by Valerie King
Madeline stared at her father as though she had never known him before. “You speak with such conviction and such confidence. Papa, what has happened to you? I vow I have never seen you this way before.”
“Are you displeased?”
“Not in the least. Indeed, your strength of spirit has quite restored me. Well, a little, anyway. But I hope all will be well.”
He slipped his arm about her shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then rose to his feet. After clearing his throat and frowning slightly, he said, “I shan’t be home for dinner this evening. I have an engagement.”
Madeline smiled. “This sounds rather intriguing? May I inquire with whom?” She sought about in her mind for several unattached ladies, whether in Chilchester or the surrounding villages, whom her father might be courting, but no one in particular came to mind.
“No, you may not, puss,” he said, smiling in a naughty fashion as he chucked her chin. “I shall merely say that I will be in Elsbourne for the evening.”
“Elsbourne? But that is nearly ten miles distant.”
“So it is,” he responded cheerfully. Without another remark, he sauntered away.
She lifted a hand, remembering she had meant to ask him about the brood mare he was reputedly purchasing from Mr. Calvert, but by then he was too far away. Besides, the moment seemed to have passed anyway.
~ ~ ~
“And where, might I ask, is Lord Anthony?”
Sir Roger frowned slightly at the plump form of Mrs. Rockingham, who had taken great pains to call on him this afternoon. He still could not credit that she had actually come to Pelworthy after he had created such a horrid spectacle at her picnic two days past, nor that she seemed not the least bit overset in any other manner than in the fact that Lord Anthony was not present to greet her as well.
She settled herself in a comfortable chair near the fireplace and, snapping her fingers, brought Peaches leaping swiftly onto her lap.
Sir Roger eyed first the little dog, then his own Churchill, who sat on his haunches not three feet away, his tongue lolling. He seemed to be wearing a quite amorous expression on his canine face as he watched the female make herself comfortable on Mrs. Rockingham’s ample form. “He is in Chilchester, ma’am, visiting his tailor,” he responded at last. “He has, I fear, a number of pockets that require mending.”
“Cannot his valet manage the business?” she asked brusquely.
Sir Roger chuckled. “I fear not. The damage is too great.”
“I take it your Churchill was the cause?”
“Just so.”
She shook her head vigorously several times. “I cannot think what he was doing provoking Peaches as he was at my picnic. The man has no sense at all.”
“No, ma’am, he does not.”
“Ah, just as I suspected. Well, well, you are a good man to have befriended him.”
“Nonsense. What Lord Anthony lacks in sense he more than makes up for in sweetness of disposition and kindness. He is the best friend I have ever had.”
Mrs. Rockingham smiled crookedly and then she began to chuckle. “I shall never forget how he rounded the maze and, without comprehending even a mite of what was going forward, lifted Captain Bladen to his feet. I have awakened in the middle of the night only to laugh at the recollection.”
When he remained silent, she asked, “Did you chance to speak with Mr. Rockingham on Saturday, engage him conversation?”
“Aye, ma’am. He is a very knowledgeable gentleman, on many subjects. I was quite impressed with him.”
“As he was with you, which is in part the reason that I am here. He insisted I come, despite your conduct on Saturday, which I agreed to, because what was said to you was so very unforgivable that I can hardly bear to think of it without the greatest shame.”
“You have no reason to be ashamed,” he said. “You did not speak the words.”
“No, but I did nothing to foster a more accepting manner toward you. In that, I consider myself culpable and can only be grateful that it was not Harris who so badly offended you. Indeed, though dueling has long been outlawed, I would not have been in the least surprised had you challenged Captain Bladen as he lay at your feet.”
“As to that,” he said, smiling, “I would never issue a challenge to a man so deeply in his cups, if you will forgive the expression. I knew him to be foxed and responded in what was the quickest and best means of putting an end to his insults.”
“So you did,” she responded. “Well, well, best it is all forgiven and forgotten. May I rely on you not to take this matter further?”
“You mean, not to engage your son in a duel for his part?”
She sighed heavily. “Precisely. Georgiana Bladen told me of your reputation as one of the finest shots to have practiced at Manton’s in London. Indeed, I believe you hold several records there. For that reason, I hope you will take Harris’s age into consideration.”
“I will, if you will listen to a suggestion.”
At that, he saw her bristle, but waited until she nodded her acquiescence.
“A pair of colors, ma’am, would do the boy a world of good. Have you not noticed that he is perpetually holding an imaginary sword hilt?”
“It is the greatest annoyance, and no amount of correction on my part could break him of the habit. As for a pair of colors, I have no interest in that subject at all.”
“What does your husband say?”
At that, she narrowed her eyes. “There is something else I would discuss with you,” she said, giving the subject a hard turn, a rebuff he accepted without batting an eye. “I wonder if I might see some of the documents you referred to at the picnic—or were you merely attempting to turn me up sweet with a whisker or two about just how you have been managing your repairs here at Pelworthy?”
“I am not a stupid man,” he said, smiling. “I would never tell you a lie about which I could so easily be found out. Though I can see now why you paid this call without the smallest warning of your intentions.”
