chamber, laying out Melisande’s gown for the Smythe ball that night, but Melisande dismissed her. She needed to be alone, to be quiet, to try to think. She wandered around the room, fiddling with the silver ornaments on her dressing table, the silken sleeve of her ball gown, smoothing her unruly red hair, as she thought about what her brother said.
It was an old argument between them, one Melisande had ignored for as long as she could. But she knew that very soon she wouldn’t be able to ignore him any longer.
She sat down on the velvet chaise by the fire and reached for the stack of books she’d taken from the lending library. It was one of her great secrets, her love of romantic novels full of dark heroes and young ladies in peril. She could imagine herself in so many exotic places in those pages, sunny islands, Italian castles, forbidding deserts, snowy mountains—anywhere but London. Yet today even those pages couldn’t take her away.
She stared into the dancing flames. She’d always tried to do her duty by her family, thinking that one day it would be her turn to find what pleased her. But even now as a widow she wasn’t free. She had to make herself free. But how?
With a sigh, Melisande opened the book at the top of the pile. Lady Priscilla’s Escape—it sounded most appropriate. Soon she was pulled into the story of Lady Priscilla, a beautiful young heiress betrayed by her dastardly guardian and forced to flee into ruined exile in Italy.
Ruined exile...
Startled by a sudden flash of an idea, Melisande dropped the book with a clatter to the floor. It was crazy, she knew, but surely no crazier than many other ideas she’d had in her life. And certainly something had to be done if she was ever to be truly free—and in turn free her brother and his family from her. She was gossiped about now, true, but no more than any number of other ladies.
But what if she was truly, definitely ruined? “Never spoken to in Society again” ruined? It would be a challenge for a duchess, but not impossible. Everyone already thought that, because she liked to dance and laugh and drink wine, she must also be indulging in many discreet affairs. She wasn’t. In fact, the one little affair she tried after he duke died didn’t go at all well, and nothing else had gone much beyond flirtation.
Yet if she did want to be ruined, she knew who could help her. Lord Abercrombie.
Melisande frowned as she thought about him. Lord Abercrombie, a Scottish nobleman who was almost a contemporary of her husband, had pursued her for many weeks now. Sending her flowers and lavish gifts, which she sent back, asking her to dance with him at balls, dine with him in his theater box. He was handsome and wealthy, known for his lofty connections and razor-sharp intelligence. Women flocked around him, clamoring for his attention. There was always gossip about his latest amour, and it was said that Lady Evansly had tried to kill herself over him and that was why she had to go abroad so suddenly.
Melisande had turned away his attentions, which of course only seemed to make him more ardent. Somehow he made her feel vaguely queasy and frightened, as if she wanted to run away. But he would be the perfect one to ruin her utterly. Then she could go off to Italy like Lady Evansly, and live in peace at last. Charlie could disown her, and never have to see her again.
Lord Abercrombie had said he would be at Lady Brownley’s house party. She could plan it all and set it up there. It was a wild, extreme solution, but surely extreme was needed now.
If she could bear to go through with it...
Chapter Two
“Are you sure you are quite all right, Mel? You look terribly distracted.”
Melisande turned away from the carriage window to smile at her friend Cassandra, who sat across from her. Cassie and her husband, Ian, held hands, but they both watched Melisande with matching concerned frowns. Was her distraction really so evident? She tried so hard to always hide her true thoughts.
But now—now she was having a very hard time staying cool and calm. Her new, wild plan kept spinning through her mind.
“Mel?” Cassie asked again. “Are you well?”
Melisande laughed. Even to her own ears it sounded rather forced. “I’m quite well, of course, and looking forward to the evening. Lady Smythe’s routs always prove to be so amusing.”
“You looked a bit melancholy just now,” Cassie said.
“It must be the weather,” Melisande answered. “It’s so very cold, and I don’t think the sun will ever shine in London again. I think I need a sunny holiday someplace warm. That’s all.”
Cassie and Ian exchanged a worried glance, a wealth of words passing silently between them as it always did. Melisande was so happy they’d found such blissful love together, truly she was. They had longed for each other for ages before they married. But being with them now made her feel so terribly—wistful. If she was ruined, she would be free, but she would also never be loved like that.
“Tell me, my dears,” she said brightly. “Are you going to the Brownley house party next week? It should be so much fun.”
Cassie and Ian said they were not, and luckily Cassie went along with the superficial change of subject. Soon enough they rolled to a stop in front of Lady Smythe’s portico. The grand house, all shining pale gray stone in the snowy moonlight, was lit up like a magical winter fairyland. Golden light spilled from every window, along with the tumbling, lilting strains of music and laughter.
Melisande surrendered her fur-lined wrap to a footman, smoothed the skirts of her emerald silk gown and climbed the winding, gilded staircase to the ballroom. Cassie and Ian followed, whispering together. Melisande just hoped it wasn’t about her. She didn’t want them to discover her plan until it was too late.
As they were swept into the ballroom on a tide of people, she was suddenly glad for the familiar distractions of a party. Lady Smythe’s arrangements were always exquisite, and tonight was no exception. Like the outside of the house, the ballroom was like a winter’s fairy story, with tall alabaster vases filled with tumbling arrangements of white hothouse roses and crystal-dusted ostrich plumes. Everything was white and silver, just like the moonlight.
Cassie gave her another worried glance as her husband swept her away to the dance floor. Melisande just took a glass of champagne from the butler’s tray and toasted her friend before she was herself surrounded and carried off by a laughing group of friends.
There was no sign of Lord Abercrombie, but that was good. She needed time to devise her plan most carefully. After all, her future depended on it.
“Your Grace! I am so glad you could come to my humble soiree,” Melisande heard her hostess cry. She turned to find Lady Smythe smiling at her as she waved her white feather fan at the lady who stood just beside her. “You remember Lady Sanbourne, I’m sure. She was just admiring your beautiful gown.”
“Of course,” Melisande said with a smile at Lady Sanbourne. She was rather sure the countess, who had been a distant acquaintance since her marriage to Gifford, hadn’t been admiring anything at all. The Sanbournes were well-known as a strictly respectable, high-in-the-instep family, except for a younger son who was some sort of mysterious scandal, and Lady Sanbourne’s pursed lips and narrowed blue eyes said her opinion hadn’t changed. Melisande would always be questionable to people like her.
Especially once she was truly ruined. Then the Sanbournes and their ilk wouldn’t speak to her at all.
She bit her lip to hide a smile at the thought.
“So lovely to see you again, Lady Sanbourne,” Melisande said. “Surely you have been away from Town for some time?”
“Indeed we have, Duchess,” Lady Sanbourne answered. “Our estate has had a great deal of business, of course. But we returned to greet our younger son, who has just arrived back in England after a time in the West Indies.”
Ah, yes, the prodigal son. “How fascinating,” Melisande said. She didn’t think she had met the Sanbournes’ younger son, only heard those vague rumors