by Valerie King
“Yes, my lady. Perfectly.”
“And will you make every possible attempt to keep your temper tightly restrained?”
“Yes, I will.”
Madeline breathed a very deep sigh of relief and offered Sir Roger a smile in response.
His lips twitched, but he gave his attention to Lady Hambledon who, like any good hostess, moved the conversation in a new direction entirely, asking after the progress of work on the castle.
Sir Roger spoke at length about the repairs he was making, dwelling in particular on his architect’s attention to the various documents he had been using as his guide in order to preserve historical integrity. He referred casually to Mrs. Rockingham’s visit of Monday and to the sense of gratification he felt in being able to include a descendent of a previous owner of the castle in his efforts. Lady Hambledon watched him, her brown eyes shrewd.
Lord Hambledon slapped his knee. “Damme, but don’t I wish that at least part of it, the keep for instance, might retain some of its antiquated appearance.” He smiled tenderly upon his wife. “One of the happiest of my memories was on the top of the keep tower. Do you recall, my love?”
Madeline watched in fascination as a faint blush stole upon the baroness’s cheeks. A smile played at her lips, and she tossed her head. “This is hardly the moment to bring forward such a subject. I am certain neither Sir Roger nor Miss Piper have the smallest interest in the matter.”
“But I do,” Georgiana stated. She was seated adjacent to Madeline and addressed her father. “Pray tell us, Papa, to what you refer. I am all agog to know, for I can see that it is of a romantic nature. And, if you must know, your wife is terribly dull on the subject.”
“If you mean by dull, discreet, then I most certainly am guilty,” Lady Hambledon said. However, her daughter would not meet her gaze but instead kept hers pinned expressly upon her father.
Lord Hambledon swirled his sherry. “The day was blustery, even cold. But my heart was as warm as a snug fire flanked by screens. Your mother’s hand was tucked in mine and she smiled at me that day as though I had the moon in my pocket and meant to give it to her. We stole up to the top of the keep tower and I begged for her hand in marriage. By Jove, but didn’t she accept me and make me the happiest of men.”
“Oh, Peter,” his bride chided, but there was a tear in her eye.
Madeline glanced at Sir Roger and noted an arrested expression on his face, even a faint frown. She wondered what he was thinking and hoped she might be able to ask him later. He sipped his sherry, then offered, “I first met Miss Piper at the castle. I had come to take possession of it and found her trespassing. I thought it an omen, a very hopeful omen, indeed.”
Madeline now felt a blush on her cheek and hurriedly explained, “I was wont to go there as a child. I was forever listening to Mama’s strictures on the subject of the need to forego my frequent explorations of the ruins. I heard rumors that the castle had not only been sold but was to be refurbished by the new owner. I desired more than anything to see it before it began changing. Like you, Lord Hambledon, my recollections are the sweetest of the ruins themselves.”
“I was wondering,” Sir Roger interjected, addressing Lady Hambledon, “if you would allow me to include in the castle documents the history of your husband’s proposal. In centuries to come, I would like future visitors to know not just its warrior history but also the reality of all the lives that are touched by a building so majestic and ancient as Pelworthy. Would you allow it, my lady?”
Lady Hambledon seemed torn, but her husband encouraged her. “I should like it above all things, my pet. Please permit it, for my sake?”
“I must confess that I do not comprehend in the least why you should wish it so, but I shan’t prevent you from having your way. However, since it is your desire, then I request that you compose the tale yourself and see it delivered to Sir Roger.”
“As you wish, my love.” He swirled his sherry a little more and grinned like a schoolboy.
The subject was let drop, and when Lord Hambledon began making inquiries of Sir Roger’s adventures in India, Georgiana took the opportunity to draw the ladies into an adjoining parlor, where apparently there was an exquisite arrangement of roses to be seen. Madeline followed behind, glancing once at Sir Roger and Lord Hambledon. The last she heard was Lord Hambledon’s query asking if Sir Roger had ever been caught in a hurricane.
Madeline would have liked to have heard his answer, but she slipped into the antechamber and Georgiana guided her to a seat at some distance from the doorway. Since Lady Hambledon was already seated, and the arrangement of flowers consisted of a meager three roses and a tall fern, she found herself wary. She wondered what her good friend meant by it.
She did not have long to wait.
Georgiana, her hands clasped before her, spoke hastily.
“I beg you will tell Mama of your circumstances, Maddy. I believe it would be of some use in our present situation.”
“You mean of Father?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Madeline had not been prepared in the least to once more tell the story of her father’s wretched perfidy in Brighton, but since Lady Hambledon was clearly prepared to hear it all, she felt she had no recourse but to begin. She spoke succinctly of having learned of his extensive losses and of her father’s belief that Sir Roger was the solution to the salvation of the Piper’s lands and standing in society.
At the end of the history, Lady Hambledon wrinkled her nose, which gave her a momentary appearance of a young girl. “Horace Piper lost his fortune in Brighton?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I am dumbfounded. Indeed, I am loath to believe a word of it and would not have, had you not been the author of the story, Madeline.” She shook her head vigorously. “But are you certain?”
“Quite. He was extremely remorseful and had no need to lie to me.”
