The Pursuit (6 page)

L
INCOLN
might not have gotten to see Melissa that day at Kregora, but he got instead the excuse he needed to cut short his stay in Scotland, which he was eager to do, since it hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped it would. Putting all that old bitterness behind him just wasn’t possible, when it was instead refreshed every time he looked at his mother. And short of confronting her and spilling his guts, as it were, which he suspected would be more painful than he could bear, he was resolved to try burying those emotions again, rather than putting them fully to rest.

Melissa would be able to help him with that, he was sure. She was a bright flower in an otherwise dead garden, which was how he’d recently come to view his life—devoid of amusement, devoid of any real interest, devoid of purpose, and filled with bitter memories from his youth. His aunt and cousin were all that had sustained him prior
to meeting the MacGregors’ daughter. Melissa was going to give his life new purpose. He merely had to make her his first.

He wasn’t counting, though, on Henriette’s inviting Eleanor to return to England with them, nor on his mother accepting that invitation. He spent an extra day trying to come up with a reason she shouldn’t come to England at this time. But considering his duty for the summer—and that both his aunt and his cousin were going to be in London for the duration with him—there really was no reason Eleanor couldn’t join them there as well.

To simply state the truth—that he didn’t want her anywhere near him—was out of the question. He wasn’t quite jaded enough to be that rude and offensive. And besides, to do so would open the very can of worms he was trying to avoid.

But where he had hoped, briefly, to closely follow Melissa to London, even to stay at the same inns, in effect to get a head start on beginning the courtship, his mother’s deciding to come along put an end to that idea. But it wouldn’t be too much of a delay, his arriving the day after Melissa did. And he knew where to find her, having been told in parting from her father that she’d be staying with the St. Jameses’, who were sponsoring her. Not that he knew any St. Jameses, but it couldn’t be too hard to find their address.

Unfortunately, there were four St. Jameses with residences in London. The most prominent was a duke, whom Lincoln discounted immediately. It
took four days to track down the other three. The first was a struggling actor who wasn’t really a St. James. The young man had just borrowed the name because he liked the sound of it. The second address Lincoln found was a captain’s widow who didn’t know anyone from Scotland. The third address was in a poor neighborhood, occupied by a family of ten who barely had room for themselves, much less visitors from Scotland.

Lincoln was left with no choice but to try the ducal town house of Ambrose Devlin St. James, though he was sure he’d be wasting his time. He didn’t really think his bride-to-be could be acquainted with the Duke and Duchess of Wrothston—certainly not closely enough to be sponsored by them—but worse, if she was, he was going to be flat out of luck in getting in to see her. You simply didn’t call on people like Their Graces without either a personal invitation or their calling card as proof that you knew them—or without having legitimate business with them.

Melissa was there. The butler unbent enough to tell Lincoln so—just before he closed the door in his face. Lincoln didn’t knock again. He knew how pointless it would be. He hadn’t had a card in hand, and had had to ask if she
was
there, both of which told the guardian-of-the-door that Lincoln had no business being there himself.

Moroseness set in long before he got back to the Burnett town house. He hadn’t expected to find Melissa at every one of the gatherings his aunt had lined up for Edith, but he
had
expected
to see her at some of them. He’d also expected to be able to call on her in a normal fashion. Neither of these was a likelihood now. The St. Jameses were simply out of his league, their acquaintances the elite of the realm, the parties they would attend the most premier events of the season.

He knew no one in that crowd, as he had run with a racier set, comprised mostly of bachelors like himself. And the invitations that Henriette had arranged to be waiting on them when they got to town were from her own personal acquaintances, mostly other mamas with hopeful young daughters who had their eye on
him
.

That he would actually be considered a prime catch himself, due to his being titled
and
wealthy, would get them many more invitations as the season progressed. Those invitations just wouldn’t necessarily be the right ones. You had to get your foot in the door of those upper circles first, before you had a chance of being included again. He didn’t foresee that happening, when he knew no one who could get the door cracked for him to begin with.

How the bloody hell could his courtship of Melissa suddenly turn out to be so complicated?

Henriette, as astute as ever, noticed his new mood that evening. She also knew him well enough not to attribute it, at least completely, to the fact that Eleanor had joined them for the theater that night.

“You look like you’ve lost your best friend, m’boy. Did something unpleasant happen today that you haven’t mentioned yet?”

“Other than finding out that Melissa MacGregor is being sponsored this season by none other than the Duke and Duchess of Wrothston? No, nothing of paramount importance,” he replied dryly.

“Their Graces, eh? My, that’s quite a coup for the girl. But why are you seeing it as a problem?”

“We don’t know anyone in that crowd.”

“
We
don’t,” she agreed. “But
you
do. You know the girl herself.”

“Aunt Henry, that is not going to get me past
that
door,” Lincoln said.

“Barricaded, is it?”

“It might as well be.”

