‘Child, you are always in such a hurry,’ her aunt said and waved the heavily scented kerchief at her. ‘Please go away now and send Miss Beech to me. I need quiet companionship.’
Melia skipped away, only too happy to be set free of her duty to her aunt. Aunt Margaret had been good to her and Beth, though Beth had not needed much from their long-suffering aunt for she’d been eighteen when their parents were lost at sea on what was meant to be a pleasure trip to Papa’s estates in Ireland. Such a storm had blown up that the yacht had been buffeted on to the rocks far off its course on the wild Cornish coast and both crew and passengers drowned in the terrible storm.
Grieving and not knowing what to do, the sisters had been taken in by their kindly aunt, for they had little choice but to leave their home. Papa’s estates were naturally entailed and fell to a distant cousin they had never met and who presently resided in India. The girls both had small dowries, put aside by their father, and two thousand pounds each left to them by their maternal grandfather. Had it not been for the kindness of Aunt Margaret Bellingham, they would have been forced to live in a small house in a village somewhere—or so the very formal solicitor had informed them soon after the funeral.
However, six months later, when they had both removed from their home and Beth was already married, a letter had come to say that they might remain at the house for as long as they wished. It seemed that their father’s cousin had no intention of returning from India at present and even when he did so would not wish to deprive the sisters of their home. He had written to an agent who would look after the estate and would let them know when the new owner was thinking of returning to England.
It had been too late for Beth and Amelia. Beth had married and was happily living at her husband’s estate, and Melia was living rather less happily with her aunt. Aunt Margaret was not in the least unkind, nor did she make unreasonable demands of her niece, but she was too old to attend many parties and those she did were very dull. She’d promised Melia a season in London when she was eighteen, but a nasty bout of gastro-enteritis had laid her low and then, just as she was recovering, she’d caught a chill. Her doctor said that London was out of the question, and Melia had almost resigned herself to giving up all idea of going to town until Beth was over the birth of her child and had finished nursing the babe.
‘I shall be on the shelf by then,’ Melia had told her friend Jacqui as they walked together through the grounds of Aunt Margaret’s house. ‘I shall die of boredom before I ever have a chance to fall in love and be married.’
‘What about Viscount Salisbury?’ her friend asked slyly. ‘I thought you and he swore undying love when you stayed at Beth’s house in the country?’
‘Yes, we did,’ Melia said, her eyes dancing with merriment. ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ She laughed as Jacqui nodded eagerly. ‘Well, he has been in the district visiting friends twice since then and we walked and rode together—and he has written to me and I to him...’
‘You could not!’ her friend cried, shocked. ‘That is so forward of you, Melia. Whatever would your aunt say if she knew?’
‘Well, she does not know for Bess gets the letters from the receiving house and brings them to me without her seeing them.’
‘She would be so angry if she knew you had deceived her.’ Jacqui was in awe and yet a little censorious. ‘Mama would shut me in my room for a month on bread and water if I did such a thing.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t,’ Melia replied and hugged her arm. ‘I dare say I should not had Mama lived. She would have invited young people to the house for me and I might have been engaged by now.’
‘Has the viscount asked you?’
‘No, but he will if I wish it.’ Melia’s eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘I am not yet sure if I wish to marry him, but I do want to find out. If we were to go to London, I should have the chance to meet so many pleasant young men...’
‘Well, you must get your aunt to write to Lady March and ask if she would be kind enough to have you as her guest when she goes up to town. I know for a fact that she has chaperoned other young girls since she was widowed, for one was my cousin. As you know her brother, Viscount Salisbury, I dare say he would prevail upon her to invite you.’
Melia had thought her friend’s suggestion a good one, for the families had been close before Jane and Beth were married, but, to make certain of a favourable answer, she’d written of her aunt’s illness to the viscount. The letter had clearly done its work and now she was to visit London, as she’d hoped—and, if she could achieve it, she would be engaged before the end of her visit, either to Viscount Salisbury or another...
Having finished her letter, Melia rang the bell for Bess. The maidservant had come to her aunt’s house with her and was devoted to her. Bess would not mind walking down to the village to see the letter went as soon as the next post bag was sent off to London. However, when she answered the bell, Bess was carrying a silver salver on which resided a letter addressed to Melia.
‘Thank you,’ she said and smiled at the woman who had nursed her from a babe and now looked after her clothes and tended her hair. ‘I want this letter to go off straight away. I’m going to visit Lady March and she is taking me to London—and you’ll be coming with us, Bess. You will enjoy that, won’t you?’
‘Well, miss, I know you will and I don’t mind anything if you’re happy.’
‘You are the best friend I ever had,’ Melia said and pounced on the plump, kind woman, arms about her waist as she kissed her cheek. ‘I do love you, Bess.’
‘Get on with you, Miss Melia,’ Bess said but her face was pink and smiling. ‘I’ll take your letter for you, no need for flattery...’
‘I wonder who could be writing to me,’ Melia said as she looked at the seal and then frowned, for it was a family crest. ‘Good gracious! Can this possibly be from...?’ She broke the wax seal and glanced at the letter.
Scanning the first few lines, Melia discovered that it was from someone calling himself her Cousin Paul. Papa’s cousin, not hers, Melia thought with a little frown. A look of annoyance settled over her pretty face as she continued to read the contents of her surprising letter.
I was concerned to learn that you had been asked to leave your home. It was against my wishes and I do most sincerely apologise for it. My hope is that you will forgive the mistake and return to your home. Clearly you cannot live there alone, though on my return from India in early June I shall be living at my house in London and will pay only brief visits to Willow House.
However, it is my intention that you shall be introduced into Society under the aegis of a friend of my mother’s, Lady Moira Fairhaven. Lady Moira, widowed these eighteen months past, is preparing to take her place in Society again this year, and will live with you at Willow House until you come up to London. She will be with you by the end of May and you may become accustomed to each other before coming to the house I shall take for you in town.
Yours sincerely,
Paul Frant
Well, really! Melia could not see why he should write her such a letter—as if the fact that he had inherited Papa’s estate made him her guardian. He was no such thing and she had no intention of doing as he asked. She would keep to her intention of being Lady March’s guest, though, had she not already arranged things to her liking, she supposed she might have been grateful to her father’s cousin for his offer.
Aunt
