“You do not mean such absurd accusations, Melissa. We all want the very best for you. Why else would I have gone to such extremes to receive invitations to the Merrivales’ upcoming ball in London?”
Melissa looked at her, felt the floor tipping beneath her feet.
“London?” She frowned. “Isn’t it too early for a ball?”
“Must you be so contrary?” Her stepmother dismissed her questions with a wave of her hand. “The Merrivales are merchants, they do as they please.”
“Perhaps I please to stay here?”
Melissa’s mind raced. She hadn’t been outside Cheltenham in ages, and certainly not to a ball, formal dinner, or whatever. Her stepmother went to great trouble keeping her away from social engagements.
Not that she minded.
She’d rather spend an evening curled up in a wing chair before the fire in Cranleigh’s library, nothing but the crackling of the flames and the turning of pages to keep her company.
Leastways, that would have been her wish when the house still possessed a library.
Now…
She frowned, feeling hollowed.
“I see you are overjoyed.” Lady Clarice advanced on her. “And you should be. Sir Hartle will be in attendance and all eyes will be on the two of you.”
“Sir Hartle…” Melissa’s heart sank.
“The gentleman, indeed.” Her stepmother smiled. “He is coming expressly to pay court to you.”
“Then you had best leave me here,” Melissa returned. “I will shame you otherwise, for I will go nowhere near him.”
“We shall see.” Lady Clarice’s eyes narrowed on her. “You do not want to vex me.”
I do that just breathing.
“And you, Lady Clarice, do not want to anger me,” she said aloud, thanking the old Highland gods for letting her inherit her mother’s courage. “If I go with you, I shall have my own reasons for doing so.”
And she did.
If she could manage it, a stay in London might allow her to meet again with Mr. Alan Steckles, the owner of Crickhollow Farm in Kent. She’d already given him a sizeable sum to provide a temporary home to her rescued carriage horses. Five of the twenty aged steeds had already been secreted at Crickhollow. It was her hope that the rest could be slipped away before her stepmother or her half-sisters noticed.
For a bit more coin, the farm owner might work faster.
“If you’re thinking of having someone sneak off with more of those wretched nags while we’re gone, you will be sorry,” Lady Clarice said, dashing Melissa’s hope.
“The horses are mine, cared for with my money.”
“They will bring more money when I sell them to the German merchant interested in them.” Lady Clarice leaned toward her. ‘He will have them sailed to Hamburg where they’ll fetch a good price at the market.”
“Germans love horsemeat,” April added, smiling.
“They will not dine on mine.” Melissa would not allow it.
But now her hand was played. She’d have to move fast to save her darlings – and herself, it seemed.
How sad that she didn’t know where to begin.
