19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

S omeone rapped on the door, rousing Melior from a beautiful dream. She blinked a few times, then the handle to her bedroom rattled. Good heavens, was she back in the bad part of her dream? Of course it had not been all bad. Nathaniel had actually been quite thoughtful and comforting.

She moved her hand and it brushed something warm and smooth. Eyes wide open, she stared at the form of a man next to her, at least as much as she could see since her head was nestled on his shoulder.

Skittering back, she heard Baylor call through the door. "My lady, I am come to help you dress and I have your breakfast tray."

Melior pulled her dressing gown tight around her. She'd been so cold last night she'd not even bothered to take it off.

"My lady?"

Her eyes shot to her still sleeping husband. His arm was flung over his face and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She could not allow her maid to enter with him still in her bed.

"My lady?" Baylor called more insistently. "Are you well?"

Melior nearly snorted with laughter at the maid's faux concern. With the way she eyed her through the mirror last night, the woman probably hoped she'd been poisoned by her dinner.

"Just a moment," she finally called.

Her voice seemed to rouse Nathaniel for he removed his arm and blinked up at her.

"My maid is here," she whispered. "You must return to your room before she suspects anything."

He smirked. "We are married, I am sure she understands how that works."

Before she thought better of it, Melior grabbed a pillow and hit him with it. He chuckled but she shushed him. A smile came unbidden to her own lips.

She liked this playful side of Nathaniel. It had been a long time since she'd seen it—years really.

He rolled out of the bed. "Very well," he whispered. "I see I must leave or be sentenced to another flogging by pillow."

She snickered and held up her weapon menacingly. He backed away, hands up, mouthing the words, "I am going."

When he was safely through the connecting door, and it was securely shut, she unlocked her bedroom door and let the maid in.

The maid peered at her disapprovingly and Melior thought she heard her mutter "took you long enough."

Baylor settled the tray on the table and frowned. "I suppose you will want to eat before you dress."

Melior tipped her head to the side as she peered at the maid who brazenly stared back. She thought she'd made headway toward cordiality with the woman, but it seemed she was wrong. Baylor knew she always ate before dressing, so why was it such an imposition today?

The maid finally squirmed under Melior's continued gaze, moving toward the closet to retrieve a gown for the day.

"I shall want my dark blue riding habit this morning," Melior said.

Baylor spun to face her. "Your habit?" She appeared nervous.

"Yes. My brother is visiting and when we are together it is our tradition to take a ride."

"I… it is not ready, my lady."

"Why not? I have not even used it since I arrived."

Baylor looked at her feet. "I have not removed it from your trunk. You did not seem like a lady who could ride."

"I beg your pardon," she said indignantly. "Why would I have a riding habit if I did not use it? I am no hothouse flower. I will have you know that I rode five days a week before coming to Havencrest. But even if I was not proficient at it, cleaning and storing my clothing is one of your obligations. It is not for you to judge who I am and am not by my appearance."

Melior's own words echoed back in her mind. How often had she kept up appearances so others would think her someone she was not? She could still hear her mother's chiding voice.

"Stand straight, Melior. Do not speak so much. Tip your head just so, it shows off your elegant neck to perfection. No, the cut of that dress does not accentuate your assets correctly. That color is atrocious on you. No slurping, burping, or loud chewing, you are not a cow."

And all of it was always followed by, "I am doing this all for you, Melior. You were meant for greatness, and I am helping you achieve it. You should be grateful you have a mother who cares so much; many do not."

An ache deep within her heart threatened to engulf her. She'd done everything she'd been told and still it had not been enough to win her mother's approval, to win Society's approval. She had never been good enough, would never be good enough. Why had she not seen it before?

All her life she'd been taught to judge everyone. That man is too old, this one has few connections and no title. Then there were the women. She'd assumed herself generous where they were concerned, but now she could see how often she'd been encouraged to place herself above them, to look down on them. In truth, to compete with a single-eyed vengeance that had probably alienated those that might have been her friends.

Unbidden, Lady Jane's face came to mind. No, that lady had disliked her long before their rivalry had become heated. And yet Melior wondered if things had been different, if she had been different, could a friendship have grown? They were similar in beauty and talent, even enjoying the same operas and art exhibits.

Baylor peered at her curiously and she realized she'd completely missed what the maid had said. "Pardon?"

"I asked if you would like me to get you another gown while I put your riding habit to rights."

The contrition in the maid's stance was confusing. Normally the woman would have glared in silence or muttered under her breath as she left the room.

"Yes, please." Then a wild notion overtook her and she added, "the tan morning dress will do."

The maid bobbed a curtsy and went about preparing things.

