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

Chapter Seven

A lone, Melissa found Herbert kicking pebbles under a tree and cursing under his breath. John had been held up by some important matters regarding the Duchy or so he claimed.

“Is that the vocabulary they teach you at Eton?” Melissa asked when she was within earshot.

He didn’t pay her any heed.

“When I was at finishing school, I lost the privilege of dinner for speaking like that once.”

No reaction.

“Don’t you want to know what I said to get punished?” Melissa tried to get his attention, but he turned his back to her and kicked another pinecone. “Herbert, look, cats are different.”

“Pfft!” He kicked another pinecone, and it flew at least five feet through the air.

“Herbert, your father allowed me to look after the kitten; he’ll be all right.”

“You’re not his mother!”

“Of course not; I’m not a cat.”

“You can’t look after a baby anyway; you’re a mistress.”

Melissa’s breath hitched. Her impulse was to scream.

I don’t want to be Prinny’s mistress. I want your father.

But Herbert was too young to understand… or was he?

“I beg your pardon?” Melissa said as calmly as she could muster.

“Aren’t you merely at court at the regent’s pleasure? You’re a doll, not a mother, not even to a cat.”

Melissa swallowed. Her reputation wasn’t news to her, but she hadn’t been ready to hear these words from a child, not here, not today. And if she were to have a chance with John, she had to win Herbert over, too. This was not something Mrs. Dove-Lyon could help her with; she had to manage it on her own.

“A woman can look after a child, whether it is her own or not. Angus needs a mother, and if I can help him, I’ll do just that. Regardless of my feline nature or lack thereof!”

“You can take the cat, but not me. You’ll never be my mother, just so you know!” Swish! He kicked another pinecone. This one nearly hit Melissa. “I’m not stupid, Lady Thumbridge. Father is different around you. I haven’t seen him like this since… my real mother was well!” He heaved and wiped another tear from his eyes. Then he faced her, and his angry gaze lacked any sentiment of childhood when he spoke. “You don’t belong here. My father doesn’t see it; he never does. He only sees what he can do better in the world, but we’re running an estate, not a charity for discarded mistresses. I may not be the heir anymore, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t respectable people. We don’t want you!” With these words, Herbert ran off.

Melissa forgot to breathe. She leaned against the rough bark of the pine tree, feeling the sharp press of needles through the thin fabric of her dress and shift. The sensation grounded her, a reminder of reality amidst the swirling emotions inside her.

Her eyes followed Herbert’s retreating figure until he disappeared beyond the bend. The air felt cooler now, a gentle breeze brushing against her flushed cheeks, carrying with it the earthy scent of the forest floor. She inhaled deeply, the crispness of the air filling her lungs, yet it did little to calm her nerves.

Tears fell from her cheeks, and she blinked toward the lovely castle. Lexi belonged there with her duke, but Herbert was right. She was fallen, and she’d sunken too low for John, for he surely thought she’d been in at least two men’s beds. Yes, in society, Prinny’s mistress—as long as she held that position—had value. But for people in the country who looked beyond the Ton’s facade, she was a wanton woman. Herbert was at the age to understand just enough of the workings of the world but naive enough to blurt out the truth without sugarcoating it.

More tears rolled, and her arms felt so heavy that she didn’t even want to wipe them away.

How should she have been so naive as to think that Mrs. Dove-Lyon could manage to break her free from Prinny without considering her reputation would follow her wherever she went?

Melissa had to leave. She already had a place at Prinny’s court. If she left soon enough, perhaps she could manage not to soil Lexi’s chances for a happy life as a duchess. Perhaps, if Melissa played her cards right, she could serve Prinny until he’d let her go to a cottage in the country to live out her life in solitary shame. But her family wasn’t shielded from the shame she’d brought upon them unless she found a way to redeem herself.

Shame… shame on the shame , she thought. Melissa had only ever tried to please everyone. She’d done better than anyone else at finishing school; she’d excelled in her studies of Latin. She’d produced watercolors that her mother had displayed proudly, and those had been considered true works of art. She’d danced with the grace that not even Queen Caroline of Brunswick, Prinny’s wife, had mustered at the winter ball. She’d married well, kept her wits when she had to arrange her late husband’s funeral, and she’d kept her head high when the newspapers called her the fastest-moving widow of the season the year after she came out of mourning.

