The Bride of Black Douglas

Chapter 1

Northumberland, England, 1785

Most women would go to any lengths to be married to the son of a duke.

Lady Meleri Weatherby was not among them. Betrothed to Philip Ashton, the Marquess of Waverly, since birth, she would have done anything to get out of her engagement…absolutely anything.

As a child, she had adored Lord Waverly. Philip was ten years her senior and her idol. Tall, blond and handsome with a heart-thundering smile, he could do no wrong. Those were the days when she considered herself most fortunate.

But nothing remains the same. The years passed and she grew older. Things began to change. It was through a woman’s eyes she viewed the world now, and not those of a child. What she had once adored was nothing more than a thin veneer, cracked and peeling away.

Thusly exposed, she saw the true man—one with a cruel side that he frequently exhibited toward animals and underlings. Now she realized Lord Waverly was not the man of her dreams. He was the last man in the universe she would want to marry.

The awareness was gradual, but the realization came to her quite suddenly one warm afternoon when she was on her way home after a long ride. She no more than crested a hill, when she came upon a horrifying sight that both shocked and filled her with revulsion.

Philip was holding the reins of his terrified horse and beating the poor beast unmercifully with his riding crop. Blood was everywhere.

Instinctively, she alighted and ran toward him, screaming, “Stop it! For the love of God, Philip, stop!”

When he turned toward her, with the crop drawn back, she thought for a moment he was going to strike her, and she stopped stock-still, her eyes wide at the sight of a side of him she had never before seen.

She saw the blood-rage in his eyes and the tightly clenched jaw. She knew he fought against the urge to use the crop on her. “Stay out of this, Meleri. It does not concern you.”

“I beg to disagree with you, but cruelty of this magnitude not only concerns me, it concerns me gravely.”

Never had she seen such raw fury in human eyes. It was only when Philip threw the crop to the ground and walked off that she noticed one of his groomsmen, a young lad they called Will, standing nearby. He clutched the reins of Philip’s horse tightly in one hand, while the other hand held a kerchief to a bloody gash on his cheek.

“Will, what happened to your face?” she asked, although she feared she already knew the terrible answer.

“I…I hit a branch, milady.”

Meleri went to him and pulled the kerchief back, then winced at the deep gash. “That wasn’t done by a branch. He struck you, didn’t he?”

Will looked down. “I hit a branch, milady.”

“I understand,” she said softly, then gave his arm a pat. “You need not worry that I will speak of this to Lord Waverly. Can you ride back by yourself?”

Will cast a fearful glance in the direction Philip had taken. “I must wait for his lordship.”

“You need to have your face seen to before you lose too much blood. Go on home. I will explain to Lord Waverly that I was the one who told you to go.”

“Milady, I thank you, but I cannot ask you to place yourself in harm’s way for me. I think it best for both of us if I remain here.”

She understood what Will was saying. It would be worse for him if he left, no matter what she told Philip. “As you wish. Wait here. I will see what I can do,” she said, then walked off to find Philip.

She met him walking toward her. Apparently, he had recovered, for she saw that all signs of rage were gone. Remarkable though it was, he looked completely composed, as if nothing had happened. When he saw her, he smiled in his most charming and courtly fashion. “Meleri, my dear, I am sorry you had to see that, but things must be dealt with when they happen. It is more cruel to withhold punishment until later.”

“Is that what you call it? Punishment?”

“You have a better term?”

“Punishment is one thing, Philip, brutality another.”

“You think I was brutal? Well, I suppose it would appear so to a woman of such delicate sensibilities. It would serve no purpose to try and make you understand.”

What Philip did not realize was that Meleri understood. She understood all too well. This one incident caused her not only to realize the significance of what she observed, but more important, what that incident revealed about his true nature.

After leaving Philip, she rushed home and found her father sitting in silence in the garden. “Hello, Papa,” she said, and seated herself beside him. She picked up his hand and held it in hers as she gave a full accounting of the incident with Waverly. “I have never seen so much blood on a man or a horse.”

Next to them, a bee droned in the lavender bush. From the kitchen came the sound of pots being banged about. From somewhere in the distance came the frantic bellow of a lost calf. The seconds ticked on, and still he did not respond.

Only when several minutes had passed, did he direct his attention to her. “Do you come here…to sit in the garden often?”

It was the first time he had looked at her as if she were a stranger, or spoke to her as if she were someone he did not know. Panic ripped through her, followed by a sense of dread. Of late, her father seemed to be changing, sometimes into someone she did not know. He was her beloved Papa, and then again, he was not. Where do you go, Papa?

She saw the expectant way he looked at her, and in spite of a heart that seemed too fatally cracked to live on, she managed to say, “Yes, I do come here frequently.”

“So do I. Don’t you find it odd that I have never seen you here before?”

“I…I am here earlier than usual.”

“Aaah…that would explain it then. I prefer to come here late in the morning.”

She felt as if her father had gone away somewhere—on a long trip, perhaps—for the man she saw seemed more shadow than substance. You are not my father! You are his shadow, she wanted to shout. Go away! I want my father back!

He was back, the next day, as brilliant and bright as he had ever been. Overjoyed, Meleri hovered about him until he retired for the evening, afraid his shadow would return if she so much as stepped away for a moment.

Time passed, and as she watched her father gradually slip away, she had ample time to fully grasp an even more detailed impression of what her recent encounter with Waverly meant. From that day forward, she was careful to note, with systematic observation, what she could not previously foresee. The result was, that in Philip, she discerned not a single defect, but many. This enabled her to note what her life would be like if she married him, and that led to her final conclusion that Lord Waverly was not only cruel and cunning. He was dangerous.

Although she knew she would not—could not—marry him, she was not so foolish to think there would be an easy way out. Next to impossible was more like it. He was, after all, the son of one of England’s most powerful dukes—a man who was also a relative of the king. Impossible or not, though, she had to find a way out, which meant she would have to turn her back on her home, Humberly Hall, and the life she had here.

Her father was the only hindrance, the one consideration that prevented her from being completely free to flee to America, or Australia, or anywhere Lord Waverly would not find her. To even consider her father a burdening responsibility, or a drawback to her future happiness, was unthinkable. There were so few days, anymore, when his mind did not wander too far away to communicate with him. Poor Papa, she thought. So forgetful, so careless and inattentive, even of the daughter constantly before him. He had given her so much. It hurt now to realize he could not help her any more than he could understand.

