Grace stared at Madelaine from across the room. “I’ll expect your allowance in my hands by nightfall.”
“I’d expect no less from the likes of you,” Madelaine replied. A small sense of satisfaction filled her as Grace opened and closed her mouth. No doubt the ninny struggled to find some nasty words to say. Too bad she wasn’t quick-witted. Grace settled on a glare, turned and departed the room.
Madelaine stood for a moment with nothing but the crackle of the fire as her company. It seemed worse somehow to have found a possible friend and then lost her so suddenly than to have never had a friend at all. At least before, she had become numb to the cruelty of the other ladies-in-waiting.
She hated this place. But she couldn’t begrudge her father. He’d done what he thought best for his odd daughter. He wanted her married and had judged she needed all the help she could get to finally learn to be a proper lady since she’d failed miserably to become one when her mother was alive. If only she had tried harder, not caused her mother so much heartache. Her heart twisted with memories.
A commotion at the door drew her attention back to the area. The chambermaid with the red hair swept in. “I need to draw the curtains.”
Madelaine glanced at the windows and frowned. The curtains were all drawn wide.
The chambermaid laughed. “Sorry, my lady. I meant I need to straighten the pillows.”
To Madelaine’s eye not a single pillow in the room was out of place, but she waved the woman into the room. “Constance, correct?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Were you lingering outside the room this entire time?” She hated to be accusatory, but she needed to be pragmatic. Silence may need to be bought. Her skin crawled at her thoughts. She was becoming a true member of this wretched Court.
“Certainly not, my lady.” The woman’s voice held indignation, but her eyes darted with her lies. It was on the tip of Madelaine’s tongue to offer Constance coin, but then Madelaine remembered she now had no coin to offer. It was all due to Lady Grace. This was awful.
She pasted a sweet smile on her face, though she felt like screaming. “If you did happen to overhear anything, I hope you know how grateful I’d be, how willing to help you it would make me, if you kept your silence.”
Constance cleared her throat. “I didn’t hear a thing, my lady.”
Madelaine clenched her fist. Falsehoods. This entire Court was filled with people who had been raised to lie.
The all too familiar sting of hurt pierced Madelaine’s heart. She had to get out of here before she became someone she did not recognize in an effort to simply defend herself from those around her. The problem was she had to have an offer of marriage before her father would allow her to leave the Court, and as far as she could tell the men at Court with their freely roaming hands and whispered innuendos wanted a whore―not a wife.
After a week of being locked up in the castle because of constant rain and bitter cold, Madelaine was giddy when she awoke on the seventh day to sun and warmer temperatures. Neither the queen’s glare nor Grace’s continuing campaign to make Madelaine look foolish in front of the queen could dampen Madelaine’s spirits today. They were to spend time outside and the promise of riding her horse, though it would not be as fast as she liked, lightened her heart and added a bounce to her step.
As she raced down the stairs to meet the queen and the other ladies-in-waiting she found Grace at the bottom of the steps.
“You’re dressed rather oddly for sketching,” Grace said.
Madelaine’s spirits plummeted. “Are we no longer riding?”
“Did I forget to tell you of the queen’s change of mind?” A wicked smile flittered across Grace’s face. “You better hurry if you don’t want to anger the queen by being tardy.”
Madelaine wanted to throttle Grace, but unfortunately that would have to wait. She raced up the stairs and quickly changed while categorizing the different ways she’d like to take her revenge on Grace. By the time she returned to the courtyard, she had ten solid retaliation methods in mind, and she would have gladly employed method one, pushing Grace into the fountain when no one was watching, but the queen and all the ladies had already gone outside.
Fuming, she trudged in the direction the guard pointed her, kicking stray pebbles as she walked. Why had she fought her mother so? If only she’d paid attention and learned how to do at least one thing normal ladies did. Her mother had been right―Madelaine was willful and her father was too soft. A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. How easy it had always been to get Father to take her side. A few well-placed tears and she would be practicing archery with him instead of inside with her mother trying to master embroidery. A gentle reminder about how long he had been gone to see the king, and she could easily escape practicing pianoforte for the much more pleasurable experience of racing him on horseback across their wide expanse of land or having a dagger-throwing contest.
