“It’s…very nice,” she offered, swallowing her sudden nervousness.
Unexpectedly, the marquis chuckled. “Don’t let His Grace hear you say that. He wouldn’t appreciate a four-hundred-and-thirty-eight-year-old symbol of Saxon resilience being called ‘nice.’”
“Oh, I know,” she said absently, continuing to gaze at the gray stones of Highbarrow Castle. It was beyond magnificent, by its very design meant to be overpowering and intimidating. But she did not intend to be intimidated. “Mr. Bancroft told me all about the duke.”
He looked sideways at her. “Wonderful.”
It took twenty more minutes for the coach to pass through the wooded glade, up the gradual slope, around the winding way, and across the moat bridge up to the front drive of Highbarrow Castle. Fleetingly she wondered what lay in the dark, still waters that flowed from the lake in a ring around the grounds.
Though she’d never seen him so much as ruffled before, she thought Quinlan seemed rather edgy. For once she couldn’t blame him. She’d heard enough about the Duke of Highbarrow to know that he would not take the news of her arrival well. Not that she felt sorry for the marquis. She’d tried to leave, and he and Mr. Bancroft had insisted she stay. This was because of their stubbornness, not hers.
The coach rocked to a stop. Quinlan sat for a moment, looking at her. “I won’t tell you to behave, because I know you wouldn’t do as I tell you to save your life,” he said.
“I might, to save my life,” Maddie countered. “I’m not an idiot. But this has nothing to do with that.”
“It has to do with your honor. Isn’t that the same thing?”
She returned his curious gaze. “I used to think so.”
The latch turned, and a meticulously dressed footman pulled open the carriage door. “Lord Warefield, welcome,” he intoned, bowing.
The marquis gestured for her to precede him. “Thank you.”
The footman helped Maddie to the ground, glancing at her curiously, and then moved back to let Quinlan step down on his own. She looked up. The huge dwelling looked even grander up close, with endless rows of windows gazing out imperiously over lush Suffolk County.
“Is His Grace home?”
“Yes, my lord. The duke and the duchess are taking tea in the south drawing room.”
“Splendid.”
The butler stood holding the front door and also greeted the marquis with the deference. Quinlan handed over Maddie’s shawl and his hat and gloves, then took her by the elbow to lead her down a very long hallway with a high, arched ceiling. Portrait upon portrait lined one wall from floor to ceiling, the subjects ranging from men and women in current fashion to fierce-eyed, armor-clad Saxon chieftains.
Where Langley had been open and warm, Highbarrow seemed entirely designed to make Maddie more nervous than she already was. Servants appeared and disappeared through doorways, silent except for the quiet “Good day, my lord” s they murmured in Lord Warefield’s direction.
At the end of the hallway, the marquis stopped. He released Maddie’s elbow and looked down at her. “Do you wish me to explain you first, or would you rather accompany me into the lion’s den?”
“Are you asking me for my sake, or for your own, my lord?” she returned coolly, somewhat bolstered by his tense demeanor.
He gave a brief grin. “You’d dance on my grave, too, wouldn’t you?” He knocked on the door.
She shrugged. “If I ever visited it.”
“Enter,” a soft female voice called.
If she’d had any doubts about Mr. Bancroft’s description of his older brother, they vanished as the marquis ushered her into the south drawing room. The Duke of Highbarrow Castle sat beneath the window, the afternoon sun silvering the gray in his dark hair. Cool brown eyes beneath straight black brows lifted from the London Times to rest on his son, and a moment later flicked over to assess her.
Maddie was suddenly acutely aware of the cheap fabric of her traveling gown, and of the thrice-mended yellow bonnet on her head. And she had no intention of letting any of them know it. With a slight lift of her chin she stopped beside Quinlan, turning her gaze to take in the rest of the room. Each piece of silver, from the candlesticks to the spoon sitting on the tea tray, shone brighter than starlight. Not one particle of dust showed on anything, and the polish of the mahogany furniture gave the smooth red wood an almost mirror-like appearance.
