Her Ladyship's Man (15 page)

"Good day to you, Lady Melanie, how pleasant to see you," Major Dalmire said, sweeping his hat from his head and bowing from the waist. "I had no idea you were an equestrienne, else I might have asked you to go riding with me. You looked very much like a young Diana, galloping across our verdant fields."

"You are much too kind, Major," Melanie replied, amused by his effusive praise. "Although I am sure much of the credit must go to my horse; my riding skills are rusty at best." She leaned forward to pat the chestnut-colored mare's arched neck. Her eyes slid to Dalmire's companion, and he was quick to make introductions.

"Lady Melanie, allow me to make you known to my very good friend, Lord Harold Parkinson. Parkinson, I should like to introduce you to Lady Melanie Crawford, the most delightful debutante in London."

"The oldest debutante in London, you mean," Melanie said with a light laugh, extending her gloved hand to Lord Parkinson. His name was still strange to her, but gazing in his deep blue eyes she was struck with the oddest sensation that she knew him. To be sure, she had met many people in her travels with Papa, but she never, ever forgot a face or a name.

"Lady Melanie." Lord Parkinson bowed over her hand, his manner stiffly distant. "A pleasure."

"Thank you." She inclined her head, wondering at his curt manners. Ah, well, she thought, dis
missing the matter from her mind, she mustn't become so toplofty that she expected every man she met to fall at her feet. She turned toward Mr. Barrymore, who had been sitting quietly through the exchange. "Major, I believe you have already met my father's assistant. My lord, I should like to present Mr. Cecil Barrymore, he—"

"Introductions are unnecessary, Lady Melanie," Lord Parkinson interrupted, his voice fairly dripping with dislike. "This . . . gentleman and I have already met."

"Oh." For a moment Melanie was nonplused, but in the next the skills she had perfected as her father's hostess came to her rescue, and she was able to give all three men her most charming smile.

"Have you been in London very long, my lord?" she asked, flicking her eyes in the man's direction. "I must say that I find it a most delightful change from Washington, where Papa and I have been living this past year."

"I have been in London for several months, my lady," came the stiff reply as Lord Parkinson continued glaring at them. "As you say, it is a delightful city." He dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and when the horse danced in protest, he tightened his grips on the reins.

"I am sure you will excuse me, Lady Melanie, but I fear I must be off. My horse is restive, and I would not wish him to become unruly. Good day to you. Come, Dalmire," he called to the major, and then took off at a gallop.

Major Dalmire shot Melanie an apologetic look, then took off after his friend, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. She and Mr. Barrymore turned their horses in the opposite direction
of the two men, and after several minutes had passed Mr. Barrymore spoke.

"I suppose I had ought to explain, my lady," he said in a soft voice. "Lord Parkinson is Lord Marlehope's son, and I fear he has little liking for me."

"Indeed," Melanie answered, her heart beginning to pound with excitement. This was the first time Mr. Barrymore had ever mentioned his highborn relation, and she was eager to learn more. "That must make things rather awkward for you," she added encouragingly.

"Not really." He shrugged his shoulders. "We are distantly related at best, and I have never thought to presume upon his lordship's generosity. But unfortunately Lord Parkinson feels differently. He views me as an encroaching mushroom, and never misses the opportunity to put me in what he regards as my place."

"Oh, Mr. Barrymore, how awful for you!" she cried, forgetting her mission as her sympathetic nature took over. "I am so very sorry."

He shrugged again, a sad smile touching his lips. "It doesn't help matters that his father has taken a small interest in my career. Lord Marlehope has been in politics for years, you know, and it was always his fondest wish that his son would one day follow in his steps. Unfortunately the lad has proven to be quite unsuited for the task, and I am told his lordship has had to buy his son's way out of more than one misadventure."

"Ladybirds?"

"And gaming. Lord Parkinson is rumored to be addicted to the faro tables. His debts are said to be astronomical, but I suppose I really shouldn't be gossiping like this." He shot her an embarrassed look. "Family business, you know."

