“I want you to know, Mellie, that you are free to marry whomever you please,” Papa said. “Within reason,” he added as he went out the door.
“Oh Mama, that is such splendid news. Will Papa still want to go to the Assembly?”
“He does. For your sake, Mellie.” Mama gave her a little push. “Have Mary iron your dress. You shall wear my pearl locket.”
The night of the assembly, Mellie’s head ached. But even if she told her parents, she doubted they would change their minds. They seemed dreadfully determined. How could they put her through it? Word would have spread about what happened in London because letters always flew back and forth. Many would be curious about her.
She raised her chin as she walked into the crowded room with her parents. They were a little late because the wet weather had caused the carriage to make a long detour, and a country dance was in progress. The dancers craned their necks. Those who knew her waved; others merely stared and whispered.
Mellie sat beside her mother. She didn’t want to be asked to dance, nor did she want to be considered a wallflower. She supposed she had some vestige of pride left. This was simply horrid. How long must she endure before they went home?
A regular partner of hers in the past, Freddie Belmont, stood up with her for the quadrille and peppered her mercilessly with questions every chance he got. She fended them off as best she could, but it made her weary to her bones. She would not dance again. Declining the next gentleman’s invitation, much to the consternation of her mother, Mellie sat and fiddled with her gloves, not wishing to watch those watching her.
An hour passed, and a waltz was called.
The room had gone strangely quiet. Even the musicians stopped tuning their instruments. A pair of elegant black shoes appeared before her.
She raised her head. Her eyes met his smiling gray ones. “Your Grace!”
“May I have this waltz, Lady Mellicent?”
Her mother smiled and nodded.
Mellie rose on shaky legs. “Certainly…thank you.”
She leaned forward and whispered to him. “The entire room is watching us.”
“Let them.” He offered her his arm as the musicians stuck a few bars of a waltz to draw everyone’s attention to the task.
Older couples filled the dance floor, as young ladies not yet out did not dance the waltz. They, at least, refrained from staring as the duke led her through the steps. Mellie smiled dreamily up at him, and the rest of the room seemed to fade from her consciousness. She saw only him. His smell, the touch of his hand. How sure he was as they danced. His strong jaw, his firm lips. How would she feel if he kissed her? She widened her eyes. “How did you know I would be here?”
“Your father wrote to me.”
“Papa wrote to you?”
He nodded, his gaze searching hers.
A swift warmth threaded through her veins, and she felt slightly giddy. “I have missed you, Your Grace.”
“And I you. But we are friends, are we not?” His eyes begged her to refute it.
She shook her head. “I was a fool in London, I thought you didn’t… Do you…?”
“I do, very much, Lady Mellicent. And I should have told you. I shall every day if you’ll spend the rest of your life with me.” He glanced around, reminding her that but for the music sweeping over the room, everyone had fallen silent. He lowered his head and whispered, “Do you feel the same?”
“Oh, I do. Very much.”
“Shall we give ourselves up to the music? I want to enjoy having you in my arms.”
She sighed and breathed him in. How graceful he was. “Vivian will never believe this,” she said after a time.
Laughter turned his eyes the warm gray-blue of the sea at sunset. So different to when she first met him in Brighton when his eyes were a cool gray and so very sad.
Epilogue
Haverstock Hall
Late September