“Back so soon?” a low, cold voice rumbled. Maddie’s eyes returned to the duke.
“Pleased to see you again as well, Father,” Quinlan returned in the same cool tone. Maddie glanced at him curiously, because she never heard him sound so much, well, like a noble before.
“Welcome, Quin,” a much warmer female voice said, and a small woman rose from one of the small chairs by the fireplace to grasp the marquis’s hands. He smiled and kissed her on the cheek.
Silvery blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and her slender figure was draped in a beautiful muslin gown of green and white. The duchess’s eyes were the same jade color as her son’s, though their warmth cooled considerably as she turned to view Maddie.
“And who have we here?” she asked, only the slightest surprise entering her voice.
“Allow me to introduce Miss Willits. Maddie, the Duke and Duchess of Highbarrow.”
“Your Graces,” Maddie said, curtseying and bending her head, keenly aware of how very far she was from Somerset and any friends, or even acquaintances. She glanced at Quinlan. He was the closest to an ally she had here, and she could hardly rely on him. She wouldn’t allow herself to rely on him, Maddie amended silently. No one but herself, ever again.
“Where did she come from?” The duke remained seated, and in fact, far from coming to his feet to greet either her or his son, crossed his ankles and flipped to the next page.
“Langley.” Quinlan smiled at her, his eyes warning her to behave. “She was Uncle Malcolm’s companion.”
“I am Mr. Bancroft’s companion,” Maddie corrected politely, trying not to glare at the duke for his rudeness. After all, farfetched as the idea was, he might simply be shy. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, for the sake of Mr. Bancroft. She’d given her word to make a go of this stupidity, and so she would—as long as the rest of the illustrious Bancrofts kept up their side of the agreement.
The duke snapped the paper and resumed reading. “Malcolm’s whore, you mean.”
Maddie flushed, while the marquis stirred beside her. “No, his companion,” she corrected evenly, before Quinlan could do so. “And he’s feeling much better. The doctor has even said he doesn’t believe the paralysis will be permanent. Thank you for your concern.”
The surprised expression the duchess wore deepened, and the London Times abruptly folded over and dropped to the floor. “Insolent thing, aren’t you?”
The duke stood. Quinlan was the taller of the two, but Lewis Bancroft looked broader than his lean son. Maddie shifted a little closer to the marquis.
“What’s she doing here, Quinlan?”
The marquis hesitated for just a moment, obviously searching for the least inflammatory words he could find. “She is the eldest daughter of Viscount Halverston. You may recall some—”
“You’re the one Charles Dunfrey cast off when he found you lifting your heels for one of his friends.” Highbarrow sneered. “Stupid mistake. And now you’ve had to settle for poor, crippled Malcolm.” He glanced at Quinlan. “Or is it my son you’ve got your claws into now?”
“Father,” Quin said sharply, his annoyed, wary expression deepening.
This was what Maddie was used to from the nobility. And somehow, it made her feel more comfortable to know that some of her memories and suppositions had been correct all along. She began to fume. “I do not, Your Grace.”
“Actually, I am the one at fault,” Quinlan offered in a calmer voice. “I had no idea who Miss Willits was, and I….” He looked at her again. “I behaved improperly toward her. Malcolm suggested I might be able to right
two wrongs by bringing her here.”
“She’s not carrying your brat, is she? Good God, Quinlan! A shrew-mouthed whore, and three months before you’re to marry Eloise.”
“Lord Warefield kissed me,” Maddie said sharply. “That is all. And I did not wish to come here. That was all his and Mr. Bancroft’s idea. I would just as soon leave immediately.”
“Good.”
“Insufferable snob,” Maddie muttered, and gathered her skirts. “Good day, Your Graces.” Not even looking at the marquis, she turned and headed out the door and back down the long hall.
Quin strode after her and grabbed her arm to turn her about to face him. “For God’s sake, give me a moment to explain,” he whispered.
“In another few moments I will be forced to call your father out and shoot him,” Maddie hissed back. “He’s far worse than you are.”