Her maid, Betty, concurred when Meleri told her of her intention to escape marriage to Lord Waverly. She was readying Meleri’s bed for the evening, fluffing the pillows with wild abandon when Meleri broke the news.

“Cry off? Break your engagement? Your father will not understand, milady. Even if he did, he would forget by the next morning what he understood the night before. You will get no help from that quarter, and without your father’s support and help, I fear what you seek is beyond impossible.”

“I am in a dilemma, truly. I must rely on myself and take action before Philip has the slightest suspicion. Yet, I am my father’s child, and I cannot trample that in the dust of my hurried departure. I suppose the only consolation in all of this is, at least I won’t have to suffer knowing I am a terrible disappointment, or that he will suffer humiliation over my action.”

“You are right. Truly, milady, I do not know that your father would notice overmuch that you were gone. Don’t be forgetting the doctor told you only a fortnight ago that it will get worse.”

“Knowing was never a soothing balm.”

“This is all too much to fall on your young shoulders. Have you written to your sister?”

“Yes, I wrote Elizabeth several weeks ago. Last week, I received a reply. She is coming here. She should arrive today or tomorrow.”

“Did you mention your desire to put an end to the engagement?”

“No, I thought I would wait until she was here.”

“It would be nice if she understood and offered you some help in that quarter.”

“I cannot depend too strongly upon the chance of that happening. Although she is my favorite half sister, we were never really close—not because there was a problem, you see, but because of the vast difference in our ages.”

Meleri’s two half sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, were older than Meleri’s mother. They were both married before Meleri was born. Of the two, Mary had always been distant and judgmental, but Elizabeth had managed to offset that somewhat by being more understanding and sympathetic, especially after Meleri’s mother died. Her kindness extended so far as to invite Meleri to come to London and live.

But her papa had quickly dismissed that idea. “Live with you in London! I should say not! Melli is all I have left, now that her mother is gone. I cannot let her go to London with you, Liz’ Beth. Whatever were you thinking, to extend such an invitation?”

“I was thinking of Meleri, Father. I was considering how lonely it is for a young girl her age to be reared in the country, to grow up without a mother or other children her age about. Humberly Hall is lovely, but it is remote.”

“It is also her home and her inheritance.” Sir William had turned to Meleri and said, “Well now, my little princess, do you want to go to live in London with Liz’ Beth, or stay here with your poor old Papa?”

How vivid was the memory of the way she had thrown her plump little arms around her father’s neck and hugged him fiercely. “I don’t ever want to leave you, Papa. Never, never, never.”

Little had she known then, that in the end, it would be her papa who left.

“Are you thinking about something sad, milady?” Betty interrupted her reverie.

“No, I was thinking about the past. It is the present I find sad. How does one learn to accept all of this—to see those we love growing old; to watch them leave, little by little each day?”

“Keep thinking like that and you will find yourself married to Lord Waverly.”

Betty was right. She could drown herself in sentimentality, or turn her thoughts to extracting herself from this ghastly betrothal. No one would do it for her. She would have to do it herself. The only thing certain was, she could not marry Waverly, no matter the cost. It would belie her truest sentiments if she did not at least try to save herself.

Betty had begun to pound the pillows harder with each word Meleri spoke, until so many goose feathers were floating about her head that she sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you, milady. I’ve thought about what you said, and I know how you feel, but you cannot think to stop a betrothal that was made so long ago.”

“You think that is a valid reason to marry?”

“I didn’t say that, only that I don’t see you have any choice. I was told betrothal contracts are binding. If that is so, being a woman, you have no more say about it than you have power to change it.”

“That is true,” Meleri answered, “but there is another side to everything, or at least another way around it.”

Betty arranged the pillows, then opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. She withdrew a white cotton nightgown with a satin ribbon at the neck instead of buttons. “Will this one do, milady?”

Meleri half glanced at it and said, “Yes, it’s fine.” She turned around to give Betty better access to the row of tiny buttons that ran down the back, but her mind wasn’t on getting undressed. “It isn’t right for a woman to be treated so unfairly or so differently from a man. No one should be forced to marry, especially someone they cannot tolerate.”

Betty handed the gown to Meleri, then turned back the bed while she dressed. By the time Meleri began brushing her hair, Betty was running her hand over the white cotton sheets, smoothing them until they were flawless. “I am sorry to say, milady, but the only choice you have is to do as countless other women before you, and that is to take it like a lady.”

Meleri stopped brushing and wrinkled her nose at that disgusting recommendation. “That is the most unpalatable advice I have heard! Surely, you did not mean I should meekly surrender. You must know me better than to think I would blindly submit to nothing more than becoming a suffering saint. I could sooner drink vinegar.”

“We do what we have to do, milady.”

“I know,” Meleri said sadly. She put down the brush and climbed into bed. Suddenly she doubled up her fists and struck the bed. “Oooh! So much anger, so few ways to vent it! I tell you, Betty, the unfairness of it all makes me quite desperate.”

Betty’s hands flew to her breast. “Oh, milady! It bodes ill for us whenever you feel desperate. Please don’t do anything foolish.”

“Hmm…Like you said, we do what we have to do,” she answered, thinking upon the subject further.

After a few moments of consideration, she added, “I swear, by all that’s holy, if it was the only way out, I could do something foolish.” Meleri leaned forward and rested her chin in the upturned palms of her hands. “Faith! I am so desperate to dispense with this ridiculous betrothal, I would do anything to rid myself of it and Lord Waverly.” She had a sudden flash of thought and her head popped up. “Have you ever known anyone who joined a convent?”

“Lud! Of course not! And pardon me for saying so, but that choice is not for you.”

“Why not?”

“You are not Catholic, milady.”

“Oh…yes, I suppose that does present a problem.” She sighed deeply. “Perhaps I could simply disappear…mayhap, I could lose myself in a band of roving gypsies.”

“Lose yourself? With all that red hair?”

“Hmm. What if I took up with a crew of pirates…or perhaps a clan of wild, uncivilized Scots?”

“Scots!” Betty gasped in a perfectly horrified manner. “Mi-lady, I entreat you not to speak so, even in jest. Don’t be forgetting the parson said we should always be very careful about what we ask for, because we might get it.”

