delicate scuffle of tiny paws against the carpet’s fringes.

“Oh Angus, not again!” She rushed to the kitten, again untangled his thin claws from the fringes, and held him in her arms.

“He seems a little agitated,” John observed. “Is he hungry?”

“Perhaps so.” Melissa hadn’t considered it, but John eyed the kitten with the gaze of an experienced father. “Until his mother arrives, perhaps we can find him something else?”

John’s gaze was drawn to Melissa, who’d remained on the settee with the sleeping kitten in her arms after she’d fed him milk from one of Herbert’s old baby bottles. He shuffled papers on his desk—Dustin’s desk—oh, it didn’t matter. They sort of shared the responsibilities of the dukedom, even though the men’s egos didn’t quite grasp the concept.

The butler knocked. “Your Grace, Lord Herbert has returned with Miss Laura.”

“Thank you, Fletcher. But you don’t need to call me that. I’m just Mister now.”

The older man in his impeccably tailored coat inclined his head and walked out of the room backward, mumbling, “You’ll always be Your Grace to me, milord. You’ve earned the respect in all the time I’ve known you since you were a boy.”

John sighed and rose from his desk. He looked over to Melissa, and she smiled wistfully. With Dustin and Lexi in residence from the wedding until they left for London, it was less awkward between them. Now, the air was thick with unspoken words, and John didn’t know how to brace the subject—any subject truly. All he could think about was how lovely, kind, and intelligent Melissa was. He feared the day she’d leave. The mere thought felt like a dagger to his chest.

“He will want his mother when he wakes up.” Melissa shifted.

“You’ve been sitting here holding a sick cat for over two hours,” John said. He went toward her once the butler had left and reached forward. At first, he hesitated, but when Melissa lifted her elbow, signaling that she’d welcome his help to rise slowly, he put his hand under her arm and helped her up—but he fought the impulse to pull her close and kiss her. He mustn’t.

John shook his head.

He wanted to.

With the gentle touch of a father, John supported the kitten’s head.

“Herbert brought the mother, so the little one will soon want to drink more.”

Melissa accepted his help carrying the sleeping kitten to the stables, where Herbert and Laura were already waiting. A larger cat, dark gray with an equally pretty pattern of markings but yellow eyes, sat in a basket on a torn blanket. Laura must have brought her from the farm.

“Hullo Laura, how do you do?” John asked as he entered the stable, bearing the little bundle in his arms. He commanded the space in a way that Dustin hadn’t. Although Dustin had respect, he was hands-on, ready to treat a feline patient. John was a ruler.

A gentle and kind one, considering he’d earned the servant’s respect and even the tenants.

Melissa watched the stable boy helping Herbert while Laura thanked Herbert profusely and offered to bring him a cheese she’d made herself when she’d returned later that day with the kitten’s mother in her father’s carriage.

“You don’t need to give me anything,” Herbert said, visibly awkwardly rubbing his arm against a stable pillar. Laura blushed, and Melissa tried not to stare, but it was impossible. There was no way not to look at what was unfolding; it was too sweet and clumsy.

The kitten awoke and crawled groggily toward his mother.

She sniffed his head and followed him down to his belly, where he was wearing a bandage larger than his wound to ensure he couldn’t scratch it.

But then something terrible happened.

When Angus approached his mother’s underside and licked in search of comfort, she jerked back.

Laura furrowed her brows. “What is the matter?”

“Feed your kitten.” Melissa gave the mother a gentle nudge. “He needed help. He’s still yours.”

John deflated visibly but merely stood by and watched. He saw Herbert’s mien darken when he realized what was unfolding—recognized even, although it had been different when Herbert was little.

Laura pushed the mother cat toward Angus. “He needs milk.” When the kitten meowed faintly, Laura’s lips trembled. The mother cat gave Angus a long lick over his head, and Melissa’s heart constricted. She was saying goodbye.

“What is going on?” Herbert asked. John stepped to his side and put his arm around him.

“The mother can probably smell us on her son. She’s letting him go.”

“Go? Where?” Herbert asked, the terror in his voice clear. He’d lost his mother too soon and was not attuned to the cruelties in nature even though he thought of himself as an adult.

“I was afraid this would happen,” Laura said as she gathered the mother cat, who lay with her head furrowed in the blanket folds in her basket. “When a kitten is away for too long, the mother sets it free.”

“But he needed the surgery to live.” Herbert protested as much to the way of nature as to the tears welling in his eyes. “We saved his life, and now Angus will lose his mother?”

John’s arm melted away, and Melissa gasped. The opposite should have happened. John should have taken his son into his arms, but he stood frozen as if he’d witnessed a terrible horror.

Herbert couldn’t stop the tears and wiped his face. Laura eyed the kitten sadly but seemed to stand by the mother cat. Herbert dashed out of the stables.

“What now?” Laura mumbled.

“Can Angus stay here? I’ll continue to look after him,” Melissa said to John. He nodded faintly, but his gaze was glued to the screeching wooden door Herbert had left banging against the simple frame of the stable walls.

“I will not leave you in the stables,” John protested, ever concerned with propriety. But Melissa didn’t have any of it. Her instincts were similar to his, John realized, protecting the family first and at any cost.

“Was he with his mother when she died?” Melissa asked.

John nodded. Until I returned from London, yes. I found him crying in bed with her when she’d gone cold already.

Melissa shut her eyes and clutched her chest. “Go after him.”

“What can I do? What do I say?”

“Nothing. Just be there for him. He watched another baby lose his mother—”

“Herbert knows he’s not a cat,” John mumbled, but he realized that the point was mute. The parallel was striking.

“He needs you.”

“Come with me. I need you by my side.”

Melissa’s eyes darted to him as if he’d startled her.

She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. So when John opened the door, she followed with a kitten in her hand.