Page 7 of Rescued from Betrayal
Then again, it would be quite a shock to suddenly lose a title one was certain they would receive.
Melior walked silently beside him as they exited the house into the gardens. A strong cold wind whipped through the air and she stepped into his side to protect herself.
“Perhaps a walk outside was not the best of ideas at this time of year,” Eddie said.
She nodded, her teeth chattering. They had not collected their coats in all the rush and no one was dressed for the chill of February.
His friends spun around to face him. Algenon and Johnathan nodded in agreement, their arms wrapped around themselves as if in a personal embrace. For a prospective baron and a viscount, they did not look like it.
Al motioned with his head toward the conservatory. “Shall we reconvene in a warmer garden with actual live vegetation?”
“I concur with Mr. Roberts,” Melior said, backing up toward the outer door. “We can go through the house and enter the conservatory through the inside door.”
Everyone agreed and soon they were back into the semi-comfort of the large home. Melior asked a maid to bring her a shawl and once it was acquired, they proceeded to the appointed place.
“How was the card party, Lord Newhurst?” Melior politely asked John.
He glanced at Nathaniel and then rubbed both palms on his trouser legs. When Nathaniel did not answer for him, John locked his hands behind his back and looked at a spot above Melior’s head. “It was put on well. The Fultons did a fine job of hosting and the company was enjoyable.”
John never had been comfortable talking with beautiful women, and Melior was no exception. More often than not he expected one of his friends to answer her questions for him, but Eddie, Al, and Nathaniel had agreed not to do his talking for him anymore. They were not Harrow school boys any longer. He needed to break the habit if he was ever to find a wife, and of all of them, he needed a wife the most.
Melior cast him a social smile. “I am glad it went well, for your sake. Mr. Roberts, I saw you dancing with Miss Harris last night; I had not realized you two were on speaking terms again.”
Al gave a lopsided grin. “We can never make up our minds if we are friends or enemies. Either way, Lord Penwick was pestering her for a dance again and you know how much she detests the man. Someone had to step in.”
“As you should have.” Melior ran her slender fingers along a small, white orange blossom. Nathaniel always found it odd how the trees could bloom even in the dead of winter. “I would not want to dance with the man either,” she continued, “after what he did to her. To raise such expectations and then retreat to the country not once, but twice.”
“Yes, it is only sad that she had to settle for a dance with me to escape him. But alas, I did my duty as a gentleman. How could I do any less?”
Melior did not bestow her true smiles often, so when one bloomed on her face at Al’s pronouncement, Nathaniel stopped and stared.
She had such a beautiful smile, with those straight teeth and those full pink lips. Why did she not indulge in the action more often? He frowned.
Her gaze lifted to his and the smile fell. Of course it did.
She did not like him. He never had figured out why. To his recollection, he’d never done anything to personally offend her, but perhaps it was because out of all of Eddie’s friends his title was the lowest in rank. It was no secret Melior did not keep company with any gentleman below an earl, excepting of course the three of them—four, really. Her brother had no title and never would. As the second son of a second son, he was bound to be a lowly gentleman his whole life.
“Say, Nate,” Eddie said, “Are we still for Vauxhall’s tomorrow?”
“If you are still up to it. Mr. Watt will meet us there at eleven.”
“I am, more than ever. I could use a little distraction.”
“What is this about a visit to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow?” Melior tried to feign disinterest, but Nathaniel saw the moment her brilliant blue eyes lit with curiosity. Was she truly hoping for an invitation? It would be a first.
“Nothing you’d be interested in, Mel. We are meeting Mr. James Watt, the man who invented the steam engine. Thanks to a letter Nate wrote to him back in November, he has agreed to explain how it works.”
“Oh.” She deflated. “This is one of those inventor things you all are so consumed with.” She waved a hand in the air as if she were shooing away a fly, then sauntered to the next pretty plant. Why did she have to look so lovely even in a simple morning dress? It really was unfair.
If women appeared how they acted, she’d be an old crone with a wart on her nose. Maybe two for her dismissal of an interest that was so near to his heart. He loved to comb the pages of books to find out how things worked, and she acted as though he were a foolish child for his passions.
Had she looked at herself in the mirror lately? If one of them was childish, it would most definitely be her with her ridiculous obsession with perfection. Even now, she bent over a flower at the exact angle to both keep her posture correct and display her figure to best advantage. It was absolutely beautiful.
He shook his head. Admiring Melior would do him no good, it never had. All the appreciation in the world would not change the lovely creature before him into anything more than the pretty shell of a woman she’d become.
What had happened to the bouncy child he’d met on his first visit to Kendall House? She’d been ten and so full of excitement to see her brother after his term at Harrow. Nathaniel would never forget the way she hopped from foot to foot at the top ofthe stairs waiting for Eddie to run up and give her a hug. She’d caused so much commotion that Lady Kendall had exited the drawing room and scolded her for the noise.
Intelligent, kind, and excessively diverting, she’d been a delight to be around. He’d watched her grow into an intriguing young woman with fascinating ideas until the year before she’d come out in Society. Each year after that he’d seen less and less of that girl until she completely vanished into this excellently proportioned woman whose skin reminded him of porcelain and whose eyes could not be more blue if someone had painted them. It was almost as if she’d turned into a china doll.