"Of course, Mr. Barrymore, you may count upon me not to tell a soul," she soothed, wondering how much of this she should share with Davies. He did say he wanted to know everything. They continued on their way for another few minutes before she added, "Still, I cannot help but feel sorry for poor Lord Marlehope. How very disappointing it must be for one's only son to turn out to be such a rake and a rattle."

"His only legitimate son, you mean," Barrymore sneered, then a horrified look flashed across his face. "I beg your pardon, Lady Melanie," he said quickly, his agitation obvious. "I should never have said anything so patently untrue; I have no idea what may have come over me. Pray forget the entire matter."

"Consider it forgotten," she said, her mind whirling at the possibilities. The mystery of Lord Parkinson's familiar appearance was solved, she realized, lowering her eyes to hide their excited gleam. Except for some small differences in their height and weight, the two men were close enough in appearance that they could easily be mistaken for brothers.

Chapter Nine

"A
re you certain?" Drew gazed down into Melanie's eyes, his hands lightly clasping her shoulders. "Barrymore is Marlehope's illegitimate son?"

"I am positive," Melanie replied eagerly, meeting Drew's intense gaze. "The two of them are as alike as two peas in a pod, and anyone could see that Parkinson detested Mr. Barrymore. Poor Major Dalmire was quite beside himself with embarrassment at his lordship's rudeness."

"But you say Barrymore actually admitted Marlehope was his father?" Drew pressed, his sharp mind seizing on the most pertinent bit of information. He hadn't expected Melanie to learn anything at all, and was amazed that she had uncovered something so vital. This could change everything.

"Well, not exactly," she corrected him, some of her initial excitement fading. She had rushed into the kitchens the moment she had changed out of her muddied habit, eager to share her news with Davies. She found him in the butler's pantry
industriously polishing silver, and when she told him she had something important to tell him, he had closed the door behind her.

"Well, what exactly did he say?" Drew asked, frowning at her sudden reservations.

"Well, in one breath he was hinting that Lord Marlehope had an illegitimate son, and in the next he was denying everything. But, Davies, you should see them, they might be twins! They cannot be more than a few years apart in age, and Parkinson was—"

"Then he admits nothing?" Drew interrupted, his hands dropping from her shoulders as he stepped back from her. "Blast it, Melanie, I thought you said that he was Marlehope's by-blow!"

"I said I
thought
he was," she said, trying not to flinch at the crude description. "And I still think so. He looked as if he could have bitten off his tongue when he made that remark, and then he begged me not to mention it to another soul. Besides, something has to account for Lord Parkinson's hatred of him, and he does hate him, Davies; I could sense it."

"Mmm," Drew grunted as he considered what she had said. "I suppose it
is
a possibility," he conceded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And it would definitely explain why Lord Marlehope was so eager to vouchsafe Barrymore's character. Although I still think it sounds like something out of one of Miss Evingale's Gothics," he added, shooting her an accusing glare.

"I shouldn't be so quick to make sport of her if I were you," Melanie retorted, her chin coming up proudly as she met his hazel gaze. "She has proven to be far more astute than either you or I."

"What do you mean?"

"Merely that she has already reached much the same conclusion," Melanie continued, taking smug pleasure in his obvious surprise. "While we were still in Washington, she developed this fancy that he was really the long-lost son of some nobleman or the other, and you would not believe the mischief she caused with her romantic nonsense. At least, I thought it was nonsense at the time, but now I am not at all certain."

"Did Barrymore know of this?"

"One could not help but know, the way she carried on," Melanie laughed, momentarily lost in memory. "Why, I remember once while we were at some Embassy function in Washington she followed him out onto the balcony, where she said he met a man she was certain was his father."

"Why did she think that?" Drew asked, furious with himself that he had dismissed the hen-witted companion without taking the time to question her. If Sir learned he had been so derelict in his duties, he would hand him his head on a platter.

"Because he was so distinguished-looking, she said," Melanie replied, still chuckling. "And because . . . " Her voice trailed off, a look of horror darkening her eyes to deepest purple.

"Because . . . ?"

"Because," she whispered shakily, "they were speaking French."

"What?" he roared, his hands clenching at his side. "My God, Melanie, why the devil didn't you tell me this before?"

