2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

T he maid bustled about, organizing the dressing table and gathering Melior's gown and underthings.

If only she would hurry up and leave. Melior had been strapped into stays and traipsed around a ballroom all night. She was ready to rest.

"Would you like me to turn down your covers, miss?"

"Yes." Not really. She wanted the maid to go so she could retrieve the things hidden in the intricately carved box she kept beside her bed, but the young woman kept gathering and straightening.

"There you are, miss," Jones said when she was finished.

"Thank you, Jones."

"Anything else I could get for you?"

"No, you have done very well."

The maid smiled at the compliment and bobbing a curtsy finally left through the servants' door connected to the room. Melior let out a long slow breath, dropped her perfectly straight posture and rushed to the side table. She pulled a key out from under her mattress and unlocked the box Uncle Percy had gifted her. A burst of happiness bubbled up from her core as she retrieved her latest book and a pair of spectacles.

If her friends, or any of London for that matter, knew that she wore the horrid lenses, her image of perfection would be ruined. And while she strove for the superiority her mother had insisted on from her birth, she had one giant flaw. She was a bluestocking to her core.

Lord Byron's poems were just one of many books she read late into the night after dismissing her maid—or early in the morning as was the case right now.

She glanced at her time piece. Four a.m. She could get in an hour of reading and still sleep enough to be up by noon. It was Sunday after all, and no one would be expecting her to have at-home hours.

Snuggling under her fluffy covers, she opened the book and slipped her spectacles on. Magical letters formed on the pages and she smiled. This was the one time of day she could fully relax and dream.

She began reading.

The kiss, dear maid! thy lips has left

Shall never part from mine

Till happier hours restored the gift

Untainted back to thine.

She slammed the book shut, visions of her uncle leading Lady Jillian onto the floor filling her mind. For a moment she'd been able to forget the gossip. The lady was only thirty. What were they to do if Uncle Percy married again and produced an heir?

All her life she'd been brought up to believe her father would inherit, Aunt Lucinda having been told she would never carry a child to term. Melior was to be a lady; she'd been raised to one day claim that title. What if it was taken from her?

Even though she would still be the niece of a duke it was not the same as being the daughter of one. A certain marquess may not view her the same after her uncle married, and Uncle Percy would marry if he wanted to save Lady Jillian from scandal.

After the dreaded dance she'd tried to make her way to her uncle to inquire about his intentions, but he'd departed before she reached him, leaving everyone with more questions. Her father had gathered all the information he could, but they still had no concrete answers. Knowing the code of honor her uncle ascribed to, she had no doubt they would hear of an engagement within the week, probably within the day.

She set the book in the box and locked her spectacles in with it. The night's revelries had made her more fatigued than she'd previously thought. Maybe after she slept a few hours she'd be able to more fully face the realities before her.

But just as her eyes closed, the Brutus styled brown hair and mocking green eyes of Sir Nathaniel filled her mind. He'd cast her a smug smile when her uncle led Lady Jillian out onto the floor. If her world had not been tilting on its axis she would have scowled back, but in that moment she'd been lost.

Then his smile had faded into a look of concern. Of all the times for him to finally show interest in her wellbeing, why did it have to be that one? It had nearly brought her to tears, and tears were not acceptable in a ballroom.

Drat the man.

First he'd nearly made her cry, and now he was stealing her sleep.

Hours of sleep had brought no relief from the thoughts that still whirled in Melior's head. When she was finally dressed, she made her way to the drawing room where she knew her family would be gathered at this hour.

When she entered, however, she was disturbed to find not only her two brothers and her mother, but all three of Eddie's closest friends.

The gentlemen rose and she glanced at each one in turn. Mr. Roberts smiled. Lord Newhurst, who had been engaged elsewhere last night, nodded in acknowledgement. But it was Sir Nathaniel's concerned gaze that put starch in her spine. He'd stolen her sleep; she would not let him steal her composure.

"I see we are to entertain all the rabble today. Could we not have had one day of peace, Eddie?" She added a halfhearted smile to soften her words.

"Never a better time to have friends around then when the great queen is unseated from her throne."

Normally she enjoyed their banter, but this time the barb stung. She glared at him.

Their mother harrumphed. "That was uncalled for, Edwin. You will apologize to your sister. It has been a very trying day for all of us."

"My apologies, Mother, Melior. I was only jesting."

"Yes, but your timing was quite poor," Mr. Roberts said, coming to stand before Melior. "Come have a seat by me. I shall protect you from your well-meaning brothers."

Osborne scowled. "Me? I have not even put more than two sentences together all morning. Why does Mel need protection from me?"

