“As if you could promise that,” her uncle said with a sneer. “No man is that powerful, not even a duke. She belongs with us.”
“She belongs where she chooses to be.” He lifted his chin. “And where I have invited her. Mr. Smithson, we have declared our intentions. It is up to you now whether you choose to accept it or fight—”
“No,” she interrupted in a low tone. She could tell he meant well, but Mr. Anaedsley was still a man and had little understanding of how to ease her father into a situation. Some things required a woman’s touch. And so that’s what she did. She took her father’s hands and kissed them. “I wish to go. Will you truly stop me?”
His eyes grew watery, and she could feel the tremor in his hands. “This is all so sudden.”
“Even so, Papa.”
“Gregory—” her uncle began, but she shot him an angry look. It was seconded by Trevor who made a growl akin to her uncle’s, except that it was lower and more threatening. Apparently, it was the only way to silence her uncle because after a single furious glare, he stomped to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy.
Meanwhile, she laid her cheek against her father’s thin hands. When had they gotten so frail?
“Papa, do not toss me aside.”
“As if I could, Mellie.”
She lifted her head then and looked into his eyes. “You will let me go?”
“If you are truly engaged, I cannot stop you.”
“Papa,” she whispered, cut to the quick by the defeat in his eyes.
He looked at her then. “You have been scheming for years for a way to go to London. You have finally found one I cannot fight.”
She swallowed, knowing now how stupid she’d been to hope he would understand. “I have to grow up, Papa. I cannot be home at your beck and call forever. I am a woman grown.”
His eyes grew watery, and he looked away. The fire grate was cold, and she thought to light it despite the warmth in the room. But when she moved to do just that, her father clutched her hand. “Mellie,” he said, his voice cracking on his words. “Do not…don’t do anything impulsive.”
What he meant was: don’t do anything mad. Do not act crazy. Except this whole escapade was insane, and so she wavered, abruptly unsure of what she should do. Were they right? Was this her mother’s illness coming to the fore?
Then Trevor was beside her, his hand warm on her back as he supported her. She would not topple with him beside her. And when he spoke, his voice was pitched low, soothing to her father. “This is not insanity, sir. You know me. You have admired my mind and my sense since I was a boy. Do you think I would affiance myself to a madwoman?”
Her father lifted his gaze slowly—not to her, but to Trevor. It rose until the men looked each other in the eye, and then finally, her father nodded. “Very well. Go to London, Mellie. But just the Season, yes?”
“Yes.” She had to work to push the word out of her mouth. If all went according to plan, she’d return with a husband and would never live here again.
“You’ll write me, won’t you?”
“You could come up and join me,” she offered, all the while wondering if that were even possible.
“No, no. I have my experiments, you know.”
She knew.
“And your uncle has some excellent ideas about your formula.”
Her uncle spoke from behind his brandy glass. “You still need to give that to me.”
She looked to her uncle, noting that his expression was as bland as possible. But what was more interesting to her was the way Trevor took a step back, his narrowed eyes jumping from her to her uncle in rapid succession.
“Of course,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I can write it down—”
“No need to bother with that now, my dear,” interrupted Trevor. “You should get your valise. The day is rapidly escaping, and we have a long ride to London.”
She didn’t suggest they wait until tomorrow. It would only increase her father’s agony. He did not adjust well to change, and the anticipation of an event was often worse than the adjustment itself.
“Papa,” she said softly. “May we take the carriage?”