Thanking his friend for his thoughtfulness, Blake accepted the tumbler he offered and took a sip. “You mentioned in your letter that your aunt and uncle are here as well?”
“Indeed they are.”
“I cannot recall seeing them since I was a boy.”
Nodding, Bellmore gestured for Blake to take a seat. “Do you know who else is here?” With a twinkle in his eyes, Bellmore claimed the armchair opposite Blake’s. “My sister, Melanie.”
Blake suppressed a groan. Had he known she would be here as well he might have had second thoughts about coming. “I thought she was travelling with family friends. As I recall, you mentioned sometime ago that she wasn’t due home for several more months.”
Bellmore’s lips twitched. “You really have no concept of time, do you, Ravensby? That was a year and a half ago. She is now eighteen and will embark on her first Season this coming year for which she must be here so she can prepare.”
“Eighteen?” Blake frowned. When he’d last seen Bellmore’s sister, she’d been a hoydenish child with a penchant for mischief. She’d found great joy in pestering him with her pranks.
“I believe you will find her vastly improved,” Bellmore said dryly. “She no longer keeps mice in her pockets.”
Blake coughed. “What a relief.”
“And,” Bellmore added, “she also manages to look more ladylike.”
“Are we still speaking of your sister or of someone else entirely?” Blake asked. To this day he could not recall ever coming across another person who looked as disheveled as Lady Melanie. Something had always ruined her ensemble: a bramble bush, a bit of mud from a puddle, or a few stray twigs haphazardly caught in her hair.
“She has grown up, Ravensby.”
Blake wasn’t sure he liked the way in which his friend said that. It almost sounded as though he was plotting something – something that might involve a vicar. “If you are suggesting I take an interest in her–”
“I would never. Not even if Mama and Papa are of the opinion that marrying her off to you would be a coup.”
Blake gritted his teeth. “Really?”
Bellmore nodded. “You are a duke, after all, so they are correct. Unlike them, however, I remember how much you and Melanie dislike each other. That said, I cannot wait to see what you think of her transformation.” The grin that lit Bellmore’s face filled Blake with apprehension. His friend was clearly of the opinion he’d be impressed by the girl.
Impossible.
But what if?
Blake’s cravat suddenly felt tight. He took another sip of his drink, recalling the precision with which Lady Melanie had once hurled a cherry pie after him, hitting him squarely in the back of the head. Or the time when she’d filled his hat with spiders so he’d gotten the pesky creatures all over his hair. She was an infuriating troublemaker whose company he’d rather avoid. Marry her? Bellmore’s parents had to be cracked in the head if they thought he’d ever consider such a thing.
To his friend, Blake simply said, “I am sure I shall find her as charming as always.”
Dressed in a pale blue silk gown, Melanie reached for her teacup and took a sip, oblivious to the conversation taking place around her. Ravensby was here. She’d seen him arrive a short while ago when she’d looked out the window. The carriage had pulled up to the front step, and he’d alit onto the snow–covered driveway.
Her heart skipped slightly as she recalled how imposing he’d seemed. As a child, he’d always unnerved her, which probably explained why he’d fascinated her so. Gradually, as she’d grown older, her fascination with him had developed into a strange emotion she’d dealt with in the only way she’d known how – by pestering him.
It wasn’t until recently, when her brother had mentioned that Ravensby would be joining them for Christmas, that she’d begun to understand her feelings for him.
Love.
That’s what it was. And it just about terrified her to pieces.
“Melanie?”
She glanced at her mother, who was sitting beside her. “Yes?”
Lady Oxborough gave her a quizzical look. “Your aunt was just asking if you would be kind enough to show her your watercolors.”
“Of course,” Melanie said, addressing her aunt with a smile. “I would be delighted to. Perhaps this evening, after dinner?”
“I look forward to it,” said her aunt, Viscountess Featherington.
The door to the salon opened at that precise moment and her brother, Charles, entered.
“Ravensby has finally arrived,” he declared, moving aside so his friend could step into the room.
Melanie tried not to stare. Lord help her if he wasn’t more handsome than when she’d last seen him, his dark hair falling haphazardly across his brow and with a glint of confident control lurking behind his coffee–colored eyes.
“It is good to see you again,” Melanie’s father announced as he and her uncle went to shake Ravensby’s hand.
Her mother and aunt rose to greet him as well, concealing him from Melanie’s view as they did.
“How many years has it been, Ravensby?” Mama asked.
“When I last saw you, you were still climbing trees with Bellmore,” Lady Featherington said. “You cannot have been more than fifteen years old.” There was a brief pause, and then, “It does appear as though you have both grown a few inches since then.”
Everyone laughed.
“They are not the only ones who have grown up,” Melanie’s mother said, moving aside.
The room went completely still as everyone turned to look at Melanie, their expressions filled with pride and expectation. Except for Ravensby, who looked as though he might be about to suffer a fit of the vapors. Encouraged by his obvious state of shock, Melanie’s nervousness subsided.
Rising to her feet, she smiled and said, “Welcome back to Oxborough Abbey, Your Grace. I trust you journey went well?”
He nodded. Then as if recalling himself, he hastily said, “Yes. Yes it did. Quite well. Thank you.”
Melanie’s smile widened. She could scarcely believe what she was witnessing. Certainly her experience with men was limited, but judging from the way Ravensby was staring at her, she could only assume he was seeing her in an entirely new light.
Five days later
Why on earth would Lady Oxborough ask him to help Lady Melanie search for mistletoe on Christmas Eve? Devil take it, he knew the answer to that question as well as he knew his own name. But that didn’t mean he appreciated the meddling. Courting Lady Melanie was something he could bloody well figure out on his own, thank you very much.
Frustrated, he paced the entryway of Oxborough Abbey with increased impatience. He’d no idea what he was doing or thinking or anything else really. In the time it took to glance across a room, his world had been turned upside down. And by whom? By the very last person he’d ever thought would affect him in this particular way. Lord help him, Lady Melanie was just as infuriating as she’d always been, though in an entirely different way now.
“Annoying chit,” he muttered as he turned to cross the marble floor once more.
“I beg your pardon?”