At Your Service

Chapter Two: The Problem of a Potted Palm


"The greatest obstacle to being heroic is the doubt whether one may be going to prove one's self a fool." Nathaniel Hawthorne

Lord Weatherdale was not a man to waste time, as Melody discovered. She saw him again only a few days later, at a card party hosted by a mutual acquaintance—Lord Haliwold of the moles. Lord Haliwold sent frequent smiles in Melody’s direction, and Lady Rathford was starting to hope. Melody greatly desired to direct the attentions of both her mother and her host elsewhere.

“Mother, please, don’t say more,” she begged in a whisper, as they sat together watching several other guests play whist. “He’s perfectly awful, and even if he were to state intentions, I would be forced to turn him down.”

“You most certainly would not! Why, that would be a death knoll to our social life! No one will wish to invite us anywhere if you came to be known as that kind of girl,” Pricilla announced rather loudly.

Melody was shocked. “And, please, enlighten me, Mother. Exactly what kind of girl would I be known as?”

“Oh, you know. One of those silly chits who let a man think she welcomes his attentions, only to turn him away when he actually gives his attention. A flirt.”

“I beg your pardon! I am not a flirt! I have given Lord Haliwold absolutely no reason to believe that his attentions would be welcome,” Melody protested.

“Well, then. You should have.” Pricilla nodded twice to emphasize her point.

Pricilla wasn’t a quiet woman. This meant that the other guests at the table heard Pricilla’s half of the conversation, and surmised the rest from Melody’s horrified expression. This in turn meant that all the rest of the guests knew within thirty minutes every last detail of the conversation, plus a few that had been added for emphasis. So, of course it was inevitable that, within an hour, Lord Haliwold himself would hear of Lady Rathford’s hopes for him and her daughter. The minute fact that the young Miss Rathford herself didn’t share her mother’s hopes was conveniently left out.

An hour and seven minutes after the conversation between her and her mother, Melody found herself cornered between a potted palm, the refreshments table, and her host, who was quickly becoming too friendly.

“So, darling, I trust you are enjoying yourself this evening. Your presence here certainly makes the night sparkle for me,” he was saying.

“Oh, ah, you really shouldn’t call me ‘darling,’ sir,” Melody remonstrated.

“But I’d like you to be.” He ran one gloved finger from her elbow to her wrist and let it linger.

Melody looked anxiously around for an excuse to escape.

“My lord, I beg you, remove your hand. I do not wish to cause a scene, but you are being far too forward.” She skewered him with a glare to match her frigid tone.

“Beg pardon, Miss Rathford,” he simpered, and let her go.

Melody excused herself curtly, and whirled to search for a place to hide from her host for the rest of this dreadful evening. She slammed immediately into something, hitting her forehead quite solidly. Her hands flew to cradle what she was sure would be an ugly bruise in the morning.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered under her breath. This was not the way she had pictured her evening going.

“I beg your pardon?” she heard a voice say, as hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her. Did she really just curse twice? Jason wondered wildly. Impossible. Debutantes did not swear, under any circumstances.

She had run into a person, Melody realized dimly. A man. Lord Weatherdale? Oh, no. This was just too much. And her head really—

“Whoa! Whoa, there!” Jason said as she fainted dead away. He was still gripping her arms, so she didn’t fall, but he wasn’t sure quite what to do with her now. He couldn’t lay her down right there on the floor. Under no circumstances were young ladies to be laid on floors by gentlemen. Her reputation wouldn’t last a minute, and he would prefer to avoid a duel with her brother, since he rather liked the man and was besides a deuced bad shot. Could he pick her up and move her to a more suitable location without being shot on the spot? A quick glance around turned up both her father and brother within shooting distance. He briefly considered just dropping her, and saving both her reputation and his hide, but then decided that if he did, he would deserve getting shot. He picked her up, one arm under her arms, the other under her knees, and prayed that people would think him a gallant, romantic hero rather than a horrible reprobate deserving to be shot quite dead. And really, how had no one noticed what had happened to the chit? He truly had felt ridiculous, standing there with an unconscious girl on his hands while the party continued unhindered around them. Or should that be just him? Did one count the unconscious when choosing between the plural and singular pronoun? And why wasn’t the girl waking up yet? She was really quite pretty, there on the couch, with her lips slightly parted. But Jason would have been much happier if her eyes were open instead.

“Umm, Miss Rathford? Are you awake?” A silly question. He could see perfectly well that she wasn’t. “I do wish you would. Wake up, that is. Christ, what am I supposed to do with you now?” This was too bizarre. How could no one notice a lady had fainted and been bodily moved to another location in the room? Granted, the couch on which Jason had placed the girl was at the edge of the room, and half-hidden behind the potted palm, but shouldn’t she have had someone watching her? A companion, or a chaperone? Or her mother?

“Wait right here,” he said to her unnecessarily. It was time to call in reinforcements. He didn’t know anything about why a woman would faint, and he really didn’t want to be found there alone with her when she was finally discovered missing. Ten paces at dawn still held no appeal.

