John glared at his father. “She does, Father.” He reached out and took one of Melissa’s hands. “These women offer to take illegitimate babies for twelve pounds. The mothers believe their babies are being cared for, adopted out, perhaps. But every day, we find babies floating in the Thames. . . .”
“John, for the love of God,” her uncle said. “Stop.”
“We find them in alleys, wrapped in newspaper, discarded like so much garbage,” John said, ignoring his father’s plea. “Sometimes the little babes are killed outright. Other times they are slowly starved to death. It is worse for the older children. Many times the mother, desperate to keep her baby, pays these women fifteen shillings a week, thinking her child is safe and one day she will be able to return for it. But they die, almost always. And there is nothing the mother can do.”
Tears streamed down Melissa’s face. It could have been her, thrown into an alley. Her mother had been desperate, alone, starving.
“How do people let that happen?” she whispered.
John shook his head. “I don’t know. Good Christian people turn their heads away, believing such a child is better off dead.” Melissa gasped. “Father is working with two doctors to change the laws so that babies are protected. But few people want to listen.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Melissa asked, sniffing loudly.
“I wanted you to know why my father and I did what we did. Why your father was so concerned about your well-being. He was afraid for you. My father made a promise to his brother, to protect you at all costs. And that is what we are doing. No one will know of your birth, Melissa. You shall marry a good man, a man who loves you.”
Melissa stared at John. “A man whom I must lie to,” she said dully.
John squeezed her hand. “Yes.”
“And he must never know?” It seemed so wrong. If someone loved her, truly loved her, it shouldn’t matter whether her mother was married or not when she was born.
John looked down. “I suppose that is something you must decide for yourself,” he said quietly.
“If you married a woman who was illegitimate,” she said, “would you want to know?” She stared at him and felt her stomach drop at his expression. “You wouldn’t want to know, would you? Because you would think less of her, is that it? Is that how you truly think of me, as simply a bastard to be foisted off on the first unsuspecting man?”
“Melissa, that is enough,” her uncle said.
Melissa ignored him. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she asked John.
John shook his head, but he could not meet her eyes. “It’s an unfair question as I already know who you are and who your father is. But if I’m to be perfectly honest, it is information most men could do without. You would do much better to keep your silence if you wish to marry well. Your birth should not matter, not to a man who loves you. It should not. But it will matter. Life is not fair, Melissa, no matter how we wish that it was.”
She gave her head a shaky nod, knowing he was right even as she silently railed against it. She did not know if she could marry someone with this lie in her heart. It shouldn’t matter, but Melissa, even with her limited experience of society, knew it would. She didn’t know what to do.
“I’m letting Darling out, then going to bed,” she said, suddenly so weary she could hardly stand.
“I’ll get Sandy and go with you,” John said.
“If you wish.”
Outside the library, John gave a sharp whistle, and it was only a matter of a few seconds before both puppies come bounding toward them. Darling followed behind, her ears flapping, her tail wagging excitedly, and Melissa smiled and bent down to kiss her pup’s head, a difficult task when Darling was bent on licking her mistress’s face. She laughed, and John felt his heart tug, glad that all the laughter hadn’t been taken from her.
“Come, you two,” John said, giving his own dog a hearty pat. They silently walked through the deserted kitchen and out the back door, letting the dogs bound about and do their business.
“Are you all right, then?” John asked, gazing at Melissa as she smiled faintly at the dogs’ antics. Her smile disappeared.
“No. I’m not.” She crossed her arms, whether from the cold or to shut him out, John wasn’t certain. “I had no idea the world was such a cruel and complicated place,” she said. “It seems impossible that society would allow innocent babes to die because of their unfortunate birth.”
“I couldn’t believe it either until I saw it for myself,” John said. “If it had been one madwoman, then perhaps. But there are hundreds of baby farmers throughout the kingdom.”
“It makes me feel dirty.”
John snapped his head around, shocked by her words. “No,” he said, horrified that she would think such a thing. “You are the same girl you were. It is society that is foul, not you.” He stood before her, his heart breaking at the way she kept her head down. He wanted to rail against a world that could steal her confidence, her joy. “Melissa, look at me.”
