Page 11 of A Sonata for the Fiery Lady
“No, Father, I’m not some materialistic little girl who just wants to go shopping. I enjoy riding and wish to experience that joy once more. And now that I’m an engaged woman, what does it matter that I go for a ride? I don’t need to keep up appearances or appeal to any eligible gentleman. Surely, I could enjoy this freedom of simply riding,” Melisa said, anger in her voice as she watched her father grow red in the face.
“Of course, you have to keep up appearances, you naive child. You will soon be a Duchess, one of the highest-ranking members in society besides the Queen herself. Everyone will look up at you to be a role model for the latest fashions, how to conduct a household, and to decide the best foods to be serving at their dinner parties. You will be looked up to by all and should start preparing yourself to be in the centre of attention,” Lord Stanton raged as he pointed his finger at Melisa.
She recoiled from her father, looking away from him as she took a step back. Melisa had never considered such a life as a Duchess, thinking that perhaps she could live a quiet life since she would be higher in status. Melisa thought she could avoid such social situations and even have more freedoms to do as she chose because no one could object to her. But if there was any truth to what her father was saying, then perhaps she really had no idea what her life was going to be like as a Duchess.
“How could you do this to me, Father? How could you agree to allow the Duke to marry me when that will be the life I’ll be forced to live? Have you no love for your daughter? Do you have no idea what the Duke is really like?” Melisa asked, her eyes narrowing at her father as he looked confused at his daughter.
“Any young lady would gladly be in your situation, to marry a wealthy man and have so much influence on society. I’m pleased as a father to have provided such a future for you,” Lord Stanton said sternly.
“Yes, Father, any young lady would dream of being a Duchess without really knowing what it would be like. That is why the Duke never wants for a warm body in his bed. Only last night I discovered him with his arms around another young lady, kissing her passionately as he ravished her body with his hands. That, Father, is the type of man you’ve sold me to. I will never know love in this life and will always be treated like some object instead of a wife, or daughter,” Melisa yelled back, tears streaming down her face now as emotions raged through her body. She was furious with her parents for arranging her marriage to a horrible man, and she felt unable to control any aspect of her life. She didn’t even have the freedom to enjoy the things that brought her the most joy.
“You are just saying that to upset me,” Lord Stanton said as he straightened his posture, clearly shocked by Melisa’s behaviour by the way his face contorted as though he was in pain.
“I don’t lie like my mother nor throw fits like her, Father. I am completely serious,” Melisa said as she walked away from her father then, seeking refuge in the gardens since it was the furthest place she could go from the house without actually leaving the property.
Melisa ended up tripping, crashing to the ground as she put her arms out in front of her to break her fall. But she didn’t bother getting up as she laid there and wept. A feeling of betrayal washed over Melisa as she thought of her parents, how they were only concerned about appearances instead of the well-being of their daughter. The things they considered worthy of a man only being wealth and status within society.
“How could you do this to me, Heavenly Father?” Melisa cried out, calling on her God for comfort. “What have I done to deserve such a fate?”
She continued to cry for the longest time until her throat hurt too much from sobbing and her mouth felt dry. Her eyes were sore from the tears that had streamed from them, and she felt rather dirty from lying upon the ground for so long. As Melisa’s grief subsided, she pushed herself up until she was seated better upon the ground. Her thoughts continued to race as she stared off in front of her.
Melisa began to wonder what it would be like to run away from her home. She could possibly spend the next week or so leading up to the marriage selling her fine things in secret and gathering a small fortune that could take her far away. Perhaps she could find a quiet place in the country to hide for a while, giving locals a fake name and looking for some sort of employment. She’d make an excellent governess with her vast knowledge but knew it would be hard to find employment when she had no references.
Then she thought of Mr Quinn and how wonderful it would be to run away with him. Melisa already felt a strong connection to the man. Surely that might develop into love. She would even flee the country, taking them to perhaps France or Spain since she knew the languages. Surely there would be other prestigious families abroad who would hire Mr Quinn to play for them, and she could teach English to those wanting to travel to England.