“Well, that’s a fine pickle,” Henriette huffed. Then she suggested, “Let me call on a few friends tomorrow afternoon and see what’s what. I haven’t kept up much with the who-knows-who-knows-who sort of thing, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone who has.”

Lincoln nodded. His own instinct was just to barge in and insist on seeing Melissa. But that would cause a scandal that would hurt more than help his cause, not to mention get him in the duke’s bad graces, a place no one in his right mind would want to be. And short of appearing the beggar with hat in hand just camping outside the Wrothston mansion hoping to catch her coming or going, which he really couldn’t see himself doing, he was left with few other choices.

One of those few options was to find out where she was going and sneak his way into the gathering,
at least long enough to see her. Not unheard of, and something those in his crowd had been known to do on a lark, though Lincoln had outgrown that sort of thing himself. It was, after all, highly embarrassing to get caught in such a situation.

His aunt had no luck with her acquaintances, however, and said so the next evening at the recital they all attended. Which was disappointing in the extreme and started Lincoln thinking of desperate measures after all.

Yet the next afternoon The Invitation arrived. Lincoln—and the rest of the household—heard about it soon after, because Edith shrieked so loudly in her excitement she brought even the cook running from the kitchen to find out why.

Henriette was saying as Lincoln arrived on the scene there in the entry hall, “I don’t believe it!” Not once, but four times. Edith was still making sounds of excitement, just not as earsplitting as the original one. And two of the downstairs maids were trying their best to look over Henriette’s shoulder—the invitation was still held in her hand—to read what had caused such a commotion.

Lincoln suspected he wouldn’t get any immediate answers if he asked, so he took the paper from Henriette and read it himself, then raised a brow at her. “A ball? Am I to understand that you weren’t expecting this?”

“Not
a
ball, dear boy.
The
ball. The Moore annual ball is only one of the most exclusive balls of
the season each year. I heard a number of ladies sighing over it the last few days, bemoaning the fact that they didn’t get invited.”

“So one of those visits you made yesterday paid off after all?”

Henriette shook her head. “This isn’t my doing.” And then she looked behind him to Eleanor, who had stopped midway down the stairs. “You arranged this, didn’t you? However did you manage it, m’dear?”

Eleanor might have tried to deny it, but her blush was a dead giveaway. She still tried to make light of it, saying, “Elizabeth Moore is an old school friend. As it happens, she invites me to her ball each year, but each year I decline, since I’m never in England when it’s given. I merely sent her off a note yesterday to let her know I was currently in London with my family.”

“It’s an open invitation,” Henriette said. “It includes your entire family.”

“Yes, she’s very conscientious that way, never misses little details that might cause her embarrassment later,” Eleanor explained.

“You’ve actually kept in touch with Lady Moore all these years?”

Eleanor nodded. “When you have a smoothly run household that doesn’t require much of your time, letter writing becomes a very pleasant pastime. I had a wide range of close acquaintances in England before I married, and I’ve kept in touch with many of them through the years. I’m sure you can say the same.”

“Certainly.” Henriette chuckled. “Though none of my friends hand out such coveted invitations.”

Eleanor blushed again, probably because of how hard Lincoln was staring at her. Once again she’d seen his need and taken it upon herself, without being asked, to fulfill it. Melissa would very likely be at that ball, and if she wasn’t, it was going to open the necessary doors for him to all the events she
would
be attending for the rest of the season.

He wasn’t going to thank his mother, though. Despite how this particular effort was going to help him, he would prefer she stop doing things expressly designed to gain his gratitude. Motherly assistance from her now only pointed out the absence of same for far too long. She could not make up for nineteen years of abandonment with a few paltry gestures. She was a fool to think that anything could make up for the brutal way she’d kicked him out of her life.

“This calls for a new gown, Edi, m’love—no expense spared!” Henriette exclaimed in her own excitement. “Actually, new gowns for all of us are in order for this, and luckily we’ve a week and a half to see to them. I hadn’t planned on attending any of the balls, when Linc is the only chaperon you need, but this one I wouldn’t dream of missing. Goodness, I almost feel eighteen again m’self!”

M
ELISSA
’
S
disappointment was so strong after the second week rolled by and she’d still had no sight or word from Lincoln Burnett that she’d been ready to go home to nurse it. She couldn’t do that to Megan, however, who was going to so much trouble to make sure she had a good time. And, fortunately, Justin came home about then, and Justin had always been able to take her mind off any current distractions, good or bad.

She’d known the St. James heir all her life and became really close friends with him the year he spent the entire summer in the Highlands. He’d been eight, she seven, and they found they had
everything
in common—had been inseparable. He’d ended up with three younger sisters and a brother, but he was the closest thing Melissa had to a brother of her own, other than her youngest uncle.

