Lady Redhill frowned. “Well, that’s not entirely true,” she began, but Eleanor cut her off.
“It is in this house. I will not tolerate anything less than total propriety here.”
To which the duchess released a loud sigh. “She says that a lot, you know. But we have plenty of room, Mr. Anaedsley. And I know my husband enjoys your company.”
“As I enjoy his,” Trevor said with complete honesty. He found the duke quite refreshing. Unfortunately, the idea of debauching Mellie was completely dishonorable, and so he sighed. “I will visit every day.”
“You will escort us to Melinda’s first ball and nothing beforehand,” said Eleanor with irritating finality in her tone.
“But—”
“I insist, Trevor.”
He glowered at his longtime friend. “Letters then, Eleanor. There is nothing untoward about a man writing letters to his fiancée.”
To which Lady Eleanor dipped her chin in a regal nod. He barely noticed as his gaze returned to Mellie. He saw immediately that she understood the subtext. She might be green in society, but she was far from stupid. But beyond that he could read nothing. Did she regret their actions last night? Did she hate that he was leaving and yearn for him as he ached to hold her again? Or was she resolved to her role in their charade?
“Mellie?” he whispered.
“Never mind, Trevor,” she said in an undertone. “There will be plenty of time to…” She swallowed. “Plenty of time after my wedding.”
Herwedding. Nottheirwedding. Which was exactly as it should be.
And yet he never felt so robbed in all his life.
Twelve
Ruination is a game of rigid appearance and flexible mind-set. Do not confuse the two.
Melinda was starting to lock herself down. She could feel the slow creep of icy stone as it expanded through her body. Trevor was abandoning her. She knew it wasn’t really true. She understood exactly why he had to leave. After all, the last thing his gentleman’s code would allow were the things they’d done last night. And she did her best not to think about them or how they might continue. She was in a carriage with three perceptive women, and she’d blushed enough already this morning.
So he was leaving, likely due to Lady Eleanor’s interference. Mellie understood his reasons, but she could not stop the irrational feelings of abandonment. It wasn’t like her, this emotional upheaval in defiance of all logic. But that’s how she felt, and so her soul was beginning to lock down. Soon she would be watching the world again as it passed her by.
“No, no!” Lady Redhill was saying. She was the clothing designer, and even in the carriage she had out pencil and paper as she sketched possible attire for Mellie’s come out. “I will not give her wings.”
Lady Eleanor huffed out a breath. “But crickets have wings, and she’s the Cricket Princess. Do you not understand the plan?”
“I understand it completely, but I will not make her or any of my dresses look ridiculous. Unless she’s going to a masquerade, she will not wear anything that gives her wings.”
Well, that was something, at least. Mellie tried to thank her with a silent look, but Lady Redhill had her head down as she sketched something new. The duchess was peering over her shoulder and nodded approvingly.
“That might work.”
Lady Eleanor leaned forward. “What? I can’t see in this dratted carriage.” She was seated with Mellie facing the other two, but she now tried to stand as she peered at the paper. It didn’t help her in the least as Lady Redhill pulled the pad close to her chest.
“No, you can’t see. Not yet.”
“But—”
“I want Miss Smithson’s opinion first.”
Eleanor dropped back into her seat with a huff. “Very well,” she said. She might as well have said, whatever for? Meanwhile, it took Mellie a moment to realize that they were all looking at her.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
Lady Redhill passed her the pad. “These are just rough ideas, but they are vastly different. Eleanor said you wanted Russian—”
“No. Not Russian.”