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“Don’t be,” the girl urged. “The man was a blackguard. He never loved me. I know that now, and I’m glad he can no longer hurt us.”
David moved to stand beside her. “I’ve some news to tell you, Melly. I’ve spoken with Reggie and asked for Charlie’s hand.”
“Oh, David! How very wonderful!” Mélisande exclaimed. “When?”
“Would you object to a double wedding?” asked Charlotte.
Mélisande’s smile faded only slightly. “I think that would be grand.”
“You must recover first,” David admonished. “And then there is the small matter of the king’s inquiry to get through before anything else can happen.”
Mélisande looked to Alessandro, worry creasing her brow.
“I must answer for Herrington’s death,” he explained. “All will be well, I am certain. I had just cause for my action. In any case, I possess diplomatic immunity,” he assured her. “The worst that can happen is expulsion.”
Her heart did not grow any less heavy at his words. Perhaps she might be able to intervene on his behalf, especially since the entire debacle was her fault.
“It will be several weeks, at least, before we can see the king,” David informed her. “I’m certain we will be able to win his favor, given the situation.”
Exhaustion suddenly swept through Mélisande. So tired... The bedroom door opened, admitting a servant. The tantalizing scent of chicken broth filtered throughout the room. Her stomach growled audibly, causing Charlotte to giggle.
“I guess it’s been a while since I last ate.” Mélisande chuckled, her smile returning.
“Then you’d best have something immediately,” replied Charlotte, taking the tray and moving toward the bed.
Mélisande first became bored and then cantankerous in very short order.
Two weeks had passed when Sloane began receiving his patient’s first complaints. A week of bed rest had done her a world of good; her surface wounds had closed and the scabs looked healthy—and she was weary of her confinement.
“Things are progressing quite nicely indeed. Just a few more days in bed, I think,” Sloane muttered as he examined her, nodding in satisfaction. “Then we’ll see about walking—gentle, slow walking, to begin with,” he added.
Mélisande let out a sigh. “It’s my shoulder that’s been hurt, for heaven’s sake,” she groused, “not my legs! I don’t see why I can’t go down to the gardens now and sit there doing absolutely nothing!”
“Dear Countess”—the doctor smiled benignly—“I know you grow weary of this room, but you must be extremely careful not to jostle the injury, lest it begin bleeding internally again. I’m afraid there will be no trips to the garden just yet.”
“I shall have someone carry me down.”
Sloane met her glare with a stern eye. “Madam, you may walk about up here as long as you are cautious, but no stairs. Not yet. You must wait at least another week.”
It was pointless to argue. David and Alessandro would have her hide if she didn’t follow Sloane’s orders. “Fine.” At least she’d won partial freedom.
“We can finalize the plans for the wedding, perhaps even have a dressmaker bring some cloth for you to look at,” offered Charlotte.
“Yes, of course,” replied Mélisande, maintaining a bright smile even as her gut twisted. The king had forbidden dueling within the city of London and, although they had observed His Majesty’s command by leaving it, the fact remained that Alessandro had killed a peer of the realm.
We have so little time. And here I am, helpless to do anything but watch it slip by.
Word of the duel had spread like wildfire, and suddenly everyone wanted to see the woman who’d cheated death. The sheer drama of it made all other gossip seem dull.
“How tiresome!” Mélisande grumped at the breakfast table after accepting yet another tray heaped with correspondence. Many had asked to see her during her convalescence, most of them not even friends or acquaintances.
“Relax,” David told her, peering over the top of the latest edition of The Gentleman’s Magazine. “It’ll die down soon enough, and then you’ll complain of boredom.”
“Not likely.” She sipped her tea, feeling awkward and imbalanced with her arm in a sling. Sir Sloane had been most adamant about her keeping it immobilized, and she knew better than to disobey his orders. “I’m sick to death of your house. I want to go home.”
I want to be where I can at least speak with Alessandro privately.
David’s prediction was correct, however. Demand for her company quickly diminished as the novelty wore off, especially since she was unwilling to discuss the event in any kind of satisfying detail.
