Mary Nichols - Talk of the Ton

‘Melhurst. Mr Andrew Melhurst.’

‘I will see if her Grace is at home, Mr Melhurst, but without an appointment…’ He allowed his voice to fade to nothing.

‘It is of the utmost importance.’

The man ushered him in, then turned and slowly and deliberately climbed the cantilevered staircase with its ornate cast-iron balustrade to the first floor, while Andrew stood and fumed. He hoped Miss Harley would not take it into her head to leave the carriage. The house was one of a row and she could be been seen by neighbours if they should happen to glance out of a window. And there were people in the street going about their business. He had no idea how well known she was in the neighbourhood.

A few minutes later, the servant returned. ‘Please follow me, Mr Melhurst.’

The Duchess received him in a first-floor drawing room of elegant proportions. He bowed, surprised to see how young she was, twenty-seven or eight at the most, he decided. ‘Mr Melhurst, has something happened to the Duke?’ she asked, her voice betraying her anxiety. ‘Do tell me quickly, for I cannot bear the suspense.’

‘No, your Grace, I have never met the Duke. It is concerning your niece, Miss Harley.’

Her obvious relief was followed by concern. ‘Beth? If you have come to make an offer for her, Mr Melhurst, then I suggest you apply to the Duke in the morning. It is late—’

‘You mistake me, your Grace. I have not come to offer for her. I have her in my carriage outside this house. She has, I regret to say, fallen into a bumblebath, from which I am endeavouring to rescue her. She needs a safe haven—’

‘She has never run away from home. Oh, dear, the foolish girl…’

‘She assures me that was not her intention.’

‘Why did you leave her outside? Fetch her in at once.’

‘She is anxious not to encounter the Duke, but I collect he is from home.’

‘Yes, but that is not to say he will not be told.’

He bowed. ‘That, your Grace, is for you to decide. I am merely bringing her home. Could I ask for a cloak? It would not be sensible for her to be seen entering the house as she is.’

‘Mr Melhurst, you alarm me. What is the matter with her?’

‘Nothing, but she is dressed as a young man.’

To his surprise she started to laugh. ‘Oh, dear, I know she likes to do that at home in her garden and very fetching she looks too, but if you are bringing her home you must have found her somewhere else. Unless she inveigled you into her mischief?’

‘I am relieved you do not think it was the other way about, your Grace. And she did not inveigle me. On the contrary, she fought to get away. I could not allow that. The docks are hardly the place for well brought-up young ladies, especially at night.’

‘Did you say docks, Mr Melhurst?’

‘Yes, the East India docks. That was where I found her, looking for a young man called Toby Kendall.’

‘Oh, now I begin to see. The Duke financed Mr Kendall’s ambition to become a plant hunter. Surely she did not think she could go too? Oh, the foolish, foolish girl. But we must not leave her sitting outside. Please wait here, while I fetch her.’

Before he could find a suitable reply to tell her he would leave as soon as Miss Harley was safely indoors, she had sailed from the room in a froth of silk and lace. He paced the room, looking at the ornaments and pictures. The pictures were mostly by modern artists like Turner, Girtin, Constable and Lawrence, though there was a Gainsborough, which he assumed was of an earlier Duke and his family. A couple of classical vases on a shelf he recognised as Wedgwood. Miss Harley definitely came from a well-breeched family. She was undoubtedly spoiled, though if he were honest he would have to admit that she had a lively mind and an articulate way of expressing herself. In the short ride from the docks he had been more entertained than he had been for some time.

He heard the front door shut and voices in the hall, and then the Duchess, smiling broadly, put her head round the door. ‘I am going to take Miss Harley upstairs and hand her over to my maid. Please don’t go away. I haven’t thanked you properly.’ And, for a second time, she disappeared before he could politely take his leave.

Sophie conducted Beth up to the second floor and into her small private boudoir, where her maid appeared from an adjoining room. ‘Rose, we must find my niece something to wear.’ She pulled off the burnous in which Beth was shrouded, which evinced a gasp of shock from the servant and made Sophie smile, though Beth was far from smiling. Sitting alone in the coach, waiting for Mr Melhurst to come back, she had had time to think and thinking had not made her feel any easier about her little adventure. It was not so much an adventure as an escapade of the sort that schoolboys indulged in and if she got away with no more than a scolding she would count herself fortunate.

While the maid bustled about opening cupboard doors and searching for clothes, Sophie sat Beth down. ‘Now, tell me what possessed you to run away from home like that? Did you not think of your poor Mama, and Livvy, worrying about you? And not only your safety, which would certainly worry them, but the scandal. What do you suppose it would do to James if the King ever heard of it?’

‘I was not running away,’ Beth said. ‘I simply went to say goodbye to Toby; if Uncle James had not sent him away so suddenly that he could not tell me he was going, I never would have done it.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I wish I had not. I did not see Toby. He told Mr Melhurst he did not want to see me, though I only have Mr Melhurst’s word for that…’

‘Surely you are not suggesting Mr Melhurst would tell you an untruth? Goodness, Beth, he did not have to take you up and bring you home, he was not obliged to do anything for you. But he did, no matter the inconvenience to himself.’

