by Valerie King
“It is not so simple for me.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“Because I hear my mother’s voice in my head, her strictures on the subject of marriage and what I owe to our lineage.”
“Though my own mother’s beliefs are not dissimilar, our generation, yours and mine, has a greater responsibility here.”
“And what would that be?” she asked, hoping against hope that her friend might present an argument that would help relieve her of her distress on the subject.
“To our hearts, of course. I have never told anyone this, but when I was in London several years past, the Marquess of Saye made me an offer of marriage. He was young, handsome, a gentleman of good fortune, but my heart was not touched in the least. Mama was beside herself that I insisted upon refusing him, but there was nothing for it. I was in love with William, and I have never regretted for one moment refusing Lord Saye.”
Madeline found herself dumbstruck. “You refused a marquess?” she asked. What her own mother would have said on this subject, even though it was quite different from the heinous notion of marrying a Scot, would have resounded through the halls of Fairlight for a full twelve month. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “And had William been Scottish, or even Irish, I would have married him regardless.”
Madeline grew quiet for a long moment as she pondered her friend’s revelations. She appreciated her openness as well as her opinions, but she still could not escape the nagging sensation that in either wedding or in possibly developing an affection for Sir Roger, she was committing a most disloyal offense.
She pressed her hand to her forehead. “In truth, what my sentiments toward Sir Roger may or may not be are not my first consideration, as you may recall.”
“That’s right,” Georgiana murmured. “Your father’s debts.”
“Why do you smile in that manner?” she asked, suspicious suddenly.
Georgiana giggled. “It is nothing. I always liked your father. He could be such a devilish creature at times. I remember once when I had come to visit you, he hid my muff and told me if I wished for it I would have to find it. Do you remember? I walked all over Fairlight and finally found it under a cushion in the drawing room.”
Madeline shook her head. “He can be amusing and charming and quite annoying all at the same time, but for the present, I am quite put out with him for having placed me in this wretched predicament.”
Georgiana rose to her feet. “Wretched, indeed,” she said facetiously, as she began preparing to take her leave. “You are being courted by a very handsome gentleman, to whom you are not the least indifferent, who has more guineas than Golden Ball Hughes—”
“Golden Ball Hughes? That’s impossible.”
“Well, very nearly as much?”
“Wealthy, indeed,” Madeline murmured, awestruck. “I had no notion.”
“And he is head over ears in love with you.”
“He is not.”
“Now who is speaking nonsense?”
Madeline doubted quite sincerely that Sir Roger had any such depth of sentiment toward her. Regardless, however, of the state of either of their respective hearts, she still had to somehow finagle an invitation to Georgiana’s mother’s fete in four day’s time.
“Now what has wrinkled your forehead?” Georgiana asked.
“I have told you of Sir Roger’s conditions to the marriage, but the only means by which I believe I will have even the smallest chance of getting an invitation to Lady Cottingford’s harvest ball is by making the introductions at your mother’s fete. Only how will I ever get your dear parent to grant such a favor?”
“I have not the smallest notion,” Georgiana responded. “But come. I must away, or she will come the crab when I return to Hambledon Court. Walk me to your door?”
“Of course.” Madeline rose, caught up her friend’s arm in her own, and strolled with her into the entrance hall.
“I promise I shall do what I can,” Georgiana said, “to encourage Mama to relent in inviting Sir Roger to the ball. Perhaps you could bring him to call. I believe he might be able to charm my mother if given the chance. Say tomorrow for nuncheon? I shall pretend I forgot that I asked him to join us, but I will have already made arrangements with Cook. Will that do?”
Madeline felt tears spring to her eyes. “Thank you,” she gushed. “Yes, that will do famously, as well you know.”
“Tomorrow at noon for nuncheon, then,” she kissed Madeline’s cheek and was gone.
Madeline closed the door, a relief so profound sweeping over her that for a very long moment she felt dizzy again. Regaining her balance, she immediately penned a note to Sir Roger and had a footman deliver it post haste. An hour later, she received a response of acceptance.
