The Advent of Lady Madeline

by Pamela Sherwood

  The first order of business had been to make sure Volumnia hadn’t intruded upon the guests. Fortunately, none of them had reported seeing her, and most had been tolerant of the sisters’ search and solicitous about the expectant mother—Gervase excepted.

  “Do you think Volumnia might have gone to Margaret’s room?” Juliana suggested hopefully. “She likes cats.”

  “So she does.” Their friend and neighbor Lady Margaret Carlisle was nothing if not good-humored, a quality that endeared her to many in the Lyons family. “She and Alicia are sharing the Rose Room. We’ll try there next.”

  “Ladies, if I may have your attention?” a resonant male voice inquired.

  Madeline turned… and abruptly found herself lost for words.

  Two doors down, leaning against the jamb, stood a man who could have modeled as one of the heroes of the Iliad. Not Achilles or Paris, her mind supplied dazedly. This was the noble Hector: tall, deep-chested, and broad-shouldered. Fair curling hair, eyes the light golden-brown of acorns, even features in an undeniably handsome face…

  The gentleman smiled, a touch wryly, but it did not detract from the good humor she saw in his eyes. “Viscount Saxby, at your service.” He sketched them a bow. “I believe I can assist you in your quest.”

  Chapter Two

  Some men there are love not a gaping pig;

  Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat…

  —William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

  * * *

  “There you are!” Lady Juliana Lyons exclaimed thankfully, as she lifted up the skirts of the counterpane. “Here, puss, puss, puss…”

  The front half of her vanished under Hugo’s bed, then emerged some moments later, clutching a squirming tortoiseshell cat to her chest.

  “She must have got in while my valet was bringing in my trunks,” Hugo remarked to the tall, dark-haired Lady Madeline Lyons, who was regarding her sister and the cat with mingled relief and exasperation. “And then slipped under the bed unnoticed. I didn’t notice, until I sat down on the bed myself and heard her cry out. It was—a most extraordinary sound.”

  Lady Madeline’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “It is indeed. I hope you weren’t too startled, Lord Saxby.”

  “Not in the least,” Hugo assured her. He certainly wasn’t about to tell his host’s lovely daughters that he’d all but jumped out of his skin on hearing that piercing caterwaul.

  “Thank you so much, Lord Saxby,” Lady Juliana said breathlessly, scrambling to her feet. “I’m sorry Volumnia’s been such a nuisance. But she’s only like this because she’s going to have kittens!”

  Good God! Hugo eyed the cat with fresh alarm, noticing that she was indeed noticeably enceinte. Even further along than Charley was. He doubted that his sister would appreciate the comparison. “Er, is the blessed event due to occur soon?”

  Lady Juliana regarded the cat critically. “I can’t be sure. Maybe in the next day or so?”

  “As long as it’s not in anyone else’s chamber! She had her last litter in our brother Gervase’s bed,” Lady Madeline explained to Hugo. “He expressed himself—rather forcefully about it, then and now.”

  “He threatened to turn her into a muff,” Lady Juliana reported with a giggle, cuddling her pet close. “And to do the skinning himself.”

  Hugo felt a decided twinge of sympathy for Lord Gervase. The beast—Volumnia?—made a baleful sound between a mew and a growl that her mistress ignored.

  “Well, now that you’ve got her, Ju, we should be on our way,” Lady Madeline said, rather pointedly. She turned to Hugo. “Thank you, Lord Saxby, for your assistance. We apologize for disturbing you.”

  “Not at all. I was glad to be of help.” He paused, then surprised himself by inquiring, “I shall see you at dinner, then, Lady Madeline?”

  Her eyes widened fractionally. “Yes, at dinner. Good evening, my lord.” She ushered herself and her sister out of his room.

  Hugo closed the door, leaned against it bemusedly. Barely two hours since his arrival at Denforth Castle, and things were already proving more—eventful than he was accustomed to. Not in a bad way, though he hoped the rest of the family livestock weren’t in the habit of invading the guest chambers!

  Although it was almost worth the trouble, he mused, if it brought such enchanting visitors as the Lyons sisters to his door. Lady Juliana looked no older than twelve, but she was already a charmer, with that bright hair and those sparkling blue eyes. No doubt she’d have suitors by the dozen when she made her debut and started thinking about young men instead of cats.

  Lady Madeline’s looks were equally striking, though she was a very different type from her sister. More like her mother the Duchess, whom Hugo had finally met on his arrival: the same dark hair, fine bones, and ivory complexion—even the same air of self-possession. But while Her Grace’s eyes were hazel, Lady Madeline’s were closer to green. Perhaps with a touch of blue, Hugo mused, remembering his first good view of them. Or grey.