“And I am not a stupid woman,” she responded, lifting an imperious eyebrow. “The documents, if you please, Sir Roger.”
He excused himself and, after ordering peach ratafia for his guest, which he knew she preferred, he went to the room located in the north curtain wall which housed the architectural plans. Also contained within were the various archival letters that he had gathered over the past year since his purchase of Pelworthy and which contained numerous references to the castle. Upon returning to the drawing room, he bid Mrs. Rockingham join him at a central round table and began laying out the letters and original plans. She settled Peaches on the floor and joined him directly.
He was surprised by how quickly Mrs. Rockingham became engrossed in the various papers. He brought forward a chair for her, settling it close to the table, and watched as the older woman seated herself in a slow manner, her gaze fixed to a yellowed parchment. He then retrieved her glass of ratafia and settled it at her elbow.
After half an hour of reading and perusing, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes misted. “Where did you get so many wonderful letters and architectural renderings? Really, it is quite amazing.”
By now he was seated in his own chair and sipping a glass of sherry. “You approve, then?” he queried, smiling.
“You know I do. But how? Where?”
He had never thought he could warm to the lady before him, but he did so now. “When I settled upon purchasing Pelworthy, and relieving who I now understand is a cousin of yours of his considerable, er, embarrassments, I also contacted the British Museum, as well as Oxford and Cambridge Universities. All three establishments were diligent in researching what documentation they could concerning the history of Pelworthy and obligingly forwarded such papers to me, though I must admit I did pay a rather large sum for them.”
She chortled. “Annuities.”
“At the very least.”
“Well, well, then I am glad you have come to Chilchester, though I suspect you never
thought to hear me say so. I knew Sylvester was in dun territory—”
“Again, to say the least—”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment of this truth. “And since it would seem your purpose in purchasing the castle was with so evident a design to do what is right by Pelworthy, then I lift my glass to you.”
He accepted the accolade and partook of his sherry as she sipped her ratafia.
She fingered a nearby document and shook her head. “I suppose it is only natural. Nothing remains fixed and settled, even though we strive so diligently to preserve things the way we believe they ought to be preserved. You must forgive us, Sir Roger. Our little neighborhood does not easily accept anything new or different.”
“So it would seem.”
“But Madeline will be of great use to you, see if she won’t.” When he smiled perfunctorily, she leaned forward in her chair slightly. “Why so downcast? You cannot be regretting our dear Madeline?”
“The shoe, I fear, is on the other foot, and I am not at all convinced for that reason that we would suit.”
She pierced him with her knowing stare, her brown eyes sparkling. “She offended you. No, I beg you will not protest. I can see it in every line of your exceedingly handsome face. I recommend, however, that you pay no heed to it. She’ll come about. You’ll see.”
“I have my doubts, ma’am, if you will forgive my contradicting you.”
She merely grunted in response, then took to examining the documents once more.
Sir Roger rose from his seat and, with glass in hand, took a leisurely stroll about the tall, expansive chamber which he knew had once been used as an audience room by Henry VIII. It was one of the few decent chambers to have remained intact after decades of neglect and he had had it fashioned into his principal receiving room. He sipped his sherry, and after a time his thoughts turned to Madeline. As always, his first recollection was of standing before her near the Roman tower in the center of Mrs. Rockingham’s maze and being wholly unable to restrain himself from taking her in his arms.
He turned away from the round table and moved to a window overlooking the keep. He truly believed that had he not kissed her as he had and had she not responded as though she had always belonged to him, he would not have been so upset by her subsequent expression of honor and distaste when he had asked her if she could love a Scot. He shook his head while at the window, still unable to credit that the experience had even happened. He had kissed her before, so it was not as though he was unprepared, but something occurred in that moment which he still could not quite comprehend.
He had felt as one with her, as though in the mysterious ways of life, she had simply come back to him from having been gone on a long voyage. Everything about kissing her had felt ancient and familiar, yet like nothing he had ever before experienced. How was that possible? What did it mean? He had never known such simple happiness in all his existence.
So when he drew back and asked her if she could love a Scot, he had meant the question most sincerely, but had expected a completely opposite response. He had expected her to gush over him, to ply her own kisses over his face, to say, ‘With all my heart, my beloved Roger.’ Instead, would he ever be able to forget the cold revulsion on her beautiful face?
He thought not.
“You make too much of Madeline’s bewilderment,” Mrs. Rockingham called out.
He turned slightly and saw that she was watching him with a sympathetic smile on her face.
“Trust me in this,” she added. “She will come about. Oh, and I do believe that Lord Anthony is returned, for Churchill has moved to the doorway.”
Sir Roger turned around and saw his dog seated in an alert position, ears forward, his tail wagging happily with future prospects. He was soon joined in his vigilance.
“Do but look,” Sir Roger called out, gesturing to the doorway.
Mrs. Rockingham glanced in the direction of Churchill and chortled again. “I have never known Peaches to take to another dog as she has to yours. I believe it to be an omen, and a good one at that.”
“Not for Lord Anthony, if I apprehend the matter.”
