by Diane Gaston
As usual when she let herself dwell on such matters, she felt her eyes sting and her throat tighten. Ned would not approve if she looked as if she might cry. She steeled herself to assume a placid expression.
‘My brother is late.’ Ned stood at the mantel where the clock had chimed the half-hour.
Ned was always prompt, sometimes embarrassing Serena when they arrived first at a social gathering. She could never convince her husband that the time on the invitation was not the time one was expected to arrive.
She opened her mouth to make an excuse for Devlin, but shut it again. For some unknown reason, Ned lately became angry whenever Serena spoke on Devlin’s behalf.
She was glad, though, that Ned had decided to advance Devlin his allowance, but it puzzled her why Devlin had now decided to pursue a wife when he was obviously involved with this mysterious woman, Miss England. It was hard to reconcile the idea that the pretty girl she’d met with Devlin was a wanton demimonde sharing his bed.
Barclay appeared at the door. ‘Lord Devlin and Miss England,’ he announced.
Serena rose, her heart pounding with excitement.
Devlin entered, looking handsome in his evening attire. It had been a long time since she’d seen him dressed so. His plain coat of black superfine complemented his dark hair and superbly fit his soldier’s broad shoulders. Still, he managed to wear the formal clothes in that careless manner so typical of him. Serena fixed her gaze upon the young woman who stood a step behind him.
She was dazzling. Her hair, as dark as Devlin’s, was piled high on her head. Natural curls framed her face and caressed the nape of her neck. She wore a delicate pearl necklace and matching teardrop pearl earrings. Not at all the jewellery one would expect of a mistress, more like a set Serena had received on her twelfth birthday.
The gold silk evening dress Miss England wore was cut in classical lines and free of adornment except for matching gold beading around the neckline and hem. Serena had seen more revealing necklines on the ingénues at Almack’s, but this young woman’s figure was such that a man’s eye would certainly be drawn to that part of her. Serena glanced hurriedly at Ned, to see his reaction. He merely lifted an eyebrow.
‘Ned. Serena. How good to see you!’ Devlin spoke with cheerfulness. ‘Let me formally present to you Miss Madeleine England. Miss England, the Marquess and Marchioness of Heronvale.’
The young woman curtsied perfectly to each of them and then stood regally, directly meeting their gazes. ‘I am pleased to renew your acquaintance.’ Her voice was cultured and correct, indistinguishable from one who’d had a respectable up-bringing.
‘Good of you to come,’ Ned said stiffly. He turned to Devlin, just of hint of worry in his eyes. ‘Are you well, brother?’
Devlin rolled his eyes. ‘Good God, Ned, I am no longer at death’s door, you know.’
Serena watched Miss England glance in surprise at Devlin’s comment, concern flashing across her face. Devlin caught the look and disarmed it with the hint of a smile.
Serena was fascinated.
Barclay entered with a tray of aperitifs. They were still standing. Serena was embarrassed at her lapse of manners.
‘Barclay, Miss England and I will sit on the sofa. Come, Miss England, let us sit and become better acquainted.’ Serena led her guest to the sofa. The two women sat and accepted the small crystal glasses from the butler.
Serena had no idea how to converse with this beautiful young woman. ‘I hope our coach brought you here satisfactorily.’
Miss England smiled cordially. ‘It was kind of you to send it.’
‘Well, we could not have you walk, and Devlin could not hire—’ Serena stopped. It was poor manners to refer to Devlin’s lack of finances, especially since Ned was the cause.
Miss England seemed to ignore her embarrassment. ‘Indeed. It was most generous.’
Serena listened carefully to the expression in Miss England’s voice. She was not sure what she expected—for the girl to be nervous? She did not seem so. For her to be insolent and mocking? There was none of that. Miss England seemed perfectly composed.
‘I must also compliment you on your appearance,’ Serena said, searching for conversation. ‘Your dress is lovely.’
Miss England blushed at this and seemed for the first time to look ill at ease. What woman was not pleased with a compliment to her clothes?
