simply terrified that it will happen again. That he’ll fall in love and marry and his wife would die in childbed once more.”
Melisande laughed mirthlessly, on the edge of hysteria. “I don’t believe it! He was all set to propose to Dorothea Pennington, for the sole purpose of creating an heir. He seemed perfectly willing to do that.”
“Because he didn’t love Miss Pennington.”
Melisande was struck dumb. “That’s rather awful,” she said finally.
“Yes, it is. I never said my brother was a kind man, though compared to my husband he’s an innocent lamb. However, to be frank, I don’t think I could bring myself to mourn Dorothea Pennington overmuch myself.”
The countess’s frank words startled a laugh from Melisande. It was rusty, odd, but it was definitely a laugh, when an hour ago she would have wagered she’d never laugh again.
“That’s better,” said the countess. “You, on the other hand, he couldn’t bear to lose. So he drove you away. I won’t ask how, but I expect it was with his nasty tongue. As I said, stupid of him, but at times all men are stupid. Particularly when they are in love.”
“Would you stop saying that!” Melisande begged. “He’s not in love with me.”
“Allow me to know my brother better than you do. He’s most pathetically, desperately in love, even if he refuses to admit it. And I expect you love him, too, or you wouldn’t be so hurt and angry.”
“I’m annoyed,” Melisande said stoutly. “Apart from that I simply don’t care.”
“Liar,” said the countess. She peered at her closely. “Or perhaps I’m wrong. I love Benedick so much, know his strengths and his frailties so well that I assume anyone with discernment would love him, too.”
“I have no discernment whatsoever.”
Miranda smiled then, the doubt in her face vanishing. “You need to punish him, not yourself, Melisande. The only way you’re going to get a chance to do that is to marry him.”
37
Melisande slept. She awoke when the carriage pulled to a stop. Dazed, she realized the door was being opened from the outside and the steps let down. Betsey was handed out into liveried arms, and she knew they were in Bury Street. She stayed where she was. “I would prefer to be returned home.”
“I don’t think Betsey can handle much more at this point. She needs a bed and a period of sleep.” Indeed, Betsey was making fretful, sleepy noises like a fractious child. Which indeed, right now, she was. “And your friend is waiting for you here.”
“My friend?”
“Mrs. Cadbury,” Miranda clarified.
“Emma would never come here.”
“She did when she knew you were in danger. I prevailed upon her to wait for you, and to keep an eye on Brandon. He’s in bad shape, poor lad, from the opium and whatever else that beastly Harry Merton pumped into him. If you insist, I’ll summon the carriage to take you all home again. But first, please come inside for a bit. Benedick is still in Kent—you don’t need to worry about running into him.”
That, at least, was true. And she had already discovered that it was almost impossible to fight the countess of Rochdale. To her shame her legs felt weak as she climbed the front steps, and it was the very pregnant countess who supported her, not the other way around.
Once inside, the countess immediately became efficient. “Richmond, would you have a nice warm bath poured for Lady Carstairs? She’s covered with soot and she’s had a trying night. And is there any chance some of my old gowns might still be here? I’m afraid her ladyship has lost her clothes.”
The elderly butler bowed, his seamed face impassive, but she remembered him, and his kindness. “It will be the work of a moment, your ladyship. And I believe I might interest you in good hot tea and sugar cakes, might I not? His lordship has required that Cook keep a supply of them on hand since your first visit.”
Melisande looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending. And then finally, finally, she began to cry, as the countess folded her into her arms and the butler beat a hasty retreat. “There, there, my pet,” she murmured, her pregnant belly a third party between them. “It’s been dismal, I know. But a hot bath, fresh clothes and tea will make all the difference. By the time Benedick returns you’ll have the upper hand, and he’ll have to grovel. It will be delicious.”