Revenge must be plotted carefully. Observe the lay of the land first.
Trevor was debating the newest trend in fashion fabrics with Eleanor when Seelye coughed discreetly at the door. Trevor didn’t really care much for fashion one way or another, but he’d learned young how to discourse easily with a woman such as Lady Eleanor. And truthfully, there was comfort in knowing the pattern of a conversation even if the individual steps were beyond boring. But they knew their duty when Seelye appeared.
“We should continue our discussion with His Grace,” he said to Lady Eleanor. They both knew which conversation he meant—Eleanor’s sponsorship of Mellie—but the lady chuckled happily.
“Radley couldn’t care less about the different choices in cotton.”
“The Philistine.”
She laughed and took his arm. “It’s been very odd, you know, seeing him wear the title. But I think I have learned how to manage him.”
Trevor didn’t comment. He very much doubted that Eleanor had learned to “manage” the man at all. She had simply found a way to make peace while residing in his household. Fortunately, their bargain regarding Mellie’s come out would go a long way to seeing her established in her own home where she could do as she liked.
So it was in companionable accord that they ventured back to the receiving parlor. His gaze found Mellie immediately, and what he saw was enough to make him slow his steps. To anyone else, she looked composed and quiet. Too quiet, actually, because her body was absolutely statue-still, an image reinforced by the stark pallor of her skin. The only sign of life was when her gaze cut to his and held. Panic. That’s what he saw there: an angry, wide-eyed panic.
“Mellie?” he said carefully as he pasted on his most friendly smile. “Don’t fret. I’m here now. Everything will be fine.”
At which point her panic turned murderous.
He swallowed, somewhat at a loss. What could possibly have happened in the bare half hour that he’d been talking with Eleanor? He looked to the duke and duchess, but saw no help there. The man appeared genial as he sipped his brandy, and his wife studied Eleanor with a quiet, serious expression. No one appeared interested in talking. No one, that is, except Eleanor who had been reared since the cradle in handling tense social situations.
“My goodness, it’s gotten late. Cousin, would you mind terribly if Trevor and his fiancée stayed to dine? I have an exciting idea that I’d like to pursue, but it requires your permission.”
The duke’s eyebrows raised. “My permission? Eleanor, in my experience, you do exactly as—”
“Yes, yes, but you are head of the family now, and we must see to the proprieties.”
The duke’s mouth flattened as he set aside his glass. “Then by all means, let us see to the proprieties.”
The duchess flashed a canny smile. “I have already sent word that we would have two more to dine. You can’t say no, Mr. Anaedsley, because I’ve already sent down the order.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered, not liking the expression in her eye. He’d seen that look before on merchants and aristocrats alike. It saw advantage and was ready to seize it. Not evil or even cruel, but he’d be a fool to underestimate the woman.
Meanwhile, the duke wandered forward and set a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. It was a small gesture—definitely an intimate one—and the lady’s expression softened as she turned to her husband.
So the stories were true. The two were definitely a love match, their strengths and weaknesses clearly complements, one to the other. He pegged His Grace as the genial one—Her Grace would be the one to measure advantages. Together they would make a formidable couple. But what could they possibly have said to upset Mellie?
He looked to his fiancée and drew on his vast experience dealing with his mother and two sisters. Settling near her, he took her hands in his and patted them as he might a small child’s. His mother especially appreciated this gesture.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you dearest? Dinner with the duke and duchess?”
Mellie’s eyes narrowed, and her fingers stiffened into claws. Hell. That was not the reaction he’d hoped for.
“I…um…” He swallowed.
Meanwhile, Eleanor released a musical laugh. “Don’t pester her, Trevor. Can’t you see she’s nervous? It’s not every day she dines in such exalted company. But if my cousin is agreeable, I should like to make it a commonplace occurrence.”
“Oh?” Her Grace asked, her voice polite in the most casual way. But the gleam was back in her eye.
“Why yes. Trevor and I are old friends, you see. Similar stations and the like. He has just asked me—well, begged me, truth be told—to help him smooth things with Melinda.” She glanced over at Mellie. “May I call you Melinda? I think we shall become the grandest of friends soon. At least I hope so.”
“My lady.” Mellie’s words were clear and precise. She even dipped her head as was entirely appropriate—in a servant. She appeared completely docile except, of course, beneath his fingers her hand was still rigid with fury.
“Oh, excellent!” Eleanor cried as if she had just been given a treat.
Meanwhile, Radley released a loud sigh. “Out with it, Eleanor. What are you asking?”
“Well, nothing so very terrible. I thought it would be nice if I had a companion, so to speak. For the Season.”