I shall call for you at half past ten o’clock, which should give us ample time to arrive at Hambledon Court at the appropriate hour.
R.M.
Madeline smiled as she read the missive for the third time. At least he was punctual. At least she could rely on him in that. Now if only he could learn to manage his temper.
***
Chapter Ten
The next day, Madeline sat beside Sir Roger within the elegant confines of his crested traveling coach. Though the roads were well tended with gravel and the vehicle nicely sprung, she could not be at ease. She did not know what to say to him, how to begin an impossible apology, or whether such an attempt ought even to be made. She found her tongue to be utterly immobile, the silence within the conveyance disrupted only by the patter of a summer shower on the roof of the coach.
The first part of the four-mile journey had therefore been accomplished in silence.
Finally, when she could bear the situation not a moment longer she turned toward him. “Sir Roger,” she began, her hands trembling.
He shifted an appraising gaze to her, his blue eyes speculative but not unkind, as he waited for her to speak.
She drew in a deep breath. “I feel I must apologize for what happened on Saturday last.”
“I see.” A frown split his brow. “Are you referring specifically to having begged for a kiss from me—or something else, perhaps?”
She tried to read his expression, but could not, at least not entirely. One aspect of it was clear. “You are angry,” she said.
“Yes, a little. Of course.”
“You have every right to be. I behaved abominably, and for that I do most sincerely beg your pardon.”
“This will not do,” he responded. “I must know in some explicitness to what you refer.”
She felt deeply ashamed. “For having asked for your kisses and, once having taken delight in them, to have allowed my prejudices to have surmounted everything. It was wrong of me.”
He was silent, searching her eyes carefully. “You acknowledge only that you regret your prejudice having surmounted the moment, but do you feel any remorse where your beliefs are concerned?”
She had known him to be an intelligent man, but in this moment she realized he was a great deal more perceptive than made her in the least comfortable. “I wish you might understand, Sir Roger. I was taught so very differently concerning our respective lineages that from the first I have struggled to accept that I will not be able to honor my mother’s wishes and wed an Englishman. As for Saturday, in that moment when you asked me if I could love a Scot, I was reminded not only of your heritage but of the whole of my situation as well, of my father’s enormous debts, of my pursuit of your fortune, which is utterly abhorrent to me, and of having to face the dragons of Chilchester one after the other. That I reacted far too strongly—indeed, so very badly—I am mortified when I think of it. Everything about our arrangement is repugnant to me.”
He turned away, his jaw working strongly.
She continued. “I realize you have every right to think ill of me, certainly to end our agreement this very moment if you desire. But I hope you will instead be patient with me, particularly since I have known of my father’s distress
ing circumstances for scarcely a fortnight. I beg you will believe that I am attempting, with my whole heart, to come quickly to terms with all that is required of me in this situation.”
He glanced at her, eyeing her thoughtfully for a long moment. A smile touched his lips. “Just how long, might I ask, have you been preparing that speech?”
She smiled ruefully in return. “Since Saturday. It has undergone at least a hundred revisions and still it does not seem in the smallest way adequate for the offense I have given.”
He took sudden possession of her hand and lifted her gloved fingers to his lips. “Ours is a difficult and unusual courtship. We have both made it so for our respective and frequently unworthy reasons. You have been honest with me, I will grant you that much, and if you have spoken truly, then I suppose I must grant you the favor of patience. Though I am, as you know, a rather impatient, hasty, quarrelsome fellow. But I will do so upon the condition, however, that you forgive me for planting Captain Bladen what I have come to understand was a damaging facer.”
At that, she shook her head. “Though I was horrified to learn what he had said to you, I beg you will understand how seriously our local hostesses take these matters. Lady Hambledon will not forgive you so easily.”
“But will you?”
