by Olivia Drake
She tensed. “He asked about me?”
“Of course. You’re his granddaughter. He expressed a very strong desire to see you again.”
Agitation gripping her limbs, Maddy surged to her feet. She had not thought beyond the confrontation, except to fantasize about the duke hanging his head in shame for all he’d done. “Why would I wish to see him? After the way he treated my mother?”
“Come now, Madelyn. You cannot fault him for showing an interest in his long-lost granddaughter. In fact, that is why I called you here. He asked me to convey an invitation to you to come for tea this afternoon.”
* * *
Maddy followed a footman in white wig and crimson livery up the grand staircase at the Duke of Houghton’s house. Their footsteps resounded loudly in the large entrance hall. In stark contrast to the throngs of guests the previous evening, the place was empty and echoing, the candles in the chandelier burned to nubs and the gold ribbons gone from the balustrade.
The Earl of Gilmore had wanted to accompany her to this meeting. He had been most insistent. But she had been just as adamant about coming alone. She would not defer to her father-in-law. Especially when he clearly favored her making amends with the duke.
She reached the top of the stairs. Her jade-green skirt rustled as she followed the servant down a long, ornate corridor. Was she doing the right thing in returning to this house?
Maddy stiffened her spine. It had been very tempting to reject the invitation. She owed no courtesy to the Duke of Houghton, not after the way he’d spurned her mother. Blood might make him her grandfather, but there was no other bond between them. Nor did she seek one.
Yet there had been things left unsaid last night in the heat of the moment. This would be her opportunity to make her position clear.
The footman stepped through a doorway and bowed. “Lady Rowley, Your Grace.”
As the servant retreated, Maddy stepped into a spacious morning room decorated in autumn hues of gold and russet. Several tall windows let in the afternoon sunlight. Hunting scenes were displayed on the walls, with small porcelain dog figurines scattered here and there.
The Duke of Houghton did not occupy his wheeled invalid’s chair today. He sat on a chaise beside the fireplace, where flames burned on the grate. Despite the warmth of the room, he had a rug draped over his knees. He leaned forward, his eyes squinting at her as if his vision were poor and he hungered for a look at her.
Then her gaze was caught by a portrait that hung above the marble mantel. Her steps came to an abrupt stop. The painting showed a young woman in an old-fashioned white gown with pale pink ribbons, a string of pearls at her throat, her blond hair drawn up in a mass of curls. She looked so hauntingly familiar that Maddy felt her heart catapult into her throat. Her lips formed the name without uttering a sound. Mama.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our newfound cousin.”
The aristocratic voice broke into her reverie. She realized to her surprise that two other gentlemen had arisen from their chairs. Lord Dunham and Lord Theo. Of course. How foolish of her not to have anticipated the presence of her cousins at this meeting. They would want to protect their grandfather—and they must be curious and resentful of an interloper into their exalted family.
It was Dunham who had spoken, and he strolled forward to greet her. “Do give me a kiss, dear cousin.”
Maddy noted the angry resentment in his ice-blue eyes and in the curl of his upper lip. As he drew near, she sidestepped him. “There is no need for any pretense of affection, my lord.”
“Alfred,” he corrected. “Surely now we can be on more familiar terms … my dear Madelyn.”
“You are presumptuous, Alfred. I’m afraid we scarcely know one another.” She slipped past him and went to his brother, offering her hand. “Hello, Lord Theo. I’m truly sorry for disrupting the ball last night. I do hope you had a chance to speak to Lady Emily.”
His dark blue eyes lit up behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Oh! Yes, I did for a few moments. Though she left early, dash it all.”
Maddy’s spirits lifted. Perhaps there was an advantage to her secret being exposed. Perhaps now she could arrange for more meetings between Theo and Emily. It was something to consider, anyway.
“Come here, girl,” the duke rasped, beckoning with his skeletal hand. “You’re to sit right beside me.” He patted the striped gold cushion of the chaise.