Meleri looked at Betty’s round, trusting face and saw her maid felt none of the cynicism she felt. Why should she? I’m the one being forced to marry a man capable of almost anything, she thought.

Betty doused all the lamps, save the one by Meleri’s bed. “Shall I leave this one burning?”

“Yes, leave it. I will take care of it later.”

Betty gave Meleri a smile meant to be reassuring. “Do not fret, milady. I know something good will happen. You are too kindhearted and clean spirited to have such unpleasantness befall you. Do try to get some sleep now.”

“I shall try, Betty. Most of the time, I fall asleep easily enough. It is only later, when the dreams come that I awake, unable to sleep. The rest of the night, I lie abed thinking.”

“Are they bad dreams, milady?”

“No…at least, I don’t think they are. I cannot always remember much of what I dream. I only know it wakes me and then I think, and think, and think. I ask so many questions, yet I never find the answers.”

“Perhaps it is better that you don’t remember.”

“If only I could forget everything connected with this wretched betrothal, or that beast, Lord Waverly. And then there’s my circumstances—and the plight of all women back through the centuries.”

“Through the centuries? You mean you spend time thinking about all the women who have ever lived, milady?”

“Of course.”

“But they are dead, milady. What good does it do to dwell upon them?”

“Because we can learn from them, from their mistakes and servitude. How could I help my own situation without considering the wretchedness of all women who have been virtual prisoners of men since creation? Sometimes, I swear I can hear the clanking of their chains.” Her mood took a downward turn when she said, “Soon I will be joining them, unless I find a way out of this betrothal. Oh, Betty, what am I going to do?”

“I wish I knew, milady. Faith, I cannot think of anything or anyone who could help you now, save the Almighty, of course. He is the only one who can help you now.”

“You expect me to trust another man?”

“Why…” Completely flabbergasted, Betty’s mouth snapped shut.

Meleri paid no mind. “In case you have forgotten, He happens to be the one responsible for all of this.”

“It wasn’t God, milady. It was our mother Eve who did this to us when she was deceived by Lucifer and partook of the apple.”

“That’s my point! Bah! Talk about unfair! All women punished, for thousands of years, for one woman taking one tiny bite of one apple? If that isn’t a prime example of male logic, I don’t know what is. Does that seem fair?”

“No, milady.”

“Now, I ask you, how absurd can you get?”

“I don’t know, milady.”

“And why me? I don’t even like apples!”

“You will have to trust. God’s wisdom is not our wisdom. He is your only hope.”

Meleri slid down farther into the bed, until she felt as if the world were growing larger and she, smaller. She released a long, wretched sigh. “It’s not that I don’t trust. It’s just that I’ve been doing that for some time now, without even a hint of salvation, and now the time draws uncomfortably near. I am of marriageable age. Each morning I wonder if this will be the day the ax falls, the day Lord Waverly pays Papa a call to arrange the date of our wedding.”

“Hold to your faith, milady. Do not give up. Pray as if everything relied on God, and work as if everything relied upon you.”

Before Meleri could say anything more, Betty bid her a hasty “Good night, milady” and headed for the door.

“Good night, Betty,” she said in an absentminded way. A moment later, she doused the candle.

As was her custom, Meleri fell asleep easily. It was much later, when she was in a deep slumber, that the dream came to her again, with the faintest glimmerings of enchantment. Vaguely aware of a sudden storm that blew fiercely and pelted her window, she bolted upright when the windows in her room were suddenly thrown apart. Stricken, she watched as the curtains billowed out and sent a chill down her spine. Then everything grew quiet and still.

He came into her room, a mere shadow at first—a dim, indistinct figure, nothing more than a swirling mist of green that began to take form. A moment later, he was standing in the frame of her window. She could see him clearly now, an imposing, queerly dressed figure of a man.

His clothes were in the quaint, old-fashioned style, with hose and a white ruff about the neck. A great black cape hung from his shoulders and flared about his feet.

I might be frightened, she thought, if he did not look so much like the king’s jester. The thought no more than entered her mind when she noticed the immediate widening of his eyes. He did not speak, but the expression on his face told her he knew her every thought.

He stepped farther into the room and moved to one side, which left the window clear for her to see a black backdrop of dim starlight.

With a grand gesture and nary a word, he swept his hand in front of him as a sign that she should look beyond him. Through the window, she saw a long procession of women. Incalculable in number, the orderly succession did not end, but disappeared mysteriously into the vaporous illusion of moonlight.

Her thoughts clear and lucid now, Meleri saw a tiny pinprick of light glowing in the distance. It began to grow brighter the closer it came, until she saw it was a lamp, passed from woman to woman. It came closer, the light stronger and brighter, until the first woman took it and turned to face Meleri. The moment she extended her hand and offered the lamp to Meleri, a pureness of light washed over the woman’s face, revealing all the beauty and whiteness of a pearl. Meleri gave a strangled cry, for she saw it was the face of her mother, dead these many years.

She tried to call out, to utter her mother’s name, but her throat was frozen and the words came out nothing more than a whisper, papery and dry. With tears on her face, she saw the kind, soft look in her mother’s eyes and felt her heart would break at the beauty of it.

Once again, she held the lamp toward Meleri, only this time she motioned her forward.

Meleri frowned, trying to understand the significance of the lamp or what would happen to her if she took it. Yet, she kept thinking, whom could you trust, if not your own mother? The thought propelled her forward, until she stopped a few feet away, prevented from going any farther by some invisible force.

Her mother smiled softly and offered her the lamp with outstretched hands. Meleri reached for it, and as she did, her hand brushed the hand of her mother. Suddenly, she knew what it all meant, but the moment she grasped the meaning and significance, the vision began to grow faint, until it vanished completely.

What had been so real was now obscure to her mind and senses, nothing more than the memory of indistinct figures in the distance.

Left with only a dim recollection, Meleri was engulfed with sadness and doubt. She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined it all, when she saw the transparent image of a lamp glowing in her hand. As she glimpsed the lamp, she saw into the ancient past, from generation to generation, and realized each woman in the chain was a part of the tradition. They were the keepers of heritage: the guards of the female legacy, the caretakers of the inheritance of feminine knowledge and instinct, the preservers of the ancient wisdom passed down from mother to daughter.

