Her Ladyship's Companion 0.5 by Joanna Watkins Bourne

Author:Joanna Watkins Bourne [Bourne, Joanna Watkins]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Regency Gothic
ISBN: 9780380815968
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1983-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Stay where you are, Cissy. Life out in the great wide world is infinitely more complicated than I ever imagined.

Excerpt from the letter of Melissa Rivenwood to Cecilia Luffington, August 3, 1818

Melissa stumbled through the halls, seeing them waver through her tears. She scarcely knew where she was going. Only instinct kept her feet moving toward her own room.

Someone was in the hall behind her, following her. She panicked. Giles had come after her! She began to run.

“Wait, Miss Rivenwood. Please wait.”

It wasn’t Giles after all. Melissa stopped reluctantly and turned. It was Harold.

“You’re crying,” he said in distress, his face a study in concern. “What’s the matter? Can I help?”

Melissa wanted only to be left alone. She shook her head mutely. But he was there, pale and kindly and distressed at her agitation. She couldn’t snub him.

“You’re crying,” he said again, as if the sight moved him deeply. “Someone has made you cry.” With a very practical gesture of sympathy he began patting the pockets of his claret-colored jacket. “I have a handkerchief here someplace. I’m sure I do,” he said distractedly.

Despite everything, Melissa had to give a watery smile at that. The man was such an odd combination of childishness and mature kindness. “It’s not necessary, thank you. I have my own.” She produced it.

“What’s the matter?” he asked humbly. “Surely there’s something I can do to help.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing at all. I have a ... a headache,” she said. “Please just excuse me. I’ll go to my room and lie down.”

“Of course you shall. That’s just the thing. Come along now, and we’ll go up to your room. I’ll have the cook send up something to help you sleep. A good, long sleep, that’s what you need. It’s the best thing for ... headaches.” He put his arm around her and gathered her in next to him like a mother hen scooping up a chick.

At that Melissa broke down again. She was ashamed of herself, leaning on him and sniveling, but he was the first soul in that monstrous house who’d shown her any kindness at all. Right now she was greatly in need of some sympathy.

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “There now, it can’t all be that bad.” He stroked her hair chastely, obviously trying to suppress his embarrassment.

Melissa straightened and sniffled. “You’re very kind,” she mumbled wetly. She dried her eyes, blew her nose, sniffled again, and got herself under control. “I’m very sorry,” she said at last. “This place is turning me into a sniveling wreck. I don’t usually act so much the fool.”

“We’re all foolish sometimes,” he said comfortingly. “It was Giles, I suppose, Yes. Of course it was. Who else? He’s insulted you.” Harold gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “I wish I could make you understand how little he means by all this.”

“My own stupid fault.” Melissa tried to shrug casually and made a wretched job of it.

“No. It’s Giles. He can’t keep his hands off ... That is …” It was an obvious effort to be charitable.

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