‘May I say how lovely you’re looking tonight, Countess?’ Stuart asked.
Madeline was still not used to the compliments which prevailed at social gatherings, but she managed to reply lightly, ‘Thank you.’
‘Philip is a lucky man.’
There was a suggestive expression on his face as he said it, as though there was more to the commonplace remark than there appeared to be, and Madeline decided to change the subject. ‘What brings you to Yorkshire?’ she asked, turning the conversation into less personal channels. ‘Some kind of business, I think you said?’
‘Oh, nothing of any importance,’ he replied vaguely. ‘Just a little property that needs attending to from time to time.’
His conversation was light and agreeable and, but for the fact he paid her rather too many compliments, she was happy to dance with him; and happy to accept his hand for a second time later in the evening, this time for a quadrille.
‘Quite the gentleman, isn’t he, Mr Letts?’ giggled the youngest Miss Diddington as she collapsed into a chair beside Madeline once the quadrille was over. ‘I was hoping he’d ask me for a waltz, but Mama says I am not allowed to dance it even if there is one.’
‘You are perhaps a little young for the waltz,’ said Madeline.
‘Oh, pooh! That’s what Mama says. Oh, look, here is the Earl come to claim you. When I am a married woman I shall waltz until my shoes drop off!’
‘Was Miss Diddington being entertaining?’ asked Philip as he claimed Madeline’s hand.
Madeline laughed. ‘She tells me that when she is a married woman she is going to waltz until her shoes fall off!’
‘A waltz. I should have thought of that,’ said Philip meditatively as he looked down into Madeline’s eyes.
‘I don’t know how to waltz,’ she admitted as they approached the floor.
‘Don’t you, indeed?’ There was a strange glow in his eyes. ‘Then I must teach you. But not here. Somewhere more private, I think.’
Taking her by the hand, he led her out of the ballroom, across the hall and into the library – the one room not being used that evening. The sound of the music and chatter faded away behind them.
‘Philip! We can’t leave our guests!’ she said as he closed the door.
‘They’ll manage very well without us for a few minutes.’ He smiled down at her. ‘First, I place my hand on your waist, so.’
He suited the action to the word, and Madeline felt a surge of heat where his hand rested.
‘Then you place your hand on my shoulder.’
She lifted her hand hesitantly and rested it on his shoulder. Through the cloth of his tailcoat she felt the hard ridge of his muscles and her fingers unconsciously ran over them, taking pleasure from their strength.
‘And then I take your other hand.’
Even through her evening glove she could feel the heat of his touch. ‘Now what happens?’ she asked, her voice low.
‘Now you trust yourself to me.’
He took a step to the side and, with his arm guiding her, she felt her feet follow his. She soon picked up the steps of the dance and began to follow more easily. They glided round the room, avoiding tables and chairs as though they did not exist. Their bodies were not touching except where their hands met, or where Philip’s hand rested on her slender waist, but the distance between them was slowly shrinking. His head lowered and her arms slipped round his neck – and a knock came at the door.
Philip cursed under his breath, stepping away from Madeline just in time as Crump, the butler, entered the room.
‘Begging you pardon, my lord. Young Cedric Neith has taken more wine than is good for him and I fear he may insult some of the ladies. I have tried to reason with him, but to no avail. I hesitated to call the footmen, my lord, for fear that, if pushed, he may start a brawl.’
‘What a puppy!’ said Philip. ‘Can his father not keep him in line?’
Crump lifted one eyebrow, and Philip understood immediately, because young Mr Neith’s father was completely ineffectual. ‘All right, Crump. I’ll come at once.’ He turned to Madeline. ‘I’m sorry, I –’
‘I understand.’ Madeline swallowed her disappointment. ‘In any case, it is time I returned to our guests.’
Philip made her a bow and then strode out of the room, Crump following behind.