‘Thank you,’ the girl murmured.
Serena’s distress increased. She was not handling this well at all. She glanced to see if Ned noticed, but he was deep in conversation with Devlin. It pleased her to see the two brothers not slamming fists into each other. Ned loved Devlin more than he did anyone else in the world, Serena knew.
‘They had a disagreement, I believe,’ Miss England said, turning her head toward the two men.
The directness of this statement surprised Serena. She would never have mentioned the topic to anyone. ‘Yes, they did.’
Miss England gave a faint smile. ‘Perhaps Lord Devlin lost his temper with his brother.’
‘I believe my husband provoked the trouble,’ Serena said.
‘It seems forgotten now.’
Barclay announced dinner.
‘I will escort Miss England,’ Ned said, bowing to her and holding out his arm. Serena felt a pang of jealousy. The young woman took the offered arm and waited until Serena, escorted by Devlin, walked ahead of her.
Devlin gave Serena a brotherly squeeze. ‘Tell me, Serena, what is this about?’
She blinked. ‘What is what about?’
He frowned at her. ‘You know very well. This invitation.’
She bit her lip. ‘We…that is, Ned… We wished to see you.’
He tossed her a sceptical glance. ‘Fustian,’ he whispered. ‘Why did you invite Maddy?’
‘So you would come?’ Her answer came out like a question.
They entered the formal dining room with its crystal chandelier glittering from the candle flames. Serena wished they had set up a small table in one of the more cosy parlours, but Ned had wanted Miss England to see the opulence of the house. It was odd, though, that the young woman seemed to accept the frescoed ceiling, long mahogany table, and multipiece silver service as a matter of course. Serena had instructed the servants to set the table so that they sat at one end. Ned at the head, of course, and she to his right. To his left sat Devlin and Miss England.
Serena watched the young woman throughout dinner. Miss England never hesitated over her choice of cutlery, and she seemed completely at ease with having servants present the food. The conversation was confined to topics of general interest, upon which Miss England conversed easily, but Serena noticed that she never spoke unless she was addressed first.
Serena also watched Devlin. He checked Miss England often, concern or pride alternating in his face. She looked at Ned, whose expression never changed. Serena was struck with a pang of envy so strong she feared she might burst into tears right over the chocolate truffle.
When the port appeared, Serena was relieved to leave the dining room to the men and return to the parlour with Miss England.
Miss England selected a single chair, waiting politely for Serena to sit first. A small fire had been lit in the fireplace to ward off the chill of the damp spring night, its hiss and sputter loud in the silence between the two women.
‘Would you like tea?’ Serena asked finally.
‘No, thank you, ma’am.’ The young woman remained composed, her hands folded in her lap.
‘I do wish you would call me Serena.’
Miss England glanced at her in surprise. ‘I would not presume.’
‘But you are Devlin’s friend, and he is so dear to us.’ Serena fingered the lace trim on her dress.
Madeleine’s nerves were beginning to fray. She had managed the role of guest long enough. ‘I am not Devlin’s friend.’
This pretence seemed even more dishonest than those she was forced to enact for Farley. It was shameful for her to even set fo
ot in this house, more flush with money than Farley could have wrested out of her in one hundred years. She wished she could excuse herself and run.
Instead she regarded the Marchioness. What could have induced this high-born, titled lady to entertain her? To ask for the intimacy of first names? There was no sense in it.
The beautiful blonde woman in her pale blue dress edged in delicate lace looked even more uncomfortable than Madeleine. Madeleine suspected the Marquess was behind this visit, and his wife compelled to go along. But why?
It certainly did not help matters that the Marchioness looked as if she might cry at any moment. ‘I apologise, ma’am. I did not mean for my words to distress you.’
The Marchioness smiled faintly, blinking. ‘Do not concern yourself about me. I fear I am proving a poor hostess.’
Madeleine blinked in surprise. ‘Why should you be a good hostess? You ought not be compelled to entertain me at all.’
Her hostess looked up. ‘Compelled? I assure you I was not compelled. It was my idea to invite you to dinner.’