She knew that by taking the light, she was receptive to the spirit of all those who had gone before, to the part of them that dwelled within the deepest part of her own spirit and soul—the place where instinct, inspiration, spirituality and reason meet. Tears came into her eyes, for she realized she had inherited more from her mother than she thought. She was a composition, for all of her ancestral grandmothers dwelled within her still, each of them contributing a distinct part in order to make her whole.

The will to survive…It had been there from the beginning. All along, she had the power and the will to carry on despite the hardships—the perceptive insight, the ingrained knowledge, the dyed-in-the-wool, bred-in-the-bone instinct to find her way out of the deep, dark forest and into the light.

It was there from the beginning, but she had not known it.

She went to the window and looked out, but she saw only the silver-leafed trees and a carpet of dew-spangled grass. Disappointed, she closed the window and returned to her bed.

Things would be different now.

She would follow her instinct and listen to her intuitive nature. She closed her eyes and fell into a deep, restful sleep, conscious of nothing, save the voice that said, “Follow what you know, what you feel to be right. Let your instinct show you the way. Do not be afraid.”

The next morning, when she awoke, her head felt fuzzy, her memory blurred. Languishing in her thoughts, she was still abed when Betty came into the room with her breakfast tray, her voice tuneful as a whistling teapot.

“Good morning, milady.” She put the tray on the bed beside Meleri, then gave her a questioning look. “Did you sleep well?”

“Part of me, part of the time.” She said nothing about what happened to Betty, who busied herself with drawing back the curtains.

Brilliant sunshine flooded into the room, so dazzling that, when it struck Meleri full in the face, it made her blink. Blinded for a moment, she squinted at Betty. “How do you know if something really happened, or if you dreamed it?”

Betty moved about the room, pulling things out of drawers and readying the clothes Meleri would wear that day. “I don’t know, milady. Intuition, I suppose.”

Now, that had a familiar ring to it. Almost immediately, Meleri felt wide awake. She reached for the breakfast tray and pulled it closer. “Mmm. Buttered scones.” She picked one up and covered it with honey. It was warm, buttery and too sweet to resist, so she popped it in her mouth. Savoring each moment, she poured a little cream and added a spoonful of sugar to her tea.

“Did you have another dream last night, milady?”

With a mouthful of scone, all Meleri could do was nod. A swallow of tea later, she said, “Yes, at least I think it was a dream.”

“You think? You mean you are not certain?”

“I’m certain. It’s only that my mind tells me I think so because I want it to be real.”

“Always do or believe the exact opposite of what your mind tells you—that’s my adage.”

“And it probably works nine times out of ten.” Meleri sighed. “Oh, fiddle! If there were only some way to prove it truly happened.”

Betty chuckled. “Nocturnal visitors rarely leave calling cards, milady.”

Meleri could not help smiling at that. “No, I fear they do not.”

Further conversation was cut short when the housekeeper, Mrs. Hadley, came into the room, stomach preceding, as if she were leading the grand march. She was the only person Meleri knew who could enter a room in such a manner that she looked like a complete procession. She was a stout woman, box-shaped and rather brusque, but she could be coddled into a smile now and then.

“Well, bless me,” Mrs. Hadley said, standing on two stocky legs in the manner of a Sussex spaniel. “You’re already up.”

“At least part of the way,” Meleri said. She finished the last of her tea and put it on the tray, then climbed out of bed.

Betty glanced at Mrs. Hadley, then picked up the breakfast tray. “I’ll take this downstairs.”

Mrs. Hadley nodded. She stood there with the commanding confidence of a mountain, the way she rose up, considerable mass, steep sides and limited width at the summit. Her eyes were eagle-sharp and took in every detail, including the fact that Meleri was not dressed. “Will you be needing any help with your clothes?”

“No, thank you, Betty has laid almost everything out.” Meleri opened the wardrobe doors and lifted the riding habit down from the hook where Betty placed it.

Mrs. Hadley nodded. “The color will be perfect with your brilliance. That shade of blue goes very well with red hair.”

Meleri held the habit up in front of her and studied herself in the mirror. “Do you think so? It was most difficult to decide between this and the dark green. Betty liked the green. She thought it matched my eyes.”

“You have several green dresses and only one blue, and it is a very pale color. I think this particular shade will be quite an unforgettable addition to your wardrobe.”

“Unforgettable?” Meleri studied her reflection again. “Hmm. You know, I think you are right. This is quite a spectacular color. The seamstress said it was the latest rage in London. I suppose it’s good we rarely go there, otherwise, I would look like everyone else in the ton when I took my morning ride through Hyde Park.”

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed that you never had the opportunity to reside awhile in London. You are young and so full of life, I know you would love going to parties and having a life filled with all the pleasures the other blue bloods your age are enjoying. Your father did not mean to slight you when he did not arrange for you to have a season or two. I am sure it slipped his mind.”

“I know. His forgetfulness grows worse and worse. I find it a horrible reminder that he is growing old.”

“I remember back before you were born, before he married your dear, sweet mother. He was the most loving and attentive father to Mary and Elizabeth, as he was with you…in the beginning.”

Meleri was remembering the Christmas when he surprised her with her first pony. “I suppose that’s what happens when a man takes a much younger wife.” Meleri tried to imagine herself married to a man thirty years her senior or what it would be like to have a man over fifty father her first child.

Mrs. Hadley looked off for a moment and her eyes grew misty. “I only wish you could have known him all those years ago, when he was a young, strapping man, so full of life and always on the go. Parties, parties, all the time.”

“All replaced with books and hounds, or cattle breeding and collecting fine wine.” Meleri felt suddenly ashamed of speaking so of her father. “I shouldn’t have said that. I am too strong-willed and have the bad habit of saying whatever jumps into my mouth.”

“You are honest and that is to be appreciated. I admire a person who believes in calling a cowplop, cowplop!”

Meleri started to laugh, then clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was no use. The laughter would not be contained. At last, when she had control of herself, she said, “Mrs. Hadley, are you insinuating I called my father a meadow muffin?”