“The point is moot if Lady Hambledon does not, for if we do not garner her blessing today, you will not be invited to the fete. And then there will be not the smallest opportunity of making Lady Cottingford’s acquaintance.”
“You have not answered my question.” He still held her hand tightly, a circumstance that was causing her heart to increase its cadence. She felt by this gesture he was expressing his claim on her. Oddly, she found she rather liked it.
“As to that, I hope you will endeavor to gain command of your temper. Of course I can forgive you, I must forgive you. But if we are to be husband and wife, I would be very unhappy to always be fretting for fear that someone should say the wrong thing to you and you would be unable to keep from entering into a bout of fisticuffs.”
“I was wrong to have struck Captain Bladen. I admit it freely. It would be of equal value, however, if the neighborhood in general learned not to insult my mother or my father’s name. I know I cannot promise perfect acquiescence in this, Madeline, but I will do my best.”
Madeline thought that never had two people forgiven with such restraint nor promised better conduct with less certainty or enthusiasm than she and Sir Roger Mathieson. She chuckled.
“Why do you laugh?” he asked, his fingers flexing about hers.
“Because we neither of us have granted the other a great deal.”
He laughed as well. “No, I suppose we have not.” He then shifted toward her sufficiently to catch her gaze once more. “In truth, Madeline, I would have ended our secret betrothal entirely on Saturday had I not been so completely bowled over by the kiss we shared. I am still not persuaded we shall suit, not in the least, but I could not entirely relinquish all hope after having held you in my arms as I did.”
“Indeed?” she queried, not understanding him precisely. “You place so much importance, then, upon a kiss?”
“Not just any kiss. That kiss.”
She felt a blush climb her cheeks. She recalled the moment vividly, as she had innumerable times since Mrs. Rockingham’s picnic. She doubted that as long as she drew breath she would ever be able to forget it. She still grew quite dizzy when she dwelled for even a minute or two on how extraordinary it had been. Yet not once had she thought it a proper basis for a marriage.
When she remained silent, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “The kiss was passionate, wholly and unutterably. I have never before experienced anything of the like. You astonished me, which was what caused me to ask you if you could love a Scot. If I were to ascertain the answer to that question by how you kissed me in return, then I would have said you already did love me.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Because of a kiss alone you presumed I loved you?”
His smile was crooked. “No, I was simply hopeful that you had developed some measure of affection for me. How do you account for the kiss, if not love or affection?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. I had not considered the matter before, save that you are quite handsome and for some reason when I am near you my heart tends to race. But I had thought this was merely some bizarre animal sensation.”
“It is,” he whispered, leaning into her, his breath drifting over her cheek. He smelled of shaving soap and she nearly lost her own breath entirely . . . again.
“But such sensations often prove transitory and deceiving,” she answered hastily, afraid of what she was feeling.
“Perhaps.” She felt his lips touch her skin. Her eyes closed of their own volition. She was back in the maze, her body pressed tightly against his. Oh, dear, this would not do.
When she tried to draw away, he caught her opposite shoulder and turned her toward him, holding her gaze fiercely. “There is great passion in you, Madeline. I have felt it from the first, from that very day I found you on my property February last. I cannot explain it, but never
has a lady hidden such passion more assiduously than you. Only you need not any longer, because I am here now, willing to hold you, to kiss you, to husband you.”
His words felt like warm water all over her skin as though she was sinking down into a spring that bubbled from the hot depths of the earth. She wanted him to say more, but the subject disturbed her. She wanted to think clearly about these matters and not just respond physically. “What are you suggesting?” she asked. “Would a passionate embrace, a kiss, a marital bed be sufficient for you? You have expressed your doubts today of our ability to make one another happy. How could a kiss, then, change that?”
“Not change,” he responded. “Reveal. That is what I hope. That somewhere couched in the sweetness of your lips is a truth about you not yet revealed that might be the undoing of my heart.”
She realized she loved the way he spoke of these things. “A revelation.”