She lifted her head, and he saw nothing but despair. “Do not let petty people change your opinion of yourself.”
“I wish I could go home,” she said. “But my home is gone. Sold to someone else. Everything is gone.”
He knew she meant more than brick and mortar. All her dreams, all her memories were now tainted. “You are home,” he said, drawing her into his arms, trying to give her comfort and strength. He placed one hand at the back of her head and held her for several long moments, his cheek resting on her smooth, soft, black curls. She let out a sigh, and John pushed back, pressing a kiss upon her forehead.
“I thought we’d have no more kisses.”
He smiled down at her, glad she was able to tease him again. “That was the kiss of a first cousin,” he said.
“I like the other kind better.”
Just like that, desire washed over him, and he took a step back. “I daresay I do, too,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gruff.
“I wish . . .” She stopped, turning her head abruptly away.
“What do you wish for, Melissa?”
She closed her eyes briefly, then gave a small shrug. “Too many things that can never come true,” she said softly.
Chapter 13
John spent a sleepless night, worrying about Melissa and wondering if it were true that he’d actually fallen in love with her. His mind was in a bloody war over the matter. He was an intelligent man who knew everything he said and did was a matter of how his brain worked. His heart was no more than an organ that pumped blood. When it stopped, he would die. It was not the place where love was born. But he couldn’t help thinking that if love had nothing to do with his heart, why did it hurt so damned much at the thought of Melissa’s marrying another?
He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands massaging his temples, as he tried to convince himself that this thing he felt was merely lust. He’d felt lust before, and this was not it. All his adult life, he’d believed that foolish men and women mistook lust for love. He’d seen men and women lose themselves to one another, only to break it off and go on with their lives. Or worse, they married and ended up loathing each other. He’d felt so superior to all those fools who truly thought they’d found love, and rather smug when everything fell apart. If love existed, why were so many people miserable with each other?
Then, the image of the Pickets and their brood of children came to him. That flower Mr. Picket had fetched for his wife, that ridiculous, wilted flower that he’d nearly killed himself to get for Mrs. Picket. Why? Because he lusted for her? Admired her? No.
God, no.
After fifteen years of marriage, a man only did something like that because he loved his wife.
Loved
her.
The way he loved Melissa?
“Bloody hell,” he whispered harshly.
Since he’d never been in love, it had been easy to dispute its existence. But now in the throes of what he believed was love, he was rather lost. For the first time in years, he wished he had a mother he could talk to about such things. His mother, dead now for years, would not have been that person. She’d left her husband, abandoned her son, and probably didn’t have an ounce of compassion or kindness in her black soul. The few memories he had of his mother were not good ones, but of a woman who was as cold and uncaring as a baby farmer. Had she been born of the lower classes, John had no doubt she would have found the job appealing.
He wished, then, not for his mother, but for another mother. The kind who would lay a gentle hand upon his head, who would smile when he entered a room. Who would pick out the runt of the litter and claim it was the most wonderful pup in the world.
Unable to sleep, John left the manor house as soon as the sky hinted of dawn. He strode to the stables, feeling restless and out of sorts, hoping a good ride would clear his mind and bring him back to sanity. A young stable hand, hair mussed from sleep and rubbing his eyes, came to assist John, but he told the lad to go back to bed. He wanted a distraction, no matter how small, from thinking about Melissa. John had always done some of his best thinking while riding, and he hoped this early morning ride would bring some sense into his addled mind.
It didn’t. No matter how fast, no matter how far he rode, he could not get Melissa out of his mind or, yes, out of his heart. His horse, heaving great breaths after an invigorating run, quivered and snorted when he pulled on the reins and stopped the steed. He dismounted, gave the horse a rub on its neck, and stood on a hill overlooking Flintwood House in the distance. It was a fine building, even from so far away, and he felt a swell of pride that it would someday be his. He’d stood at that spot a hundred times, looking down on this land, never imagining himself living there with a family. In his thoughts, it was only him. But now, he could not stop his mind from inserting Melissa into the picture. And their children. He let out a curse, wondering if and when this insanity would end. God help him, he felt like weeping. Over a woman!