Madeline gave herself a minute or two to recover. Her pulse was still fluttering and she walked over to the window to get some air. Outside, the night was cloudless. Silver stars winked and glittered in the velvet sky.
“Now you trust yourself to me”. Philip’s words rang in her ears. He had been talking about the dance, but his words had gone far deeper than that, because she realised she had trusted herself to him. She had never thought she would trust any man but, impossible as it seemed, she trusted Philip. Utterly and completely.
But then she reminded herself that she could only trust him because they were not truly married. If they were really married . . . if they were really married, what then?
It was useless to think about it. They were not really married, and they never would be. That thought, instead of filling her with relief, gave her pain.
She shook her head. It was nonsensical. How could it give her pain?
She did not know. But it did.
She turned away from the window. It was time for her to return to her guests. She had already been away too long.
Going back into the ballroom she was soon accosted by Stuart.
‘Madeline! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I want to claim your hand for the next dance.’
‘I’ve already danced with you twice,’ Madeline reminded him.
‘And why shouldn’t you make it three? You’re a married woman, not a young girl, after all.’
‘There are other young ladies . . . ’
‘They have all found partners.’
He was looking at her so hopefully that at last she relented. ‘Very well.’
He beamed in reply and offered her his arm.
‘But this must be the last time,’ she said.
Chapter Ten
‘Not again!’ Madeline exclaimed involuntarily as, looking up from her escritoire, she saw Stuart riding up to the house. In the week since the ball he had visited the Manor three times, and this was his fourth. It was not that she did not like him. He was amusing company and a good conversationalist. But he paid her too many compliments, he held on to her hand rather too long when he kissed it, and he made her feel generally ill at ease.
‘Not again?’ asked Philip from the doorway.
Madeline turned with a start. She had not heard him enter the drawing-room.
She flushed slightly. She did not want Philip to think that she did not welcome his cousin, or indeed any of his friends and relatives. It was just that there seemed to be something so particular about Stuart’s attentions. Although she was probably imagining it, she told herself. Being unused to society she did not know how dapper young gentlemen usually behaved.
‘Who is it this time?’ asked Philip, walking into the room. ‘Clarissa?’
‘Not at all,’ said Madeline. ‘I’m always pleased to see Clarissa.’
‘Then who . . . ?’ Philip began as he walked over to the window; then saw who it was for himself. ‘Ah. Stuart,’ he said.
Madeline saw him tense. Philip was a hospitable host, but Stuart had taken to visiting the Manor on some pretext or other almost every day, and staying for hours when he called. He had a lot of time on his hands, no doubt, but his behaviour was thoughtless nonetheless.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll take him into the study. I know you have a lot to do.’
In fact, the ball being over, Madeline had much less to do than previously, but she suspected that Philip wanted a quiet word with his cousin. She guessed he was going to suggest, tactfully, that Stuart should give them some warning of his visits in future rather than just turning up unexpectedly every other day. So she did
not remonstrate, and settled herself to writing her letters: one to Lady Weatherby and the other to Emma, telling them all about the ball.
Philip met Stuart outside in the hall and greeted him warmly, then suggested they retire to his study.
‘Oh!’ Stuart looked put out. ‘Madeline not at home? I just thought I’d call to pay my respects.’
‘Later,’ said Philip, polite but firm.
When he saw that Stuart was about to protest, his face took on a stern expression and Stuart raised his hand to his neck, nervously loosening his cravat. Then he accepted Philip’s invitation to join him in the study, even though it was clear he did not relish the interview, and Philip guessed that Stuart had expected to find Madeline alone.
‘Now,’ said Philip, sitting on the edge of his desk and folding his arms across his chest as Stuart settled himself in a Hepplewhite chair, ‘I think you’d better tell me what this is all about.’
Stuart looked surprised. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
‘Paying court to Lady Pemberton. That’s what I mean.’
‘Paying court? That’s a strange way of putting it,’ said Stuart with a nervous smile.