Peering from behind the palm tree at the small crowd, Jason decided that the best way to avoid that terrible fate was to alert Edgar Rathford directly. He crossed the room with long, purposeful strides, and bowed to the man who would inherit a barony and the other gentleman Edgar was speaking to, who Jason did not know.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Sir, I have come to inform you that your sister has fainted dead away.” There. He had said it. Now hopefully, Edgar would want to beat the tar out of him.

“Oh,” the younger man said. “Well, what do you expect me to do about it?”

Jason blinked. And then he panicked.

“Christ, man, we can’t just leave her there! She needs, oh, smelling salts or a glass of water, or something!” He threw a pleading look to Edgar’s companion, who just shrugged.

“Sounds to me like you need a woman, Weatherdale. I certainly don’t carry smelling salts,” Edgar added.

When Jason still looked terrified, he said helpfully, “Perhaps my mother could help Mel? I think I see her over there.”

Jason looked, saw, nodded, and sped off. Edgar chuckled to himself. Nothing like a woman to get a man in a high dudgeon. He knew Weatherdale was usually a very unflappable man. His mother, he knew, would consider it a very good sign that Melody had managed to flap him, as it were. Jason wouldn’t make the worst of brothers-in-law, he decided graciously. Good lord, now Pricilla had gotten marriage on his mind. He excused himself from his friend, and went to search for a stiff glass of brandy. Or port. Or something else, anything strong enough to knock some sense into him again.

Jason, meanwhile, had approached Lady Rathford. Edgar’s suggestion was a sensible one, and knowing exactly what he was doing had allowed him to get himself under control again. He was, therefore, able to appear cool and collected when he bowed to the lady and said, “Excuse me, madam, but your daughter has taken ill and needs your assistance.”

“Oh! Oooooh! What has happened to Melody? What has happened to my only girl?!” Lady Rathford was obviously distressed; the fan she was using to keep herself cool in the crowded room was being waved frantically up and down, narrowly missing Jason’s already sore chin. He resisted the urge to put a hand to his temple to relieve the oncoming headache. It seemed to him that Lady Rathford was just as much in need of smelling salts as her daughter.

“She is unhurt,” he reassured. “Well, I believe she is. She ran into me, and hit her head on my chin. I think after your smelling salts have been applied, madam, all she will need is rest.”

Lady Rathford’s glare brought terror to a whole new level.

“And you’re a doctor, now, are you, sir?” How dare he presume to know what was wrong with her sweet daughter? And how had the girl hit her head that hard on his chin? She rushed across the room to her prostrate daughter. Couldn’t he have stopped her? And why exactly was Melody hidden behind the potted palm, the only part of the room not immediately visible from every other part of the room? Had she hurt herself trying to escape from some nefarious plan the Lord Weatherdale had been putting into motion? Maybe the faint was fake, a ruse intended to force the young earl to fetch help. She about-faced suddenly, causing Lord Weatherdale, who was following right on her heels, to nearly run into her. Perhaps he spent much of his time planning ways to run into ladies to gain indecent contact with them for a moment. She scowled.

“You, sir, can just stay right here. I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter,” she said hotly.

Jason thought that it was fascinating that no one noticed a girl fainting and being bodily transported, but the smallest hint of an argument caught everyone’s attention. Well, perhaps not the smallest hint. Lady Rathford had a voice prone to carrying to the farthest corners of any room. He didn’t blush under the scrutiny, however. After all, he was a man. He settled for shrugging.

“I imagine,” he said with slightly acidic patience, “that Miss Rathford might be considered lucky I was there to catch her when she fell. She might have further injured herself otherwise. However, if you would like a doctor sent for, I will arrange for it immediately.”

“That will really not be necessary.” Melody surprised both with her sudden speech. At their wide eyes, she explained, “I was only unconscious a moment. I awoke while Lord Weatherdale was speaking to Edgar, but still felt a little dizzy. I am very sorry to have caused you any worry, my lord, but truly, I am well now. And Mama, please, do not be angry with Lord Weatherdale. He was only trying to help. Although I am not sure why he was so close to begin with, I know he would not have harmed me on purpose.”

Jason nodded and told in a voice too low for the eager onlookers in the room to hear of how he had seen Miss Rathford looking uncomfortable at the excessive attentions of a suitor. He had approached with the intention of extricating her from that situation, but she had saved herself before he had had that honor.

“Oh! Well, then, that is as it should be. Thank you so much, I’m sure, my lord,” Lady Rathford gushed. She smiled winningly at the young man, who was, she suddenly remembered, quite handsome. And unmarried. And wealthy.

“Please, sir, accept my apologies by joining us for dinner tomorrow,” she offered, already listing in her head the items Melody would need in her trousseau.

Melody was extremely embarrassed by her mother’s obvious fishing. Still, she waited nervously for Lord Weatherdale’s response. If he accepted the invitation despite her mother, she would know that he must like her company very much indeed. When he nodded, Melody beamed her brightest smile at him. Despite the headache rumbling to life in her skull, she was extremely pleased with the events of the evening. He liked her!