‘I know and I am thankful. I told him so, but he did not have to be so insufferably top-lofty about it…’ She paused as Rose came towards her bearing a green silk gown trimmed with pale green lace and cream-coloured ribbon.

‘I think this will fit you, Miss Harley.’

‘Very suitable,’ Sophie said. ‘Now, change quickly before anyone else sees you.’

‘What are you going to tell Uncle James?’

Sophie looked at her with her head on one side, smiling a little. ‘What should you like me to tell him?’

‘I wish he need not know I am here. Then, perhaps tomorrow, you can arrange for someone to escort me home. I will keep out of sight, I promise. No one need know I have ever been here.’ She was stripping off the sadly crumpled suit as she spoke.

‘And your punishment?’

‘Anything but a jobation from Uncle James. I will be the dutiful niece and daughter for the whole Season, I promise.’

Sophie laughed. ‘I should not make promises you cannot keep, Beth.’ She watched as Rose helped her into the dress. ‘Goodness, I have left Mr Melhurst all alone. I must go down and thank him and offer him refreshment. Come down when you are ready and let him see you are really a lady, and thank him yourself for taking such good care of you.’

Beth did not want to face him again, she would die with mortification. Perhaps if she dawdled over her toilette he would tire of waiting and take his leave, no doubt glad to be rid of her.

Andrew was examining a portrait of the Duchess by Frances Corringham, an artist he did not know, which he found particularly pleasing for its delicate attention to detail, when he heard the door open behind him. Assuming it was the Duchess returning, he turned to find himself facing a small boy in a nightshirt. His feet were bare and his hair was tousled, as if he had just woken.

‘Hello,’ the young one said. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Andrew Melhurst. And whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘I am Viscount James Dersingham. The Duke of Belfont is my father.’ It was said proudly but not, Andrew noted, arrogantly. ‘I am six.’

Andrew, to humour him, gave him an elaborate bow. ‘At your service, my lord.’

Jamie giggled. ‘You may call me Jamie, if you like.’

‘Thank you. Does your mama know you are out of bed?’

‘I could not sleep. I heard the door knocker and voices. I came to see who had called.’

‘And now you have satisfied your curiosity, do you not think you should return to your bed?’

Jamie ignored that suggestion. ‘Why are you here? It is the middle of the night.’

‘Not quite,’ Andrew said, glancing at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece which told him it was half past nine.

‘Where is my mama?’

‘Yes, where is she?’ a masculine voice enquired.

Andrew turned to confront a gentleman in impeccable evening attire who could only be the Duke of Belfont. Before he could do more than bow, young Jamie had flung himself at his father, who picked him up. ‘Jamie, why are you not in bed?’

‘I heard the door knocker and cousin Beth’s voice, so I came to see her. Why is she dressed in those funny clothes, Papa?’

‘I think you must be mistaken, son, she is not arriving until next week. I told you that, did I not?’

‘Yes, but she must have come early.’

James strode to the door and called the footman who hovered in the hall. ‘Take Master Jamie to his nurse, Foster. Tell her to put him back to bed.’ As soon as the boy had been led away James turned to Andrew, who had been listening in acute discomfort. ‘Now, sir, who are you and what are you doing here?’

‘My name is Andrew Melhurst, my lord Duke, lately back from India. I arrived on the Princess Charlotte…’ He paused, wondering how to go on.

‘Melhurst,’ the Duke put in. ‘Relation to Baron Melhurst of Heathlands near Newmarket, are you?’

‘Yes, his grandson.’

‘I know him. He was a friend of my father’s. How is he?’

‘He has been ill, which was why I returned to England, but he is recovering.’ He paused. ‘I met a young man on board, a Mr Toby Kendall.’

‘Ah, I begin to see. He was going as you were coming.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And you have a commission from him to me.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

‘What did the young bounder want? I have dealt very generously with him and cannot think what else he may require…’

Andrew was nonplussed. ‘Your Grace,’ he began and then stopped, before taking a breath and continuing, ‘He desired me to thank you.’

James laughed. ‘Be blowed to that for a tale. Come on, man, the truth, if you please.’ He stopped and then added, ‘What was my son saying about his cousin Beth being here? Is Miss Harley here?’

‘Oh, James, do not blame Mr Melhurst. He has been the epitome of good sense and discretion.’

James swung round at the sound of his wife’s voice. ‘My dear, I was not blaming him—how could I when I have no idea what I have to blame him for? But, now you are here, perhaps you will put the poor man out of his unease and explain what has happened.’

Sophie went to her husband and took his hand. ‘Sit down, James, and you too, Mr Melhurst, we cannot converse properly if everyone is standing. I have ordered refreshments. Poor Mr Melhurst has been too busy on our behalf to eat.’

‘Sophie, do not prevaricate,’ he admonished, though he did as she suggested and sat down beside her, motioning to Andrew to take a chair opposite them. ‘Tell me what has happened.’

‘It’s Beth…’

‘So she is here?’

‘Yes, but do not interrupt, or I shall lose the thread of what I am saying.’

‘Go on.’ It was said quietly, but Andrew could tell that the Duke was not used to being thwarted and would have the truth. He wished devoutly that he could excuse himself and half-rose, but her Grace, seeing this, waved him down again. Perhaps she needed moral support, though she seemed perfectly at ease with her husband.