AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Turning away, Mélisande allowed herself a wistful smile. There had been one. But he’d probably married by now. The thought evoked a wave of melancholy. Stop it, she told herself. There was no sense pining over what could never have been in the first place. She’d find someone like him, someone who made her feel the way he had. Eventually.
And when she did, she’d marry him.
“I’m certain he exists, Maman. Until he appears, I will keep waiting.”
“Do not wait too lo
ng. Each year passes more quickly than the one before, and old age can be most unkind to an unmarried woman,” her mother muttered, shooting a pointed glance at her.
Early that autumn, the earl was stricken with a debilitating paralysis in his legs. It spread with alarming swiftness, mystifying the physicians who were called in one after another. Though they examined him and did their best, nothing could prevent the inevitable. Three weeks later, Lord Spencer Compton, Earl of Wilmington, died peacefully in his sleep, leaving his widow to hold his lands in trust until Mélisande married.
“It is too soon—even if I wanted to, Maman, I cannot!” an appalled Mélisande objected upon discovering her mother making plans to attend the London Season.
“You will,” Isabelle insisted. “It is imperative that you marry soon, Mélisande, and you will never find a husband here. You must go to London.”
“You wish me to seek a husband while in mourning? I’ll be ostracized!”
Her mother’s lips compressed. “The king is aware of our situation, Mélisande. The land needs a lord. George’s blessing will protect us from censure. I know it is hard, ma fille. I also have no desire for London, but we simply cannot afford to miss a Season.”
“Given my fortune, I could be as old as Methuselah and have warts on my nose, and still they would pursue me,” Mélisande groused. “One year will hardly matter.”
But it would. Though she hid it well, Isabelle’s health was failing, and Mélisande knew it. The ache she evinced upon drawing more than shallow breath told her that time was growing perilously short.
“When your father realized he was dying, he requested that I do this, and I shall respect his wishes. You will go to London, and that is final.”
And so, albeit unwillingly, Mélisande donned the muted mauve and grey of half mourning and went. Drifting among her peers, she neither smiled nor cried, feeling little save the empty hole in her heart and the bitterness of disappointment regarding her would-be suitors.
A reunion with her other childhood friend, Reginald Stanton III, finally drew her out of her darkness. Back at last from the Grand Tour, Reggie’s return to Society caused despair among her admirers, but the easy familiarity engendered by their long association soothed Mélisande’s sore heart.
As it had been when they were children, she, David, and Reggie once more became an inseparable trio. David cheerfully provided her entrée into his set, which included some of the most influential people in England—politicians, musicians, writers, artists, scientists, and philosophers. Many of these same individuals also exhibited an alarming lack of propriety, according to her mother.
This, more than anything, pleased Mélisande.
Thanks to her new friends, she discovered a natural aptitude for gaming. Not long after, she began spending less time dancing at balls and more time whiling away the hours playing chess and Bragg. It was her small way of rebelling against being trotted out on display when all she wanted was to go home.
And, as long as she behaved herself, Maman could not really object, either; for if it was of the utmost importance that she marry, then her new pastime did more by far to keep her in the company of eligible gentlemen than any amount of dancing.
The parlors where she now held court were filled with talk of politics and intrigue, art, science, music, and literature, all of which served to challenge and satisfy her sharp young mind. During those blissful hours, Mélisande not only forgot her sadness, but learned to win with grace and laugh at defeat.
In short order, she began to garner a certain celebrity of her own. Acquaintances began bringing visitors to meet the unconventional young woman; thus, she befriended many men of renown, including the famed chess master Philip Stamma and the American scientist Mr. Benjamin Franklin, among many others.
Everywhere Mélisande went she caused a stir; people began referring to her as not only “original” but “eccentric”—a dangerous term for an unwed woman. But despite her growing reputation for strangeness, she remained one of the most sought-after heiresses in England.
To her mother’s despair, however, not a single spousal candidate passed muster. The Season closed without a wedding.
Isabelle’s health deteriorated rapidly that winter. As it had been with her husband, doctors were brought in one after another and every possible remedy was tried, but none could cure her malady. The first true cold snap was without mercy, and by the time the snow ended, her constant coughing had stopped as well.
Mélisande would never forget that long night. She had stayed with her mother, listening to the soft, terrifying bubbling as her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
Awakening in the early dawn, Maman had smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I was wrong,” she had announced, her voice thin and weary, her eyes glazed with a pain that went far deeper than her chest. “I loved him more than I knew. I only wish I had told him before it was too late.”
“I’m sure he knew, Maman,” Mélisande had reassured her. “Now rest, and don’t concern yourself with such things.”
No matter what her mother had said about not being in love with her husband, her true feelings had become evident during his last days. Watching her care for him tenderly night and day, Mélisande had seen her hold on to each moment with a ferocity that defied death to take him from her side. Her mother had fought the battle along with him, and as he’d faded, so had she.
“I am so very tired, cherie,” Maman had whispered, pausing to take a sip from the cup her daughter held to her lips. “I wish I could stay and watch over you, but such is not my fate. I pray you find as good a husband as my Spencer. A man who will care for you the way he did for me. You must marry, Mélisande.”
“I will, Maman. I promise. Now rest, please.” Mélisande’s heart had broken all over again for what was lost, and for all that would be lost with her mother’s passing. Unable to bear thoughts of a future without her mother, her mind had retreated into the immediate, focusing only on what was needed at that moment.
