The Mad Lord's Daughter (4 page)
“You flinched,” he said, and Melissa pursed her lips.
“I thought you were about to . . .”
“I was. Until you flinched.”
“I did not flinch. And a gentleman should not kiss a young woman’s hand during an initial introduction. Isn’t that right, Miss Stanhope?”
“That is true,” her chaperone agreed, “but there are some cheeky young men who do not follow such rules, and you must be prepared. As long as you are wearing your gloves, you may allow it, but you are perfectly in your rights to glare at any young man who is so forward.” To show her the look, Miss Stanhope glared at John.
John stepped back in mock fear. “If you could master such a look, dear cousin, no man would ever attempt such a kiss again.”
To Melissa’s surprise, Miss Stanhope laughed.
“Miss Stanhope?” A young footman stood at the entrance. “Lord Braddock would like to see you in his study.”
“If you will excuse me,” she said. She looked from one to the other as if uncertain whether to leave. “You may continue practicing,” she said, following in the servant’s wake.
“I’m not a child,” Melissa grumbled, knowing she sounded very much like a child.
“So. It’s true,” John said when Miss Stanhope was gone.
“What is true?”
“My father told me you’d stayed in a suite of rooms for years, that you’ve never been in the world. I find that completely fascinating.”
Melissa stared at him. He appeared sincere, but she could not be certain. Small nuances in conversation that seemed so easy for other people to identify were quite difficult for her.
“There you go, staring. You’re going to have to find a way to stop doing that,” John said.
“Was I staring?” Melissa said, mortified. “I thought I was just looking.”
He was instantly remorseful. “No, no. You weren’t staring. Well, perhaps a bit. You do have this rather intense way of looking at a chap. I suppose it is because of your lack of experience dealing with different people. Truly, you are remarkable.”
“Oh.” She immediately dropped her gaze and looked down, only to have John laugh aloud. “I do wish you would stop doing that.”
“What?” he asked, all innocence.
“Laughing at me. Even when you’re not laughing at me, you’re laughing at me. Like now,” she said accusingly, pointing a finger at him. “Your eyes. You are laughing at me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted easily. “I am. You must understand that I’ve never met anyone quite like you. As a man of science, I find your circumstances quite interesting.”
She suddenly felt rather crestfallen. She’d never thought of herself as different or strange. It had never occurred to her that when she finally did go into society, it would be difficult. After all, her father had hired the best governesses and tutors to make certain she would know what to do. “Am I so very unusual?”
“Of course. But in a very nice way. You see, women are a deceptive bunch, never saying what they mean, always hiding what they’re feeling. You, on the other hand, are delightfully easy to read.” He peered at her face. “Right now, for instance, you are feeling quite self-conscious and embarrassed that
I’m
staring at
you.
”
I’m
staring at
you.
”
“I fear I shall be an utter failure and embarrass Miss Stanhope, as well as my uncle.”
John shrugged, as if such an occurrence wasn’t in the least consequential. “What is the worst that could happen? You refuse to give your hand to some oily gentleman who is only interested in your dowry? I hardly think that would be a tragedy.”
“But what if I refuse to give my hand to a man who would otherwise have fallen madly in love with me?” Honestly, Melissa had never considered such a thought. She’d never considered leaving Bamburgh, never mind falling in love and marrying. Such things always seemed to be reserved for characters in the books she’d read, not for her.
John threw back his head and laughed, and Melissa wasn’t certain whether she should be insulted or laugh with him. Was it so ridiculous that someone would fall in love with her? It suddenly seemed as if it were something she very much would like. She didn’t want to be left alone to molder away into her old age. Did she?
“Love,” he said, still sputtering. “Men don’t fall in love, my dear. They only want two things. And money is one of them.”
“And the other?”
“Good God, you cannot be that . . .” He stared at her again, and Melissa thought she saw another bit of pity. “Then again you probably are,” he muttered.
“I am what?”
“Innocent. A man wants women, especially beautiful ones like you. He’ll want to . . . do things.”
Melissa felt her cheeks turn pink. “I may be innocent, but I’m not stupid. You are talking about fornication, are you not?” She felt ridiculously proud that she did know what he was referring to—which probably was even more a mark of just how naïve she was.
He let out a choking sound. “Yes. I was.”
“Men want only money and to fornicate?”
It was his turn to blush, something that Melissa found extremely satisfying. “I suppose that is putting matters a bit simplistically, but yes, that’s about right.”
“So I cannot expect a man to fall in love with me?”
“Love between a man and a woman does not exist,” he said.
“That’s not true. My father loved my mother very much. He spoke of her all the time, spoke of how he loved her. And I loved my father. I am a woman, and he is a man.”
“Paternal love is a different thing entirely. We are conditioned to love our children. I am speaking of romantic love. I don’t mean to be cruel or indelicate, but it is far easier to love a ghost than a real woman. Love, or what we think of as love, does not last longer than the day your heir is born. And then you find what real love is.”
Melissa smiled and shook her head. “Do you truly believe that? That all these people who pair up are doomed to be unhappy and live a life without love?”
“Yes. And that such a life is not the tragedy romantics like you make it out to be. The real tragedy is the poor souls who believe in love wholeheartedly, only to be bitterly disappointed time after time.”