“Well,” he said to the horse, for it was far, far more difficult to say what he wanted to say to a human. “Looks like there’s nothing to do but go to my father.” He let out a breath, not wanting to think of his father’s reaction when he told him he wanted to marry Melissa. He would try to convince his father it was the best choice, the only choice Melissa had for happiness. He would approach his father and explain his plan as he would a business proposition, with reason and logic, and he would not tell his father that he loved her. His father would dismiss such nonsense out of hand. Yes, people would call his father a hypocrite, and his tenure on the commission reviewing marriages between first cousins would be jeopardized. And his good friend, Mr. Darwin, would likely not be pleased. But, really, what other choice was there?
By the time John returned to the manor, everyone in the house had already been up for several hours and eaten breakfast. The young people, including Miss Stanhope, were out fishing, the butler told him. John grinned. It was the perfect time to seek out his father and tell him of his plan.
He strode into his father’s study, pleased when his father smiled at the interruption. He seemed to be in a good mood, which boded well for this conversation.
“I have a solution to our dilemma with Melissa,” John said confidently, even as his stomach was a knot of nerves.
“Oh?”
“I can marry her,” John said. Instantly, his father frowned, but John forged ahead before he could be interrupted. “Please hear me out, Father, for I’ve given this matter considerable thought. I do realize that our marriage would jeopardize your work on the commission and could possibly lead to questions about Melissa’s birth. But people will have such questions no matter whom she marries. We get on fairly well, and I do believe we could make each other happy. And if I marry her, Melissa will not be forced to lie about who she is and can avoid the humiliation of telling her future husband the truth—and the possible repercussions that could come from such an admission.”
His father leaned back with a smile, and for a moment, John thought he’d done it—he’d made his case, and his father would agree. He found that he was painfully hopeful.
“I have never been more proud of you, my boy,” his father said, surprising John completely. “But no, I would not ask you to make such a sacrifice.”
“It would not be a sacrifice, Father. I do care a great deal for Melissa. And I believe she feels the same,” he said, feeling just the tiniest beginnings of panic set in. His father thought he was martyring himself for the cause?
“I’m certain you do. And I care for her, too, but I would never marry her.” The earl let out a laugh. “However, such drastic measures are entirely unnecessary, as Charles came to me this very morning and requested Melissa’s hand. Of course, I consented.”
For one brief moment, John’s vision went black, as blood rushed to his head. He quickly recovered, but was left weakened, shaken to his core. “That is . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to speak. “What of her birth?” he asked.
His father gave him a curious look. “Are you quite all right, my boy? You have no trepidations about such a match, surely. Charles is your greatest friend. You invited him here yourself for the express purpose of meeting Melissa.”
John forced himself to focus on his father, even as his gut churned. “Yes. Of course. But what of Melissa?”
“After long consideration, I thought it prudent to inform Charles of Melissa’s birth. No one other than he will be told, of course. He was disappointed, which is understandable given society’s prejudices, but he said he loved her and would be able to overlook her birth.”
“Overlook it?” John said, feeling a surge of anger.
“Yes, he’s rather infatuated with her,” George said, chuckling at some remembered comment during their interview. It only served to drive John a bit mad, thinking about Charles and his father discussing Melissa. “And, by the way, Melissa seemed pleased by the arrangement and glad she doesn’t have to hold her secret with Charles. Indeed, I could not have asked for a better resolution to the entire problem.”
John clutched his chair’s arms, trying to process what his father was telling him. Charles would marry Melissa, and she was glad of it. He did not believe it; he could not. He loved her. “Melissa is pleased?” he repeated stupidly.
“Not over the moon, no. But pleased. There won’t be a formal announcement in the
Times
until after the season begins. Charles and I agree that Melissa does need a bit more time getting used to social events and interacting with the ton before being deluged with invitations. You know how the women react when someone announces an engagement.” He gave a mock shudder. “But, as far as I’m concerned, the matter is settled. I’ll have my attorneys draw up a marriage contract immediately. In fact, I’m just now writing to Mr. Henley to start work on it.”
