Chapter Text
Melissa King did not have the best of prospects. She had a suitable dowry, a respectable family, and she was pretty enough. However, she also came with a big stipulation: her husband would not only have to provide for her, but also for her twin sister. Mel would not marry a man who did not let Rebecca King live with them.
With this big of an obstacle in her way, Mel should have been out looking for a husband as often as she possibly could.
She was not.
Miss Samira Mohan, Mel’s closest and perhaps only friend, was over at the Kings’ cottage for tea. The Mohans were one of the most well-to-do families in the area, and their country estate was far grander than the Kings’ cottage. Still, there were many fine things in the cottage, and the sisters had everything they needed, on account of the monthly allowance their parents sent from the family house in Bath.
The three women sat outside, gathered around a round wooden table painted white with small flower details, enjoying the warm spring sun. Samira was in a light blue dress, gathered under her bust with a few embroidered details in white. Mel was wearing one of her favorites: a soft white dress with a pattern of pink flowers. Becca sat curled up in her chair, knees pressed to her chest, in a loose white nightgown. It was one of the only pieces of clothing she found to be comfortable, and Mel rarely asked her to wear anything else. Thankfully, Samira was accepting of Becca and her quirks, so she said nothing of the nightgown, nor her bare feet, nor the way she moved her hands. It was Becca, and Samira knew it.
“Come to the soirée tonight,” Samira was saying.
“I can’t,” Mel said. More accurately, she did not want to.
“Yes, you can,” Becca objected.
“Your sister is right, Mel,” Samira said. “You can. There won’t be too many people, there will be dinner, some enjoyable conversation, perhaps some dancing. It will be calm. I am sure you will enjoy yourself.” At Mel’s raised eyebrows, she amended, “I am sure you will not hate it.”
Mel opened her mouth to argue, but Becca cut her off, “Mel, please go! And then you can tell me all about it when you come back!”
“And what about you?” Mel asked. “What will you do when I’m away?”
Becca sent Mel a look of slight hurt. “Mrs. Evans will still be here. You can go out whenever you want. You know that.”
Mel sighed, regretting what she’d said. Mrs. Evans was an extremely competent housekeeper who had learnt very well how to take care of Becca in the years they had been living in the cottage. There was no need for Mel to worry about one night away. “Yes, I know, I just–”
Samira reached out and took Mel’s hand, squeezing it. “Mel, dear, I do not mean to pressure you, but you do need to find a husband sooner rather than later. If you do not want to come to London with me for the social season — which I still think you should, mind you — then you should at least come to my family’s soirée. It will be a perfect opportunity to meet a few potential suitors!”
Becca grabbed Mel’s other hand. “You should go.”
Mel pulled both her hands away, placing them in her lap with a soft thump, knowing that she had lost the argument. “Fine!”
Though she had said yes to attending, Mel was most certain she would not enjoy the soirée. She hated practically everything about social events. She hated the dresses — they were itchy — and the people — Mel never knew how to talk to any of them — and the dancing — she always stepped on someone’s foot.
As Mel stepped into the Mohans’ ballroom, she softened a little at how beautiful it all was. A huge chandelier lit up the room, illuminating the dark wooden walls and the vines painted on the ceiling. Too many people already filled the room, but there were fewer than Mel had feared. There were many familiar faces from the local well-to-do families, as well as a few people Mel didn’t recognize, likely business associates of Samira’s father. The women were dressed in beautiful, colorful dresses, in stark contrast to the dark suits of the men. Some wore finer fashions than the rest, clearly associates from London.
“Mel!” Samira exclaimed when she saw Mel from across the room. Her friend was in a gorgeous pink dress, flowing around her ankles. A necklace glittered around her neck.
The two met in the middle, throwing their arms around each other like it had been years since they last met, and not a few hours.
“You look beautiful,” Samira said.
Mel looked down at her yellow dress. It was one of her more comfortable ones. Becca had picked it out, along with her silver necklace, white shoes and white gloves. If the world had been different, Becca would have gone to this event instead of Mel. She would have enjoyed it much more — the dresses, the lights, the dancing, everything.
“Thank you,” Mel said. “So do you.”
