jumped in. “Because they’re in love. You don’t know the meaning of the word, Dorothea Pennington, and you never will. Now go away, do. We have a wedding to arrange.”
If the exquisitely well-behaved Dorothea Pennington had something near at hand she would have thrown it, Benedick decided, horror and amusement warring for control. He watched her stalk from the room, and he could tell from her horrified shriek when she clapped eyes on his scarred brother-in-law, lazily stretched out in the hall. They waited until they heard the front door slam, and then he turned to Miranda.
“What the hell did you mean, I’m marrying Melisande?” he demanded in a choked voice. “I most certainly am not.”
Her smile broadened. “I know you better than you think, Neddie. Stop fighting it. You want her, whether it’s practical or not. You should have her.”
“We don’t suit,” he said stiffly. “Besides, she despises me.”
“Well, that’s always a good sign. But we can deal with your love life later, once we’ve found Brandon. Any idea where he might have gone?”
He gave up then. His head ached too much to deal with all of this, and Dorothea Pennington would hardly be likely to spread rumors of her former suitor’s engagement—it would reflect too badly on her. He would have a few days to sort things out.
“Brandon,” he agreed, heading toward the open door. Lucien de Malheur was still there, an ironic expression on his face. He tensed when he saw Benedick, as if expecting another assault.
“I’m not going to kill you now,” Benedick said. “We need to fetch Brandon.”
“You’re not going to kill me ever,” Lucien said lazily, getting to his feet, his gold-headed cane in one strong hand. “Lead on, MacDuff.”
30
It started as a soft scratching on her bedroom door, the one Melisande had locked before she’d collapsed into bed. That much she could ignore. It was morning, and she’d just gone to bed, and it simply wasn’t fair to try to wake her. She put the pillow over her head as the scratching went to a soft knock.
“Open the door, Melisande.” Emma’s soft voice came from the other side. “I need to talk to you.”
She didn’t need to talk with anyone. Emma would know full well that she hadn’t returned home last night, and she would know where she’d been and what she’d been doing. And that was absolutely the last thing Melisande had any intention of discussing.
The knocking grew louder, penetrating the layers of feathers and laudanum-induced fog, and Melisande rolled over, cursing. From the angle of the sun she could tell it was early morning, not much past six. She hadn’t closed her curtain, but the overcast sun was still an annoyance. Why should anyone expect her to wake up at such an ungodly hour when she’d been out all night and…
And not returned home until after nine in the morning. She’d slept the day and night away, wrapped in misery and laudanum, and they were one day closer to the solstice. Bloody hell.
Emma was pounding by now, and the wood door was shaking in its frame. Melisande sat up, groaning, and climbed out of bed. She was vaguely aware that her ankle wasn’t bothering her as she limped toward the door. Vaguely aware that muscles she hadn’t known she had were protesting. And she wasn’t going to examine that thought too closely.
By the time she opened the door, Emma was using both fists, and one look at her expression and Melisande’s bruised heart sank. Something was very wrong, indeed.
She looked past Emma to the gaggle, all in various states of undress, watching them. “When did you last see Betsey?” Emma demanded breathlessly.
“This morning,” Melisande replied immediately, confused.
“Oh, thank God.”
“At least, I think so,” she added. “What day is it? Friday?”
Emma’s relief vanished. “It’s Saturday. You’ve slept the clock around. Do you mean you haven’t seen Betsey since yesterday morning? Where was she?”
“In the library. We talked for a bit. She was missing Aileen, and worried about the future. I told her she could stay here as long as she wanted, and then she went down to visit Cook. Did you ask Mollie Biscuits?”
“Of course I did!” Panic was shredding Emma’s usual calm. “She said Betsey came in, helped her with the bread, then took some pasties and said she was going to eat them out in the sun. Mollie thinks she was heading for St. James Park, but we can’t be certain. She might have walked farther ahead to Green Park