Lord Anthony, however, had tricked Churchill, and arrived stealthily at the opposite end of the chamber. “Where is your dog, Roger?” he asked, whispering, for from his vantage point, he could not see Churchill.
However, he should not have spoken, for both Churchill and Peaches, once having heard his voice, bolted in his direction. Hearing the scattered clicks of their combined nails on the stone floor, he uttered a cry and disappeared down the hall. The dogs followed swiftly after.
Mrs. Rockingham, holding two letters on her lap, lifted her brows. “I still do not understand why he plays such games with either of the dogs. He will wear them out.”
“I fear it is worse than you know. He is afraid of them.”
“Afraid of them? What nonsense is this, when my poor Peaches has never hurt a single creature in her entire life?”
“There is no understanding it at all, ma’am.”
~ ~ ~
On Tuesday, Madeline received an enormous bouquet of flowers with Sir Roger’s card inscribed with, Forgive me, R. She sat for a long time on the edge of her bed, staring at the card and thinking that it was absolutely perfect, for no lengthy explanation of his conduct could ever suffice to make her happy about what had happened at Mrs. Rockingham’s, and yet a complete absence of any form of atonement would have been quite beyond the pale.
She could only chuckle as she turned the card over and over in her hands. Had these been Sir Roger’s thoughts as well?
She was just tidying the last few curls about her face and thinking that she would probably never wear her braids again, when a scratching sounded at her door.
“Come,” she called out.
A maidservant appeared in the open doorway. “Beg your pardon, ma’am, but Lady Bladen is come to call. Shall I show her to the drawing room?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. I shall be down directly.”
A few minutes later, she found Georgiana seated on a sofa of pink silk damask, examining a nearby embroidery hoop.
“Good morning. How nice to see you. I had thought you would have returned to Somerset by now.”
“On no account. Once having escaped, I meant to enjoy a little holiday and will be staying through my mother’s fete. Mama, of course, would not forgive me otherwise.”
“Of course.”
“This is a lovely pheasant. Charity’s work?”
“Indeed,” she said, taking up a seat opposite her. “Is not her work perfection?”
“I must say it is, and though I fancy myself an accomplished needlewoman, her efforts quite put me to the blush.”
“I shall relay your compliment to her, but what brings you here this morning? Your mama cannot like having you far from her side.”
“No, she does not. She is quite attached to me and has never really forgiven me for having tumbled in love with Sir William.”
“She cannot have any true objection to him.”
Georgiana chuckled. “Only his holding his land in Somerset.”
“Of course.”
Georgiana then shifted her attention to Madeline. “So how do you fare after Saturday’s excitement?”
Madeline shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. In truth, I have not allowed myself to dwell on it overly much, and therefore I still do not know what I ought to do next to make things right. I imagine your mama has waxed long on Sir Roger’s iniquities.”
“Nearly as long as she has concerning my brother-in-law’s conduct. Really Madeline, what he said to Sir Roger was shocking. I for one cannot blame him at all for responding as he did. Richard deserved far worse than a blow to his chin, of that I am convinced. If Mrs. Rockingham chose to invite Sir Roger to her picnic, then there was no cause for anyone to have the smallest objection to his presence, whatever their private opinions.”
“That is all very well and good, but Sir Roger lost his temper. That,
I think is equally as unforgivable.”
“Mama quite agrees with you, but for myself, I approve of Sir Roger’s conduct. I think there is to a degree a certain hypocrisy in our society about such matters and I would like to see a more direct, more honest resolution to such conflicts. Believe me, Richard will think twice before ever challenging another man in such a fashion again. If we are to speak of tempers, Captain Bladen’s is quite horrid.”
“Indeed?” Madeline was surprised to hear her say as much. To her, he had always been a perfect gentleman.
Georgiana nodded. “I know that he has been a favorite of yours for some time, but I must confess I have worried incessantly that you would accept an offer of marriage from him. I fear he is not all that he appears to be.”
Madeline was shocked, but felt that given Georgiana’s close association with that family through her marriage to Captain Bladen’s elder brother, she was privy to a much deeper knowledge of his character than most of the ladies of her acquaintance. “I do not know how it was,” she said, “but my heart could not truly warm to him.”
“Not as it has to Sir Roger?”
Madeline felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “I do not understand how you have drawn such a conclusion,” she said, even though her father bad already said something similar to her.
Georgiana grinned and tossed her head. Laughter bubbled in the air. “Oh, my dear Maddy, if you could but once see your face when you look at him. It is as though you are seeing into another world entirely, to which you desire more than anything to belong. I believe you are beginning—now, do not take a pet.—to love him.”
Madeline pressed a hand to her stomach. She felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. “Am I?” she asked, feeling hopelessly confused. “But that would be such an impossibility. You can have no notion.”
“But why?” her friend said.
Madeline stared at her. “Because of his heritage, of course.”
“Oh, pooh,” she returned with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What nonsense is this? These are modern times, Maddy. All that unfortunate history is forgot between our peoples. Clearly his mother had already come to that conclusion, being English.”