Samira introduced Mel to more people than she ever wanted to talk to in a day, and tried and failed to get her to talk to a gentleman who constantly scratched his beard. Mel didn’t like beards, and she kept wondering if he was itchy or just nervous.
At dinner, Mel spent most of the time engaged in a conversation with the Vicar — a man approaching 80 years who had quite clearly read nothing but the bible since his university days — about where in the human body the soul lied. The Vicar argued the heart, while Mel argued the obviously true answer of the brain. Even though the Vicar’s refusal of fact was a little irritating, Mel enjoyed conversing about something that actually interested her. She considered this a victory of the night.
Samira did not agree. After dinner, the men and women retired to separate rooms, and Samira made it very clear that she was not happy with Mel’s choice of conversation partner.
“You are supposed to try to find a husband!” Samira whispered.
She and Mel sat on a sofa in the corner of the dimly lit sitting room. The other women were scattered about on different sofas and chairs. One older woman had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. Best not to wake her, Mel supposed.
“I… I talked to Mr. … With the beard,” Mel whispered back. She scratched at the velvet texture of the sofa with her fingernails, finding the sensation grounding.
“Barely! And then you spent the entire meal speaking to the Vicar about souls!”
“Well, he was misguided, so I thought I should … correct him,” Mel said, fading off towards the end of her sentence.
Samira sighed. “I am very glad you came, Mel. But you really do need to try harder to find a husband before it is too late. For both Becca’s sake and yours.”
Mel just nodded, properly chastised. Samira wrapped an arm around her, hugging her. Saying without words that she was only trying to help.
Samira was the heir to her father’s considerable estate. The man who was supposed to inherit lived in India with the rest of the Mohan family and wanted nothing to do with England or its politics. He had therefore freely agreed to break the Mohan’s land entailment. Since Lord and Lady Mohan had no interest in having any more children, Samira was not at all in a rush to get married. The life of a spinster would actually be of benefit to her, even if it meant her parents turning in their graves once their time came.
For Mel it was different. Her and Becca were entirely dependent on the sympathies of their parents. Should her father die or that well of charity run dry, they would be left in the dust. But Mel had a substantial dowry, and Samira always invited her to social events with a plethora of potential suitors. All Mel needed to do was commit herself to the marriage mart. It was simply that, with all the work she did caring for Becca and their home, she did not have the time or energy to do much else.
Samira decided to introduce Mel to the women in the room she was yet to meet — including Victoria, a sweet woman who reminded Mel a bit of a doe. Apparently Samira had introduced Victoria to her now husband Mr. Mateo Diaz. Samira shared this information with Mel along with a meaningful look.
After conversing with more people than she normally would in a week, it was announced that it was time for dancing. As the rest of the women exited the sitting room, Mel was rooted to the spot. Her head was spinning slightly from all the introductions, and her breath felt shallow. Samira squeezed her hand.
“It would be a good idea to dance,” Samira said, with a serious tone in her voice that made Mel even more miserable.
“I know,” Mel said.
She needed to find a husband. Someone who had enough money to take care of both her and Becca, and was also kind enough to let Becca stay with her. Someone she could trust would not turn on Becca after they had gotten married, but would stay true to his word.
Of course, he would also need to like Mel, despite her … quirks.
“It is not too bad,” Samira said. “Dancing can be quite fun, actually. And at least a few of the gentlemen here are decent conversation partners. Perhaps not the one with the beard, but there are others.”
Mel snorted.
“I mean it, Mel,” Samira said softly.
Mel nodded. “I will try. I just need…”
“Take all the time you need."
Mel nodded weakly. Samira squeezed her hand once more before leaving. The sitting room felt suffocating, as if there was too little air in it. Mel hurried outside before she started hyperventilating.
As she stepped outside, Mel took in a deep breath of fresh spring air. She moved a little ways away from the door, positioning herself behind a large bush so she could not be seen from any of the windows. Then she took a few more deep breaths. One of Becca’s more understanding tutors had taught her to breathe like this. It had helped Mel a lot more than Becca, who found the grounding in her body to be uncomfortable, not soothing like Mel did.
“Are you all right?” someone asked.