"I'd forgotten all about it," she said, shaken at the revelation. "It seemed so silly at the time, just another of her notions. You must know she is addicted to those wretched novels, and she is always mistaking real people for characters in her books.
Although I do not know why I should be so surprised, she certainly had you pegged from the start."

"Me?" He looked faintly horrified at the prospect.

Melanie nodded. "She took one look at you and announced you were simply too handsome to be a
real
butler. Good heavens!" She cast him a horrified look. "You don't think she has said anything to Mr. Barrymore, do you?"

"I hope not," Drew said fervently, shuddering at the thought that they might all be undone by a flighty spinster with more imagination than sense. "Although I should think it most improbable, he seems to give her a wide enough berth."

"That is so," Melanie agreed, relaxing visibly. "Ever since Washington he has been careful to keep a distance between them. And no wonder. Davies, what are you going to do?" She gazed up at him with troubled eyes.

"I don't know," he answered slowly, his natural caution making him reticent. "Sir will have to be informed, plans made, but I think our first step should be to notify Lord Castlereagh that your father is no longer a suspect in all this. Barrymore is our man; I would stake my life on it."

A wave of relief washed over Melanie. Until now she had never dared believe this nightmare would finally end. The knowledge that her papa faced disgrace and even worse had tormented her for so long, she found herself fighting back tears as a great burden fell away. "Thank you, Drew," she whispered, speaking his Christian name for the first time. "Thank you so very much."

"You are most welcome," he said, fighting the urge to press a kiss to the soft lips that were so
temptingly close. She was so very beautiful, he thought, his eyes darkening with desire, and the greatest part of that beauty was the loving spirit that blazed so brightly in her jewel-colored eyes. Realizing he had moved closer to her, Drew took a firm rein on his errant emotions and turned away.

"Tell me what else you have learned," he said, picking up a fork and rubbing it carefully with the polishing cloth. "Did he have anything to say about Parkinson?"

Melanie blinked at the abrupt question. Only seconds earlier Davies had been gazing down at her as ardently as any lover; now he was as distant and as cool as a stranger. Hiding her confusion, she quietly repeated everything Mr. Barrymore had told her of the other man.

"I hadn't heard that Parkinson was involved in anything untoward," Drew said when she had finished. "But I suppose I might have missed something." He wisely refrained from mentioning the markers he had found among Barrymore's things.

"Do you think he is blackmailing Lord Parkinson?" She decided that if he could be so businesslike, then so could she. "That would certainly explain his animosity."

"That it would," Drew agreed absently, a faint memory stirring. Hadn't Parkinson accompanied his father to Spain, he mused. If so, then it was more than conceivable that he would have had access to the missing document.

Melanie watched the emotions chasing across Davies's set features and wondered what he was plotting. It was a certainty he would never tell her, she thought, wishing she could insist he confide in her. But she was too aware of the need for secrecy in such matters to make the demand.

"Is Barrymore accompanying you and your father to Court?" Drew asked, deciding the time had come to consult Sir. It would be better for him if the house was deserted when he left, but if not, he supposed he could sneak away. Heaven knew it would not be the first time.

"No," Melanie shook her head. "It will be only Papa, Grandmother, and myself. You must know what Court is like. Are you going to see Sir?" she asked, breaking into an eager smile as realization dawned. "May I come with you?"

"Considering that you will be busy making your bows to the queen and the prince, I should think it most unlikely," Drew said, giving her a slight frown. "Besides, I thought I had made it clear that you were to forget all about Sir. He is never to be discussed, Melanie."

"I do beg your pardon." Melanie bristled at the censure in his voice. She knew she had blundered and was sorry for it, but that did not mean she would allow herself to be scolded like an errant child. She lifted her chin, sending her dark curls cascading down her slender back.

"If there is nothing else you wish to discuss, I believe I will retire to my rooms," Melanie informed him in her most regal tones. "The hairdresser will be here soon, and it would not do for my maid to find me here. Good day, Captain, I will speak with you later." She threw his title out as a challenge, one he acknowledged with a mocking inclination of his head.