“What a foolish idea,” Melisa said to herself as she pushed herself all the way up onto her feet. Slowly, she made her way inside the house and to her room, thankful not to be stopped by her father again. She reasoned with herself that Mr Quinn would never do such a thing with a lady like her. Melisa might indeed be able to gather a small fortune to escape town, but she could never expect a stranger to do it with her.
Making it all the way back to her room, Melisa pulled the servants’ cord by her bed before sitting down in a chair and pulling her riding boots off. It wasn’t long before Miss Thorsten arrived, grief on her face.
“I didn’t tell the master, I swear,” was the first thing Miss Thorsten said as she came into the room and shut the door. “The master was in the stables when I went to talk with Thatcher. That’s how he found out.”
Melisa raised her hand to silence the rambling girl, far too exhausted to deal with such matters right now. “Miss Thorsten, please have a bath drawn for me. I wish to relax for a while,” Melisa said without looking at her lady-in-waiting.
“Yes, Miss Melisa. I’ll have the tub brought up right away and tell Cook to start boiling the water,” Miss Thorsten said with a curtsey before leaving the room once more.
Left alone once more, Melisa took several deep breaths, knowing that she had to keep her emotions under control. If she was going to discover an honest solution, then she would need to keep a level head.
Chapter 8
Oliver woke with a start as he quickly lifted his head from his bed and looked at the wind-up clock on his bedside table. He let out a shaky breath as he realized that it was only two o’clock in the afternoon and he’d still have time to make the payment to Mrs Jenkins. Oliver rose slowly then, his head pounding from the lack of sleep. But he tried to force the pain away as he stood and began to get himself cleaned up.
After stripping down to nothing and washing himself thoroughly, Oliver dressed again in simpler clothes. He made sure to hang up his performing dress clothes carefully in his wardrobe, knowing he’d have to wear them again tomorrow for both his father’s funeral and the performance he’d play at the dinner party afterwards. Once he felt ready enough, he pocketed the notes he’d need to pay Mrs Jenkins and set off once more from the apartment.
Oliver felt like he was in a fog as sleep continued to nag at him. He ended up hiring a carriage to take him to the morgue, not even trusting his legs to carry him where he needed to go. But he suddenly felt oddly awake when he stepped down from the carriage and approached the black building, his senses seeming to come awake as he remembered that his father’s body was kept below this building. Wanting to get in and out as fast as he could, Oliver went to the front door and opened it, the strange smell of the place hitting him in the face as he stepped in.
Oliver didn’t bother waiting to be summoned as he went down the hallway to Mrs Jenkins office and knocked twice on her office door. When he heard her voice, he opened the door and stepped in, glad to at least be away from the awful smell of the building as he stepped into Mrs Jenkin’s bright office.
“Good day, Mr Quinn,” Mrs Jenkins said as she glanced up from her paperwork.
“Good day, Mrs Jenkins,” Oliver replied as he pulled the notes from his pocket and handed them to the woman. She gave him a small smile as she took the notes and counted them quickly before depositing them in a drawer below her desk.
“That concludes our business, Mr Quinn. The funeral will commence at the time and place I gave to you yesterday. Good day to you, sir,” Mrs Jenkins said as she went back to the stack of papers on her desk, the scratching of the quill on the paper loud against the silence of the building.
Oliver didn’t bother saying anything in return as he left the office and then quickly the building. It seemed rather simple, really, when it came to making funeral arrangements. But he’d never felt this uncomfortable before in his life.
Stepping back onto the street, Oliver took Miss Melisa’s calling card from his pocket and looked it over once more. He smiled softly, remembering his morning with Miss Melisa. He didn’t know if now was a good time to call upon the magistrate, but knowing he didn’t have anywhere else to be, he decided to take a chance.
Hailing another carriage for hire, Oliver conversed with the driver to discover the location of this magistrate. But as soon as Oliver told the man of the magistrate’s name, he knew exactly who Oliver was speaking of and even seemed surprised that Oliver wanted to see this man. As Oliver sat back in the carriage as the driver took off, Oliver wondered why the driver had seemed so surprised that he would call upon such a man. Surely it was common for magistrates to receive visitors from all social statuses because the law was the same overall. But Oliver only hoped that this magistrate would agree to make an appointment with him to listen to his dilemma.
