Unsuitable Wife Read online

  “No, I didn’t know.” She broke into a smile. “Oh, dear, wouldn’t Sir Stephen hate that! He’s quite a coward, you know.”

  “Is he? Suspected as much.” Justin’s gaze softened. “Don’t worry, m’dear. Harry will be all right.”

  The effect of that endearment, spoken for the first time without mockery or icy politeness, was out of all proportion to its meaning. Joy shot through Melissa, and she had to restrain herself from beaming at him. “I know he will.”

  “My lady.” A footman appeared at the end of the gallery.

  “Yes, what is it?” Melissa asked, as the footman approached, bowing.

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but the builder would like a word with you.”

  “Oh, bother! Very well. I’ll be there in a moment.” She turned back to Justin. “They’re working in the music room and if it’s going to be in shape before our party I’ll have to go. And you should be in bed, sir.”

  “Yes, madam, in a moment.” He nodded to her as she turned to go, smiling shyly at him. “By the by, Melissa.” She turned. “Liked the watch.”

  Their eyes held, and then Melissa smiled. “I’m glad,” she said, simply.

  Only when she had turned the corner and was, she was certain, out of sight of her husband’s eyes, did she allow her smile to spread. He’d liked the watch! And he no longer mistrusted her. Melissa executed a little dance step. There was hope, after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  1814 came in cold. In London there was a heavy fog that didn’t let up for days, so that people went about their business in a perpetual gloom; in the north, snow blanketed the ground. In Surrey, it was merely cold, and the inhabitants of Chatleigh Hall assured each other that they could not remember such a winter. It was not the best weather for traveling to the capitol, Melissa reflected as she supervised the packing, but she would be glad to leave.

  She had seen little of Justin since he had recovered from his injury. He had been busy about the estates and in local affairs, joining the militia and the Volunteers. Though the harvest had been good, he had also ridden to meet with his tenants, finding out what needed doing and who would need additional food and clothing to survive this unusually cold winter. While Melissa approved his activities, sometimes she deplored the results of them. She saw him now only at the dinner table, and then he seemed never to wish to talk. Even at their Twelfth Night party, which had been a success, he had managed to spend little time with her. It was almost as if he were avoiding her, and that held her back. She had no desire to proclaim her love for him if he were only going to reject it. She loved him, and she didn’t have the slightest notion what to do about it.

  She was glad, then, when the day came for their departure. Since London was only a few hours distant, it had been decided to take the trip in easy stages, rather than change horses at each stop. Justin had elected to ride Diablo, and so, except for her maid, Melissa was alone in the coach. She was not bored, however, particularly when they reached the outskirts of the great city. London! All her life she had heard of it, and had wondered if she would ever go there. Since she was old enough she had dreamed of having a season, whirling about in glittering ballrooms on the arm of a tall, handsome gallant, who had tousled brown hair and warm brown eyes and a direct way of looking at one, a man who looked oddly like her husband...

  Melissa shook her head. “Are you all right, my lady?” Liza, sitting opposite, asked.

  “Yes. Heavens, look at all this, Liza!” The coach was passing through a section of mean little houses and grim, dark factories. Melissa and Liza looked at each other in dismay, fearful that this was what the city would be like, but then the coach trundled onto the bridge crossing the Thames, and they were at last in London.

  The air was smoky and sooty, the streets crowded, but the city pulsed with life. They went through Westminster and down Piccadilly, past the Pulteney Hotel on one side, Green Park on the other, and the great houses of the aristocracy. There were people everywhere, and traffic such as they had never seen. Melissa, trying to hold onto her composure in the face of such wonders, nevertheless swiveled her head back and forth so as to miss nothing, and Liza’s exclamations of amazement echoed her own thoughts. She was in London, at last! Perhaps here Justin would finally notice her.

  The coach turned down a side street lined with neat houses, some unpretentious, others set back from the street behind high iron fences. At last the coach drew up in a courtyard and came to a stop. A footman came to hold the door and Melissa clambered stiffly down onto the cobbled yard, glancing up at her new home with some disappointment. In comparison to many of the mansions she had seen, the Chatleigh town house was plain and rather small, made of Portland stone, with black shutters. But the brass railings gleamed and the steps had been recently swept, and as the door opened she felt an odd feeling of welcome. No fear that her husband would leave her here, to deal alone with hostile servants.