Mel opened her eyes. Approaching her was a very handsome man she had likely seen at dinner but been too overwhelmed to truly register. He had soft brown hair swooped to one side, piercing blue eyes, and a very sweet smile.
“Hm?” Mel said, completely taken aback. She was not used to handsome men talking to her. Was it even allowed? They were completely alone, after all…
Perhaps it was not the best of ideas, but Mel did not want to leave just yet.
“You looked like you were in distress,” the man said. “So I just wanted to know if you were all right. But I understand if you would rather be left alone.”
Mel blinked, slowly shaking her head.
“No… what?” the man asked with an amused smile.
“I– I am all right,” Mel said, finally finding her voice. “I was just… taking a minute to calm down. I find these events to be very overwhelming.”
“Really? I find them to be exceptionally boring.”
“Well, that too,” Mel said, earning her a laugh from the man. Mel could feel herself start to blush.
“I’m Mr. Frank Langdon,” the man said.
Langdon. That name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Mel offered up her hand. “Melissa King.”
Mr. Langdon brought her gloved hand to his mouth, his lips brushing her knuckles. Mel knew she was going to be thinking about that small point of contact for the rest of the week.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss King.”
“A pleasure to meet you too.”
After letting go of her hand, Mr. Langdon gestured to the spot they were standing in. “Is it all right if I stay here?”
“You can stay,” Mel said, excitement bubbling up inside her. This was her ideal way of meeting a man: in a quiet place, without a crowd of people around her, and with time to have an actual conversation. And with no dancing.
“What do you like to do?” Mel asked, excitement making the words get ahead of her tongue, leading them to come out in a tangled, unintelligible mess.
Mr. Langdon laughed again. “What?”
“What do you like to do?” Mel asked. “In your free time.”
Mr. Langdon pondered that for a second. He grabbed a leaf from the brush, absentmindedly tearing it apart as he spoke. “I enjoy reading,” he said. “When I have the patience for it.”
“I also enjoy reading!” Mel said excitedly. “I spend most of my free time reading, to be honest.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Anything, really,” Mel said. She looked down at her hands in embarrassment when she added, “I do very much enjoy learning about–”
“The medical sciences, correct?” Mr. Langdon finished for her.
Mel looked up at him, overtaken by surprise. His eyes were lit up with interest, not disgust as happened to her most times the gentlemen she talked to realized the bubbly woman in front of them enjoyed looking at drawings of intestines.
“Y-yes,” Mel said. “How did you know?”
“I heard you talking about souls with the Vicar over dinner.” Mr. Langdon said with a laugh. “He’s a dolt.”
Mel laughed too, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I wouldn’t say that…”
“Well, I would.”
“So…” Mel could not believe this. “Are you also interested in the medical sciences?” She was terrified that he was joking, making a fool of her.
But Langdon sounded completely genuine as he said, “Yes! I find it to be very interesting. In another life, I am sure I would have been a physician.”
Mel smiled, thinking the same thing, although she knew better than to say it. “Could you not be one in this life?”
Mr. Langdon shrugged, his shoulders tense. “No.”
“Oh.” Mel looked down at her hands again, regretting her last question. Trying to move past it, she asked, “Is there anything else you like to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I attend the races from time to time.” He plucked another leaf off the bush and started tearing it apart. Was he nervous? Or bored? Or like Becca in that way of not being able to be still? “What about you? What else do you like to do?”
“Well, uhm,” Mel blushed, embarrassed. “I do not have time for much else.”
“Why not? What else takes up so much of your time?”
“Oh. Eh. Well.” Mel did not know what to say. She couldn’t tell the truth, so she landed on, “Womanly duties.”
Mr. Langdon sent her a strange look, then nodded, accepting her lie.
Mel had never gotten close enough with a man to tell him about her lifelong commitment to her sister. Even though she had often imagined that that would be her greatest challenge in finding a husband, her own personality had turned out to be a hurdle few were willing to jump over.
Perhaps Mr. Langdon would be the first one?
Mel took a step closer to him, fixing her skirt and batting her eyelashes like she’d discussed at length with Becca and Samira many times before. They both insisted Mel needed to learn how to flirt, and she knew they were right. They were very, very right.