She hesitated. It was the only possible place for her to sit since her cousins already had laid claim to the pair of brown upholstered chairs opposite the duke. Everything in her resisted the notion of being within touching distance of the man who had shunned her mother. Yet if she refused to share the chaise with him, she would be forced to go across the room and drag over another chair.
That would only make her appear childish when she needed to be strong and fearless.
Maddy glided to the chaise and sat down, staying as close to her end as possible. Despite her best efforts, her skirt brushed against her grandfather’s bony legs. Alfred and Theo resumed their seats as well.
She didn’t want any of them to direct the conversation. So she said quickly, “I’m sure we can all agree there is no need for chitchat. I accepted this invitation only because I wanted to say—”
A movement at the door interrupted her as a footman entered, pushing an elaborate tea trolley. He wheeled it into the space between the chaise and the chairs, then bowed and departed.
“At least there’s one advantage to having Madelyn as our new cousin,” Alfred said. “We now have a lady in the family to serve our tea.”
His emphasis on the word “lady” indicated that he hoped to trip her up, to prove that she lacked the proper refinement to perform the simple task. Of course, he didn’t know about the endless hours she’d spent under Lady Gilmore’s tutelage. Maddy arose gracefully and poured the steaming tea into the four cups, took orders for sugar and cream, then passed around a plate with slices of seed cake.
As she delivered a porcelain cup to the duke, he took it with shaky hands and balanced it in his lap. He looked down at it, then said, “Sarah always prepared my tea. She knew the precise shade of whiteness that I prefer. And it appears that you do, too, Madelyn.”
Passing out the other cups, Maddy tensed, remembering how he had mistaken her for her mother the previous night. “I am not Lady Sarah, Your Grace. It was merely a lucky guess.”
“Yet you look so much like her, it’s uncanny. The portrait up there proves it.”
Maddy’s gaze was drawn again to the painting over the mantel. Papa had often remarked on the resemblance, and today she could see it, too. It brought a lump to her throat to behold her mother’s gently smiling image captured as a debutante. The features that had grown fuzzy in her memory were now brought into clear focus.
“Grandfather had it brought down from the attic today and dusted off,” Alfred said, watching Maddy over the rim of his cup. “Had I viewed it earlier, I’d have recognized you and guessed your game at once.”
“Game?” she asked sharply, sitting down on the chaise with her own cup of tea. “This is no game. I came here today to clear the air. I grew up hearing stories about how Mama had been cut off from her family for the sin of having fallen in love with an actor.”
She looked from her cousins to the duke. “I wanted all of you to know that my father was a fine man, moral and kindhearted, and he earned an honest living with his talents. He was nobler than many I’ve met in the aristocracy. And he adored my mother more than life itself.” Maddy remembered him kneeling at Mama’s gravesite, heartbroken at her loss. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and focused on her grandfather, her fingers taut around the saucer in her lap. “You should never have passed judgment on Papa without even knowing him. It was wicked of you. Wicked and cruel!”
Alfred started to rise from his chair. “You would dare speak to His Grace in such an insolent manner—”
Houghton waved her cousin back into his seat beside The
o, who watched silently, his eyes wide behind the gold-rimmed spectacles.
“Madelyn is right,” the duke said in a saddened tone. “I was cruel. And as punishment, I lost my only daughter. I never saw Sarah again.” His chin wobbled as he returned his attention to Maddy. “How … how did she die?”
His remorse caught Maddy off balance. She had believed his sorrow of the previous night to be the result of shock, and that today he would be arrogant and disdainful. She had expected him to lift his haughty chin and stare down his hawklike nose at her. She had prepared a series of cutting remarks designed to bring him down a peg or two. But now it seemed churlish to be so harsh toward him.
“She suffered an accident when I was thirteen years old.” Maddy described what had happened, that an axle had broken on their wagon and her mother had fallen beneath a wheel. She told them that her father had died of a lung ailment two years later, never having fully recovered his high spirits after her mother’s untimely death, saying in conclusion, “That was when I left the traveling players and took a position with the Neptune Theater.”