  Justin came over as Diablo was led away to the stables, in time to catch Melissa’s look of dismay, and he grinned. “Come, madam,” he said, holding out his arm. “I assure you it’s much worse on the inside.”

  Melissa gave him a startled look, but had no time to reply before they had reached the door and Phelps was welcoming them. Inside, the entrance hall was an oasis of calm and order. The parquet floor was highly polished, and on a table beneath a heavy, gilt-framed mirror stood a silver bowl filled with roses, an impressive sight in this cold weather. A large covered vase of bone china stood at the back of the hall, its colors echoing those of the Brussels carpet. “It isn’t so bad,” she said to Justin as they climbed the stairs, after greeting the assembled staff. “Perhaps a bit old-fashioned, but everything seems to be in good repair, and good taste.”

  “Oh?” Justin said, and flung open a door that lay to the left of the second floor landing. “The drawing room. After you, madam.”

  “Thank you,” Melissa said as she stepped into the room, and then stopped still. “Oh—my—heavens.”

  Justin came to stand by her. “M’father rather liked the Egyptian look, when it was in vogue.”

  “Really!” Melissa recovered her poise with an effort. To the left of her a sofa, upholstered in velvet of the nile green she so hated, curved and flowed in sinuous lines, and across the room a large table with a glass top was supported by gilded legs in the shape of crocodiles. Serpents writhed around the legs of chairs, and lotus leaves curled around the frame of the mirror that hung over the mantle. “Oh, heavens,” Melissa said, weakly. “I need a cup of tea.”

  Justin grinned and crossed the room, splashing some brandy into a cut-glass tumbler. “Quite sympathize with you, madam,” he said, and saluted her with the glass. After a moment, Melissa returned the smile.

  “You are a complete hand! Is the rest of the house like this?”

  “Not quite so bad.” He sprawled into a chair facing her as, after a moment of fastidious disgust, she perched on the edge of the sofa. “Feel free to do whatever you wish with it.”

  “Oh, I shall.” Melissa glanced around the room, and shuddered. “I shall.”

  After washing her face and lying down for a bit, Melissa was ready to go on a tour of the house with Mrs. Herrick, the housekeeper. She didn’t know what to expect after the drawing room, but to her pleased surprise the rest of the house was more than passable. Her own suite of rooms was pleasantly old-fashioned, furnished with cherrywood furniture; the curtains and bed-hangings were of a floral chintz, softly faded, with a plain fringe edging; and the rug underfoot was deep and luxurious. There was a cozy breakfast room where, Melissa decided instantly, they would take most of their meals, and a grand dining room, to be used for entertaining. The morning room, on the ground floor, appropriately caught the sun and was furnished with Chippendale and Hepplewhite, and the drawing room, in spite of its hideous decoration, was well-proportioned. At the back of the house there was, much to Melissa’s surprise, a grand ballroom, with French windows opening out to a terrace overlooking s
urprisingly large gardens. Though now nothing bloomed, there was a greenhouse, and she suspected that the garden would be a riot of color in the spring. She was suddenly very glad she would be here to see it.

  She turned at the footstep behind her, to see Justin. “It isn’t so bad, Chatleigh,” she said. “Of course the drawing room will need to be redone, but the rest of the house is passable.”

  Justin passed his hand over his hair. “Might have you take a look at my rooms, while you are about it.”

  Melissa looked at him swiftly, but she could find no double meaning in his words. Certainly nothing to make her heart start pounding. “Why, are they that bad?”

  “Serpents crawling up the bedposts.” He shuddered. “Never did like snakes.”

  She smothered a grin. “Well, then, we must do something about that.”

  “Actually, that’s not what I wanted to see you about,” he said, putting a hand on her arm. The warmth of his touch seemed to spread throughout her entire body. “Had a note from m’aunt. She wants to see us.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, we can’t refuse, can we.”

  “Hardly. Aunt Augusta’s summons are in the nature of a royal command.”

  “Very well. I’ll get my pelisse, and then we can go.”

