better than to do so in Society, but privately we are Adam and Melia.’
‘I do not wish to criticise your behaviour,’ Jane said. ‘Yet I am your chaperon and I would not wish you to be hurt...or to be thought fast. It might be prudent to be a little careful, Melia. Viscount Hargreaves is charming, but we know so little of him or his affairs.’
Melia’s face flushed stubbornly and for a moment she looked as if she would argue, but then she inclined her head. ‘I would never do anything you felt shameful, Lady March. Surely you cannot think it? I am grateful to you for bringing me to London for I am sure you did not want the bother of a young girl.’
‘You could never be a bother to me,’ Jane said. ‘Indeed, if you think me harsh I am sorry for I did not mean to scold—I think only of your future, my dear. Both Will and I are very fond of you.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Melia looked a little ashamed. ‘Pray forgive me, Jane. I did not mean to sound petulant but...the viscount is so flattering and it is nice to have a gentleman say pretty things...’
‘Yes, of course,’ Jane said. ‘However, some gentlemen say more than they mean. I do not think it of Viscount Hargreaves necessarily, but a little care in one’s dealings with a gentleman one hardly knows...’
‘Do you not like him?’ Melia asked, looking bewildered.
‘I have formed no opinion,’ Jane said truthfully. ‘However, I do like Lord Frant and I would suppose any friend of his to be a gentleman—but for your own sake, Melia, take your time.’
‘Yes, I shall.’ Melia sparkled at her suddenly. ‘He is not the only gentleman to pay me exquisite compliments. I might have had my head turned a dozen times at the ball if I were a foolish child.’
Jane smiled, the look in the girl’s eyes making her wonder if perhaps Melia was not well able to take care of herself. Perhaps she too was merely flirting and would not lose her heart to a rogue...
Now why had she thought of Viscount Hargreaves as a rogue? It was not because of her brother’s hints about his card playing... No, more a certain note in his voice when he’d spoken of Paul Frant as having plenty of money to buy a houseful of furniture. Something in his tone and his face had made Jane suspect that underneath the smiles and the assumption of friendship for his host there lay a simmering jealousy.
* * *
Melia felt a flicker of guilt as she went upstairs to put off her bonnet before nuncheon. She had lied to Jane about her feelings and her intentions, allowing her to think that she was interested in a score of admirers who had paid her such pretty compliments at the ball, when in truth the only one that made her heart flutter was Adam.
He had pressed her hand to his lips in the garden, gazing ardently into her eyes as he told her that she was the loveliest girl he’d seen in England and he was rapidly falling under her spell.
‘I am so unworthy of you, my dear Miss Bellingham...’
‘No, no, do not say so,’ Melia had begged him. ‘You must call me Melia; everyone I like does...’
‘In private, perhaps,’ he’d said in a voice husky with passion. ‘I am Adam to you, and you are Melia in my heart—but I can never presume to hope for more than friendship, sweet lady. I have little to offer and, though Frant and I are to go into partnership in the matter of our racing stable, my estate is unable to support the wife I would wish for. In time, perhaps, I shall have my own houses in Ireland, London and perhaps Leicestershire for the hunting—but that may be some years away, and I could not ask any lady to wait for me...’
Melia’s heart had swelled with a mixture of love and grief. How noble he was in renouncing her because he could not afford to give her the things she deserved. The portion Lord Frant had given her no longer seemed enough, for though it increased her fortune to seven thousand pounds in all, it was not enough to buy her a husband who needed the means to
‘I do not wish to criticise your behaviour,’ Jane said. ‘Yet I am your chaperon and I would not wish you to be hurt...or to be thought fast. It might be prudent to be a little careful, Melia. Viscount Hargreaves is charming, but we know so little of him or his affairs.’
Melia’s face flushed stubbornly and for a moment she looked as if she would argue, but then she inclined her head. ‘I would never do anything you felt shameful, Lady March. Surely you cannot think it? I am grateful to you for bringing me to London for I am sure you did not want the bother of a young girl.’
‘You could never be a bother to me,’ Jane said. ‘Indeed, if you think me harsh I am sorry for I did not mean to scold—I think only of your future, my dear. Both Will and I are very fond of you.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Melia looked a little ashamed. ‘Pray forgive me, Jane. I did not mean to sound petulant but...the viscount is so flattering and it is nice to have a gentleman say pretty things...’
‘Yes, of course,’ Jane said. ‘However, some gentlemen say more than they mean. I do not think it of Viscount Hargreaves necessarily, but a little care in one’s dealings with a gentleman one hardly knows...’
‘Do you not like him?’ Melia asked, looking bewildered.
‘I have formed no opinion,’ Jane said truthfully. ‘However, I do like Lord Frant and I would suppose any friend of his to be a gentleman—but for your own sake, Melia, take your time.’
‘Yes, I shall.’ Melia sparkled at her suddenly. ‘He is not the only gentleman to pay me exquisite compliments. I might have had my head turned a dozen times at the ball if I were a foolish child.’
Jane smiled, the look in the girl’s eyes making her wonder if perhaps Melia was not well able to take care of herself. Perhaps she too was merely flirting and would not lose her heart to a rogue...
Now why had she thought of Viscount Hargreaves as a rogue? It was not because of her brother’s hints about his card playing... No, more a certain note in his voice when he’d spoken of Paul Frant as having plenty of money to buy a houseful of furniture. Something in his tone and his face had made Jane suspect that underneath the smiles and the assumption of friendship for his host there lay a simmering jealousy.
* * *
Melia felt a flicker of guilt as she went upstairs to put off her bonnet before nuncheon. She had lied to Jane about her feelings and her intentions, allowing her to think that she was interested in a score of admirers who had paid her such pretty compliments at the ball, when in truth the only one that made her heart flutter was Adam.
He had pressed her hand to his lips in the garden, gazing ardently into her eyes as he told her that she was the loveliest girl he’d seen in England and he was rapidly falling under her spell.
‘I am so unworthy of you, my dear Miss Bellingham...’
‘No, no, do not say so,’ Melia had begged him. ‘You must call me Melia; everyone I like does...’
‘In private, perhaps,’ he’d said in a voice husky with passion. ‘I am Adam to you, and you are Melia in my heart—but I can never presume to hope for more than friendship, sweet lady. I have little to offer and, though Frant and I are to go into partnership in the matter of our racing stable, my estate is unable to support the wife I would wish for. In time, perhaps, I shall have my own houses in Ireland, London and perhaps Leicestershire for the hunting—but that may be some years away, and I could not ask any lady to wait for me...’
Melia’s heart had swelled with a mixture of love and grief. How noble he was in renouncing her because he could not afford to give her the things she deserved. The portion Lord Frant had given her no longer seemed enough, for though it increased her fortune to seven thousand pounds in all, it was not enough to buy her a husband who needed the means to
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