None of the things she knew how to do did her any good, just as her mother had always predicted. If only she had listened, her parents would not have fought over her behavior and then her mother would be alive. The familiar sting of tears tickled her nose, but as the queen and the other ladies-in-waiting came into sight, Madelaine sniffed back the tears. She’d sooner be stuck with a hot poker than cry in front of any of them.
“How nice of you to join us, Lady Madelaine,” the queen said.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I had to change out of my riding habit.”
“As did everyone else who was here when I said to be.”
Madelaine gritted her teeth on her response while sitting and carefully situating her skirts over her ankles. Small blades of brittle grass pricked her skin through her stockings. She ignored the desire to lean down and rub her ankles―a lady did not rub her ankle in public no matter what. Even if her ankle was twisted. One public smack of her hands by the queen had ingrained that particular lesson into Madelaine’s mind for good. The queen didn’t hit near as hard as Madelaine’s mother used to, but then again her mother had not had an audience to force her temper under control.
Inhaling a breath of the mildly cool air, the familiar calm she always got when she was outside descended on her. The emerging wintery beauty of Windsor Great Park pushed away the weariness Grace had caused. Madelaine pulled out her supplies and picked up her easel. At least if she had to be humiliated it would be under a tree that still somehow stood lushly green amongst the other trees whose leaves had already begun to turn to a dull brown.
Madelaine chanced a look at Lady Elizabeth, who had not spoken to her once in the last seven days but had offered the occasional friendly smile when Grace had not been present. It would be lovely to have one lady to count as a friend but that was probably too much to hope for. As Madelaine finished situating herself, the queen let out an irritated sigh.
“I’ve forgotten my favorite sketching instrument.”
“I’ll get it, Your Majesty.” Grace jumped up and pushed back her chair.
Queen Charlotte bestowed a doting smile on Grace that made Madelaine want to roll her eyes. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the paper before her and imagined Grace falling, face first, straight into the mud. How Madelaine would love to sketch that. The minute Grace disappeared from view, Lady Elizabeth leaned toward Madelaine. “I’m so sorry,” she said under her breath.
“Don’t be,” Madelaine whispered back.
Lady Elizabeth gazed around them, but the queen was sitting with her eyes closed and her face raised slightly to the sun. The other ladies-in-waiting were all busily sketching. “I cannot be thrown from Court,” Lady Elizabeth said.
“Please, don’t worry about me.” Madelaine understood Lady Elizabeth’s concern, but all the same, it made her sad the woman wouldn’t chance being her friend.
“I’ve someone I want you to meet,” Lady Elizabeth said out of the side of her mouth. “Meet me in the chapel before dinner.”
The invitation was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. R
ather than risk any more whispering, Madelaine nodded. Perhaps she and Lady Elizabeth would be friends after all, even if only secretly. Relaxing, she studied the landscape while trying to decide what would be the easiest thing to try to sketch. In the distance, two riders appeared out of the woods, black capes billowing behind them starkly contrasted by the bright blue sky. By the way the horses raced hell-bent toward them they had to be two men riding the beasts. No woman would dare to ride with such speed unless perhaps fleeing for her life.
As the horses drew nearer, the ground vibrated from the pounding hooves into the soles of Madelaine’s delicately slippered feet. The bevy of whispers that erupted as all the women forgot their sketching to gaze curiously at the approaching riders made Madelaine want to laugh. Not one of these ladies would dare defy the queen’s order in normal circumstances, but put two men in their paths and the queen’s command to draw was promptly abandoned. And the queen did not seem to mind one bit, if her smile was any indication. Madelaine quirked her mouth. She didn’t need a friend in one of the ladies-in-waiting to help her soften the queen, she needed a man. Two men from the queen’s guard materialized from the stone wall they had been lounging against to stand just behind the queen on either side of her.