  “Take your time,” he muttered. Melissa turned and flashed him a sunny smile, and he stood for a moment, watching her progress across the parquet floor. Paying a call on Aunt Augusta was suddenly a much more tolerable prospect.

  Sometime later their carriage drew up in front of Lady Helmsley’s imposing town house, and the Chatleighs emerged onto the pavement. “Could we not have walked?” Melissa asked as Justin escorted her up the stairs. “It’s not very far.”

  “Not done, m’dear. Afternoon, Fitch.”

  “My lord. And my lady.” Fitch bowed as he held the door open to them. “And may I congratulate you again, my lord, on your nuptials?”

  Justin, holding out his hat and gloves, glanced up in time to catch a gleam of amusement in the old man’s eyes. “Thank you, Fitch,” he said, dryly. “Believe my aunt’s expecting us?”

  “Yes, my lord, in the drawing room. If you’ll just follow me?”

  “So it’s not done to walk from one’s house to another, even if it’s just a few steps?” Melissa went on.

  Justin, ascending beside her on the broad marble staircase, shook his head. “Not in town.”

  “How very odd. Well, I suppose there are a number of things which are not done, which I will have to learn.”

  “Many.” Justin’s voice was gloomy. “And if you don’t learn them, my aunt will be certain to teach you.”

  Melissa flashed him that smile again, and, as before, it had the curious effect of making him forget, just for a moment, about all else. He had little time to think about it, though, as Fitch opened a door just ahead. “The Earl and Countess of Chatleigh, my lady,” he announced.

  “And about time, too,” Augusta grumbled, coming forward. “Took your time getting here, didn’t you, boy?”

  Justin mumbled something, and Melissa shot him a glance brimming with amusement. “No such thing, aunt,” she said, firmly, bending to kiss the old lady’s rouged cheek. “It’s good to see you again, ma’am.”

  “Tush, I never did hold with sentiment,” Augusta said, but the color in her cheeks was not strictly due to her maquillage. “Sit down, sit.” Her hands waved them impatiently towards a sofa. “We have a lot to discuss and not much time if we’re to be ready for the season.”

  “Season doesn’t really start for another few months,” Justin said, sitting in a chair of red velvet and gilt that creaked ominously each time he moved.

  “No, but Parliament will be opening soon,” she retorted, “and that is what you need to prepare for.” The look she gave her nephew held no affection. “You will have to overcome your aversion to speaking, boy.”

  “Nonsense, Chatleigh speaks quite well when he wants to,” Melissa said coolly, and the others looked at her in surprise at this unexpected defense. “I think we can assume that he will not disgrace you, ma’am, or himself. But may I ask why it is so very important to you that he enter politics?”

  “Why, to restore the Chatleigh name, of course, what else?” Augusta said, sounding surprised. “And what else is he suited for? Can’t be a soldier forever. Not cut out to be a farmer, and I will not let him turn into a rake like his father!”

  “I don’t think that’s likely, so kindly stop cataloging my faults and tell me what I should do?” Justin said, and though his voice was quiet it had the effect of stopping Augusta. She glared at him and then, surprisingly, chuckled.

  “So, boy, got some gumption after all? I wondered if you’d let your wife do your fighting for you. Very well. You’ve got acquaintances from school and the army. Cultivate ‘em, find out where they stand. Then when it’s time to make your maiden speech we can discuss the topic—”

  “No.” Justin spoke firmly. “If I am to speak, it will be on something I care about.”

  Augusta glared at him again, but she was the first to look away. “Very well, I’ll give you that. But mind you don’t turn Whig on me.”

  “Not a chance, ma’am.”

  “There had better not be.” She gave him a hard stare, and though his look was bland, again she looked away first. “Now, miss, as for you.”

  Melissa looked up from her teacup. “I’ll help any way I can, ma’am.”

  “Of course you will. A pity that Townsend has gone to the continent with Castlereagh. Having him acknowledge you as his grandchild would do much for your consequence. However, we shall contrive. And the first thing you will do, miss, is get out of that dismal black.”

  Very carefully, so that it wouldn’t clatter, Melissa set her cup on the table, and then raised her chin. “No.”

  “No?” Augusta’s eyebrows rose. Seldom had anyone ever defied her so directly. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I am in mourning, ma’am.”