‘Dancing with her three times at the ball. Coming to the house nearly every day on some pretext or other and then paying her the most marked attention. Telling her her eyes are as deep as forest pools and her lips are as pink as a rose. And yes, I heard that,’ he said as he saw Stuart’s startled expression. ‘If you want to pay extravagant compliments to married ladies I suggest you make sure their husbands are not within hearing distance first.’
‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you were jealous,’ Stuart remarked, with a clumsy attempt at humour.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ But even as he said it Philip had a flash of self-knowledge, and no matter how ridiculous it seemed he realised that he was jealous. The thought of Madeline being courted by Stuart made his blood boil. He had watched his cousin’s clumsy attempts to win Madeline’s favour with distaste, a distaste made all the stronger by seeing Madeline’s obvious embarrassment, but he had told himself that what he felt was not jealousy, it was concern for Madeline’s happiness. But he could no longer deny it. It was the green-eyed monster.
To have her monopolised by Fitzgrey had been bad enough, but to have her pursued by Stuart, of all people. A young puppy without any of the qualities she needed to make her happy. He ignored the fact that, had Stuart possessed every virtue, he would have felt just the same.
‘I agree,’ said Stuart. ‘It is ridiculous. After all, why should you feel jealous when Madeline is not your wife?’
‘What?’ Philip fixed a penetrating glance on Stuart and pushed himself away from the desk until he stood towering over the young man. ‘What do you mean, Madeline is not my wife?’
‘Oh, you’ve no need to worry,’ said Stuart evenly, but pressing himself against the back of his chair nonetheless. Philip when roused was a magnificent sight, and clearly not one he had any wish to experience at closer quarters. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Philip.
‘You and Madeline. You’re not married at all – at least not in any real sense of the word. Your marriage is a sham to get round your father’s will. You see, I know all about it.’
Philip’s glance was hard. ‘Indeed.’
Stuart quaked as he looked at Philip’s grim face but then he recovered his nerve and continued. ‘Yes. Indeed. You see, Aunt Honoria told me everything. She said –’
‘Ah! Aunt Honoria.’ Philip’s mouth set in a line. ‘I suspected she was behind it.’
‘It was Aunt Honoria who told me the marriage was a masquerade, designed to let you collect your fortune, if that’s what you mean,’ said Stuart. ‘I can’t say I blame you, and neither does she. There’s a lot of money at stake, and it would be stupid to let it go to waste.’
‘I don’t know what Aunt Honoria told you,’ said Philip, ‘but whatever it was, I suggest you forget it. Madeline and I are man and wife, and –’
‘Oh, no, that won’t wash,’ said Stuart, pursing his lips and shaking his head. ‘You see, I saw the letter.’
‘Letter?’ Philip demanded. ‘What letter?’
‘The letter you wrote to Aunt Honoria before you went to visit her, telling her all about it. How you wanted to marry Letitia, but if you did so you’d have to forfeit the fortune. How Mr Murgo’d come up with the idea of you making a temporary marriage, and how you’d married Madeline in order to inherit the fortune. And how, at the end of six months - once you’d got your hands on the money - you intended to have the marriage annulled and marry Letitia.’
Philip sat back on his desk. ‘She showed you the letter. I never expected that.’ His eyes became hard again. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can come here making love to Madeline. What I do is my business; what Madeline does is hers. It has nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh, but it does. You see, I intend to marry Madeline - once your six months is up.’
‘You what?!’ Philip stood up, towering over his cousin once more.
Stuart almost stood up, but then he seemed to think better of it and remained seated.
‘Really, Philip,’ he said, his voice holding a peevish edge, ‘it’s not like you to play dog in the manger. You don’t want Madeline, but you’re determined I shouldn’t have her either. I can’t for the life of me see why.’
‘Aunt Honoria has a lot to answer for,’ said Philip between gritted teeth. ‘What did she mean by it?’
‘Come, come, Philip. That’s obvious enough. She was trying to help.’
