Page 9 of The Meaning of Love
Sure enough, three of the species were clustered in a knot just inside the gazebo. He couldn’t imagine what had brought them out there, but as he straightened and the weak light fell on his face, he saw surprise light their features, and suspicion bloomed. He set it aside for now; he had more urgent matters to deal with.
Beneath her breath, so quietly only he would hear, Melissa murmured, “Naturally, we have to be found by three of the biggest gossips in the ton.”
Without conscious thought, his hand had found and closed about one of hers. Surreptitiously, he squeezed her fingers in warning, then summoning a suitably delighted smile, he raised her hand, pressed a kiss to her fingertips, then lowered them and announced, “Ladies, you’re the first to learn our news. Miss North has just done me the honor of agreeing to be my countess.”
The three ladies gasped, genuinely startled.
To Melissa, he murmured, “Smile as if you truly want to be the Countess of Carsely.”
He felt the touch of her gaze on his face, then she stepped out of his shadow and positively beamed at the three avidly inquisitive ladies. “Isn’t that the most wonderful news? I’m thrilled!”
“Oh—oh yes!” The ladies broke into gushing expressions of delight and tripped over themselves to offer their felicitations.
From Melissa’s point of view, what followed was a random mix of moments of sheer nightmare, challenging charade, and unexpected amusement.
The nightmare was the effort of clinging to their necessary façade in the face of quite scarifying attention. She’d had no idea, and plainly Julian hadn’t had, either, that so many of the grandes dames would take such a close and immediate interest in them. That they’d originally come to know each other while under her grandmother’s eye in Little Moseley was the single element in their concocted tale that rendered it acceptable to such observers.
Knowing they stood on such shaky ground made both of them exceedingly careful.
Projecting a believable image of a couple delightedly acknowledging a surprise betrothal was a charade well within their social skills; they knew what was expected and played their parts with convincing ease. Their way was smoothed by having seized the moment when Julian returned her to her mother’s side to whisperingly hint at the truth, enough to alert her mother to the real situation. Her mother had focused briefly on Melissa’s lips—presumably slightly swollen—then her mother had glanced at Julian and taken charge. As Melissa could have predicted, Henrietta, Lady North, responded faultlessly, acting the delighted mother-of-the-bride-to-be to the hilt.
Although she stood on deeply familiar ground, Melissa nevertheless felt unsure of her footing, a feeling she ascribed to being forced into close proximity with Julian combined with the shock of being declared the next Countess of Carsely.
He seemed to take the situation in his stride, artfully replying to the more inquisitive of their well-wishers without actually revealing anything. Home Office training, she supposed. Certainly, his adroitness in steering the exchanges led to her mother being ever more accommodating regarding his directions.
Melissa would have sniffed disparagingly if he hadn’t proved so usefully adept at preserving their fiction. She felt certain that other than her mother, not one of those present realized their supposed engagement was a sham.
In truth, she didn’t want to think of that herself; how to resolve their faux engagement was a matter best left for later. She couldn’t afford to lower her guard, and plainly, she and Julian were not going to be given any moments to discuss anything in private during the rest of the evening.
At one point in the proceedings, he murmured sotto voce, “Just how many grandes dames are there? It seems like fully half of them are here.”
She considered, then, still smiling serenely, conceded, “About half, yes.” She caught the startled look he sent her. “Lady Connaught is one of the premier hostesses.”
His brows faintly rose. “I didn’t realize. She wasn’t the last time I was in town.”
The comment alerted her to his difficulty in operating on superseded knowledge. Thereafter, as more couples and groups queued to tender felicitations at their happy news, she made a point of mentioning those whose situations had changed.
No one in the ballroom wished to be behindhand, and Lady Connaught was in alt.
After their hostess swooped in and patted them both delightedly and commended them for standing and receiving for so long—thus ensuring they continued—Julian murmured, “I suspect we’ve made her evening.”
“Her week,” Melissa corrected. “As a hostess gift, having an elusive earl declare a surprise betrothal at one’s event rather takes the cake.”
He huffed a laugh, then had to smother it as the next lady and her disappointed daughters came up to congratulate them.
It was wearying, but had to be endured, something neither of them questioned.
But eventually, a slight frown in his eyes, Julian whispered, “I had no idea people would be so keen to see us wed.”
She’d noted the same thing. “They’ve clearly taken the notion to heart.” She grasped the chance to add, “I’m fairly certain Gordon arranged for those ladies to turn up at the gazebo. All three are friends of his mother.”
“Helen?”
Smile unfaltering as another group of guests approached, Melissa nodded.
Under his breath, Julian murmured, “That was why they were so stunned. They were expecting to find him, not me.”
Through her smile, she replied, “Exactly.”