Over the last five years she had given up so much for the approval of people who had been more than happy to toss her aside when she did not measure up, but no more.

Melior let a small smile grow on her face. Her mother hated the tan dress. In truth, she hated anything brown on Melior. She claimed it dimmed her complexion and made her appear as common as a maid. But Aunt Lucinda had gifted her the beautifully warm dress, and after such a cold night it would be a comfort.

Nathaniel leaned against the door trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. When he'd woken to find Melior's head on his shoulder and her arm draped across him, he'd had to remind himself that he had not broken any promises. She was touching him, not the other way round.

But oh, how glorious it had been. He'd laid there allowing old dreams to yawn, stretch, and awaken a small hope deep in his heart that this might be the beginning of something special.

Then the maid had disrupted his happy imaginings with her insistent knocking and reality had crashed back down on him. Quickly he'd flung his arm over his head hoping Melior would think him still asleep. He did not know why he'd done it, only that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew she would not appreciate waking up and finding herself so close to him. Perhaps she'd even be embarrassed.

He'd been right, too. Her sudden jerky motions could only be that of someone surprised by her situation upon waking.

Words filtered through the door and Nathaniel frowned. He'd never heard Helen speak so curtly to any of his guests before. Then again, she'd been an upstairs maid and not waited on any particular lady. Why was she treating his wife with such disdain?

But when Melior's rebuke came through the door for her maid's lack of attention to her clothing, he stiffened. The good feelings from the long night burst like a bubble being pounced on by an overzealous cat.

Of course she was harsh. Yes, the maid had made a mistake by not removing all of Melior's clothes, but she hardly deserved the impassioned set down she was now receiving.

He pushed away from the door, not wanting to hear the rest. He would have to speak with Melior later about her treatment of his staff, but then her last sentence stopped him, nearly wrenching his heart from his chest when her voice cracked on the words.

It is not for you to judge who I am and am not by my appearance.

The words rang in his ears like a bell toll, heaping large coals of guilt on his head. Is that not what he had done, judged her on her crafted perfection? On what she showed the outside world. Did he really know who his wife was under that carefully curated exterior?

Nathaniel crossed to the washbasin and splashed his face with ice cold water hoping it would wash away the uncomfortable feelings, but they remained, dogging his heels as he rang for his valet.

The Duke of Bedford's rebuke of him had been well deserved. He had been so consumed with what he thought he knew about Melior that he'd completely neglected her on principle.

With what he'd experienced last night alone, he could see that the mold he had constructed did not fit. If she had been so cold and calculating, why would she have ventured into his room to shut the window? She could have just as easily placed something at the bottom of her door for the draft.

And then she had gone above and beyond by offering her own warm accommodations. That had to have taken a lot of courage, especially when it was so obvious she was frightened of what allowing him into her bed might entail. And yet she had done it of her own free will because she was concerned for him.

She was concerned for him!

If that did not show a generous heart, he did not know what else could. He had not been near as considerate of her needs as she had of his. And yet he had considered her the selfish one.

He shook his head. Words from his past added further fuel to his self-recrimination.

"People are like the ocean. Some days they are clear and blue. It is easy to see what lies below the surface on those good days. But other days they are murky, hiding their treasures… and their dangers. Usually it happens because they have some sort of disturbance in their life that you and I cannot see. So remember to look deeper. It may take time, son, but I promise if you are patient, you will not regret giving them the benefit of the doubt."

His father had been speaking of Mary at a time in their youth when she had been particularly hard to get along with, but the advice still applied to so many of the situations Nathaniel had found himself in over the years. Yet he'd completely disregarded it where Melior was concerned.

He had witnessed firsthand the turbulence in the Kendall home, her mother's constant demands on Melior's behavior, not even considering how that kind of restriction would shape her. His Grace had, though. He'd known well.

It was time to put into practice the promises he'd made to the duke. Today was a new day, and Nathaniel planned to make it a good one. It might take some doing, but he would see to it that Melior had one of the best days she'd ever had.

His valet entered and half an hour later, freshly shaved and appropriately clad, Nathaniel descended to the breakfast room, excited to unveil what he had planned for Melior and the others.

When he entered, however, he was met with a sight that brought his plans to a swift halt. John sat with the others, sketch paper near at hand. Nathaniel sighed. He'd forgotten they were to sit for another drawing this morning.

Someone came up beside him and he turned to see Melior, a shy smile on her face. Suddenly John's presence did not seem so burdensome. He'd get to sit with Melior after all, and with the change in her demeanor, and perhaps his own thinking, it did not seem like an ill use of a morning.