‘Why?’ It was presumptuous of her to ask, but the word simply burst out of her.
Distress again pinched her ladyship’s brow, and she gave Madeleine a pleading look. Madeleine felt a different kind of shame for distressing such a lady. Lady Heronvale had truly laboured to be kind. There had not been a moment when she had shown even a hint of the disapproval Madeleine deserved.
Madeleine glanced around the room, her eyes lighting on the figurines on the mantelpiece. ‘They are Meissen, are they not?’ she said, trying to find something comfortable to talk about.
‘What?’ The Marchioness still looked distressed.
‘The figures on the mantel. They are Meissen.’
‘Why, yes they, are.’ Her ladyship’s eyes widened with surprise.
Madeleine smiled. ‘They are lovely.’
After nearly half an hour of more awkward conversation, Ned and Devlin entered the parlour. The brothers looked congenial. Madeleine did not know if this boded good or ill. In any event, what more pain could the Marquess inflict than making Devlin leave her? Devlin would leave her no matter what. The Marquess could not, after all, know her identity.
Ned surveyed the parlour and elected to stand near the mantel, upon which he leaned casually. The leg nearest the fire felt too much heat, but he ignored the discomfort. He had a good view, a position of power.
He had been pleased to be able to converse with his brother in an amicable way, though he sensed Devlin’s wariness. He glanced at his wife and perceived her discomfort, as well. Miss England was more of a puzzle. She seemed serene, poised, untouched by the tensions crackling throughout the room.
Ned rubbed the elegant carving of the mantel with his thumb. The time had come. He met his wife’s eye. She inhaled sharply. He would bring Serena her heart’s desire.
He looked down on the young woman who should never have been invited to his wife’s home. ‘Miss England,’ he began in a mild voice, hoping it sounded friendly.
She lifted her gaze to him, the impassive expression still in her eyes.
‘What think you of our house here in town?’
A flicker of surprise showed in her face, but she quickly changed her expression to one he could not read. Mocking? Melancholic? ‘It is a magnificent home, my lord. Very fine.’
He smiled. ‘I am pleased that you think so.’
She returned his smile. ‘I did not realise you sought my good opinion.’
That statement must be sarcasm, but he could not tell for certain. He ignored it, clearing his throat. ‘This house pales in comparison to Heronvale. Heronvale is a piece of heaven.’ Ned glanced at Devlin. ‘It was a marvellous place to be reared, was it not, Devlin?’
Devlin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He lounged in a chair, but one leg crossed over the other swung with nervous energy. ‘It had fine stables.’
Ned laughed, hoping to dispel his brother’s tension. ‘My brother saw little of Heronvale except on the back of a horse. Did you know that, Miss England?’
The smile was fixed on her face. ‘Indeed.’
This woman gave up little of her feelings, Ned thought.
‘Miss England is an accomplished horsewoman,’ Devlin said.
‘Is that so?’ Ned remembered the child’s excitement seeing the horses of his curricle. He had assumed her passion for horses had come from her father. ‘You and my brother have that in common, then.’
Miss England shrugged her reply.
This was like fencing with an opponent reluctant to reveal his skill. Perhaps he should begin the attack.
He strolled over to a decanter of claret, lifting it to offer its contents to the others. Devlin shook his head and Serena mumbled ‘No, thank you.’
‘I should like some,’ Miss England said, and Ned had the foolish impression that they had each chosen their weapons. He handed her a glass and poured one for himself. He took a sip.
First lunge. ‘Did you know my brother is a wealthy man, Miss England?’
Her glass pressed against her lips and her taste of the wine was long and delicate. ‘Is one wealthy who has no money to spend?’ Parry.
Riposte. ‘You know, then, that Devlin must marry?’
Her brows lifted. ‘For his wealth, he must marry, unless you declare otherwise.’ Well parried. Too well parried.
‘He must marry. His heritage demands it. Do you understand?’
She stared at him, bringing her glass to her lips again.