  Changeable eyes. Sea-colored eyes. Lady Althea had blue eyes—light and pretty as a spring sky. He could not recall them being any other color but blue.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that, he told himself hastily. Blue eyes were lovely and—in Lady Althea’s case—made a perfect match with her butter-blonde hair and pink-and-white complexion. Just what one would expect in an English rose.

  He ignored the voice in his head that insinuated that the unexpected could be lovely too. And that English roses were not the only flowers in the garden. Pushing that traitorous thought aside, he summoned Gibson to help him dress for dinner.

  “Lord Saxby was awfully nice about all this,” Juliana remarked as she and Madeline headed back the way they had come. She tightened her hold on Volumnia, who grumbled but made no attempt to free herself from the girl’s grasp.

  “He was indeed.” Which spoke well of him, Madeline reflected. Not everyone was as tolerant of finding strange animals under their beds. And his expression while watching Juliana had been quite indulgent. Had he younger siblings of his own, perhaps?

  She racked her brain, trying to remember anything she might have heard about him or his family and wishing she’d paid more attention when Maman had been compiling the guest list. The answers to some of her questions might lie in Debrett’s but she’d no time to consult it before dinner. At least she’d have a chance to see and perhaps speak with the charming viscount then. And if she were very fortunate, he might even be seated beside her.

  Her pulse quickened at the thought. Something else she had in common with Maman: an appreciation for a handsome man, which Lord Saxby most certainly was. Elaine might have teased her about being picky, but it had been a while since a man had made such a strong impression upon her—possibly not since her first Season. She’d been out five years now: how was it that they had not met before?

  Lord Saxby must be at least a few years older than Hal and his friends. She would have placed his age at just under thirty, and Madeline had turned twenty-three this past summer. No longer a young girl, but that was all to the good as far as she was concerned. She knew herself to be much more poised and confident now than she’d been at eighteen—all the better to hold the attention of a mature man.

  She mustn’t rush things, however. First impressions were important—but further acquaintance was essential, to judge the depth of an attraction properly. Still, Madeline reasoned, a gentleman as good-natured as he was good-looking was worth cultivating… if she could just be certain that there was no Lady Saxby in the picture or in the offing.

  “—stay with you?”

  Juliana’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Madeline started to utter an absent-minded agreement, but stopped short as the realization of what her sister was asking sank in. “Ju, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Please, Maddie!” her sister implored, her eyes huge and beseeching over the cat in her arms. “You know I can’t take Volumnia back to the nursery! And I won’t take her out to th
e stables, and she’s already got out of the attic! Can’t she stay in your room, just for tonight? I’ll find another place for her tomorrow, I promise!”

  Volumnia made a pitiful sound, and once again, Madeline found herself weakening. She was fond enough of cats, and it wasn’t the animal’s fault that she’d got in the family way. Besides, it was the Christmas season, she reflected, a touch wryly. What better time to show charity towards expectant mothers?

  “One night,” she conceded at last, bending a stern gaze upon Juliana. “We’ll find a basket for her, and she can sleep in my dressing room. But tomorrow, she stays elsewhere!”

  Most estates had drawing rooms; Denforth Castle had a Great Hall, in which a fair number of guests had already assembled by the time Hugo entered.

  The first person he recognized was Branscombe, who beckoned to him with a smile. Relieved, Hugo made his way over the fireplace, where his brother-in-law was standing.

  “Glad to see you didn’t get lost on the way,” Branscombe remarked jovially, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “It was a close-run thing,” Hugo admitted, “but one of the footmen pointed me in the right direction.”

  “Excellent. I’ve heard Her Grace has the staff at Denforth running like clockwork.”

  She’d have to, in an establishment this size, Hugo reflected, especially with a house party in residence. Branscombe had said there would be at least twenty people attending, not counting the family. Aloud he remarked, “I know you told me who was who while we were on the train, but it’s going to take some time for me to match all the names with the faces.”

  “I’ll point them out to you, then, as discreetly as possible. Although,” Branscombe added with a hint of a smirk, “I trust you’ll have no trouble recognizing our hosts?”

  “None whatsoever.” Their Graces were nothing if not distinctive. “And I’ve met Denforth a time or two,” he added, reminded once more of the young earl’s potentially undesirable influence on Wilf.

  Fortunately, his younger brother hadn’t gone into a sulk at the news that Hugo would be attending the Whitborough house party, though he had made a point of avoiding him and Branscombe at the train station, saying that he was already sharing a compartment with friends. In keeping with his promise to Charley, Hugo supposed he should observe which of Denforth’s other companions were present and whether Wilf was following their example too closely.

  “Well, over there is his next youngest brother, Lord Reginald,” Branscombe began, indicating a tall, blond young man with an almost military bearing. “Destined for the army, I understand, and already looking every inch a soldier.”