Mrs. Hadley seemed to gather her generous proportions and rearrange them to make her taller, which perfectly fit her righteous manner of speech. “I most certainly am not. I would never refer to my employer in such a manner.” She then glanced down at the timepiece pinned to her bodice. “Lord save London! Look at the time, and here I stand, rattling on like I had good sense. I must be about my duties while there is still time to spare.”

She rushed to the door and had no more than disappeared, when her head popped through the doorway. “The blue is definitely the right choice,” she said, then she disappeared again—so quickly this time, Meleri was reminded of a turtle drawing its head back into its shell.

Meleri fussed over the new riding habit a bit before she stepped into it. She was preoccupied with the dream and took little notice of the gold trim so beautifully embroidered on the snug, fitted jacket. Once she was dressed, she spent some time in front of the mirror, trying to tuck an abundance of curly red hair beneath a small hat of the same dark blue, trimmed with iridescent black feathers that curved smartly around her head.

She was about to admit defeat and give it up as an impossible cause. She even considered throwing the entire outfit out the window.

By the time Betty returned, she was in the supreme of frustration. “I came to see if you needed any help getting dressed,” Betty said, then gasped. “Oooh, milady, don’t you look as fine as flowers?”

Meleri forced a smile as easily as one would paste pictures in a book and gave her a nod. “Why, thank you, Betty. I do believe I feel as fine as flowers.” She twirled around, forgetting about her earlier decision to stomp the hat beyond recognition. “It is lovely, is it not?”

“Oh, it is, milady. It truly is. I thought you should have gotten the green, but I can see now that the blue suits you ever so much better. It does wonderful things to your eyes.”

Meleri was beginning to feel floral, in spite of herself. “If I look that stunning, I think I should go for a ride.”

“’Tis only fitting the flowers in the meadow should see you.”

Once she was outside, Meleri asked the groom to bring her horse. She sat down on the tree stump she used as a mounting block. While she waited, Mrs. Prolific, the barn cat, came around the corner, her tail straight above her back, the tip curled over like a shepherd’s staff. Meleri picked her up and held her close, stroking her soft fur. At the first rattle of a purr, she wished happiness came so easily to her.

Inside the house, Betty and Mrs. Hadley stood at the kitchen window, watching Meleri.

Betty frowned. “She’s been a bit melancholy of late, hasn’t she?”

The expression on Mrs. Hadley’s face softened. “Yes, she’s lost some of her sparkle. And why not, with all this fretting over Sir William, and the worry of what to do about Lord Waverly. Poor puss, she reminds me of the way she was after her mother died.”

“Lud! I do not remember those days, but I heard she was wild as a banshee. Cook said she never thought to see a time when she would turn out to be such a lady.”

Mrs. Hadley nodded in agreement. “I remember those dark days for certain. Poor child, even now I cannot help feeling a bit sorry for her.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. She was a lonely little thing after her mother was gone. At times, I wonder if anything has changed. I suspect she is still lonely.”

“How can she be lonely when there are so many of us about?”

Mrs. Hadley thought about that for a moment. “As an ant could be lonely in a beehive, I suppose.”

“Not around their own kind, you mean?”

“Yes, poor child. She ought to be around people her own age, not sequestered off in some country estate with an absentminded old father and a house full of servants. And there is Lord Waverly to consider.”

“Lud! Don’t mention him. His very name I find frightening!”

“A love match is what she needs. Wouldn’t that brighten her life? She would be well suited to marriage with the right man. She has all the qualities of a good wife and mother.”

Betty sighed, fairly filled with romantic illusion. “’Tis true, every word you say. If only it were possible. She would be better off an old maid and nursing bunions, than married to that dan-diprat, Waverly.”

“Whenever you mention marriage, she looks as though she will burst into tears. I know it has been weighing heavily on her mind of late.”

“It’s a pity, sure enough,” Betty said, stopping to lean on the broom and stare wistfully out the window.”

“Something will happen,” Mrs. Hadley said. “She has the kindest heart and deserves so much more. Just the other day she gave cook three dresses to give to her neighbor whose cottage burned. Last month she gave the Widow Peabody four months of her allowance to buy her daughter a wedding dress.”

“What do you think Lord Waverly’s reaction will be, when he learns how Meleri feels?”

“It’s not Meleri he will miss, but her huge dowry.”

“Huge?”

“Enormously so. After the death of Lady Seren, there were rumors that she wanted Meleri to have a dowry larger than those Sir William settled upon the daughters of his first marriage. You know she will also inherit quite a grand estate through entitlements from her mother and grandmother?”

“No, I didn’t know. I cannot fathom why Lord Waverly isn’t itching to get his hands on all that money. I’ve heard he has run up debts that are far larger than what he receives from the duke. It is said that he buys too many horses, and that he is a big gambler who frequents the gaming halls, when he isn’t losing bets at White’s.” Betty shook her head in a puzzled manner. “The aristocracy is very peculiar. They never seem to look at things in the normal manner. My father always said a nobleman was like a turnip…best when underground.”

Mrs. Hadley nodded in agreement. “Most of them are relics—things of the past. They have more wealth than power, which affords them nothing to do but cling to their vices. As for Lord Waverly, he runs up such debts—more than enough reason to cry off, if you ask me.”

“Don’t forget the mistress in London.”

Mrs. Hadley sucked in her breath with a gasp. “A mistress! Where did you hear that?”

Betty’s entire person seemed to swell with importance. “Why, I heard it from my sister in London. She has a close friend in the duke’s employ.”

Mrs. Hadley frowned. “Someone should tell Meleri.”

“Yes, but who? Would you want such a dastardly task set before you?”

“Of course not, but someone should be up to the task.” Mrs. Hadley gave Betty the eye.

“Oh no, I’m not going to tell her.”

Mrs. Hadley fell silent, and when she could not think of anyone to undertake such a mission, she said, “I suppose she will find out on her own soon enough.”

It was almost noon when Meleri returned from a long ride. As she dismounted, she was thinking she could have traipsed about the outlying terrain for the rest of the day. Every aspect of her jaunt through the countryside was pure joy, for today Mother Nature seemed bent upon putting her best foot forward, filling the hills and fields with colors only an artist could mix and splash about with such ease.

She did not change out of her riding habit, but went directly to the music room, where she sat down at the piano, her heart fairly bursting with the need to express with music nature’s bounty she had so recently enjoyed. Soon she was lost in her playing. It was not until she was in the middle of Mozart’s Piano Concerto Numer Five—which she played with a flourish—that Jarvis, the butler, came into the room.

