Page 27 of Rescued from Betrayal
Her eyes flicked nervously to the crowd. Ah, yes, the kiss. He leaned forward. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he gave her a quick chaste peck on the cheek. They flew open and she stared at him in confusion.
Had she wanted him to give her a real kiss? He could not tell, for the next instant she turned to face the small group of people gathered in the pews.
A good many of Nathaniel’s friends and acquaintances were there. Eddie and John had agreed to stand up with him, while Al had flatly refused, insisting he’d not stand up at a wedding unless he was dragged to the altar by some half-crazed female. So he sat among the other onlookers.
Across the aisle, Melior’s family sat. At the beginning of the ceremony the duke had appeared cheerful, but now his face was creased, a slight frown upon his lips. Melior’s parents sat resolutely next to him, their eyes focused directly forward, neither one looking at them nor showing any sign ofacceptance. If he were to guess their feelings, he’d say they were entirely done with the situation and perhaps smarting from the disgraceful connection.
Disgraceful connection indeed. If they only knew what sort of a man their daughter might have been forced to marry.
His eyes flitted over the rest of the pews. Other than Osborne Kendall, only his childhood friend Miss Javenia Harris and her father occupied the seats. Where were Melior’s myriad of London friends? He knew she had many, but Lady Edith and Lady Agatha were the most notably absent. How could they be absent on an occasion like this, especially Lady Edith? She did not bow to the dictates of her parents as easily as Lady Agatha, so he doubted their displeasure would have kept her from attending the wedding of her dearest friend.
“Let us go,” Melior said, pressing gently against his arm to propel him into motion. He’d woolgathered so much today she probably thought him daft in the head.
At the carriage Javenia handed Melior a small nosegay of flowers. The smile that touched Melior’s lips as she received them was genuine if a bit sad.
“Thank you,” Melior said.
To his surprise, the two ladies embraced, and Javenia whispered something in Melior’s ear.
“I’d like that very much,” she responded softly.
His mind churned through the possibilities of what Javenia might have said, until the door to the carriage shut and the conveyance began to rumble down the streets of London.
They were utterly alone for the first time since the night they’d been found in the cloakroom. Awkward silence filled the space between them. Without thinking, he’d taken up the backward-facing seat making it impossible not to see the emotions that played across Melior’s face as they left the city. He wished he had not.
It was like watching a flower be slowly crushed by a boot. With each mile she seemed to wilt more and more in her seat, her face the picture of torture. And he was the one crushing her. Oh, he knew it was not him particularly. Mr. Thomas Fairchild and most likely Lord Caraway were the real ones at fault. But no matter how much he tried, he still felt her pain keenly. So he resolved to give her the space she needed. There was no need to burden her more than was necessary with his presence, especially when she appeared as if she needed a full week’s worth of sleep.
The grey coated buildings of London gave away to fields dusted lightly with snow. It was odd seeing the pure white after the filth of the city, but the glistening of the sun off the iridescent surface helped to soothe her aching heart. There was nothing like a beautiful view to lighten one's burden.
Then again, beauty had always been her reprieve, whether it be in a lovely dress, a well-done painting, or the enchanting words on a page. It brought her peace in an ugly, unforgiving world.
She gazed down at her traveling attire and frowned. At the door of the church, Sir Nathaniel had helped her into her burgundy pelisse. Thankfully, the warm woolen garment hid the hideous dress her mother had chosen for her, since a baronet’s wife, she had insisted, could not put on airs with such finery as she was used to.
It was a punishment, and Melior knew it. As was the noticeably absent trunk on the carriage. Her mother must have kept back the one containing her ballgowns.
Thank goodness she’d repacked her jewelry this morning into the new box Uncle Percy had given her. She fingered thelocket at her neck. It had been her grandmother’s—the same grandmother she’d been named after.
Her memories of her father’s mother were vague at best, but thanks to Uncle Percy’s generosity, she now had something tangible of the first Lady Melior Kendall.
Only she no longer shared the name Melior Kendall with her long deceased grandmother. She was Lady Nathaniel Stanford. She sighed softly. With her new name, it was almost as if she’d disappeared entirely.
Her eyes flitted to the beautifully carved jewelry box on the floor of the carriage, but her attention caught on Sir Nathaniel’s shiny black Hessians. The boots were of the finest quality. How had she never noticed his expensive footwear?
Her gaze slowly rose, sweeping over his buckskin breeches and landing on his arms which were crossed over a snug fitting coat. His eyes were closed, but she did not fool herself into thinking he slept. His breathing was too unsteady for rest.
When they opened, she quickly turned her focus to the window, embarrassed to be caught openly gawking at him.
“How much longer until we reach Havencrest?” she asked.
“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“Are you cold? Of course you are. My apologies. I should have given you the lap robe when we first entered.”
He stood, half hunched, and lifted the seat top to reveal a cubby filled with thick fur blankets. After extracting a tan one, he turned and carefully laid it across her lap. The gesture was by no means uncommon and yet in the confines of the small coach, with only the two of them, it felt exceedingly intimate.
Melior cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