He nodded. “As much for you as for me. Let these things speak to you as well, Madeline. Do not dismiss the passionate nature of our kisses as being representative of only one facet of our beings. Rather, if you will, allow that these experiences might be gateways to something greater, in every respect, between us. If I have hope, that is the basis for my hope.”
“I will allow it,” she responded.
“Good,” he said, a slow smile stealing over his face. “I would kiss you again, even now, had we not just turned down the drive to Hambledon.”
“We are arrived?” she asked, glancing about her.
“So it would seem.”
“How did the time disappear?”
“It always seems to, quite inexplicably, when we are together.”
~ ~ ~
Hambledon Court sat majestically on a swell of ground in the center of a vast park. Of all the local manors, Madeline had always felt that Hambledon shone most brightly in the simplicity of its landscaping, which had all the hallmarks of Capability Brown’s inspired hand. The park appeared as though it had always meant to enhance the manor, with scattered lakes, stone bridges, and large, elegant trees all placed to give the most natural appearance possible, yet she knew that the immediate grounds had seen an entire renovation some ten years past, including the difficult relocation of several large, established trees. The effect was truly sublime.
Once within the manor, the decor felt ancient, warm and familiar, like comfortable half boots that served the feet year after year, requiring mending perhaps, but always fitting to perfection. Georgiana swept into the entrance hall, greeting them both with her gentle but effusive welcome. Madeline was exceedingly grateful for this attention, since she had no way of knowing precisely how Lady Hambledon or her husband would respond to Sir Roger’s presence in their home.
Once in the drawing room, decorated en suite in blue silk damask, Madeline comprehended the lay of the land qui
te clearly. Lady Hambledon offered a stiff nod of her head, while Lord Hambledon came forward and shook Sir Roger’s hand warmly. Madeline breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever her ladyship’s displeasure, it did not extend to her husband. Half the battle was won already.
She made the introductions, since Sir Roger had not been properly introduced to Lady Hambledon. He bowed. Again, she offered him a slight inclination of her head. She had not been a leading hostess of Chilchester valley for nigh on two decades without having learned a thing or two. Lord Hambledon poured a glass of sherry and shoved it with enthusiasm into Roger’s hand. Madeline accepted a cup of tea gratefully.
Lady Hambledon swung a graceful arm to her right. “I thank you for the flowers, Sir Roger. A very thoughtful gesture.”
Sir Roger smiled faintly. “A necessary one, my lady, since my conduct on Saturday had the unforgivable result of placing you in dreadful proximity to Captain Bladen. For that, I am truly sorry.”
She narrowed her soft brown eyes and met his gaze unflinchingly. She was a petite woman, but what she lacked in height she made up for in strength of spirit. More than one unheeding person had mistaken her stature for a measure of her determination and ability and had paid for it severely. Madeline watched over the rim of her teacup to see if Sir Roger would be so foolish. She found that her heart was hammering nervously against her ribs.
Sir Roger, however, would not be foolish today, it would seem. There was no arrogance in his manner, nor did he begin babbling in a foolish fashion. He politely waited for her to speak, manners Madeline knew Lady Hambledon would appreciate completely.
Finally, her ladyship said, “Had I not actually been present and heard for myself in what manner you were so sorely provoked, you would not be here today. I do not countenance gaming hell manners in the fine salons and beautiful grounds of our neighborhood families. Everything that we do Sir Roger, from our gracious attitude one to another, is meant to set an example for the next generation, which leads me as well to say this, you did very right in taking some of the children under your wing. These picnics in which even the youngest of our members are permitted to frolic are meant for just these purposes, to instruct in the midst of gaiety. Fortunately, there were no children present at the time of Captain Bladen’s assault on your parentage, but you must understand that I will not countenance another lapse of judgment from you, even if the memories of both your parents are damned in the presence of Chilchester society. As for Captain Bladen, he received my own thoughts on his conduct and will not be welcome in my house for some time to come, until I am persuaded he has been properly chastened. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Sir Roger?”