She was surprised, actually, that they’d maintained that closeness, when they didn’t live near each other and didn’t even see each other every year. But maintain it they did, keeping in touch with letters—anywhere from a few to ten a month—conversations really, like whispering secrets through a fence, where you couldn’t actually see the person you were talking to but knew he or she was listening.

A few times there had been talk—albeit casually—from their parents that they made a splendid pair and might get married someday to each other. Both Melissa and Justin thought that was one of the funnier things they’d ever heard. It might be fine and dandy to marry your best friend, but not when you thought of that friend as a brother or sister as well.

She usually told Justin everything. Oddly, she didn’t tell him about Lincoln Burnett, probably because too much time had passed and she was sure now that she’d never see him again, so there was no point. Justin would have been sympathetic, but sympathy was one thing she didn’t need or want. Besides, she was afraid she’d start to cry if she mentioned how acute her disappointment was. She didn’t want to be that silly. She’d already been silly enough, to base all kinds of hopes and expectations on just one meeting with the man.

She resolved to put it behind her and keep more firmly in mind why she was there: to have some fun and maybe find a husband as well—in
that order. Justin was going to help in that, the fun anyway, since he’d agreed to join the women on a few of the upcoming events.

She was grateful for that, knowing that he’d experienced the formal social whirl last year for the first time himself and didn’t really like it. He’d bemoaned that fact to her in his letters, since he
had
been looking forward to being included in the realm of adults, only to find that he much preferred just to chum about with his friends as he used to do when he was home from school.

Justin also had two men in mind for her to meet, whom he was certain she would like. Not that he was playing matchmaker. He simply didn’t think that these particular fellows much cared for the social scene either, so she wasn’t likely to meet them unless he arranged it.

He was mistaken about one of the men, however. Richard Sisley was the older brother of one of Justin’s school friends, and as the heir to the family title, he was being prodded by his family into finding a wife this season as well, so he was forced to make the rounds with all the other young hopefuls.

Richard explained this to her as they twirled about the dance floor that evening. It was the second ball she’d attended, more impressive than the first, with half again as many people present. And it turned out she’d already met Richard at a previous gathering, but just hadn’t remembered his name that night. She did remember that he’d made her laugh on their first meeting, which was
a plus for him, considering that her dejection had been at its worst that week.

He was a very likable fellow, very good-looking as well. Not as handsome as Justin, but then it would be hard for any man to hold a candle to Justin St. James, whose parents were both exceptionally stunning in looks. Even Lincoln wasn’t
that
handsome….

She’d known that it was going to happen, the comparisons to Lincoln. She should have felt some attraction to Richard, if only a little, but no, nothing. Because of
him
.

Justin was going to be annoyed with her, she was sure, for not even giving Richard a chance. He really admired the man, had had nothing but wonderful things to say about him. And Richard liked her. He’d let her know in subtle ways even at their first meeting. But he’d have to be dense not to notice that she just wasn’t interested, and without any encouragement at all from her, he was already starting to look elsewhere before their dance even ended.

She was burning her own bridges and couldn’t seem to help it. Very well, so she wouldn’t find a husband here in London. Her parents had said that would be all right. Why were women expected to marry right out of the schoolroom anyway? Men weren’t and didn’t. They got to do as they liked for as long as they liked. Well, most of them did.

She could put her energies into something else besides a family, maybe draining the lake when
she got home, to prove there was something unnatural on the bottom of it. She would become famous: Melissa MacGregor, discoverer of the first dragon known to mankind….

She saw him in passing. She’d been watching for black hair. She’d been watching for tall men. The combination of both drew her eyes like a magnet. She stumbled, trying to keep her eyes on him as she was twirled about in the waltz—impossible. And she was now on the other side of the floor.

She apologized to Richard, who’d managed to keep her from falling when she tripped over her own feet. They were coming around again to the point where she’d seen Lincoln on the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t there now. Had she imagined seeing him, just wishfulness on her part?

“Are you all right?” Richard inquired.

Did she look as dejected as she felt? “Aye—nae, actually. Would you mind taking me back tae the duchess? These new shoes have given me blisters, I’m thinking.”

That wasn’t the least bit true, but Richard nodded and escorted her to Justin—Megan was dancing at the moment with an old friend of the family. After politely mentioning her excuse for leaving the floor, he left them alone.

Justin, watching his friend go straight to another female for conversation, accused, “You don’t like him?”

“Dinna fash yourself. I canna concentrate on liking him or no’ when I’ve got another mon on m’mind.”

“What man?”

“That…one.”

He was there again, not ten feet away and staring at her as if he’d found something he’d lost. She probably looked the same to him, or worse. She knew she was blushing profusely, her pulse racing, her breath held in anticipation. If she fainted, she’d never forgive herself.

She couldn’t imagine why it had taken him so long to show up, but she was sure he’d tell her if he’d just come over to her. But he didn’t, and after a few more minutes passed, she began to think he wasn’t going to.