Horace paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “Goddard’s household hasn’t any females, other than a daily housekeeper and a maid-of-all-work. Perhaps he’s taken to foisting his émigré connections off on his in-laws. Who is this protégé?”
And this was the inconvenient side of marriage to a man who recalled details and expected his every question to be respectfully answered.
But then, familiarity with the exact make-up of a former direct report’s household went beyond recalling a stray detail.
“I hardly know who she is.” Meli used the honey whisk to trail a skein of sweetness into her tea, though what she truly longed for was a slosh of brandy to settle her nerves. “The Walters’s musicale is next Thursday, and while I understand that you are no great fan of the harp, you do have a good opinion of Captain Walters. His baby sister will entertain us.”
“Walters married the Glenville girl.” Horace refolded his newspaper and pressed it flat beside his plate. “Flighty thing, but she bore up cheerfully enough on campaign.”
Horace slurped his coffee, a habit that increasingly grated on Meli’s nerves. Horace had always slurped his coffee and his tea, but since settling into London life, that singularly ungenteel noise struck Meli as proof of his increasing years.
“Who else will be there?” he asked, perusing his newspaper.
Melisande rattled off a guest list rife with military acquaintances, a few bachelors to make up the numbers, and the usual sprinkling of wallflowers to swell the audience ranks.
“I suppose we must show the colors,” Horace said, taking another slurp. “Truly, my dear, I do not fathom how your niece can prefer the drudgery of a cook’s life to genteel entertainments and your own company. Ann isn’t bad looking, and she has some means. She would make you a perfect companion. Is there some reason she disdains to join our household?”
“Stubbornness, I suppose.” Though Meli almost—almost—understood the allure of having a skill for which a woman would be paid a decent wage. If that woman was unmarried and of age, she also had the legal standing to keep her wages for her own use.
No hoping her husband had instructed the solicitors on the matter of her monthly pin money. No economizing on candles to replace a pair of slippers that had become unfashionable in a single Season.
Still, to work all day, dealing with animal carcasses, coarse company, and manual labor… That was much too high a price to pay for a loss of standing in genteel society.
“You can be stubborn too,” Horace said, “and I must tell you honestly, Melisande, I do not care for any association between my family and Orion Goddard. I stood by him through all the rumors and even the official inquiry, but that there was an inquiry was most unfortunate.”
The military was always convening boards of inquiry. As best Meli recalled, Horace himself had requested that Goddard’s situation be investigated, claiming that was the only way to clear the colonel’s name.
Goddard had been knighted, suggesting somebody had been convinced of his worth. To observe as much would doubtless send Horace off onto one of his diatribes about military justice, appearances, the honor of the regiment, and necessary compromises for the greater good. As a younger wife, Meli had heard that speech more often than any other in Horace’s substantial repertoire.
“I can hardly persuade Ann to give up her cooking if she’s no longer permitted to call on me, sir.”
Horace set down his coffee cup and folded his paper up. It never occurred to him that when he marched off to his club every morning, he might leave the Society pages for his wife to read. Meli was reduced to paying for a second subscription that was sent to her sitting room at noon, after the maids had had a chance to iron the pages.
That precaution was necessary, because Horace would notice ink-stained fingers and doubtless inquire as to how Meli had acquired them.
“Ann is family,” Horace said. “We would never turn her away, but neither should you ignore the risks she runs to her good name and to your own by association. You might remind her that Goddard is not well regarded among his fellow officers, and perhaps she will choose her next apprentice with more care.”
Actually, Orion Goddard had been well liked by his peers and respected by his subordinates. He’d been mentioned in the occasional dispatch—a high honor—and there was that knighthood.
“I don’t think Ann had any choice about taking the girl on,” Meli said. “Goddard is Sycamore Dorning’s brother by marriage, and the Dornings are notoriously loyal to family. If Dorning told Ann to take on an apprentice, Ann could not have refused that direct order.” Then too, the Dornings boasted an earldom among the family treasures, and Sycamore Dorning’s wife was the widow of a marquess.
That Horace, who well knew the value of influence and social standing, would eschew Goddard’s company when the colonel could claim such connections was a puzzle.
And a worry.
Horace rose and tucked the newspaper under his arm. “Enough about Ann and her misguided notions. I’m off to hear all the news at the club, my dear.” He came down to Meli’s end of the table and bussed her cheek. “What have you planned for today?”
“I must begin the preparations for our officers’ dinner in earnest. Choose the flowers, inventory the linen, ensure the Portuguese silver is polished. The staff looks forward to those dinners, as do I.”
She didn’t, actually—the same stories, the same jokes, the same sly winks—but Horace did, so Meli would make the effort.
Horace caught her hand and bowed over it. “Truly, I am well blessed in my wife, Melisande. I will happily escort you to the Walters do, and I am sure you will be the prettiest lady of the whole gathering.”
He smiled, kissed her knuckles, and took his leave of her, ever the gallant officer, though Meli was no longer the blushing young wife who thrived on flummery and flirtation. Philippe Deschamps had disabused her of much silliness, then war, polite society, and the passing years had done the rest.
Meli waited until she heard the front door close before she slipped her flask from her skirt pocket and tipped a quarter of the contents into her tea. She had downed a fortifying swallow of Dutch courage when the footman returned to clear away the empty place at the head of the table.
She’d meant to use Ann’s weekly call to ask her to finalize a menu for the officers’ dinner. The task could not wait another week, so Meli would have to send a note around to Ann’s lodgings. How to do that without Horace getting wind of it was yet another puzzle.
A commanding officer’s wife had to be good at solving puzzles and intrigues. Meli would solve this one too.
“Orion, do come in.” Jeanette’s smile was hesitant, and that alone shamed Rye. He’d kept his distance from his only sibling, hoping that his troubles would not become her troubles. Thus Rye had been nowhere nearby when Jeanette had acquired troubles of her own, and Sycamore Dorning had charged into the breach.
“Jeanette.” Rye bowed, an awkward courtesy between brother and sister, but with Dorning hovering at Jeanette’s elbow, courtesy was the safer alternative. “You look well.”
“I enjoy great good health, thank you. Won’t you have a seat?”