by Sara Ramsey
“I cannot undo what happened, just as I couldn’t stop Richard from killing my father and making my entire family seem murderous.”
“Could you have done so if you had been here?” she asked, looking for blood after his comment about his mistresses.
He froze, the planes of his face hardening, and she instantly regretted her words. “So you think it was wrong of me to go to Scotland?”
She paused, wanting to be sure of her words — and the sentiments behind them. Finally, she said, “I do not think you were wrong. I did much the same, putting my desire to act above my family’s needs. I won’t say I was wrong either — but we still must live with the consequences.”
He raked a hand through his hair, and the strands glowed like embers in the candlelight as they settled back into place. “I don’t know if I could have saved Richard,” Ferguson said quietly. “Just as I don’t know if I can fix how the ton sees me.”
It was her turn to comfort him. She didn’t like that he hadn’t told her, but they needed to move forward rather than dwell on rights and wrongs. “The ton will come around — rakes can be rehabilitated, after all.”
He stared down at her, his eyes wide with the desire to believe her. The pause lengthened and turned almost painfully sweet after the heat of their argument. But his eyes finally narrowed, and his next words shattered the peace. “Rakes, yes, but not murderers.”
She felt her face fall. He instinctively stepped toward her, caught himself, and returned to his proper stance against the wall. “It will all come out all right,” he said soothingly. “I’ve procured a special license — we can marry and leave for Scotland as soon as you have packed.”
“Scotland?” she asked, not understanding.
“Without a body, the rumors will die someday,” he said, with a bright certainty she didn’t believe. “And you really will love my estate there — beautiful, but not so remote that you cannot go to Edinburgh when it suits you.”
“Is that why you were angry earlier about what I said to the twins about England? You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”
He clenched his jaw, and his hand made a fist against the wall. “What else would you have me do, Mad? I refuse to see the ton cut you. And if there is an investigation, I want you as far away as possible.”
“But what of your sisters? My family? Everything I know is here!”
“You are my priority now, not them. Sophronia will bring out the twins alone — I’m sure she’ll understand if she’s heard the gossip. And you are welcome to have Josephine accompany you if you wish.”
He had already decided. His face said even more clearly than his tone that he would not be swayed.
More, he seemed to think she should be comforted by his decisiveness — even though leaving London would mean abandoning her whole life.
Her hands made fists of her own. “You may be accustomed to running away,” she said, and he flinched at the words. “But I do not wish to go until we have no other choice.”
“Do not dare call me a coward,” he bit out. “The ton can go hang, but I’m leaving to protect you, not myself.”
“How is this protection?” she cried, before remembering where she was and dropping back into a whisper. “If we leave now, everyone will know you are guilty. If you won’t consider what that does to your sisters’ prospects, think of the children we may have. What marriages will they be able to make if people believe their father is criminally insane?”
It was a version of the argument Alex had used against her, but Ferguson’s face softened at the mention of their possible babes. “If there were another way... but I cannot see it.”
“There is another possibility,” she said slowly. “If Marguerite appeared regularly...”
The softness disappeared. “Out of the question.”
She met his unrelenting glare with a steely one of her own. “But it would put all the rumors to rest. We could live a normal life.”
“And constantly worry about you being caught,” he retorted. “Better for the ton to think I’m a murderer than to know what you’ve done.”
“Why better? We could ensure that no one thinks you are criminally insane, and I’ve yet to be caught — it seems like better odds than your reputation faces without me. And if, Heaven forbid, there were to be a trial, how could I watch you hang for killing a woman who would not even exist if not for me?”
He grinned for the first time since they had entered the alcove. “They would take my head off with a sword — I am too wellborn for a commoner’s noose. But it won’t come to a trial. The House of Lords would have to set the trial, and they won’t indict a duke for the death of an actress without any evidence that a crime was committed.”
“You do have a lot of enemies,” she pointed out. “It only takes a handful of peers wanting revenge for the wives you stole to press for a trial.”
He looked out at the crowd. From Madeleine’s vantage point, it felt like they were already in a cell. His peers circled, waiting to slam the door. But if he saw the same scene, it hardened his resolve. “I won’t have you endanger yourself for me.”
“And I won’t have you run away for me!” she said, her temper reaching the breaking point. “You may not have intended this, but you are a duke now. From all I’ve seen, you will make an excellent one. But you cannot go to Scotland every time you wish to escape. And I cannot be your wife if I must always wonder when you will run away from me.”
The words, quiet though they were, shattered between them, the shards cutting them both. He stiffened against the wall as though absorbing the blow. “I can’t lose you, Mad,” he said, his voice raw.
She bowed her head, heard his breath rasp in his throat. “We must stay and fight, Ferguson. I lost one family to the whims of the public — I cannot bear to lose you too.”
Their situation in no way resembled the Revolution, but she saw him plant his feet before levering himself away from the wall. His eyes flashed. “You won’t lose me if you come with me. But if you won’t come to Scotland, then I will face the gossip alone. I would rather see you safe without me than ruined in my arms.”
She gasped. Would he really leave her, break off their engagement, to protect her from something that was as much her fault as it was his?
