Nine
When the opportunity appears, do not hesitate. Strike swiftly.
Melinda trailed in behind the group, feeling like a small child. She hadn’t been the last to go into dinner since…well, since ever. Her mother had passed when she was young, so on her very first formal dinner—at the age of eight—her father had extended his arm, and they had walked in together like the King and Queen of England.
It was that memory—and not the sight of her fiancée leading Lady Eleanor to her seat—that brought her emotions to heel. She was not a woman who felt small. And she was definitely not a child to be overcome by feelings best left in the nursery. Therefore, she would do as she had been taught. She would analyze the situation like a scientist and come to a logical conclusion.
She began with the easiest. She would observe her environment. The ducal London home was well apportioned, had an excellent staff, and a first-rate cook. She had not yet been served, but the scent was tempting enough, even for her stomach, which was currently tied up in knots.
She’d already formed her opinion of the duke and duchess as warm and welcoming people, and Lady Eleanor as decidedly not. Especially now that the woman began speaking quite drolly about Lord Somebody and Lady Other with her attention completely centered on Trevor. It took another two seconds of quiet observation for Melinda to conclude that Lady Eleanor was unwilling to allow a low-class usurper like her to be part of the circle that included Trevor. The woman barely tolerated the duke and duchess. A cit like her couldn’t possibly compete.
For his part, Trevor chuckled in the exact same manner, though he kept darting worried frowns at her. Melinda concluded that he was either concerned about her silent demeanor or disappointed by her lack of polish.
And therein ended her conclusions based on observations. Not very useful after all, until Lady Eleanor paused in yet another anecdote to glance at her. “I do hope you’re listening, Melinda. These are names you should memorize and information you should keep in your pocket.”
She looked at the woman, acute dislike welling up through her belly. But she forced it down even as she curved her lips into something she hoped appeared to be a smile. “I have come to a decision,” she said. In her experience, nothing exasperated an egoist more than having their comments completely ignored.
“Oh, excellent,” crowed the duchess. “I do so enjoy decision at the dinner table.”
Mellie took a moment to study Her Grace, unsure whether this was a criticism or a simple statement of fact. “Duchess?”
“Goodness, call me Wendy. After all, you shall be with us for the whole Season.”
“Your Grace!” Lady Eleanor cried.
“Of course, Wendy,” Mellie responded.
“Now, what have you decided?”
“That if I am to have a Season, everyone will be talking about the gross mésalliance between myself and Mr. Anaedsley.”
Trevor cast her a soft smile. “It’s not so gross nor so unusual.”
“Truly?” Mellie challenged. “Then your family coffers need an infusion of my dowry?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The title is very well heeled.”
“Exactly,” Lady Eleanor inserted. “Mésalliance.”
Mellie didn’t wish to be supported by that woman at all, but she couldn’t disagree. “Therefore, if we wish to distract everyone from that story, we must provide a different one.”
The duke snorted. “I shouldn’t worry about that. Something else will come along. Someone will have a scandalous affair. Someone else will drop dead of an interesting illness.”
His wife shook her head. “No, no, she’s right. She’s talking about the story aroundher. And that won’t be replaced by the usual tidbits.”
Lady Eleanor nodded. “Not unless we do something to change it.”
Good. They were all smart. Meanwhile the duke finished off his soup. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense. What do you mean to do?”
“I believe we should talk about my unusual scientific abilities. I’m quite accomplished. It was my discovery that bleaches muslin so white. And I’ve developed a new formula for an exciting new cosmetic. I should think that appeals to the women at least.”
Total silence greeted her words, and Mellie had a moment of satisfaction. Perhaps she could manage this task after all. But it was a brief moment before an explosion of sound. In truth, the laughter wasn’t more than chuckles, but it sounded like a cacophony. They clearly thought her life’s work thus far was a subject of humor—that was insulting enough—but it was the softer expressions that truly hurt: pity. The same expression that appeared whenever someone referred to her dead mother, when anyone spoke about her odd father, and now, it was extended to her work as well.
Pity. And if that was the way of things then—
“By Jove, that’s incredible. You must have been a child. Were you doing chemistry even when your father was tutoring me?”
Mellie blinked, focusing on Trevor as she nodded. “Yes. I was nine and had gotten grass stains on my dress. I didn’t have that many dresses then and didn’t want to tell Papa. So I thought of a way to use chemicals to lift it out.”