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He rolled his eyes. “Her.”
He tilted his head at the cleared space next to the harpsichord where Lady Eddings’s youngest daughter stood. The girl actually sang rather well, but the poor thing wore enormous panniers and a floppy bonnet, and she carried a pail of all things.
“Surely she’s not a chambermaid?” Lord Vale wondered. He’d taken their notoriety in stride, laughing loudly when he’d been cornered by several gentlemen before the musicale. Now he jiggled his left leg like a small boy forced to sit at church. “I’d think she’d be carrying a coal shuttle if she were a chambermaid. Though that might be rather heavy.”
“She’s a milkmaid,” Melisande murmured.
“Really?” His shaggy eyebrows drew together. “Surely not with those panniers?”
“Shh!” someone hissed from behind them.
“I mean,” Lord Vale whispered only a little lower, “wouldn’t the cows trod on her skirts? Don’t seem practical at all. Not that I know all that much about cows and milkmaids and such, but I do like cheese.”
Melisande bit her lip, fighting down an unusual urge to giggle. How strange! She wasn’t the giggling sort at all. She glanced at Lord Vale out of the corner of her eye only to see him watching her.
His wide mouth curved, and he leaned closer, his breath brushing her cheek. “I adore cheese and grapes, the dark, round, red kind of grape that burst in one’s mouth all sweet and juicy. Do you like grapes?”
Although the words were perfectly innocent, he said them with such a deep drawl, that she was hard pressed not to blush. And she suddenly realized that she’d seen him do this before: lean close to a lady and whisper wicked things in her ear. She’d watched him do it innumerable times over the years to innumerable ladies at innumerable parties. But this time was different.
This time he was flirting with her.
So she straightened her back and cast her eyes down demurely and said, “I do like grapes, but I think I prefer raspberries. The sweetness is not so cloying. And sometimes there’s a tart one with a bit of a . . . bite.”
When she raised her eyes and looked at him, he was staring back thoughtfully, as if he didn’t know quite what to make of her. She held his gaze, whether in challenge or warning, she wasn’t quite sure, until her breath began to grow short, and his cheeks darkened. He’d lost his habitual careless smile—he wasn’t smiling at all, in fact—and something serious, something dark, was staring out of his eyes at her.
Then the audience burst into applause, and Melisande started at the crash of sound. Lord Vale looked away, and the moment was lost.
“Shall I bring you a glass of punch?” he asked.
“Yes.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”
And she watched him get up and saunter away, aware that the world had rushed back into her senses. Behind her, the young matron who had shushed them was gossiping with a friend. Melisande caught the word enceinte and tilted her head away so she could no longer overhear the murmurs. Lady Eddings’s daughter was being congratulated on her performance. A spotty youth stood next to the girl loyally holding her pail. Melisande smoothed her skirts, glad that no one had bothered to come talk to her. If she were allowed to only sit and observe the people around her, she might enjoy events like this one.
She turned her head and located Lord Vale in the crowd around the refreshments table. He wasn’t hard to find. He stood half a head taller than all the other gentlemen, and he was laughing in that open way he had, one arm thrown out, the glass of punch in his hand in danger of splashing in the wig of the gentleman next to him. Melisande smiled—it was hard not to when he was so boisterous—but then she saw his face change. It was a subtle thing, a mere narrowing of the eyes, his wide smile falling just sligh wang justtly. Probably no one else in the room would notice it. But she had. Melisande followed his gaze. A gentleman in a white wig had just entered the room. He stood talking to their hostess, a polite smile on his face. He looked almost familiar, but she couldn’t place him. He was of average height, his countenance open and fresh, his bearing military.
She looked back at Lord Vale. He’d started forward, the glass of punch still in his hand. The young man glanced up, saw Vale, and excused himself from Lady Eddings. He walked toward Vale, his hand extended in greeting, but his face was somber. Melisande watched as her fiancé took the other man’s hand and drew him close to murmur something; then he glanced around the room and, inevitably, met her eyes. He’d lost his smile somewhere as he’d crossed the room, and now his face was quite expressionless. Deliberately, he turned his back to her, drawing the other man with him. Just then, the young man in the white wig looked over his shoulder, and Melisande inhaled, finally remembering where she’d seen him before.
He was the man she’d seen weeping six years before.
Chapter Three
After the last crumb of meat pie was eaten, the old man stood, and a very strange thing happened. His tattered clothes fell away, and suddenly there stood before Jack a young, handsome man in shining white garments.
“You have been kind to me,” the angel said—for who else could he be but an angel of God? “And so I shall reward you.”
The angel drew forth a little tin box and pressed it into Jack’s palm. “Look inside for what you need, and it shall be there.”
He turned and was gone.
Jack blinked for a moment before peering inside the box. And then he laughed, for there was nothing inside but a few leaves of snuff. Tucking the little tin snuffbox into his pack, he set off along the road again. . . .
—from LAUGHING JACK
Three weeks later, Melisande hid her trembling hands in the full skirts of her wedding dress. Behind her, Sally Suchlike, her new lady’s maid, was doing some last- minute fussing with the skirts.
“Don’t you just look a treat, miss,” Suchlike said as she worked.
They stood in the enclosed church porch, just off the nave. The organ had already started inside, and soon Melisande would have to walk into the crowded church. She shivered with nerves. Even on such short notice, nearly all the pews were full.