“You can’t do that, Ferguson. I’ll reveal myself before I let you face a murder charge.”
He glanced again at the ballroom, then held up a hand, cutting off her bravado. “Your aunt is bearing down on us. I’ll call on you tomorrow morning, and we can settle this then. Until then, please do not do anything to endanger yourself.”
Ferguson stalked off, his bearing sleek and predatory. She sighed. If anyone watched him now, he did look capable of murder. He walked directly across the dance floor to the exit, so furious that he didn’t care which dancers he interrupted in his haste to leave.
She thanked heavens for her acting talent — when the people who watched Ferguson’s progress across the dance floor swiveled toward her, she knew she looked perfectly serene. Disappointed, none stared for long; if she wouldn’t give them a dramatic addition to Ferguson’s disappearance, they quickly lost interest.
Aunt Augusta didn’t ignore her, though. She stepped into the alcove only a few moments after Ferguson left, blocking Madeleine’s view just as he reached the door. “Is something wrong, my dear?” she asked as she took a seat beside Madeleine.
Madeleine nearly laughed at the question. Everything was wrong — the rumors, Ferguson’s threat to leave her, his belief that they could not stay in London. Where could she possibly begin?
Noting Madeleine’s hesitation, Augusta squeezed her hand. “Lady Harcastle told me she spoke to you. I would have waited for morning, but what’s done is done.”
Her aunt looked at her with so much sympathy that Madeleine felt like crying. Augusta was usually faultless in her control at these events, never betraying a negative emotion. Seeing her concern for Madeleine trump her sense of propriety made Madeleine wan
t to bury her head against her aunt’s shoulder and sob like she was a little girl again.
Despite what had happened when they all discovered her acting, Aunt Augusta still loved her, had already forgiven her for the theatre now that she was safe. Like Alex, she had been upset with Madeleine’s lies, but after the first flare of anger faded, she was ready to do whatever she could to assist her.
Wasn’t that the support she had always wanted from a mother?
“Ferguson wants to take me to Scotland to avoid the rumors,” she whispered.
Augusta’s blue eyes turned bleak. “If you go to Scotland, it will be difficult to come back. The ton will see it as proof of his guilt.”
“I told him that, but he would rather protect me than save himself.”
“And what do you want?”
Madeleine paused, not sure how to tell the aunt who had always protected her that she was prepared to take yet another risk. Finally, she said, “I cannot see him punished when it would be easy to have Marguerite return.”
Aunt Augusta looked away, glancing out across the crowds. No one could hear what they said, even though their conversation was circumspect enough to avoid betraying Madeleine’s secret. “I would rather see you fight than run away, my dear. I’ve often wondered if your mother might have survived if she had stood up to her husband.”
Augusta rarely surprised her, but this time, Madeleine was shocked. “I thought you believed that wives should obey their husbands.”
Her aunt snorted. “In most things, it’s easier to let them think you are obeying. But Arabella never once asked Loubressac to let her visit England after she married him — or if she did, she let him overrule her. I never saw her again after their wedding. The marquis was too patriotic for his own good, which is not Ferguson’s shortcoming. Still, I couldn’t bear to see you move so far away without so much as an attempt to make a life here.”
“I thought you were willing to send me to Bermuda?” Madeleine asked, letting herself lapse into sarcasm because it was easier than considering what she had just heard about her mother.
Augusta silenced her with a look. “I didn’t want to send you to Bermuda, and I still don’t. Some scandals require drastic measures, though.”
She looked at the crowd again, and Madeleine realized she was watching Amelia. Augusta frowned as she looked at her daughter. “One never knows what Amelia will get up to — so if she’s the one I’ll have to send away someday, I would just as soon keep you here.”
“I won’t go to Scotland without a fight,” Madeleine said. “But I’m not sure I could give him up if that’s the only choice.”
Her aunt squeezed her hand. “Then he’s the right man for you. If you lose the fight, we’ll all survive it somehow. At least Scotland is within carriage range — I do hope that whatever estate he has up there is prepared to accommodate guests.”
Madeleine smiled weakly. Augusta stood, reaching down to pull Madeleine up with her. “No more hiding in alcoves tonight. If you can pretend for the next hour that you are at the most amusing party you’ve ever attended, it will at least make the gossips wonder whether you know something they don’t.”
Her aunt smiled like the battle-hardened society matron she was, and Madeleine followed her out into the crowd. Their conversation gave Madeleine just enough strength to survive the evening.
But she was going to have to find her own strength if she had any hope of convincing Ferguson to listen to reason.
CHAPTER THIRTY
In the morning, long after he should have been out attending to business, Ferguson walked soundlessly down the carpeted hall outside his bedroom toward the front stairs. It was a technique he had perfected years earlier to escape the house without being harangued by his father, and the creaks in the floorboards were mercifully unchanged. His odd, swerving dance attracted a shocked stare from a passing chambermaid who momentarily forgot her place (and then blushed crimson as she bobbed a curtsy), but at least none of his sisters emerged from their rooms to accost him.