  “And what has that to say to anything?”

  “I will not show disrespect to my mother’s memory by going into colors!” This time the teacup did rattle as she rose, pacing over to the windows. “She has not been dead six months. Can you not let it be, ma’am?”

  “No, I cannot!” Augusta’s cane thumped sharply. “Come, it don’t do to be missish about this. No one in the ton knows or cares about your mother.”

  “I care! I am sorry, ma’am, but I cannot put off my blacks.”

  “Will not, you mean. And you prattle to me of wishing to help your husband’s career.” Augusta’s eyes were cold. “Well, miss, if you will not be guided by me in this, then I cannot help you. Will you listen to me, or will you not?” Melissa, standing at the window with her back to the room, turned her head, but did not speak. “Bah!” Augusta rose. “You’re a pair, the two of you. Well, you deserve each other, and I wash my hands of you—”

  “Aunt.” Justin rose also and placed his hand on her arm. “Just a moment. Might be a solution to this.”

  Augusta looked him up and down. “You’ve thought of something, boy?”

  Justin’s lips twitched. “Amazing, isn’t it, aunt? You see, Melissa,” he said, ambling across the room, his hands in his pockets, “think I know what m’aunt is getting at.”

  Melissa turned her head a bit, and sniffled. “What?”

  “Maybe you don’t understand that a lot of politicking is done outside Parliament. Here.” He handed her his handkerchief. “Lot done at parties and dinners and such. Think that’s what my aunt wants you to do. Socialize, you see.”

  Melissa delicately wiped her eyes. “I see. But can I not do that and remain in black?”

  “Mm, yes.” Justin shot a look back at Augusta. “But not so well, you see. Be more restrictions on you. You couldn’t socialize so much. If you did, might cause a scandal.”

  “I see. Another thing that’s not done?”

  “Afraid so.” He smiled, fleetingly, at her bent head. “Wouldn’t consider
going into half-mourning, would you?”

  “Grey and lavender, you mean?” Melissa looked up at him. “It seems so soon, but—”

  “Would that satisfy you, Aunt?” Justin tossed over his shoulder.

  “Hmph. But it might serve,” Augusta said. “Yes, it just might serve. If the gowns are from Celeste’s. Oh, don’t wince, boy, you can stand the nonsense now.”

  Justin winced again, this time for real, but Melissa didn’t see. “Are Celeste’s gowns so very expensive, then?” she said.

  “Very,” Justin said, smiling. “But I wouldn’t want you in anything less. Have we a bargain, then?”

  Melissa looked at the hand he held out to her and then slowly extended her own. “I believe we do, sir,” she said, and placed her hand in his. His grip was unexpectedly gentle and yet firm, warm and comforting but somehow exciting, the pulse of it spreading up her arm and thrumming through her body. Surely he must feel it too? She looked up at him through her lashes, to see him regarding her with an expression she could not interpret, and she was disappointed when he moved away.

  “Well, ma’am?” He turned to face Augusta. “That all you need of us?”

  “For now,” Augusta conceded, and watched as they made their farewells, pleased and surprised at the way her nephew had handled that situation. Huh, she thought. The boy might make a politician yet.

  The air was brisk as Justin strode along slate sidewalks slippery with melting snow, having just come from a most interesting meeting with his man of affairs. Melissa’s money was her own, to be used as she wished, when she wished. However, because he was her husband and the laws were what they were, he was in control of her fortune. He was a very wealthy man, and the thought made him scowl.

  It was just that there was so much money involved, too much, and though he needed it to tow himself out of the river Tick, still he resented it. And that surprised him. Once, he had seriously considered marrying an heiress; now he had. Why should it bother him so?

  Because of who the heiress was, damn it. He raised a hand to rake through his hair, remembering just in time that his curly brimmed beaver was upon his head. If it had been anyone else, perhaps he wouldn’t have minded, but he didn’t want Melissa thinking he was a fortune hunter. Much as he needed the money, he hated taking it from her. It touched his pride too deeply, perhaps, living off his wife, put him too much in her power. To her credit, Melissa had not yet tried to exercise that power, and he didn’t really think she would. But the fact that it was there galled him.