His lips twitched. Quin nodded, his fingers still hard and warm and tight around her arm. “Yes, he is. But I made a promise. Give me another damned minute, Maddie.”
She jabbed a finger at him and wrenched her arm free. “One.”
Quin took a deep breath and ushered her back inside. The duke had already seated himself again. The duchess, though, stood by the door and watched them approach. “Father,” the marquis began over again, “I did wrong by Miss Willits. She is a properly bred young lady, falsely accused of wrongdoing. I wished to make amends. Uncle Malcolm thought that with the help of our family, she might be reintroduced into society. I agreed.”
“Oh. You agreed.”
“Yes. I did. And she stays, until we can all repair to London. I can’t very well take her to Warefield without completing the damage, so she will stay here, as our guest.”
The duke stood again. “You know, I might have expected this nonsense from Rafael, but until this morning I was not aware that you were an idiot. Pay her off and send her away.” Highbarrow strode forward, stopping a few feet short of Maddie so that she had to look up at him. “What will it take, Miss Willits? Ten pounds? A hundred? Name the price it will take you to keep from wagging your tongue about my son’s indiscretions, and be gone.”
Maddie glanced over at the mantel clock. Fifty-eight seconds, fifty-nine, one minute was up. She’d kept her word. “Your Grace,” she began, so angry her voice shook, “if I chose to wag my tongue about your son’s misbehavior, every penny you own wouldn’t be enough to keep me silent.”
“Then wha—”
“I didn’t come here for money,” she interrupted. “I came here because Mr. Bancroft felt I had been wronged, and he took this silliness as a chance to set things right for me. I will tell you what I told him: I am perfectly happy with the way my life is. And I have no desire to spend another moment in your arrogant, self-centered, pompous company. Good day.”
“Quin, did you agree to this?” the duchess asked, putting a hand on Maddie’s arm before she could depart, ruining another chance at an effectively dramatic exit.
He nodded. “When I arrived at Langley, Miss Willits had done such a fine job of estate managing that I scarcely had anything to do. If nothing else, I intend to help her out of gratitude.”
“No, you won’t,” the duke snarled, his face flushed. “I want her out of this house! Now!”
“Just a moment, Lewis,” the duchess countered. For a second she looked at Maddie, then returned her gaze to her husband. “Quin gave his word. I won’t have him break it because you feel inconvenienced.”
“Victoria! I will not—”
“It’s settled, Lewis,” Lady Highbarrow said firmly.
Her fingers twitched on Maddie’s arm, but she continued to eye the duke coolly.
Highbarrow clenched his fist as though he wanted to hit one of them. Abruptly he turned on his heel. “Bah. Do what you will. I’m going to London. You may join me when this…girl is gone.”
“Lewis!”
“Enough, wife!” The duke’s roaring retreated with him down the hallway and abruptly cut off as a door distantly slammed.
Quinlan looked after his vanished father. “That went well,” he muttered.
“He was planning on leaving for London at the end of the week anyway. Some new trade agreement.” The duchess removed her hand from Maddie’s arm and placed it on her son’s. “Excuse us for a moment, Miss Willits,” she said, and walked with Quin to the door.
“Don’t go anywhere,” the marquis instructed Maddie, looking back at her.
Maddie tried to manufacture a scowl, but had to settle for nodding. He’d stood up for her when she hadn’t needed or wanted him to—or so she thought, until he briefly grinned at her, and she suddenly felt as though everything would be all right. And Maddie wondered when, exactly, she’d begun to think of Quin Bancroft as an ally.
Upstairs the duke continued to bellow and slam things about as he stirred up the Highbarrow household in preparation for his departure. Quin listened, mostly to be certain His Grace didn’t go back to the south drawing room and continue his argument with Maddie. She’d made his father genuinely angry, something people didn’t dare do very often. And she’d done it in a rather spectacular manner. Quin couldn’t recall anyone ever calling his father pompous before—certainly not to his face. Likely the duke couldn’t recall it, either.
“I received a letter from Rafael a few days ago,” the duchess said, stopping before one of the tall windows overlooking the gardens.