Mr. Langdon looked at her for a moment, then cleared his throat. Mel smiled, waiting for him to ask her to dance. Of course, she didn’t like dancing, but perhaps she would not mind dancing with Mr. Langdon. Especially if it meant getting closer to gaining his favor.
“I should go,” Mr. Langdon said, gesturing to one of the carriages.
“Oh.” Mel could feel herself deflate. She didn’t even bother to hide it.
Mr. Langdon pinched his eyebrows together. “I– I am sorry, Miss King. I wish I could, I just…” He trailed off.
“I understand,” Mel said, because she did. This was not unusual. The unusual thing was that she had even gotten this far in the first place. “I hope you have a lovely night, Mr. Langdon.”
Mr. Langdon opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. He gave her a slight bow. “The same to you, Miss King.”
And then he was gone.
Mel departed the soirée early, though still barely made it home before midnight. Becca, however, was still up eagerly awaiting details from the event. For once, Mel actually had something to tell, even if it weren’t the most exciting of news. With a mix of hope and melancholy, Mel told Becca about handsome Mr. Langdon, how they had chatted, and then how he had left without asking her to dance.
This confused Becca, just as it had confused Mel. “Why did he leave?”
“I do not know,” Mel said miserably.
“Did it seem like he liked you?” Becca asked, rocking back and forth on Mel’s bed.
Mel, who sat beside her sister, running her hands through her hair to calm herself down, felt a sad sigh escape her. “I thought it seemed so, but apparently not.”
“You don’t know that,” Becca insisted. “He could have left because he was tired, or embarrassed, or hungry, or–”
“I think he just did not like me, Becca.”
Becca frowned. “I don’t understand why. You are so wonderful.”
Mel wanted to cry. She could list a million reasons why someone would not like her, but she knew Becca would not agree with any of them. She had tried before.
“It is best not to think too much about it,” Mel concluded. “I will find another man who does want to dance with me.”
Becca smiled. “Yes, you will!”
Two days later, Samira visited for tea at the Kings’ cottage. After weeks of trying to persuade Mel to join her for the social season in London, it was clear that this was her final plea. First, though, Samira clearly felt the need to chastise Mel for not speaking to a single man at the soirée after she came back inside.
“I did speak to a man!” Mel objected. She thought of blue eyes and lips against her knuckles.
“Who?” Samira demanded.
She and Mel sat on a wrought iron bench in the garden. A willow tree swayed in front of them, and flowers bloomed beneath their feet. Mel wished she could focus on that and not the torture that was husband hunting.
“A- a Mr. Langdon,” Mel stammered, still slightly embarrassed about her interaction with the gentleman at the soirée.
Samira’s eyes grew wide. “Do you mean Lord Langdon? Lord Frank Langdon?”
“Lord? He didn’t say–” Mel paused. He had not introduced himself as a lord — he had called himself mister. Why on Earth had he done that? “Is he…?”
“In very high standing?” Samira filled in. “Yes, he is.” She leaned in closer, adding, “The Langdon estate makes £7000 a year, not to mention his sizable inheritance.”
Mel looked down, pushing at a small yellow flower with the tip of her shoe, blushing with embarrassment. “I suppose that is why he did not want to dance with me.”
“Perhaps,” Samira said, studying Mel. “I will say, he and I have attended many of the same events, since he and my father are business partners, and I have not seen him dance. Not a single time.”
“Maybe he also does not like it,” Mel whispered to herself with a small smile.
“What?” Samira asked.
“Nothing,” Mel said. “Samira, I do appreciate you trying to find me a husband, but… I think London will be far too overwhelming for me.”
“Mel, my darling friend,” Samira said, taking both of Mel’s hands in hers. “I understand. But you need to find a husband. Join me for one season. Just one. Perhaps that is all you will need, and then you and Becca will be provided for for life. Is that not what you want?”
Mel chewed on her lip. It was what she wanted, more than anything in the world. She had hoped that a man would just fall into her lap, but that clearly would not happen. She had had one perfect conversation with a seemingly perfect man, and he had abruptly left the moment she had even hinted at spending more time together.
“Lord Langdon will be in London,” Samira added teasingly.
Mel felt herself blush. She sighed. “... All right. I will come with you to London.”