‘Help! Aunt Honoria doesn’t want to help. She wants to make mischief.’
‘No.’ Stuart shook his head. ‘There you’re wrong. She’s worried about Madeline. She told me so herself. Once the marriage is annulled Madeline will have nothing left.’
‘She’ll have a handsome house and an even more handsome annuity,’ said Philip, his eyes flaring.
‘But that won’t do for a woman as young as Madeline. She’ll want a husband. A proper home. Children. A life.’
‘Take care, Stuart, you’re asking for trouble!’ said Philip, surprising himself by the strength of his feelings. ‘You come into my house, make love to my wife, and then proceed to lecture me on Madeline’s future . . . ’
‘And why shouldn’t she have a future?’ demanded Stuart. ‘And why shouldn’t that future be with me? I’m young. Personable. With no nasty habits. I’m rich enough, good looking enough. And Madeline likes me.’
‘Oh does she?’ Philip’s voice was threatening.
‘Yes. She’s always pleasant to me when I come here.’
‘Madeline is a lady,’ said Philip icily. ‘She’s pleasant to everyone.’
‘Maybe that’s so,’ retorted Stuart. ‘But she’s getting used to me. And in a few short months, when your marriage is annulled, why shouldn’t she start to think of me as a husband?’
‘You can say this, sitting here, in my house, about my wife?’ demanded Philip.
‘I can say it, sitting here, in your house, about your pretend wife,’ returned Stuart. ‘If you loved her I wouldn’t dream of saying these things and you know it. Besides, if you loved her, there wouldn’t be any point. But that isn’t the case. What is the case is that Madeline will soon need a husband; and I am in need of a wife. She is young, beautiful, intelligent, and when you have made your handsome settlement on her she will also be rich.’
‘And now you have said enough. I will not abandon Madeline to a fortune hunter. I want you out of this house right now.’ He pulled the bell. ‘Ah, Crump,’ he said when the butler answered the bell. ‘Mr Letts is leaving. Be so good as to show him out.’
Stuart gave him a glowering look but he had no choice. With a last angry glare at Philip he left the room.
And why did I behave like that? Philip asked himself as he strode over to the window. Stuart didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. And as for me accus
ing him of being a fortune hunter, he’s nothing of the kind. And what’s more, I know it.
But he knew why he had behaved like that. Underneath, he knew. And what’s more, he had known for some time. It was simply that he hadn’t wanted to admit it. But now he could deny it no longer.
He was in love with Madeline.
Yes. He was in love with her.
As he thought over the time they had spent together he realised he loved everything about her: her delectable curves; her elfin face; the way tiny hairs escaped from her chignon at the base of her neck, tempting him to kiss her soft white skin.
And more. So much more.
Her physical beauty, her innocently tantalising mannerisms, were a part of what he felt for her, but they were nowhere near the whole. Her courage and her resilience, her optimism and her determination - if her beauty aroused his admiration, it was these qualities that aroused his respect. And the depth and the complexity of her character; these were the things that bound him to her.
Such depth he had not expected to come across in one so young; nor in a woman, no matter what her age. Most women led such sheltered lives they had no need of depth or courage, intelligence or understanding. But Madeline’s life had been difficult, and had taught her lessons that the vapid and insipid young misses who irritated him would never learn.
And yet all these qualities were wrapped up with gentler features: a sense of humour that, despite the hardness of her early life, bubbled just beneath the surface; a consideration for others that had been evident on her visits to see the tenants; and an enjoyment of life that her early years had not been able to crush.
Yes, he was in love with her, no matter how young she might be. And what a fool he had been for not seeing it before.
But Letitia . . .
What a coil it was. He had been wrong to think he could marry Letitia, and yet it would not be the act of a gentleman to draw back now. But how could he not draw back? He couldn’t possibly marry Letitia now that he knew he loved Madeline.
The Six-Month Marriage Page 14