“I’ve seen several of your plays,” Theo piped up. “You’re smashing good.”
Maddy smiled warmly at him. “So was my mother. She was a very gifted actress. She taught me everything I know.” Her gaze went to her grandfather and she pursed her lips. “Did you even realize her talent? Did you ever try to find her?”
Houghton slowly shook his head, his shoulders slumped. “For many years, I wouldn’t even let Sarah’s name be uttered in my presence. I banished her portrait and pretended she’d never been born. But when a man grows old, he looks back on his life and sees all the mistakes he’s made. I only hope you can forgive me.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Alfred said crisply. “Aunt Sarah disobeyed your wishes. She chose her own fate. I don’t see why we should even care what happened to her.”
Maddy’s spine went rigid. “If our grandfather wants to know about my mother, then I will tell him. It is no concern of yours.”
The moment the words came out, Maddy was startled to realize she’d taken the duke’s side. Was her heart softening toward him? What had he done to deserve it?
He had expressed regret, that was what. He’d blamed himself, not her mother. And he had placed Mama’s portrait in a place of honor above the fireplace. Never in her wildest dreams had Maddy imagined she might actually like her grandfather.
But could she forgive him? It was far too soon to decide.
The duke took a sip of tea and the cup rattled slightly as he replaced in its saucer. His stern gaze was fixed on his elder grandson. “You would do well, Alfred, to accustom yourself to my granddaughter’s presence in our lives. I have every intention of writing her into my will. Along with you and Theodore, Madelyn will inherit an equal portion of the wealth that is not entailed.”
The announcement hung in the silent air. Maddy’s shocked brain could not quite grasp the enormity of what he had said. Did he truly think she had come here for money?
Alfred shot to his feet. “Good God! You can’t do that. She’s a nobody.”
“I can indeed,” Houghton said, his chin lifted as he stared down his grandson. “And I shall. You have no say in the matter.”
An ugly fury came over Alfred’s narrow features. “I’ll have you declared incompetent, then. You can’t change your will on a whim for a blasted fortune hunter.”
Maddy set down her teacup. “That isn’t why I came here,” she said sharply.
But no one was listening to her.
The duke reached over to a side table. He picked up a bell and rang it imperiously. The tinkling sounded incongruous in the thickness of tension.
A moment later, a portly man in a sober dark suit stepped into the morning room. It was as if he’d been waiting just outside for this very summons. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Glowering at his grandson, the duke said, “Alfred, I’m sure you remember Dickenson, my solicitor. Tell us, Dickenson, is there any chance the courts will declare me incompetent?”
“No, Your Grace. I am prepared to swear to the soundness of your mind before a tribunal of judges.”
“Excellent. You may go.”
Dickenson melted out the door as swiftly as he’d arrived.
Maddy was stunned by the change in her grandfather. Compared to the mournful old man who’d regretted losing his daughter, he was now every inch the autocratic duke. And she easily could see him as the strict authoritarian who had denounced her mother.
Nevertheless, he must not dictate to her.
Springing to her feet, she turned to face him. “Your Grace, there is no need for you to alter your will,” she said firmly. “I will not accept a penny from you.”
“Nonsense, no one would turn down such a generous offer. Nor shall you. You will have the inheritance. My mind is made up on the matter.”
The steely expression on his wrinkled features told her that arguing would serve no purpose. Glancing at her cousins, she noted the poisonous resentment on Alfred’s face. Even Theo looked mistrustful and didn’t quite meet her eyes.
As if he, too, thought her a fortune hunter.
Chapter 22
Nate stepped into an unoccupied bedchamber at the end of the corridor. Protective cloth covered the bed and other pieces of furniture. The closed curtains blocked the late afternoon sunlight, though dust motes danced in a few rays that slipped through a crack in the draperies.