Madelaine shielded her eyes from the glaring sun, but she could not get a good view of the approaching riders.
“Now who could this be?” The queen’s bejeweled, wrinkled hand hovered just above her eyes.
As the riders came closer, a golden lion became visible on one of their capes. Lady Elizabeth gasped, jerked up from her seat and then dipped into a deep curtsey toward the queen. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty. I believe that’s my youngest brother, Lord Grey.”
“Splendid,” the queen said with such a genuine smile Madelaine had to cough to cover her snort. Of course the queen’s good grace would extend to a man. And then remembrance flooded through Madelaine. Was this Lord Grey―the unsuspecting brother who had been called here to be delivered as a sacrifice to Grace in return for the woman’s silence?
Poor man. She prayed he was a strong sort and would resist the temptation of Grace’s outer beauty long enough to learn her insides were ugly. The chance was bleak though if Lord Grey was like all other men. Still, one could hope.
From the corner of her eye, Grace’s yellow hair caught Madelaine’s attention as the woman fairly skipped toward them. She arrived at the circle at the same moment the horses drew to a stop. No doubt she had planned her appearance once she had seen the men approaching. The men descended and led their horses toward the women.
“Lady Elizabeth, your brother has the looks of a knight of old,” the queen said.
Madelaine gaped at the queen. Had she delivered a breathless compliment? It couldn’t be possible. Yet, her Majesty’s eyes shined as she stared at the approaching men. Rosy color stained her normally pale complexion, and her posture was just a bit straighter, wasn’t it? Yes. Yes, it was! The queen was smitten with one of the men and based on earlier comments, it had to be Lord Grey. You could have knocked Madelaine over with her sketching utensil.
Under lowered lashes Madelaine studied the men. The one on the right had hair the color of wheat and a face that could have been described as a work of art with his high cheekbones, full lips, and golden shadow of stubble. Thick, light eyebrows framed his green, friendly eyes. He stopped in front of the queen, bowed and spoke in a rich voice. “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you as well, Lord Gravenhurst.” Queen Charlotte smiled up at him before waving a hand in dismissal.
As Lord Gravenhurst stepped aside, Madelaine leaned forward in her chair eager to get a good look at the man that Grace wanted and the queen became human over. In her haste to see him, she knocked her easel with her knee. What an oaf she was! She reached for the easel, but missed, and the dratted thing slid off its perch to land in the grass. Maybe no one had noticed? Snickers rose around her, and her heart fell. Now, not only was she odd, she was a klutz. Surely things couldn’t get worse.
“Really, Lady Madelaine, do try to have a modicum of decorum,” the queen said. Heat enveloped Madelaine’s face. It had to be impossible to be more embarrassed than she was at this moment. Keeping her gaze downward, she bent to retrieve the easel. Blast! It was out of her reach. Maybe if she shifted her weight. Her chair creaked as she did so. She held her breath and reached. Almost there. If she could just reach a little bit further. There! Her fingertips brushed the easel, and she stretched a bit more to grasp the thing. Underneath her, the ground shifted. Or was that her chair? Egads, she was falling. She tried to throw her weight backward, but the weight of the heavy hoops the queen insisted they wear pulled her forward.
Strong hands with a gentle touch pushed her back into her seat. When she glanced up, her gaze locked with wintery blue eyes and a wave of shock sent a shiver through her body. Dear God. Lord Grey was her Lord Drivel. How many times had she dreamed of him and wondered if he’d gone the next day to Golden Square to meet her?
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the icy beauty of the aware gaze holding hers. He recognized her too! And if she had any doubt his thick black eyebrows arching questioningly then coming down into a furrow over narrowing eyes, quashed her uncertainty. Leave it to her to break into an anxious sweat on a cool day.