“And Melissa is happy with the plans?”
His father shook his head, as if impatient with John’s continued questions. “As I said, yes, she is pleased. I think she realizes that her options are quite limited, and the fact that Charles wants to marry her despite her birth is remarkable.”
John was taken aback by his father’s comment. “Do you think less of Melissa because of her birth, Father?”
“Of course not. But I am a realist. Few members of the peerage would knowingly marry a bastard, no matter who the father is.”
“I am willing,” John said, and was horrified to feel his throat aching. He barely recognized the sensation, the raw pain that signified he was near to weeping.
Good God.
“Yes, and I do appreciate the noble gesture. No need for martyrs though, eh? You’ve done a marvelous thing for her, John. Marvelous.”
John gave his father a nod and stood, feeling as if he’d just been trampled by a speeding carriage. He didn’t know how this had happened, how he had allowed himself to fall in love with the one woman who was forbidden to him. She’d told his father she was pleased.
Pleased.
And he felt as if he were dying.
Melissa’s stomach was a bit queasy, and it had nothing to do with the large breakfast she’d had that morning. She and Charles had told no one but Miss Stanhope about their impending engagement, and Melissa felt adrift. She did not know if she was supposed to act happy or grateful. She only knew that had her uncle told her of Charles’s request just two days ago, before she understood the full impact of her birth, she never would have agreed to the match. But now she knew no one else would want her.
And yet, Charles did. It should have made her feel wonderful and loved. Instead, for some reason she could not fully explain, she felt even more tainted. He was marrying her in spite of her birth. Although he hadn’t said any such thing out loud, she got the distinct feeling Charles felt he was making some sort of grand gesture, that he should be patted on the back and congratulated for still wanting to marry her after hearing the dreadful news.
Perhaps she felt this way because it was all so new, this sense that she ought to somehow be ashamed of who she was. All her life, she had been told she was special; she had felt loved. And now she was supposed to hide who and what she was.
She heard a happy feminine shout, and watched as Lady Juliana’s pole bent from the weight of yet another fish. They were all using the same bait—thick, squirmy, pink earthworms—but Lady Juliana was the only one catching anything. Already, she had three fish in her basket, and the men got grumpier and grumpier with every one she caught.
“Oh, a fine trout,” she said, expertly taking the flopping fish from the hook. Melissa would never have imagined the proper and unsmiling woman she’d met a week ago was now this grinning hoyden with fish slime on her hand.
The six of them were fishing in a picturesque lake surrounded by weeping willows just starting to sprout their small leaves. Charles hovered by her, teaching her how to bait the hook and toss in the line. Laura sat by Avonleigh, apparently doing so to bother him, and Lady Juliana and Miss Stanhope sat upon a large rock that jutted out into the pond. Only John was missing. It was sunny, finally, and the sun dappled through the trees and onto the grassy bank where they all sat or stood, fishing poles in hand. Laura, incessantly cheerful, regaled the dour Avonleigh with endless happy tales, ignoring his frown and looks of irritation. Melissa enjoyed their banter, his weary sighs as Laura would begin yet another topic he had no interest in. Yet this time, Laura was discussing her wedding, and that topic made Melissa’s stomach churn even more.
She wished she felt the joy Laura seemed to feel about her upcoming nuptials. But all Melissa could think was that she was marrying someone she didn’t love. She wondered what John would say to her when he learned of the engagement. Would he be relieved? Probably. She knew enough from talking to the other women that men put far less importance on kissing than women did. What she had thought was a magical moment of bliss, John had apologized for. He’d lost his head, but not his heart, obviously. Hadn’t even Miss Stanhope dreamed of marriage after allowing a man to kiss her? She, too, had been cast aside.
“Laura, no one wants to know the nonexistent details of your fictitious wedding to a man who hasn’t even proposed,” Charles said good-naturedly.
Laura wrinkled her nose at her brother, then cast a sidelong glance at Avonleigh. “Am I boring you?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes.” Avonleigh was not a man to jest, and so Laura pretended to sulk even though Melissa suspected she’d known all along Avonleigh had absolutely no interest in discussing her wedding plans.