“And did it?”
She shrugged. “Dissolved the thing into dust. And I burned my fingers trying to stop it.” She held up her hand as if the mark was still there, but she’d been young, not stupid. As soon as the pain had hit her fingertips, she’d plunged them into cold water. And then stood by in misery as her favorite dress dissolved in front of her eyes.
“You don’t bear scars from it, do you?” he asked.
She put her hand down. “No. Fingertips grow back quickly.”
“Lucky that,” Trevor laughed, “Or I’d have to stuff cotton in my gloves to fill them out. Especially after my experiments with combustibles.”
She smiled at him, her humiliation easing, but was rapidly beginning to learn that everything moved faster in London, including the pace of conversation. She had no more than found a smile for Trevor when Lady Eleanor stepped in to destroy the peace.
“Well, that story won’t serve. Really Trevor, you know better than to encourage that line of talk. Stuffed gloves. Science—”
“Wait now,” interrupted the duchess. “I know about your mill’s muslin. Whitest in England.”
“Thank you—”
“Which is all very well and good inside a dress shop,” Eleanor corrected. “But we’re planning her come out. Adding ‘bluestocking’ to the story will in no way stop talk of the mésalliance. In fact, it will only increase it.”
Mellie looked to Trevor, waiting for him to support her. After all, he understood what she’d accomplished. But he shrugged and gave herthatlook. Pity, damn it, from the one man who understood.
“She’s right, I’m afraid,” he said. “We need something better. How about the duel I fought for her?”
Lady Eleanor gasped in horror. “You fought a duel for her?” She might as well have said, you had dinner in a pig wallow?
“Fisticuffs. But the entire county was there as witness,” continued Trevor.
Meanwhile, Mellie was anxious to put an end to that tale. “I’ve already told the tale.”
“But not to me,” said Eleanor as she smiled at Trevor. Obviously, she wanted him to tell it, but then a second later she waved it off. “I’ll want full details later, but again…that will only increase the talk of the mésalliance. After all, who would fight a duel with fists? That’s a bout, not a duel.”
“Fair point,” said Trevor. “Though the man was a giant, and he had fists like granite.”
Ronnie was big, but not a giant. “It’s a wonder you survived at all,” Mellie said, her tone sarcastic.
Trevor flashed her a grin. “Allow me a little exaggeration. It is my jaw that he pummeled, you know.”
“And yet you are eating and talking with no ill effects.”
He barked out a laugh, and she felt her tensions ease. But she knew by now that a moment later things would be bad again. Oddly enough, the next suggestion came from the duchess who had been mostly content with her food until now.
“Dress her outrageous.”
The duchess was soft spoken, but her words seemed to carry, and again there was a moment’s silence in response. Mellie tensed, waiting for more humiliating laughter, this time directed to the highest-ranking woman in the room. But instead Lady Eleanor paused in the act of reaching for her wine.
“Pray go on.”
“Helaine can manage it. Something outré without being déclassé.” She flashed her husband a smile at her French words.
Her husband frowned, then grinned as he translated. “Something wild without being vulgar. But would that work?”
“That all depends,” said Eleanor as she frowned at Melinda. “Do you have any Russian heritage?”
“Russian?” Mellie asked.
“We can’t do German,” she returned. “There’s nothing outrageous in the entire stodgy lot. French is out, of course, and you don’t really look Spanish.”
“What about Turkish?” asked Trevor.