Ned abandoned the fencing and indulged in a rare display of anger. ‘His behaviour with you has been irresponsible. Unbecoming in a gentleman—’
Devlin rose from his chair. ‘Enough, Ned. These are words to be spoken to me in private. I will not have you do so in front of Madeleine.’
Ned took a step toward his brother. ‘You took a mistress when you knew full well you could not keep her in clothes or jewels—’
‘She does not want—’
Ned closed the distance on his brother. ‘You involved a child, Devlin. A child. How irresponsible is that?’
Serena gasped.
‘You know nothing of this matter, Ned. I have said I will find a wife, what more do you want? I’ll accept my bloody heritage and be damned, but you owe Madeleine an apology.’ Devlin’s eyes blazed with anger. ‘She has done nothing to deserve these words of yours.’
‘She has borne a child, has she not?’ Ned paced back to the mantel. Devlin stood his ground. Turning to face them again, Ned saw the alarm in Serena’s face. Miss England looked on, alert.
‘The home you have contrived is no place for a child,’ he said. ‘The little girl needs comfort and education and a solid moral foundation. You cannot give that to her, Devlin.’
‘I can and will take care of the child. Why do you think I agreed to marry? You’ve left me no other way to take care of them, have you? Well, brother, you may bet on it that Madeleine and Linette will be well cared for.’ Devlin’s fists were clenched and his body poised for a fight. ‘By me.’
Ned paced the floor. ‘You cannot provide her a good home. What will the child learn of life in a household like that, with you arriving at odd hours to warm her mother’s bed?’
‘Damn you, Ned. You have stepped too far over the line.’ Devlin’s face became a rigid, angry mask. Ned thought this might be how he appeared galloping toward a company of bayonet-wielding Frenchmen.
‘Ned?’ Serena’s fingers crushed the fabric of her dress.
He glanced from Serena to Miss England, her hands folded demurely and her gazed fixed on them. Damn his brother for compromising that young woman.
And damn himself for being glad of it.
He would not back away now, not when he had come so far. He slowed his breaths and moderated his voice. ‘I do apologise. I did not intend to ring a peal over your head.’
Devlin’s hands curved into fists.
‘Serena and I wish to help. It is why we invited you here.’
Miss
England raised her head.
‘We believe it would be advantageous to everyone, if you agree with our proposition.’
Devlin still glowered, but showed a hint of curiosity, as well.
Ned went on. ‘We wish to adopt the child and raise her as our own…’
Chapter Twelve
‘Good God, Ned.’ Devlin turned away from his brother and drew a tense hand through his hair. Ned wanted the child? ‘What right have you to propose such a thing?’
He heard the Marquess take a deep breath. ‘I am head of the family, you might recall.’
‘What the deuce has that to do with it?’ Devlin swung back to him.
Ned made no effort to respond, simply staring back.
Devlin’s mind reeled with his brother’s words. Ned thought he had seduced Madeleine. Thought she pined for dresses and jewels. Thought he could take Linette from her.
‘Serena and I realise—’ Ned’s voice was steady and reasonable ‘—that there may be talk about our raising your child, but we are prepared—’
‘My child?’
‘Linette.’ Ned went on. ‘Such talk would disappear as soon as something more interesting came along. So I would not—’
‘My child?’ Devlin repeated, raising his voice.
‘Of course,’ Ned glanced at him and continued talking. ‘It would be no time…’
Devlin stared at his brother, impeccably dressed in white breeches and superbly cut black coat. His hair, flecked with grey, remained neat and orderly. Did his ever-perfect brother think he’d seduced Madeleine, got her with child, then abandoned her to go off to war? Only a cad would do such a thing.
Devlin longed to explain to Ned he was not that sort of man. Explain that Madeleine had been Farley’s prize. That the child might be anybody’s. Serena might blush, but how scandalised could she be? An occasional tumble with such a woman was expected of young men. His brother might lift a disapproving eyebrow, but he could not damn Devlin’s character. Yes, all that was needed to clear his name was to expose Madeleine’s life under Farley and shame her in front of Ned and Serena.