“I must confess I am shocked. Why, then, does he mean to purchase Randolph Crawley’s racing gig?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“At the picnic, Randolph was telling me all about it—that your father rather fancied learning how to drive a racing gig and was he of a mind to sell his. Since Randolph had had his made especially in London, the price he was asking was rather dear, at least for one who had so recently suffered a reversal of fortune as it would seem your father had.”
Madeline lowered her gaze for a long moment. She found herself deeply disappointed in her parent yet again. First she learned he was purchasing Mr. Calvert’s mare and now Randolph’s gig. For a man who was in the basket, he was certainly behaving as though all was well. “I cannot credit he would be pondering such a purchase so hard on the heels of his losses. Nothing is for certain, as well he knows. Sir Roger is but courting me, for he wishes to know if we might suit, but we have signed no papers of engagement. Nothing has been promised as yet. I must say, Papa has been behaving quite strangely of late, purchasing things when he ought not, and he has even taken to driving to Elsbourne without explanation. What could possibly be his reason for going to Elsbourne?”
She lifted her gaze and saw that Lady Hambledon was looking at the ceiling, her expression conscious. “What is it?” Madeline asked. “You must tell me what it is you are thinking, or what you know.”
Lady Hambledon met her gaze. “Perhaps he is tumbled in love,” she suggested.
“I must confess that that particular thought has crossed my mind, but with whom? Do you know anyone in Elsbourne to whom my father might have become attached?”
Lady Hambledon cleared her throat. “I believe that question would be best put to your father, my dear. No, no I will not discuss that subject further. It would, I believe, be most improper.”
With that, Madeline had to be content. “As you wish.”
Georgiana, who had been standing by the window, swished past her mother’s chair and took up a seat on the ottoman at her knee. “Mama, will you now grant the favor I requested of you earli
er? Now that you know of Madeline’s most wretched dilemma, will you not support her in this time of trouble, if not for her, then for your affection for her mother?”
Madeline glanced at Lady Hambledon hopefully. Though she was a trifle taken aback by Georgiana’s sudden request, she felt she had reason to hope.
Lady Hambledon narrowed her gaze yet again. “I must confess, Madeline, that had my daughter not been hounding me for days, I would not have countenanced even receiving Sir Roger today. I admit I am pleased with his general demeanor and conduct, but I doubt that I shall ever forget the horror of seeing Captain Bladen laid out at my feet.”
Madeline nodded in agreement, since she had been of a similar mind in that moment. Hope dimmed as suddenly as it had risen.
“However, having heard Captain Bladen’s provoking remark, I am not without sympathy for Sir Roger. There is something, however, I should like to know. Why have you been working so strenuously to introduce Sir Roger to Chilchester society?”
Madeline considered telling Lady Hambledon of the precise nature of her arrangement with Sir Roger, that only an invitation to Lady Cottingford’s harvest ball would do for him, but she thought the better of it. Instead, she responded, “He desires above all that his children be accepted fully into the local society. Anything less is wholly repugnant to him. He required of me, therefore, to prove to him that it was possible before he would agree to seal the bargain.”
“I see,” she murmured. “I believe he may be right in this.”
Madeline could see that this was the moment on which her future yet again turned. She could see in her hostess’s brown eyes the weighing and calculating of the decision before her. If she said no, there would be no hope at all of charming Lady Cottingford, since Madeline was but a very distant acquaintance of that great London hostess. Her heart began to race and she felt a warmth upon her cheeks. Oh, dear, what if she said no? What then?
She would not think of that.
“I believe,” Lady Hambledon began slowly, “that I will help you. You have done nothing wrong, Madeline, and it seems to me that your father is the true culprit here. I will send Sir Roger and Lord Anthony an invitation to my fete on Saturday. Will that suffice?”
“Exceedingly so,” Madeline responded. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, but I believe I do. Come, you may kiss my cheek, and then we shall enjoy a nice nuncheon.”
Two hours later, after the meal had been consumed, Madeline felt Georgiana slip her arm about her waist. She returned the gentle embrace as together the ladies strolled in the direction of Sir Roger’s traveling chariot.
“It is a fine carriage,” Georgiana remarked.
“Quite beautifully sprung, as it happens,” Madeline responded. “Oh, dear friend. How shall I ever repay you?”
“Well, there is something you might do for me.”
“Anything within my power.”
“Name your firstborn, either male or female, after me—George or Georgiana.”
Madeline smiled. “But it is not a Scottish name,” she responded, glancing at the carriage beside which Sir Roger stood conversing in some animation with Lord Hambledon.
Georgiana shrugged. “It is not English, either, but German.”
Together the ladies laughed heartily. “George or Georgiana it shall be.”
~ ~ ~
On the return trip to Fairlight Manor, Madeline remained in a glow of relief and happiness. In truth, she had not expected so much support from any of the ladies or gentlemen of her acquaintance. But Mrs. Crawley was content in making her plans for Sir Roger’s Christmas ball, and it would seem Mrs. Rockingham was already deeply committed to establishing a historical society for Pelworthy. Even Lady Hambledon had been fair in her assessment of the culpability for the disaster at Dallings Hall when Sir Roger struck down Captain Bladen. She felt hopeful as she had never felt hopeful before.