Quin leaned against the wall beside her. “And what’s the scoundrel up to this time?”
“Apparently he’s spent the past six months in Africa, as a special envoy for King George.”
“Africa?” Quin repeated, surprised. “He’s supposed to be guarding the Tower or something, isn’t he?”
“I believe he volunteered for Africa, just as he did for Wellington’s regiment at Waterloo. Anyway, he’s been granted a leave, finally. He hopes to join us in London before the end of the Season, unless the local tribesmen begin their rebellion again.”
“Do you think he’s ready to sell out his commission?” Quin was very aware that his mother’s attention was on the girl in the drawing room, but she’d get around to asking about Maddie when she was ready.
“Perhaps. He really didn’t say.” She smiled. “He did ask after Aristotle.”
“Yes, well, I’ve a few things to tell him about the damned animal, too.”
“Why did you kiss this Miss Willits?” She turned from the view to look at him. “And why did you feel the need to make amends for it?”
He shrugged. “I thought Malcolm might suffer another apoplexy if I didn’t agree to do something. I practically expected him to horsewhip me.”
“Does he care for her?”
“He’s very fond of her. She’s more like a daughter than anything else, though, I think.”
“Why did you kiss her?”
Quin looked down for a moment, unable and unwilling to explain the turmoil of emotions Maddie Willits had awakened in him from the moment he’d first viewed her. “You know, I’m not really certain. She…she has a very bad opinion of the nobility, and she damned well says what’s on her mind. And I suppose I wanted to prove to her afterward that not everyone is like this Charles Dunfrey who turned her away, or the bastard who ruined her before.”
“Which I believe he did by kissing her when he had no business being anywhere near her.”
“Yes, Mother, I see the parallel, thank you very much,” he returned dryly.
She looked at him for a moment. “Did you argue with Eloise?”
“No, of course not. Why?”
“You haven’t been known for dallying before, Quin. At least you’ve never felt the need to inform your father or me about it if you have.” She turned back to the garden view. “Though I’d assume if you’d dallied, the ladies would have been of more solid standing in society than Miss Willits—or of no standing at all.”
That had occurred to him as well. “I know.” He started back for the drawing room. “At any rate, I gave my word. And as I
said, I couldn’t very well take her to Warefield and still expect her to have any chance of returning to society. So I thought you…might be persuaded to assist me.”
“Your father doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
“Yes, but he won’t be here.” He strolled back to her side and took her hand in his. “Will you help me redeem myself, Mother?”
Her eyes twinkled. “She called Lewis arrogant and self-centered.”
“And pompous.”
She chuckled. “If you feel it’s that important, of course I’ll help.” The duchess’s smile faded. “But only to a point, Quin. I won’t allow the Bancroft name to be sullied any more than your father would. If society continues to frown on her when she returns, she must be sent away. Agreed?”
He took a deep breath, far more relieved than he expected. He had Maddie for another few weeks, anyway. “Agreed.”
Chapter 8
“I do not need a dressmaker. I can sew my own clothes.”
Maddie glared at Quinlan, who stood in the doorway of her borrowed bedchamber and glared back at her. The maid standing just inside the door looked as though she desperately wanted to flee, but she couldn’t do so without going past the marquis.
“Making you presentable to London society is part of my promise to Uncle Malcolm,” Quin returned sternly. “In two weeks’ time you will not be able to sew enough clothes to last you more than a day or two in London. The dressmaker will be here this afternoon.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She wanted to throw something at him, but instead plunked herself down on the soft bed. “I refuse to end up owing you anything.” She’d decided that from the beginning: being in his debt would be worse than being ruined in the first place. That’s why she’d left home. She, and no one else, would be responsible for her welfare and her well-being. And if she was being stubborn and impractical, it was her right.
“Is that why you insisted on paying for you own room at the inns on the way here?” he asked. Far from becoming angry, he looked only curious. Apparently he was almost constantly curious about her, for he was always asking questions she’d rather not answer. And he had an oddly compelling way of making her want to answer at the same time.
By Love Undone Page 12