He placed an envelope on the piano next to her. “Shall I wait for a reply, milady?”

Meleri nodded and said with a smile, “Yes, please wait a moment.”

Jarvis nodded, then stood quietly beside the door.

She continued to the end of the piece, then stopped and picked up the creamy white envelope, which she opened. She withdrew a monogrammed note from her childhood friend Lady Rebecca Crandall.

Meleri had been so happy that Becky’s marriage last year to Lord Crandall was a love match, but disappointment soon followed when she learned Becky would be moving to London. During the past year, they had tried to keep in touch by corresponding frequently, but even profuse letter writing was not the same as having her closest friend nearby. Becky’s departure left an emptiness in Meleri that nothing had been able to fill—a great blank in her life that taught her the true meaning of the word lonely.

Fair to trembling with anticipation, her gaze swept quickly over her friend’s note. As always, she was anxious to hear about the gay parties or the latest gossip, and certainly all about the most recent Paris fashions. She never dreamed that she would soon discover it was her very own name that was being bandied about by the ton, instead of the latest French styles.

Dearest Meleri,

I heard something at Lady Davenport’s ball the other night that distressed me greatly. I did not write straightaway, because my dear David thought I should, as he put it, “mind my own business.” However, after much consideration and further looking into the matter, I have decided to write you. After all, you were my dearest friend when we were growing up and running wild as two Highland ponies about the countryside—something that time, marriage and separation has not changed.

Dear, dear Melli, I know you better than anyone, and I know you will understand I am not telling you this to upset you, but rather because I feel it is something you should know before you set a date for your wedding. Lord Waverly has a mistress, a Lady Jane something-or-the-other. I am trying to find out the last name and will write you when I do. She has been his mistress for some time now. Apparently, he makes no effort to keep this liaison secret, or to keep his mistress sequestered, since they are frequently seen together. It is rumored that the reason he has not set a date for your wedding before now, is that he is has been hoping to find a way to marry Lady Jane instead of you.

Please forgive me for being the bearer of such tragic and disappointing news. I only wish there had been a way for me to deliver such disappointing news in person, or at least to console you. Do write back with the utmost urgency to let me know you do not hold it against me for having done what I thought best.

Always your loving friend,

Becky

Meleri’s hands trembled as she felt the sudden surge of anger, white-hot and intense, that burned through her. To be humiliated in such a manner—it was as unspeakable as Waverly was despicable.

“Of all the…Oooh!” She sprang to her feet, fists clenched at her sides, and set the rosy coils of hair to bouncing as she began to pace the floor. “A mistress!” she said, reaching the windows and turning around. “In London, no less,” she said when she reached the opposite wall and spun around. “I’m probably the only person in the whole of England who did not know!” She stopped sharply and pinned Jarvis with a look of inquiry. “Did you know about this?”

Jarvis, looking quite miserable, stared down at the toes of his shoes—a move that unerringly inferred he would rather be somewhere else. “I…that is…”

“I can see that means yes.” She did not hear the gulp, but she saw his Adam’s apple bob a time or two. “And the other servants? I assume they knew.”

She heard the gulp this time. “I believe most of them have heard at one time or the other.”

“Suffering saints! Am I the only one who did not know?” She was furious. “I am so angry with myself for being such a ninny! How could I have been so easily duped?” She knew she should maintain a levelheaded coolness in circumstances such as these, but knowing and doing were two different things. She was only human, and certainly not impervious to agitation, turmoil or any of the dozen other emotions that wrestled for dominion over her feelings.

She hated Waverly for doing this to her—for stealing her eagerness, her passion…yes, even her joie de vivre! From life, she got her fire, her enthusiasm and her almost rapturous outlook on life. The other aspects and emotions she could subdue, but not her appetite for life. Front and foremost, it was her greatest infatuation. That Waverly was capable of stealing even this sent her fury spiraling to new heights. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to scream, or stamp her feet until she set the church bells to clanging in the village. “Excuse me a moment, will you Jarvis?”

“Of course, milady,” he replied in a voice that sounded as bewildered as he looked.

Calm as a grave, she directed her steps toward the front door.

Shrouded in mystery and the model of perfect temperance, she stepped out into the sunlight. With the most genteel demeanor, she closed the door behind her, walked to the edge of the steps and had her fit.

Fists doubled, fury bubbling forth, she paced back and forth, waving her arms and venting her anger. When she finished, she stamped her foot and let out a blood-curdling scream, its length equaled only by its volume.

Her anger tempered, she felt immensely better.

She was glad Becky broke the news. What better impetus to get her moving toward her final goal of extricating herself from Waverly’s clutches and ending, once and for all, their farce of an engagement? No longer was she the romantic. She understood now that no one would ride up to her door on a white destrier, lance in hand, to save her, any more than she could rely upon her father to intervene on her behalf.

A deep frown arose from the state of careful consideration she immersed herself in. She was not angry over Philip’s amorous liaisons. He could have a hundred such women and it would have no effect on her, since she did not give two tuppence for Philip, with or without a mistress. That was not the issue. Of greater importance and concern was his lack of respect and obvious disregard for propriety.

Having a mistress was one thing. Flaunting it publicly was another.

Thankful her father never gave her that season in London, she’d been spared the deeper humiliation, since most of the members of the ton she knew by name only. Humiliation before strangers was ever easier. She never wished more than she did at this moment for her father to be the strong, capable man he had once been—a discerning man of keen intellect and sharp understanding, so cleverly adroit in dealing with difficulty.

Wishing would not make it so, and even if it would, she was better off learning to care for herself. Self-reliance was the word of the day, she decided, with sudden remembrance of bygone days when her father always gave her a word to learn at the beginning of each day. Self-reliance—better to learn it now than to stumble and trip through life.

When she reentered the house, she saw Betty and Mrs. Hadley speaking softly at the bottom of the stairs. “Have you seen my father?”

“He was reading in the garden an hour or so ago,” answered Mrs. Hadley.

Meleri’s heart began to pound. “Alone?”

“No, milady, Geoffrey is with him,” Betty said.

