The following afternoon, Melissa sat on the sofa in the drawing room of Winslow House and smiled benevolently as she accepted a cup of tea from an all but bouncing Lottie.
Now fifteen, Lottie had come to town with their grandmother, Lady Osbaldestone, who had been sojourning at Lottie’s home in Northamptonshire when the news of Melissa and Julian’s unexpected engagement had reached that branch of the family.
Unsurprisingly, the instant her grandmother had arrived in the capital, Melissa and Julian had been summoned to attend this entirely private afternoon tea.
“Well!” Over the rim of her teacup, Lady Osbaldestone, archgrande dame and arbiter of ton sentiment, eyed Melissa and Julian, who was seated beside her, with open approval. “I don’t know how this came about, and frankly, I don’t care.” She raised her cup in a toast. “I am simply delighted that you have finally embarked on this journey. It’s one I long feared you’d never take.”
Melissa sipped and, from the corner of her eye, caught Julian’s equally relieved gaze. Although in years past, her grandmother had been well disposed toward Julian, they hadn’t known what to expect from her now. Luckily, it appeared that in announcing their engagement, they’d satisfied some long-held expectation of hers—never a bad achievement.
After delivering a teacup to Julian, Lottie retreated with her own cup to sit in a chair alongside their grandmother’s. “Incidentally,” Lottie said, “Jamie and George send their regards. Both hope to come down at some point and deliver their congratulations in person.” Lottie’s blue eyes twinkled. “Like Grandmama, the three of us feel a certain vindication over your engagement.”
Julian lowered his cup. “Melissa mentioned that Jamie and George are at Oxford and Eton, respectively. Do they have any particular futures in mind?”
“Jamie’s eighteen,” Lottie replied, “and is reading history and hoping to attach himself to the school of archeology. George is in his final year at school and has been bitten by the antiquities bug. He forever has his nose in a book, reading about some artifact or other. If you put him and Jamie in the same room and allow them to lead the conversation”—Lottie rolled her eyes—“all you’ll hear is ancient news.”
Lady Osbaldestone humphed. “You’re no better, my girl, with your talk of digs and excavations.”
“But I don’t want to dig myself, Grandmama—I just want to be there and watch.” Lottie paused, then added, “And catalog what they find.” To Melissa and Julian, she explained, “I can’t see the point in getting excited over bits and pieces in a museum. Finding them, however, is a different story—so much more exciting to my way of thinking.”
Melissa grinned. “I remember the day we found the Roman hoard behind Grandmama’s house. The three of you were in the thick of it.”
Julian nodded. “And you, Miss Charlotte, jumped into the pit as soon as you could and were grubbing about in the dirt just as furiously as your brothers were.”
Lottie tried to suppress a grin and lifted one shoulder in a disconcertingly adult gesture. “That was then. I’ve grown past such behavior.”
Julian chuckled, and Melissa smiled. In truth, they were all older and more mature than they had been then.
As if to underscore that, her grandmother stated, “I remember those Christmases well. Quite a time we had. Tell me, Carsely, are you still in touch with Sir Henry and the others?”
Julian nodded. “We never lost touch, although these days, we only see each other perhaps once a year. As you know, we continued our Christmas get-togethers in Little Moseley even after I went to Ireland, as that was one of the times of the year when I was allowed some weeks’ leave.”
“I well remember the year we caught that French spy,” Lady Osbaldestone said, her black gaze steady on Julian’s face. Then she switched that always terrifying gaze to Melissa. “That was the year after you last visited, my dear. You and Mandy missed the most exciting imbroglio, what with your uncle Christopher meeting his Marion and us all chasing after…what was his name?”
“De Mille,” Julian supplied. “One of Napoleon’s favorite agents.” Smiling, he glanced at Melissa. “That was quite the coup, capturing him. It made your uncle’s career and didn’t do mine any harm, either.”
Melissa hadn’t known Julian had gone back to Little Moseley after they’d agreed to part. Yet apparently, he had, year after year. That, she was aware, was what her grandmother wished her to know, although quite what she was supposed to deduce from the knowledge, she wasn’t sure.
Regardless, as their conversation continued, memories of years past mingling with observations of the present and expectations for the future, despite what her grandmother termed their “unconventional approach,” her view of their marriage as a connection that was fated to be shone through.
Her grandmother wasn’t one to form such a view without sound reasons.
Increasingly, Melissa felt that Julian—and indeed, Mandy—had been correct in suggesting that their past association, steeped in mutual youth though it had been, was nevertheless a valid indicator of the potential for an adult relationship.
Julian kept a wary eye on Lady Osbaldestone while the bulk of his senses remained focused on Melissa as he tracked how she was reacting to the subtle yet unrelenting pressure her grandmother was bringing to bear—on multiple fronts. She really was a grande dame extraordinaire, yet he was in two minds over her championship. After the past week, he was even more certain that his best strategy for winning Melissa to wife was to allow her to convince herself of what he already saw clearly—namely, that they were, in fact, the perfect match the ton had labeled them.
Finally, their reminiscing ran down, and with the tea drunk and the cakes consumed, Melissa and he rose to take their leave.
After Melissa had kissed Lady Osbaldestone’s cheek, he took the old lady’s hand and bowed over it. Her fingers clutched as tight as any claws, and she caught his gaze and whispered, “Don’t let her slip through your fingers.”
He met her obsidian gaze. “I won’t.”
She smiled, reached up, and patted his cheek. “Dear boy. See that you don’t.”
With that nebulous warning ringing in his ears, he farewelled Lottie, then followed Melissa from the room.
He didn’t breathe easily until they were going down the front steps and the door of Winslow House closed with a thud of finality behind them.
Abruptly, Melissa halted, looking along the street to their left. “There’s our mystery man.”