Lord Grey’s haughty aristocratic expression hadn’t changed a whit from last year. Yet, he had changed. Clearly he was not the preening peacock she’d thought he was when they’d first met. His skin was unfashionably bronze. His hair―inky black and touching his shoulders―was in disarray. But what a beautiful mess it was. He needed a shave, and that scar above his lip…The man looked like a virile knight of old. The queen had, for once, been perfectly correct. Madelaine sighed and Lord Grey blinked. She blinked back. Dear God, had she been staring? The unusual quietness told her she had.
“Here you are.” Lord Grey held out her easel.
“Thank you,” she automatically replied and took the easel while praying he was smart enough to keep their prior meeting secret.
“No, thank you.” Lord Grey’s voice washed over her with its warmth.
“For what?” Blast. She should have let the conversation die. The queen was frowning at her.
Lord Grey leaned forward on bent knee, the fine tan cambric of his coat stretched tight over his broad shoulders.
“It’s not every day that I get to come to the rescue of a beautiful lady-in-waiting.” He plucked her sketching utensil from the ground and handed it to her.
As she reached to take her instrument from him, his fingers brushed hers and her skin tingled in the wake of his touch. She rubbed her tickling fingertips together and racked her mind for a coy, yet proper reply, to his flattery. Before she could speak, Grace did. “I, for one, am not the least surprised you had to help Lady Madelaine. She’s a terrible lout. Why just last night, she tripped Lord Carlisle whilst they were dancing.”
It was entirely too bad the opportunity to take revenge on Grace hadn’t presented itself earlier. An angry blush singed Madelaine’s cheeks. It was true she had tripped Lord Carlisle on the dance floor, but it had been purposely. His hands had kept “accidentally” brushing her bottom though she had quite sternly told him to quit. But she couldn’t very well explain herself with the truth. She ground her teeth at the futility of her situation.
Lord Grey stood, his powerful frame extending in one fluid motion. He glanced down at her. Was that a conspiratorial smile stretching his lips? “I find it hard to believe someone who looks as graceful as Lady Madelaine could cause anyone to trip, yet I find I hope it’s true.”
“And why is that, Lord Grey?” asked the queen.
“If I might be bold, Your Majesty?”
“Of course you may.”
Madelaine gawked at the queen. How amazing she looked with a genuine smile on her face. She was almost pretty.
Grey moved to the side of Madelaine’s chair, his thigh brushing her arm. “I’ve an affi
nity for awkward people, being one myself.”
She would have grinned up at him for his kindness, but the queen was studying her with an inscrutable look. Whatever was Queen Charlotte thinking? Before Madelaine could ponder the likely dire possibilities, the queen stood and Madelaine scrambled to stand along with all the other ladies-in-waiting. The queen smiled and addressed Lord Grey. “You’re too kind, Lord Grey. I happen to know from watching you ride and joust you have the grace of a prowling panther.”
“Your Majesty―” He took the queen’s proffered elbow. “―you flatter me.”
“I flatter no one,” the queen replied with a laugh. “Just ask Lady Madelaine.”
Good gracious. If she answered truthfully it would make the queen look bad, yet if she lied, the queen would know it. The stubborn part of Madelaine that had gotten her into so much trouble was leading her there again. She didn’t want to look weak.
“Lady Madelaine?” Lord Grey’s gaze met hers.
She inclined her head toward Queen Charlotte. “You are my queen, therefore you are correct.”
“And if she wasn’t your queen?” Lord Grey asked. Blast the man. He had no idea the precarious situation he was putting her in.
“Then I would say her words carry the sting of a bee and not the sweetness of their honey. From my experience, of course,” she hastened to add at Lord Grey’s lifted eyebrows.
Why was he studying her as if she were some unknown species?
“Interesting. A woman not afraid to speak the truth.”
She most certainly was afraid, but she’d been presented little choice.
“Perhaps,” the queen agreed, though her voice held an underlying tone of doubt. “Lord Grey, tell me, are you here to see your sister or just to beguile us with your company?”
“Both. Unofficially. But officially, I’m here in service to Lord Pearson.”
What A Rogue Wants Page 3