A relieved breath escaped her. “What would we do without the infinite patience and understanding of Geoffrey?”

“In your father, he has found his calling,” Mrs. Hadley said.

Twice in the past year, Sir William had wandered off. The first time, they found him in the upper meadow, “pursuing butterflies,” as he had put it, butterfly net in hand. The second time, he was discovered walking down the lane, some four miles from home. That time, he could not remember why he left, or where it was, exactly, that he was going.

“I know. I could search from here to Lisbon and never find anyone as dedicated or devoted to him as all of you,” Meleri answered.

“Sir William was both generous and kind to us when we were in need,” Mrs. Hadley said. “It is only right that the opposite be true.”

Elizabeth arrived later that evening, alighting from the carriage in a hurry. With equal haste, she rushed into the house. Meleri, who was coming down the stairs about that time, could not keep the elation out of her voice. “Dear Elizabeth,” she said, hurrying to embrace her. “I am ever so glad you are here.”

“I wish I could have come immediately after I received your letter.”

Meleri took in her sister’s blond and fair English-rose coloring, so different from her own. “You are here now and a most welcome sight.”

“It is good to see you, although you have grown into quite a lovely woman since I saw you last. Goodness, how long has it been?”

“Almost three years, I think, since you were here on Christmas.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Three years! I cannot believe it was so long ago. I do wish you had come to London when father came, although I know you did not want to miss your friend’s wedding.”

“No, I couldn’t miss Becky’s wedding. Do you ever see her?”

“Fairly frequently, actually. At the theater, or riding in Hyde Park. Once, I talked with her at some length at the ball Lady Primrose gave for the Countess Alexandria de Rubicoff.” She paused and looked around. “It still looks the same. I do not know why, but I find that uplifting. Where is father?”

“Out walking his dogs with Geoffrey.”

“Shall we go in search of him?”

“I would like to have a moment to speak with you first, if I may. “

“Of course.”

“Why don’t we go out into the garden? I’m certain that would be welcome, after being stuffed in a carriage for most of the day.”

Elizabeth slipped her arm through Meleri’s and the two of them strolled outside to sit on a stone bench that curved in front of a stately elm. “I remember you used to have a swing in this tree. What happened to it?”

Meleri smiled at the memory of the hours she spent in that swing. “It broke, and so did my arm when I fell.”

“Oh, I do remember the broken arm. Please tell me about father. How bad is it?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, it is quite the most difficult and heartbreaking thing I have ever had to witness. How can I prepare you for something I don’t understand?”

Elizabeth listened quietly, occasionally wiping tears from her eyes as Meleri told her about their father and how Sir William first began to exhibit isolated incidences of odd, sometimes bizarre behavior. She reported how everyone thought at first that Sir William was only demonstrating his own peculiar brand of eccentrics.

“What do you mean by eccentrics?”

Meleri told her about the time he came downstairs ready to be driven to church, still wearing his dressing gown, and when he began to address the members of the staff by different names.

“How sad.”

“Yes, and sadder still was the time last year, while attending Squire Threadgill’s Christmas party, he got into an argument with his longtime friend, Lord Peterby, after accusing Peterby of stealing his silver cigar holder. The holder was later found, on the table beside the chair where Papa sat most of the evening.

“This was about the time I began to realize he would never be the guardian a father should be,” Meleri continued. “After that, my attitude toward him changed. I stopped becoming angry at his lack of involvement, or hurt over his seeming disinterest in my life. I even found myself regretting the times when I reached the point of exasperation with him.”

When there was nothing more to say, Meleri waited patiently while Elizabeth stared off, reflective and silent. Meleri’s heart ached for her, and she could not help wondering if life would not have been more pleasurable without so many plots and too much friction.

“You said there are times when he remembers who you are.”

“Oh, yes, some days he is completely his old self, with no hint that his memory flagged the day before, or that it was gone completely the day before that. One moment we can be laughing about something that happened when I was a child, when, without notice, he suddenly stops talking and stares off in the distance. That’s when I know it will be a stranger’s eyes that I see when he turns back to look at me.”

“So sudden.”

“And so painful.” Meleri stood. “Shall we go find him now?” she asked, and the two of them walked off in search of their father.

As they walked, she found Elizabeth was not very talkative, so Meleri took the opportunity to tell her about Philip. She was surprised to find herself wanting and needing the counsel of someone older and wiser in such matters. By the time she finished, the tight grip of anxiety that surrounded her had grown to a tight knot of dread.

“Nothing you have said comes as any real surprise,” Elizabeth said. “Nor can I blame you for feeling as you do. Certainly I would feel the same if I were standing in your slippers. You know, I never cared for Lord Waverly, or for his father.”

“I never realized that. I thought you were quite fond of him.”

“No, that was Mary. There was always something about him, something I could not name, that made me uneasy. I remember seeing you as a child—so vivacious and full of spirit. You were quite a precocious little thing. Father was fond of saying you ‘blossomed faster than spring tulips.’ Whenever I looked at you, with your huge green eyes and red, bouncing curls, I could not help feeling so much pity for you and the future father sentenced you to when he signed that betrothal contract.”

The sound of yapping dogs and male voices ended any further discussion, so Meleri and Elizabeth stopped to wait upon Sir William. Elizabeth was anxious to see the change in her father, while Meleri fretted anew over the problem of Waverly, namely what to do about it.

Later, after Elizabeth went to spend some time alone with Sir William, Meleri changed into a pale yellow dress of dimity, trimmed in green. As she subdued her hair with a length of green ribbon, she wondered if she chose this particular dress by accident, or because it had always been a favorite of her father’s.

An hour later, she was working at her embroidery frame, her mind busily employed elsewhere. Her thoughts were not on Philip, but on the smattering of pity she felt for the unfortunate Lady Jane. It went beyond her, how anyone could voluntarily be Waverly’s mistress. She decided the easy way out would be for Philip to marry the woman, but she knew he would never be so foolish as long as the duke was alive.

At the sound of footsteps, Meleri jabbed the needle back into the fabric and looked up to see Elizabeth come into the room, carrying a cup of tea.

When she sat down beside her, Meleri saw her half sister had been crying and felt compelled to soothe her as best she could. “I’m so sorry. I know it isn’t much consolation, but I know how you feel.”