His gaze strayed to a chair by the fire. Memory transported him back to the day after his wedding when he had pulled Madelyn into his lap and made love to her right here. He could recall in excruciating detail every exciting sensation, the scent of her hair, the undulation of her hips, the erotic sound of her moans. With every ounce of his being, he craved to experience it all over again.
But torturing himself served no purpose. He must never again make love to his wife. To do so carried the risk of conceiving a son who would secure the line of succession and please Gilmore mightily.
The only way Nate could salvage his revenge was to stay far away from Madelyn. He was still furious at her for concealing her noble blood, and he’d resolved to depart England at once.
He shouldn’t feel so torn apart by the decision. Leaving her should be no different than casting off a mistress who’d displeased him. Yet somehow, in the two months of their marriage, Madelyn had become central to his happiness. And all the while, she had been deceiving him. What a fool he had been!
Nate strode toward the far end of the room. This bedchamber had once been his, though he hadn’t told that to Madelyn. The décor had been changed after he’d departed London a decade ago, and everything of his had been removed. The room no longer looked like a young man’s quarters with paintings of horses on the walls, his coat thrown over a chair, his collection of maps strewn over the bed.
But the mahogany writing desk was still here. It stood against the wall in the corner, the lid closed to hide the niches where he’d once kept paper and pens. He had no interest in those things now. Rather, he was looking for something else he’d concealed many years ago.
He crouched down on his haunches in front of the desk. Reaching into the kneehole, he found the secret compartment that was hidden from sight. The latch popped open to the manipulation of his fingers. With a flare of success, he felt a familiar rectangular shape inside, the object of his quest.
He drew out a little wooden chest, undisturbed for over ten years. Rising to his feet, he strode to the window, blew off a coating of dust, and opened the box. Inside lay an assortment of treasures from his youth. A little book of aphorisms given to him by his godmother, Lady Milford. A rock with an imprinted fossil. A baby curl of Emily’s russet-brown hair.
Nate picked up a folded square of fine linen embroidered with a border of flowers. The C in the corner stood for “Camellia.” He brought the handkerchief to his nose and breathed deeply. Even after all these years, he could still detect the rose scent that his mother had always worn. She’d g
iven the handkerchief to him on her sickbed to clean his face, when he’d come to visit as a twelve-year-old with dirt smudges from a vigorous game of cricket. She had died several days later from complications related to Emily’s birth.
A nostalgic ache tugged at him. With the passage of time, the memory of her face had grown indistinct. He had an impression of dark hair, dancing green eyes, and a brilliant smile. Most of all, he recalled her joy for life. Once, she’d awakened him and David at midnight to go out into the garden and play in the first snowfall—until Gilmore had come to angrily order them back inside.
Nate had seldom seen her, for she’d spent most of her time at society events or away on trips to the country homes of various friends. Yet he had adored her nonetheless. He could still feel his fury to hear Gilmore’s disparagement of her. He hated that his memory of her had been sullied ten years ago by the earl’s accusations about her infidelity.
Replacing the handkerchief in the box, Nate picked up an old note from his brother and unfolded it. “I am very sorry that Papa thrashed you. It was my fault for smuggling biscuits to you after tea. I promise to try to convince him to be more fair next time. David.”
Nate ran his fingertip over the neat black script. He’d never felt that he measured up to his brother. David had always been honorable and well behaved, while Nate had been the troublemaker, being sent to bed without supper for one infraction or another. Whenever David had tried to help him, Nate had been the one blamed for leading him astray. Back then, Nate had been too defiant and resentful to thank his brother.
When he’d told that to Madelyn, she’d said, You took David’s thrashings for him. That’s something.
Perhaps she was right. Nevertheless, Nate wished he’d had the chance to express his gratitude. In the decade of his absence, he’d never even written to David. He’d allowed his bitterness to carry on into adulthood. Then, because of Lady Milford’s letter, he had returned to England believing his father had died and David was the new earl.
