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“I—"
A knock at the door interrupted them, and her father answered. The butler opened the door and walked in, bowing and announcing. “A Mr. Mills and a Miss Mills are here, Sir. I have shown them to the receiving room.”
Grace leaped from her chair. “Melanie is here?”
“Yes, Miss,” the butler, Fletcher, replied.
“Show them to the drawing room.”
Melanie Mills was her dearest friend, and Grace had not been expecting her, especially because she was from America and did not visit too often. Nevertheless, she was supremely excited and hurried out of the room to meet them. When she entered the receiving room, Melanie jumped up from the chair she was sitting on and ran into Grace’s arms, squealing with delight.
“Manners, Melanie,” Mr. Phillip Mills admonished, and Melanie pulled away from Grace.
“We are just very glad to see each other, Father,” Melanie said.
“Good day, Mr. Mills,” Grace greeted with a sheepish smile, and Phillip nodded pleasantly but condescendingly, too. Like her father, he was a merchant and he had recently invested in the coal factory that William was building, but he was extremely wealthy, more than the lords prancing about London, and never hesitated to show it.
Grace led them to the drawing room, and her father joined shortly afterward. After exchanging greetings, he led Phillip out of the room, leaving Grace and Melanie alone.
“You did not tell me you were coming,” Grace said. “When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday afternoon. I wanted to surprise you.” Melanie grinned, her green eyes sparkling.
“Well, you have. Tell me you will be staying for a while.”
“We will be staying for the entire Season because Father wants me to marry a titled gentleman, preferably a duke or a marquess.” Melanie shook her head as she spoke, her blonde curls bouncing about her face. “He and your father are too alike.”
“That is why they are good friends,” Grace agreed. “Papa and I were talking about marriage when you arrived. He still wants me to marry a gentleman. He no longer dreams of a title which I suppose is good.” Grace stood to ring the bell before returning to her seat.
Melanie took her hands and held them tightly, the gleam in her eyes brightening. “I have so much to tell you, Grace.” She glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “Things I could not put in a letter.”
Grace’s eyes widened and she leaned closer to her friend. “Did you meet someone and fall in love?”
Melanie shook her head. “I am not sure I am in love but I tasted pleasure. True pleasure, Grace, and I want to marry that man.”
That was Grace’s dream, too, and the image of the man she kissed was pulled from her memories. “Who is he?”
“His name is Sam, and I met him in Boston in the winter. I did not give him my name because I was afraid he would tell someone what we did. Father thinks I agreed to come to England to marry the man he chooses for me, but I came to find Sam.” Melanie squeezed Grace’s hand. “I need your help, Grace.”
“You want me to help you find him?” Grace asked, unsure how she could find the man when she had never seen him before. She and Melanie had once imagined passionate encounters with strangers and talked about not giving their names unless the men wished to court them. It was interesting how they had now both had the experience they imagined. They were alike in many ways, and they had first bonded over the loss of their mothers, although Melanie’s mother had died of consumption when Melanie was only four.
“No, I can find him myself,” Melanie replied. “You see, Father has arranged for me to meet the Marquess of Anglesey and perhaps marry him if we are compatible. I do not want to see him—”
She stared at Grace with wide, pleading eyes, and Grace immediately knew what she was asking of her. “You want me to meet him in your stead,” she said.
“Yes, and gain his disapproval to ensure he never wishes to marry me,” Melanie explained.
“I look nothing like you, Melanie,” Grace pointed out.
“He does not know what I look like, and you can speak the way I do. Remember all the practice we had trying to speak like each other?”
Grace laughed at the memory. They had been friends for seven years, and although Grace had never visited America, Melanie traveled to England every year to see her. They mimicked each other’s accents, and Grace was quite good. She still was not sure it was wise to pretend to be her friend.
“Grace, please,” Melanie implored, her eyes misting. “I cannot marry anyone else.”
Grace could sympathize with her because she was in the same situation. She had tasted pleasure from a man and lost him. She still searched for him at every social event, and if she could find him, she would continue what they had begun. If she saw him again, she would not walk away from him. However, Melanie’s plan was bad, and she did not want to risk her reputation.
“What if he sees me at a social event, or has seen me before?” Grace asked.
