Miss Merton's Last Hope by Heather Boyd Page B

“Believe me, if I had a bigger home that was unoccupied, I would have offered that instead and not have the worry of whether everyone would fit inside. Mr. Clemens was well known to my father, and a good man he was too.”
    He caught Melanie’s elbow out of habit and guided her up the short flight of stairs ahead of the vicar before he realized what he was doing. He was supposed to be angry with her, but in the face of such rudeness, he couldn’t seem to suppress his protective instincts around her.
    He dropped her arm at the door when he realized she hadn’t eased away from him on her own. She remained close enough that, when he inhaled, the jasmine perfume she often wore filled his lungs. It was a pleasant scent. A subtle fragrance he’d always associated with the woman.
    Much like the knowledge that she would only marry a man who’d made something of himself.
    Except that wasn’t to be either.
    He steeled his heart against that disappointment and unlocked the house using his key.
    Inside, the property was a good deal cooler than outside. He kept his hat in his hands and overcoat on to ward off the chill. Melanie, dressed in a light wool coat, rubbed her arms briskly while she inspected the lower floor of the property and then disappeared upstairs, clutching her garments around her as if she were chilled through.
    She’ll need a thicker coat for winter.
    “What am I doing?” he muttered to himself. He glanced down. For heaven’s sake, the woman can take care of herself. She doesn’t even want a man in her life; much less have me fussing over her. Let it go!
    He nodded and then checked the quality of work on the rear windows. By the time he was done with his inspection, so was she.
    Her firm nod of approval brought relief. “They’ll manage well enough here. Have the chimney’s been swept in recent time? A good fire will warm up the space enough that they will be very cozy indeed.”
    He glanced around. “That is what I hoped for too, so the sweeps were here last week.”
    She stopped at his side, a little behind him, as the vicar approached. “Well, this is quite a fine house for the widow until she remarries,” the vicar enthused.
    “I doubt she will ever remarry. Mrs. Clemens loved her husband dearly and keenly feels his loss.” He expected the family to need support for some time to come, at least until the elder children found work. “It will suit for the winter and then in the spring, we will see what else can be done.”
    He gestured for Melanie to precede him from the house and she hurried away from the vicar and his dark scowls.
    The vicar held him back when he would have followed. “I do not like the way that woman constantly sticks her nose where it is not wanted.”
    Melanie’s interest in those less fortunate than herself was one of the few things Walter had always liked about her. Despite her haughtiness, she was always very willing to show kindness to widows and children. More than one little girl in Brighton wore a pretty new smock embellished with Melanie’s stitches. He couldn’t understand why she would not want to have her own offspring to spoil. “Is that so?”
    “Indeed. She’s hardly the sort to set a good example, the way she taunts proper gentlemen.” The vicar glanced toward the door. “She should be minding a husband’s concerns by her age.”
    “Pease!” Walter warned in a low voice. “You are aware that Miss Merton is my neighbor, and my friend’s sister, are you not?”
    “Yes, well, I don’t doubt that places you at a disadvantage.” Pease grimaced. “But a man must be free to speak his mind. I’m sure it will be impossible to send her away.”
    “Indeed it would be, since I have no wish to do so. Any gossip you may have heard of her is completely false and a product of a small minded and petty individual I assure you.” Walter scowled and ushered him to the door so he could lock the house. “Do not feel you must accompany us to see Mrs. Clemens. Good