It was actually nice to spend time with them. After he promised not to force them into matches they didn’t want, the twins regularly joined him for meals. Even Ellie dropped by occasionally, still brittle and guarded, but showing signs that she might someday forgive him.
But he didn’t want to see them this morning, and he exhaled in relief as he reached the top of the steps unnoticed. The previous night had been dark and endless, as he lay in the bed he had never wanted to inherit and thought about the ruin that threatened to come down on all of them. He did not see a way to put the rumors to rest — other than the obvious solution Madeleine proposed. He didn’t want to consider it, didn’t want her to endanger herself when she was so close to being safe.
What was worse, though — her obvious panic when she first heard that Ferguson was suspected of murder? Or the slow condemnation that settled in her eyes when she thought he might abandon London? That condemnation had turned to anger when he offered to protect her by breaking the engagement — not that he could really bear the idea, and had already discarded it as he said the words. Besides, he suspected she would reveal herself if it came to that, whether he wanted her to or not.
He was so engrossed in thought, so focused on his feet, that he didn’t realize he was being watched until he hopped over the last three steps of the main staircase and landed with a soft thud on the marble floor of the foyer. He looked up, expecting his butler. Ellie stood just inside the doorway, her arms crossed as she surveyed him with a knowing gleam in her blue eyes. Kate and Maria sat on a bench beside her, their soft lavender morning gowns an odd contrast to the lush royal blue of Ellie’s riding habit. The twins each clutched a valise, and a neat pile of bandboxes sat on the floor beside them. From the way they both gaped at him, they had seen every step of his erratic descent.
“The servants will be sure of your madness if you always take the stairs like that,” Ellie drawled.
He bowed, only slightly ironically. “I did not expect the pleasure of your company this morning, or I would have put away my madness for another day.”
She smiled swiftly, and just as swiftly lapsed into a frown. “It isn’t funny in the slightest. What I am hearing from the people who are brave or stupid enough to tell me will have us all cast out within a fortnight if you cannot sway public opinion.”
“Is that why you’re collecting the twins?” he asked, gesturing at their luggage. “They are safer with your reputation than mine?”
Ellie laughed. “You will have to do far worse than murder to saddle me with their guardianship.” The twins both grinned; their relationship with Ellie had improved over the last few weeks as well, and they took no offense at Ellie’s jest.
“Ellie said you will disappear again if the scandal grows,” Kate said, sounding determined. “Maria and I have already packed what we care to bring in case you try to sneak away without us. We do not intend to let you go into exile alone.”
He could tell them apart now — Kate had a slight quirk to her mouth when she smiled, and Maria had a small scar on her chin where she had accidentally banged it against her harp. Knowing who spoke did not comfort him, but knowing who they were made the words more personal. “So Ellie believes I shall run away?”
“Sneaking down those infernal steps was not an attempt to leave the house without alerting anyone?” Ellie asked.
“It is my house now. Surely I can leave however I wish.”
“You could also have the steps fixed, but it doesn’t signify. What matters is whether you are indeed running off to Scotland without so much as a farewell.”
Ellie was no longer in good humor. Now that he saw the tension in her shoulders, the stiff way she crossed her arms as though trying to keep herself from falling apart, he realized that she expected him to abandon them again. “I am not leaving. Even at my most desperate, I wouldn’t run off in a morning coat without a change of clothes,” he pointed out. “And if I leave, I will invite you to come along, just as I
did last time.”
Her eyes turned cold. “There is no need to say your farewells in person. I’m sure a note shall suffice if you can spare a moment to write one.”
“What else would you have me do?” he asked, impatient despite her pain. “I cannot disprove a rumor without any evidence for or against it.”
“Will you at least take us to Scotland with you?” Maria pleaded. “London will not be the same with only Sophronia to chaperone us.”
He looked at the twins. They were eager for an adventure — more excited than he had ever seen them while discussing their debuts. But they were also young, and beautiful, and long overdue for the social whirl. With his fortune, he could give them dowries large enough to buy out at least some suitors’ concerns about his family’s sanity.
“You would be bored to bits in Scotland,” he said. “The nearest neighbor is miles away. There is barely any light in the winter, and far too much in the summer, particularly when you have nothing to do to occupy the days. And the clan tolerates me for my mother’s sake and because my grandfather had no sons, but as a rule they do not like the English. You’d be begging to come back to London before the horses even cooled.”
Kate and Maria exchanged one of their glances that encompassed an entire silent conversation. “Sounds rather like how we’ve lived until now,” Kate said. “We would have more fun if you and Lady Madeleine were in residence.”
She was so direct about the dim, narrow little lives they had lived that Ferguson’s heart ached for them — they had no real idea what they had missed. “It’s out of the question, my dears — you have so much more to live for here if you give it a chance.”
“And you do not?” Ellie interjected, a hard edge to her voice.
“I had my chance, Ellie. If London has no use for me, I’ve no use for it.”
He brushed past her for the door, needing to leave, to see Madeleine and believe they could muddle through this. A footman came out of his little alcove by the entrance to open the door, but Ellie placed her palm flat against the wood. Her glare sent the footman scurrying back like one who believed the rumors of madness.
