But all thoughts of Standish’s sisters immediately fled, however, when Malum shifted Ernest in his arms. The movement caused even more of that sour and suspicious warmth to creep through Malum’s jacket.
“Bloody bollocks…” he hissed, abruptly holding the infant away from his body, something little Ernest didn’t appreciate in the least. Hitching whimpers turned to piercing cries, and Malum winced at the multifaceted assault upon his senses.
“Blast and damn.” Malum wasn’t one to curse, but Ernest was getting the best of him.
A DIFFERENT VIEW
Sitting at her vanity, Melanie didn’t respond to the knock at her door. It would be either Eloisa returning to finish cleaning up the bath, or Josie or her mother, whom she’d heard return half an hour earlier. Melanie continued pulling a brush through her long, loose hair, struggling to untangle her curls, at the same time she watched the door behind her through the mirror. When the handle turned, it was Josie who stepped inside.
“I think there is nothing worse than a garden party in the rain,” her younger sister exclaimed, throwing herself sideways onto Melanie’s bed.
Melanie smiled in answer, but then tilted her head.
Throughout her encounter with the Duke of Malum, she’d spoken more words than she had in months. It had been utterly exhausting.
But she could listen. She would always listen to what Josie had to say.
Rolling onto her back, the younger girl sighed. “The baroness had tents set up, but the wind blew them down. I felt sorry for her servants; she blamed them, of course—for the weather! The food was ruined, and everything was soaked: the tablecloths, thedecorations. Lord Bigly and Miss Blythe were stranded on the lake. I can only assume that he intended to row her to shore, but he just kept turning them in circles. Her mother was beside herself. If it were me, personally, I’d have stripped down to my chemise, jumped out, and made my own way back long before it ever got to that point. Really, how do these ladies grow up without learning to swim?”
Melanie shook her head, smiling despite poor Miss Blythe’s unfortunate predicament.
Josie took the next few minutes to regale her older sister with other comical scenarios from today’s garden party, and when she was finished, she let out another gusty sigh.
“After the tent collapsed, they herded us like sheep into the baroness’s music room, and a few of the guests took turns playing the pianoforte and singing. It was atrocious! Honestly, I would have preferred to stay home catching up on my correspondence. Somebody has to, you know.” She shifted her pointed stare to Melanie’s writing desk, tucked under a stack of hatboxes and valises, more forgotten, even, than Melanie’s voice. “Mary and Phillipa have given up on hearing from you.” She rolled over. “They think you’ve stopped writing because Reed is Standish now, that you are too good for them. Of course, I tried explaining, but… I’ve stopped making excuses. I just… I just wish…”
Melanie looked away, wishing she understood as well.
They’d all suffered the same heartbreak; why was Melanie the only one who seemed… trapped by it?
A year had passed since the fire. Before that night, it had been unfathomable to even imagine the tragic combination of events under which Reed would come to possess the title.
And yet, everyone but Melanie had moved on. It didn’t make sense…
Melanie had been closer to her father than any of her siblings had been, especially after he, their brother Randall, their cousin Rupert, and Uncle Lucas had started to drift away from the rest of them. She knew she had been favored. She’d actually taken it for granted when she saw that glimmer of pride in her father’s eyes.
And now he was gone.
And that day, everything had changed.
Melanie didn’t know how to put all of this into words Josie would understand, let alone how to convey it without them. She couldn’t even explain it to herself.
All she could do was shrug helplessly.
“I know they weren’t your very best friends, but I’d have thought you’d want to keep in touch,” Josie said almost accusingly.
This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion, and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last.
Once... Before... This wasn’t about her childhood friends, Mary or Phillipa, or anyone else, really…
Melanie made another shrug, to which Josie responded by sitting up and glancing around.
“I don’t suppose anything interesting happened here.” She rose from the bed and smoothed her skirts, and then grimaced. “Not that you’d actually tell me.”
Her sister’s unconcealed disappointment cracked something in the vicinity of Melanie’s heart. When her family had first noticed the changes in Melanie following the fire, they’d been concerned—sympathetic. After a few months, they’d pushed her to “get better.” And now, they only grudgingly accepted it.
“Josie,” Melanie began. But then, when she realized that whatever she’d been going to say to reassure her younger sister seemed too big to express, she twisted her mouth into an apologetic smile.
Josie waited, and then blew out a disappointed breath. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said. “But after that, Mother and I are attending the Turnbridge Ball.”