She hadn’t given up then, and she hadn’t lost her self-respect.

But she saw herself through Herbert’s eyes for the first time. Was this what she’d become?

An impostor trying to steal the position of his late mother?

Had Melissa fallen so low as to pick up the crumbs of a family that wasn’t even her own?

If it wasn’t enough to have a reputation for using her body for favors, she was now threatening to step into a family that wasn’t hers.

No, she wouldn’t allow this blemish to take over Lexi’s chances as a duchess.

She couldn’t bring such shame upon her family.

She had to get away from John; he was too tempting. More than that, he’d won her heart and was deliciously handsome… well, the rest.

The best course of action was to return to London to her parent’s house for as long as she could until Prinny called her to do as he asked. Melissa nearly convulsed at the thought of touching any other man besides John, but she knew she mustn’t.

First, she had to stop what she’d set into motion with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

The earthy scent of hay mingled with the tang of leather and horses as John stepped into the stables. Though he had panicked and given Melissa an excuse about not being able to join her to speak with his son, he couldn’t help but find them and witness what had occurred between them. To say he was shocked, was an understatement.

Strands of sunlight slanted through cracks in the wood, catching dust motes in their glowing trails. Herbert’s small figure was just ahead, shoulders straight, his boots crunching against the straw-covered floor. A stable hand murmured a greeting, but Herbert ignored him, his chin jutting forward like a boy too eager to seem like a man. John felt another pang of disappointment, heavier than the sting of an ungrateful glance or rude word.

“Herbert,” he called sharply, his voice cutting through the muted whickers of the horses. The boy stopped, his back stiffening as he turned, eyes defiant. At thirteen, Herbert was no longer the tousled-haired child who used to crawl into John’s lap seeking stories. Yet, John couldn’t quite reconcile the boy before him—a boy who seemed to be constructing walls far too quickly. Walls John didn’t yet know how to scale.

“You’ve disappointed me,” John began, stepping closer to his son. The simple words struck the air like a whip, making it reek of tension. “Your behavior toward Melissa was unacceptable.”

Herbert’s brow furrowed, his lips flattening into a hard line. “She’s not a guest,” he spat. “She’s a mistress. She doesn’t deserve our hospitality.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, acrid and suffocating. John froze for a moment, his pulse drumming in his ears. He fought against the red heat rising in his chest, his fists clenched at his sides until his knuckles ached. When he spoke again, his words were measured, though they held the weight of barely contained anger.

“First,” he said, his voice low but sharp as the crack of a whip, “Melissa is our guest, and while she is under this roof, she will be treated as such. Royal mistresses speak to the Regent directly, so if it’s not manners and decency that persuade you to treat her well, it should be her current station. Second, she is the Duchess’s sister. She deserves the same respect as anyone in this family.”

Herbert’s face twisted with indignation, blotches of color flaring across his pale skin. “She’s not family!” he shouted, his voice breaking with the strain.

John took a step forward, his boots firm against the floorboards. “She is Lexi’s family,” John said steadily. “She isn’t related to us, no, but that means nothing. Everyone deserves our respect. Every man, woman, and child, even animals—especially a woman as intelligent and kindhearted as her.” His voice softened with raw sincerity. “Haven’t you seen her care for the injured kitten? She has more patience, more heart, than a room full of titled men.”

For a moment, Herbert hesitated, his expression flickering with something like doubt, but then he snapped back, his nose wrinkling. “She’s truly beautiful, Father,” he said, his tone biting. “That’s why she’s Prinny’s mistress.”

The words struck like a blade, forcing John to exhale slowly to keep himself in check because he wished Melissa could be his instead. Hearing his son speak of her the property of another man angered John in so many ways. A tremor ran through his hands, curled tight into fists at his sides. But instead of lashing out, he bent down, lowering himself until he was eye-level with his boy. He placed steady hands on Herbert’s thin shoulders, gripping him just firmly enough to hold his attention.

“Listen to me, son,” John said, his voice quiet but carved with steel. “You were almost the heir to the dukedom. And perhaps you will still be if Dustin and Lexi have only daughters. But none of that will matter—no title in the kingdom will matter—if you don’t learn to straighten out how you see the world.”