Melissa tilted her head. “An interesting theory, but I think it’s complete hogwash. I think you believe this only because you have not fallen in love yourself.”
“Not theory. Fact. It’s been proven again and again. And I refuse to fall in love, for I recognize that state of mind for what it is, a transient emotion fueled by lust.”
“So all the poets, even Shakespeare himself, were wrong. Everyone who believes he or she loves someone is delusional. Is that what you are saying?”
He shook his head, his gray eyes sparking with passion for his subject. “Not at all. People do
believe
they are in love. What they don’t recognize is that real love, such as the love of a mother for her child, lasts. But the love between a man and a woman is a fantasy, and one we cling to rather pathetically while our souls slowly wither and die from our disappointed expectations.”
believe
they are in love. What they don’t recognize is that real love, such as the love of a mother for her child, lasts. But the love between a man and a woman is a fantasy, and one we cling to rather pathetically while our souls slowly wither and die from our disappointed expectations.”
It was Melissa’s turn to laugh. “You cannot be serious. You are jesting with me.”
“Not at all,” he said with complete earnestness. “I am a man of science. I observe behaviors, of animals, of humans. And my conclusion, and that of my father as well, is that the idea of romantic love is false. It simply does not exist.”
For some reason, Melissa felt unaccountably sad. Not because he had convinced her—he had not—but because he seemed to believe this nonsense so wholeheartedly. He was dooming himself forever to be unloved.
“I think you are wrong. I think you cannot escape love. Even you. I do hope I’m around to watch it happen. I shall delight in it.”
“You will have a long wait, I fear. In the meantime, I shall help you find your own path to disillusionment and heartbreak if you wish. I know quite a few eligible bachelors who are certain to fall at your feet and beg for your hand in marriage.”
Melissa smiled. “Will I have to actually give them my hand?”
“I’m afraid, dear cousin, you will have to give them more than that. But for now, let’s work on your not flinching when a man escorts you about a room.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, but couldn’t help smiling. She only hoped that all young men were as entertaining as her cousin.
Lord Braddock found the recent turn of events extremely unsettling. For years, it had just been himself and John, and he was happy for it. His wife, God rest her soul, had died more than twenty years ago, and he’d had no desire to go out and find another. Henrietta had been a mistake and it was more than that she had not enjoyed the marriage bed. The thought of begging another wife to lie with him was quite more than he could bear. It was humiliating, unmanning, and frustrating beyond tolerance. He’d never forced her, but rutting above a woman lying unmoving beneath you wasn’t particularly enjoyable, despite the sexual release it afforded him.
No, he was quite happy with his mistress. She was not demanding, but was very willing when he was in London, which was most of the time these days, thanks to his duties in the House of Lords. No, Martha was the perfect woman. She never demanded anything but pleasure. She was never jealous, never spoke of love or missing him or any other such nonsense.
Frankly, he would be quite content to enter his old age living in his town house or manor in Cambridge and never returning to his country estate. John thrived there, but Lord Braddock felt as if he were suffocating.
“You needed to see me, my lord?” Miss Stanhope said, striding into the room without even a knock. This was precisely the type of woman he liked to avoid, the very type that fancied themselves in love with him, who would beg for love, then lie like a corpse in the marriage bed. He suppressed a shudder at the thought.
It wasn’t as if Miss Stanhope wasn’t desirable; she was. But she wasn’t the type of woman one tupped and then said good-bye to. If he ever got her into his bed—which he had absolutely no intention of doing—he’d be forced to marry her. No doubt she’d want children, despite her age, and expect affection and attention. He was done with all that, thank God.
“Yes, I wanted to speak to you about whom you plan to introduce Melissa to once the season does start. My son has come up with a rather lengthy list of prospects. I’m familiar with many of the families, if not the young men themselves, and wonder if you could offer any insight of your own.”
She pinched her nose unattractively, no doubt uncomfortable since their confrontation about her smile and trying desperately not to make any expression remotely similar to a smile. She wore a stiff, unrelentingly gray gown that covered her from her toes to her chin, with almost no adornment but for a small ruby pin by her throat. He wondered idly who had given it to her, for it was not an inexpensive piece.
“If you have the list, I will look at it later,” she said, thrusting a hand out, much like a schoolmistress would to take an assignment.
“I would like your immediate opinion, if you don’t mind.”
This seemed to fluster her for some reason, and her cheeks, which were a tad too sharp in her otherwise pretty face, turned pink. “I’ve left your son with Miss Atwell alone in the library.”
“And?”
“And it is certainly not proper for them to be alone together.”
Lord Braddock narrowed his eyes. He knew precisely what she was implying, and he didn’t care for it. “Why ever not? They are cousins.”
She let out a small huff of air through her nose, like a miffed little dragon. “They are not cousins, and your son is aware they are not. It is not at all proper for an unrelated, unmarried man and woman to be alone together for an extended amount of time.”
Lord Braddock folded his hands in front of him on his desk, and something about his demeanor must have disturbed Miss Stanhope, for she stiffened ever so slightly. He supposed, he thought placidly, that she detected his anger.
“My son, Miss Stanhope, is perhaps the most honorable and trustworthy man I know—including myself. He is fully aware of Melissa’s situation and would die before compromising her or disobeying me. I would trust him with my life.”
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