Eddie sat down. "Because if you get up the strength to put three sentences together you might remind her of how we will all very likely lose our expected titles, for that is the only sentence you have uttered incessantly all day."

Osborne grumbled and leaned back in his chair.

"Is it settled then?" Melior asked. "Has Papa received word from Uncle Percy?"

"Not yet." Her mother frowned. "But we expect your father back from Grosvenor Square at any moment. Hopefully he will be able to talk some sense into your uncle." Picking up the teapot, she poured a cup. "Come, have some tea, dear. It will calm your nerves."

Melior accepted the cup from her mother and added a few small sandwiches to her plate. Everyone sat in silence as she ate, which unnerved her. After a time, Mr. Roberts drew the other men into a conversation about the price of corn.

A maid entered carrying a large display of white roses and everyone stopped. No doubt they all had expected it to be her father.

"Flowers for ye, miss."

"Who are they from?"

"Lord Caraway."

Melior rose to inspect them. The blooms were pretty, but they carried little scent. At this time of year they would have come from one of the hothouses if one did not have a personal conservatory, but Lord Caraway's townhouse did. Maybe nothing was in bloom. "Place them on the receiving table."

The maid curtsied and crossed to a round table where several other arrangements already sat. Melior decided to see who the others were from, if for no other reason than to escape her brothers' dull conversation.

There were bright pink lilies from Mr. Roberts, a fitting flower for the cheerful man. Several small arrangements of daisies and carnations dotted the table, but a particularly colorful arrangement of delphiniums caught her attention.

Who would bring such a unique flower? She pulled the card from among the greenery.

Her name was scrawled across the front in a well written hand. Turning the card over, she read.

May today bring you joy. Thank you for the dance.

Sir Nathaniel Stanford

The words were simple but for some reason they burrowed straight into her heart. Moisture gathered in her eyes. She needed joy today, but it would probably be in scarce supply.

Noise filtered in from the entryway downstairs and the room went silent while everyone waited. She listened to her father's slow and steady steps as he ascended the stairs to the second level. A footman opened the door and her father entered, his face appearing much older than his fifty-two years.

His dark hair had been mussed from its usual perfect styling and his cravat hung limp. He sat hard in an unoccupied chair.

"Well my dear, it seems we must prepare ourselves for a new duchess."

"How soon?" her mother squawked.

"The first set of banns are to be read this Sunday."

The tears that had hovered in Melior's eyes tripped over her lids and splashed onto her cheeks. She was happy for Uncle Percy; he'd been nothing but good to her, but her dreams of one day holding a title were slipping from her grasp.

"Come now, Mel," Eddie said, "it is not the end of the world."

Yanking a linen from her sleeve, she quickly dabbed at the moisture away hoping no one else had witnessed her emotion. "I am simply happy for him."

Osborne snorted. "No, you are not. None of us are."

"Speak for yourself." Eddie crossed his arms over his chest. "I think it a fine thing. Uncle Percy deserves a bit of happiness. Not that the rest of you would understand that with how set you have been on his title."

"That is enough, Edwin," her father barked, but his gaze was on their mother.

For the first time, Melior took in her face. Instead of sadness or despair, she saw the rage that indicated the need to get everyone out of the room—and quickly. Once her mother began, there would be no sparing anyone. The servants were sure to talk, but the last thing they needed was for all of Eddie's friends to be flapping their mouths as well, though surely they were not ignorant.

"Sir Nathaniel, would you care to take a turn about the gardens?" she said, shocking everyone in the room, herself included. As an afterthought, she added, "Lord Newhurst and Mr. Roberts are welcome as well."

The men took in the state of things and quickly exited. Sir Nathaniel thankfully offered his arm to her on the way out. They had barely made it to the lower level when her mother's screams rang throughout the house. She felt sorry for her father and Osborne who had opted to stay and receive the vitriol sure to spill from her mother's lips.

"Thanks for the quick thinking, Mel," Eddie said, as he walked beside her.

His eyes were pinched about the corners, his hands in his jacket pockets. The hunch of his shoulders reminded her of a scolded puppy. She felt much the same.

Then she glanced at Sir Nathaniel, realizing she was grasping his elbow with a far too firm grip. "My apologies." She loosened her hold. "I should not have used you as the scapegoat."

For the first time in months he actually cast her a genuine smile. "Do not be sorry. I am happy to be of service if you ever find yourself in need of rescue."

Again his simple words softened the blows of the day. She may not care for her brother's friend, but at least he seemed more approachable than her own mother at the moment.