“I know you do, you poor child. And to think you have had to bear this, day in and day out, watching the gradual ebbing away of the man we loved so much, helpless to do anything about it.” Elizabeth pulled a small linen handkerchief out from under her sleeve. “I don’t think I could have done it. You are much stronger than I.”

“I trust you are not upset that I did not write you sooner of his condition.”

“No, if anything, I am happy you allotted me a grace period, time when I unknowingly thought all was well.”

“How was he?”

A tear rolled down Elizabeth’s cheek and she wiped it away. “He spoke to me as if I were a stranger. It broke my heart when he asked me if I was someone he knew.”

Meleri and Elizabeth soon fell into a deep discussion, which lasted for more than an hour, which was about the time Sir William came tottering down the backstairs, looking for all the world like a man with a mission. He spotted Jarvis dusting a bronze statue and called out, “I say there, Jasper, have you seen…” He paused and frowned deeply as if trying to remember something. “Have you seen…”

“Are you looking for your daughters, Sir William?”

“By Jove, yes! I am looking for my daughter. Have you seen her?”

“I believe they are both in the sitting room.”

Sir William started off, then stopped in front of the sitting room door. Meleri and Elizabeth both looked up, just as Sir William paused. They saw his quick glance toward Jarvis. “By the way, Jeremy, do you recall the way to the sitting room?”

“Yes, Sir William, I believe it is the door right in front of you.”

“Dash it all,” Sir William said, turning back to discover the door, “when did we put a door here?”

When Sir William entered the room, Meleri noticed the way his shadow raced ahead of him to stretch itself over the sunlit floor. She could not help wondering how long it would be before it was only the shadow of her father she would see, while her Papa was left permanently behind.

Meleri and Elizabeth both came to their feet. “Hello, Papa, how are you feeling today?” Meleri asked, noticing how the afternoon light gave added importance to his graying side-whiskers, and did nothing to soften the silver hair that was once so very black.

He stopped and fixed them with a look that said he was searching for the words that never followed. Meleri smiled at the dearness of him. “Would you like to join us?”

“Join you? Jolly time, to be sure. Dreadfully sorry to say, no. I’m off to Squire Tolliver’s.”

“Could you sit down for just a minute?”

“The squire is weaning the pups from his best hunting dog. I’m going over to pick one out.”

“Elizabeth and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Elizabeth? Oh, that must be the lady with you. Is she a new friend?”

Meleri sighed. “Papa, I wanted to talk to you about Lord Waverly.”

Sir William frowned. “Can’t talk about Lord Waverly.”

“Why not?”

“Never met the chap.” He took his watch out of his pocket and looked at it, then snapped the lid shut and put it back in his pocket.

At a loss for anything to say, yet needing to speak to prevent herself from crying, Meleri asked, “What time is it?”

“Time to see the dogs!” he said, and with that he headed toward the door.

Jarvis was still working in the hallway, busily employed with the feather duster, when Sir William saw him and said, “What luck! You are still here! Could you tell me which direction I was coming from when I spoke to you a moment ago?”

Jarvis, his face blank as paper, said, “You were coming from that direction, Sir William.”

“Jolly good! That mean’s I’ve had my lunch.”

Elizabeth burst into tears before her father was gone. Meleri immediately began trying to console her. After a few tries, she realized there was nothing she could do or say that would change the way Elizabeth felt, so she contented herself with simply patting her on the back in a way that let her know she was not going through this all alone.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Elizabeth managed to say.

Meleri patted her back again and offered what little encouragement she could. “Go ahead and cry. You will feel ever so much better for having done it.”

When Elizabeth was all cried out and nothing but the hiccups remained, she expressed her apology again. “I cannot believe I was such a blubber puss! Me! A woman my age, crying like that.”

“When it comes to tears, age doesn’t matter.”

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them for a moment, as if considering something. “I have decided two things. The first is, I think you should be away from here with all due haste, if you still feel the same way about Lord Waverly.”

“Leave Humberly Hall?”

“You cannot remain here any longer than necessary. Waverly could pop up at any time and demand to set a date.”

“I’m not overly worried about that. He’s been painfully slow to even put in an appearance here for ages.”

“Yes, well that may have been true in the past, but I daresay that will all change the moment he hears of the state of decline our father has fallen into.”

Meleri cringed at the thought. “I had not considered that.”

“Have you decided where you will go? You know you are welcome to come to London.”

“That is the first place Waverly would look.”

Elizabeth patted Meleri’s hand. “Do give it the utmost priority. Once Waverly knows and sets the date, your impossible task will only become more so.”

“What was the second thing you decided?”

“I cannot return to London now that I know the full extent of Father’s decline, yet I cannot remain here. My dear husband will soon be pressing me to return home. And there are my children and grandchildren, most of whom are in London, at least for the biggest part of the year.”

“You want to take Papa to London with you. Is that what you are saying?” Meleri asked, wondering how Elizabeth’s soft gray eyes could possibly have turned softer.

“Yes, that is what I am saying. I can look after him there. If I leave him here, I shall do nothing but worry. There are many things in London to amuse him, and I think it will be stimulating for him to receive all the attention from his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” She smiled. “And that bloody puppy, too, I suppose.”

Meleri laughed. “Knowing Papa, he would tuck the pup into his waistcoat if you so much as hinted at his leaving his new pup behind.”

“I shall see to it that he has someone with him at all times.”

“You must take Geoffrey. Papa adores Geoffrey and he is equally attached to Papa.”

“I will speak with him when they return with that blasted puppy.” She considered Meleri. “Tell me, how are you taking all of this?”

“I know you love your father, just as I know it is true that you would fret if he remained here. I am aware that is not the only reason you have decided to take him to London.”

“No, it is not the only reason. You are young and have your future waiting out there for you. You will never find it if you remain here and marry Waverly. I am not so naive to think you would go traipsing off in pursuit of your own happiness and leave your father behind.”

“And if I said I did not want you to take Papa to London?”

“I should take him, anyway. It is only a change, Meleri, not the end. Once you have secured yourself from any possibility of Waverly forcing you into marriage, you will be free to see your father whenever you like.”

“Humberly Hall without Papa? It would never be the same.”

Elizabeth shook her head and took Meleri’s hand in hers. “Humberly Hall isn’t the same now. Your papa is already gone.”