Miss Merton's Last Hope by Heather Boyd Page A

his galloping heart. He’d listed everything that was wrong with Melanie Merton in his head, and yet still he burned for her.
    She was haughty, opinionated and standoffish.
    He was astonished with himself that none of those failings mattered so much anymore.
    He knew she could do better, he knew he wasn’t as distinguished as her past suitors.
    But, all that aside, the woman had kissed him back!
    He knew what was required, of course. A gentleman did not carelessly kiss a woman like Melanie Merton without holding himself accountable. And he wanted to kiss her again. Soon and often.
    So he’d written to David Hawke in London and requested advice in setting up his affairs for a marriage he’d never anticipated.
    “Word has it you had an eventful week, Miss Merton,” Mrs. Hartwood murmured.
    Melanie set down her spoon carefully as all eyes turned her way. “To what do you refer, madam?”
    But Walter had an idea. He’d been waiting for this moment with dread all night. Linus Radley had not been slow to gossip at the tavern they frequented, and he had not painted Melanie in a favorable light because she’d spurned him. A wrong response could put Melanie on the outs very easily.
    “Why, the proposal of marriage from Mr. Linus Radley,” Mr. Hartwood cut in. “It is all anyone can talk about.”
    She winced. “You’ve heard?”
    Mrs. Hartwood appeared honestly worried. “Heard and been dismayed.”
    Walter relaxed a little at her words. “A regrettable incident,” he murmured, thinking of striking Linus Radley. At the time he hadn’t known what had come over him to make him react so strongly, but no woman deserved spite just because she did not agree with a man.
    Mrs. Hartwood frowned in confusion. “Do you regret turning him down?”
    “Not at all.” Melanie drew herself up. “I am simply sorry he misunderstood my overtures of friendship to mean more than an honest desire to be polite. Through my brother’s marriage, he is family.”
    “How extraordinary.” Mrs. Hartwood glanced at her husband. “When I heard from those who gossip about such things that you, of all young ladies, were supposed to have led him on to the point of proposing, I couldn’t credit it for anything but a mistaken report. It’s hardly in your nature to be scandalous.”
    “My sister acted appropriately at all times, I assure you,” Valentine insisted. “Radley is quite in the wrong.”
    “I believe you. A most unpleasant development.” Mrs. Hartwood nodded then turned to Walter, and the matter was dropped. “I hear you bought that lovely little cottage on Russell Road. Are you finally ready to settle down, sir?”
    “I am settled. Here, or rather, next door.”
    “A man is not settled until he marries,” Mrs. Hartwood glanced around the table with a knowing smile, “and has a babe to hold in each arm.”
    “In due time.” He’d heard every variation on the topic before, of course, but as one of the last bachelor’s in his circle of friends, the discussions about marriage were now rather pointedly aimed at him. “I will marry when the time is right, and rest assured I will call on you to help keep an eye on all the little Georges one day.”
    Mrs. Hartwood clapped her hands in delight and all around the table were smiles and good-natured support for that suggestion. Over the years he’d found half-truths more satisfying a response when it came to marriage, rather than outright denial. “I will not live in the Russell Road home, but lease it out after repairs are completed.”
    Mr. Hartwood huffed. “Again, sir, you have beaten me to a property I wanted.”
    Walter grinned. “I assure you it was not done intentionally, but what is clear to me is that we both have excellent taste in property.”
    Mrs. Hartwood soothed her husband. “Forgive Hartwood. He’s still grumbling over losing out to you over the Forsythe house all those years ago.”
      “What’s this about the Forsythe house?” Valentine interrupted.