“You are beaming. Do I apprehend that you have once more achieved the impossible?”
“Lady Hambledon will be sending an invitation to Pelworthy within the hour,” she declared. “I dare say it shall be awaiting you when you arrive.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I must confess I enjoyed myself very much this afternoon. Your neighborhood continually surprises me, you know.”
At that, Madeline chuckled. “No less than myself, I assure you. I begin to believe I have been much mistaken in many of my acquaintances. What did you think of Lord Hambledon’s proposal of marriage?”
“I thought it charming, though I was quite astonished. I had not expected such openness, nor such a genuine display of affection as Lady Hambledon’s tears.”
“You had thought all of us as dull as dogs.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps.”
“What do you think now?”
“That Chilchester society keeps the very best of itself hidden most of the time. It is a pity, for I have never been more charmed than I was today.”
“So were you caught in a hurricane?” Madeline asked.
“Yes, off the coast of India. I do not know how the ship survived. The masts and timbers creaked and groaned like you cannot imagine, and all the while the wind howled around the ship. Of course we were crippled afterward, severely, but a Dutch ship carried us a day’s journey to the coast.”
Madeline looked at him, wondering suddenly why he was settling for the tameness, indeed often insipidity, of English country life and said so.
He laughed. “I suppose one needs to have a survived a hurricane to be able to say that a dull country existence is highly underrated.”
Madeline smiled but then said, “I envy you your life abroad. There was a time when I longed very much to have adventures.”
“Why do I get the feeling that was a very long time ago?”
“Because it was.”
***
Chapter Eleven
Madeline drew her cape more closely about her shoulders and smiled. She was seated in the family coach, opposite Charity, Hope, and her father. Prudence sat next to her. Though she was quite anxious about the forthcoming fete at Lady Hambledon’s, she was also exhilarated. Over the past fortnight, she had achieved the impossible in guiding Sir Roger through what had proved the rocky shoals of Chilchester society, an accomplishment of no small merit and of which she felt very proud. Of course, she had had Georgiana’s support in this latest momentous effort. Without her help, Lady Hambledon would have scarcely allowed a social call, let alone granted an invitation.
“I have not seen you so happy in months, Maddy,” her father said. “Though I can guess the cause of it. May I also say that it is a delight to see you smiling so very much?”
“I am happy,” she announced.
“And you look so very pretty.” Hope said. “Your hair has never been lovelier.”
“Thank you,” she said, regarding her youngest sister with considerable affection. “You do not think I am sporting too many curls, do you?”
All three of her sisters disclaimed this in such loud accents that she could only laugh. Yes, she was quite content, indeed, and even felt excited at the prospect of attending Lady Hambledon’s fete, an excitement she had not felt in a very long time. She wondered why precisely, although the moment an image of Sir Roger Mathieson came to the forefront of her mind, she knew at least one reason. In truth, and this much she was able to admit to herself, she was looking forward very much to seeing him again. Even parting from him on Wednesday, after their joint visit with Lady Hambledon, she had known the strongest desire to beg him to call on her the next day. She had restrained herself, however, permitting him to drive off in his coach with but a farewell and a wave of her hand.
So it was that tonight, as the coach rumbled its way toward Romsbury Village and Hambledon Court, she found herself rather longing to see him again, a circumstance she could not quite explain. She had come to enjoy his society when they were not brangling, but the feeling she was experiencing presently seemed to indicate that she had to some extent
come to depend on his society, however strange the notion.
“Maddy,” her father said, interrupting her reveries again.
“Yes, Papa?”
She glanced at her parent and watched him draw a deep breath, a perplexed frown settling over his forehead. “What would you say if I told you that I fancied a Frenchwoman and meant to wed her?”
Madeline stared at him for a long moment, as did her sisters, each with mouth agape. However, she soon realized he was poking fun at her predicament of being betrothed to a Scotsman. “A Frenchwoman,” she said. “How absurd.” She began to laugh and laugh. She did not know why the notion struck her as so ridiculous, but so it did. Her sisters joined in her merriment. “Oh, Papa,” she added, seeing a smile disrupt his former frown. “What would Mama think of that? I believe she would think her entire household had gone mad.” She laughed harder still and did not stop until tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I did not think it was that funny,” he offered, appearing a little sheepish.
“I suppose . . . it was . . . not,” Madeline said, wiping at her cheeks from a kerchief she had withdrawn hastily from her beaded reticule. “It is merely that . . . given my situation . . . you must admit that were you to do anything so absurd, how much the entire neighborhood would be given to gossip exclusively about the Pipers.”
She watched him shrug his shoulders and turn to stare at the passing landscape, the downs cloaked in evening’s twilight. After a mile had passed, she glanced once more at her father, intending to tease him about joking her as he had, but something in his expression—which seemed quite despairing, she thought—arrested her tongue in mid-word. She felt uneasy suddenly, as though she had stumbled upon the source of his sadness, and should not have done so. She quickly turned to Charity and broached a different and quite innocuous subject by asking if she had finished her beautiful pheasant yet.