Herbert frowned, his confusion cracking through his earlier defiance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s about how you treat people,” John explained. “Being an aristocrat isn’t only a privilege; it’s a responsibility. You mustn’t belittle others. Never think you’re more because someone else is less—less wealthy, less educated, less powerful, young, old, or anything else. Respect isn’t given , Herbert. It’s earned. And if you keep acting this way, there won’t be a dukedom in all of England that will make you respectable.”

John wondered how he could give his son the advice to invest his whole heart in something if he knew the risk of heartbreak loomed everywhere. Every time John dared to give his whole heart, whether it was Marianne, the dukedom, or perhaps Melissa, it was as though fate worked swiftly to wrench it from him, leaving only emptiness where hope had once been. And yet, he couldn’t prevent the risk in Herbert’s life—he could only support him and try to help him through the hardships in life. “When you work to earn respect, you’ll love it. It can be Eton, a cause, a person…”

“Laura?” Herbert asked innocently but John exhaled. Oh the risks of fragile first love!

“Yes,” John mumbled.

Herbert blinked, his lips parting to respond, but whatever thought he had seemed to die before it reached his tongue. Instead, he asked, almost timidly, “Is that what Uncle Dustin is doing? Earning respect as a doctor for the tenants?”

John sighed. There was a weariness to the sound, a weight that came from carrying answers he wished he didn’t have to give. “No,” he said, his tone gentler now. “It’s his way of looking after people and reconciling that he was gone for so long. And that’s what you must learn. People need you—they need us.”

“Two dukes of Duncan,” Herbert reminded him. Herbert’s mouth twitched, not quite a frown but something softer than before. “But I’m short-changed,” he muttered after a beat, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “I don’t have anything.”

“You have a family,” John said firmly. “That’s worth more than any title will ever be. And if you treat the Duchess and her sister with the respect they deserve, you’ll have even more.”

A faint rustling sound broke the pause that followed. John’s head turned instinctively, his eyes narrowing toward the far door. It was barely ajar, just enough for a stray shaft of sunlight to spill through, but there—at the edge of the gap—he caught a glimpse of auburn curls. A head of hair he’d grown far too familiar with in recent weeks.

Melissa.

John’s throat tightened as his gaze lingered on the door. She must have heard their conversation; the delicate silence in the wake of her departure told him as much. He could only hope she’d heard the right words—the respect, the regret, the intention. Not the ugliness of a boy’s misunderstanding or the harsh truths of a man struggling to be a father.

When he turned back to Herbert, John noticed the boy watching him with sharp curiosity, his defiance beginning to ebb. John swallowed, determined to ensure this moment wasn’t lost in the cracks. “Do you understand me, Herbert?”

“I… think so,” Herbert murmured, his young voice softer now, almost unsure.

“Good,” John said, standing and resting a hand briefly on his son’s shoulder. “Because the way you treat people will define you, not the title you carry.”

Nor should he allow circumstances to dictate his future. John’s heart ached for Melissa, but the cost of being with her was too steep. To pursue her—Prince Regent’s mistress—would be like stealing from the palace itself, or treason, and a scandal that could ruin his family. Dustin would lose the Royal Family’s favor because it happened at his estate. That in turn would cut off the Harley Street doctors who cared for the tenants at Starcliff Castle. The tenants’ trust would crumble, and the estate’s future would falter. Worst of all, Herbert had lost enough, first his mother, then the chance to be the heir, and if John wasn’t more careful, even the chance to learn more about medicine.

John knew he needed to explain—Herbert had been wrong, but so had he. Yet as much as his better sense urged him to resolve the matter cleanly, to ensure Melissa left the castle as she ought once she needed to return to Prinny’s Court, he couldn’t deny the quiet, stubborn longing that refused to be silenced. Deep inside, he wished he could find some way to keep her here, even just a little longer. The thought was reckless and dangerous, but it clung to him with an iron grip.

Despite the conflict raging within him, John straightened his coat, his determination sharpening. He took one last glance at the door and prayed Melissa would give him the chance to explain—if it came to that. More than anything else, he needed her to see who he truly was. Not just a man burdened by title or duty, but a man who, with all his heart, wanted to be worthy of her. Consequences be damned.