  He did indeed, Hugo mused, right down to the thousand-yard stare and the stern, uncompromising jut of his jaw. Lord Reginald and Denforth both favored their father, with their fair coloring and athletic builds. But there was something… harder about the younger man, a sharper, keener edge that was missing from his elder brother, whom Hugo now spotted striding into the Great Hall, his smile almost as bright as his hair. Several of the ladies present turned their faces towards him like flowers following the progress of the sun. He did have charisma, Hugo conceded grudgingly. But charisma did not necessarily indicate strength of character.

  He was even less pleased at the sight of the two young men entering on Denforth’s heels: Lord Rupert Bonham and the Honorable Clarence Moresby. Handsome enough in their way, if lacking Denforth’s glamour, but every bit as idle and spendthrift as their leader. Lord Rupert, especially: he was the second son of the Marquess of Wyndross, Hugo remembered. A darkly handsome fellow whose liking for sport was as keen as Hugo’s own, though he’d also a taste for certain… town pleasures that Hugo did not share. Indeed, Hugo had heard that Bonham was something of a rake.

  Frowning, he scanned the swelling assembly of guests for Wilf, not knowing whether to be relieved or anxious that his brother hadn’t entered with the rest of Denforth’s set.

  “—Lord Gervase Lyons.” Branscombe’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “He doesn’t resemble his brothers, but I’ve heard he’s quite clever. Just went up to Oxford this Michaelmas.”

  Hurriedly, Hugo glanced in the direction his brother-in-law had indicated. This must be the same Lord Gervase who’d objected so strenuously to a cat having kittens in his bed, and small blame to him. He looked to be about nineteen or twenty, browner and more lightly built than his brothers, but his gaze was as keen and assessing as a man’s twice his age.

  “And that’s the Duke of Castlebrooke he’s talking to,” Branscombe went on. “They’re much of an age, I understand, and attending the same college.”

  “Really?” Hugo took a closer look at the auburn-haired youth standing next to Lord Gervase. “I’d no idea we were in such exalted company—two dukes at a house party.”

  “Three,” Branscombe corrected. “Their Graces of Langdale are here as well. They’re old friends of the Whitboroughs, practically neighbors in fact.” He nodded towards a pleasant-looking middle-aged couple, flanked by a girl of perhaps seventeen and a youth a few years younger. “And those are their two eldest children: Lady Margaret Carlisle and Lord Harrowfield. The youngest, Lady Alicia, is still in the schoolroom.”

  Hugo hummed an absent-minded acknowledgment. Wilf had just come into the Great Hall and was glancing about him uncertainly. Hugo suppressed the urge to beckon or even wave, knowing that his brother would most likely resent what he perceived as interference, and watched resignedly as Wilf spied Denforth’s set and made his way over to them.

  “—Middletons, Sir George and his family,” Branscombe went on. “Also friends and neighbors of the Whitboroughs, though at slightly closer remove. Sir George is the local M.F.H. I’m sure you’ll want to make his acquaintance as soon as possible!”

  He wasn’t wrong. Ordinarily, Hugo would have been eager to know more about Middleton, the pack he ran, and the country in which they’d be hunting. But a flash of color had drawn his eye to the doorway where two young women currently stood, looking like an exquisite portrait study in contrasts: a dainty blonde in lavender, who looked about sixteen, and willowy, dark-haired Lady Madeline in green. The very best of light and dark, Hugo found himself thinking.

  Suddenly, as though she could hear those thoughts, Lady Madeline turned her head, her sea-colored eyes meeting his own from across the room. Good Lord, had she actually been looking for him?

  Don’t flatter yourself, old boy, Hugo told himself. Most likely, Lady Madeline was ascertaining that he was in a good humor and not holding a grudge because of his feline visitor. Under the circumstances, it seemed only right to send her a small, reassuring smile.

  Lady Madeline’s eyes widened at that, then her lips curved in an answering smile that sent an unexpected jolt through him. Her face was lovely in repose, but the smile enhanced that loveliness, imparting warmth and humor to features that might otherwise seem remote in their almost classical symmetry. A woman instead of a goddess… and Hugo had always preferred the former to the latter.

  On impulse, he closed his left eye in the briefest of winks—and thought he saw the faintest flush warm Lady Madeline’s ivory skin, but she did not appear offended. Even more tellingly, she did not look away.

  “Ah, and there are Whitborough’s two eldest daughters,” Branscombe spoke up again, beside him. “Lady Madeline and Lady Elaine. Pretty girls, aren’t they?”

  “Very,” Hugo agreed, though he privately thought that “pretty” was almost too tame a word for Lady Madeline’s distinctive looks. “I’ve already met the elder daughter—briefly,” he added, surprising himself with the admission.

  “Indeed?” Much to Hugo’s relief, his brother-in-law sounded only mildly interested; Charley, by contrast, would have seized upon such a tidbit—and imbued it with far more significance than it merited. “I’ve encountered her just a handful of times myself. Mostly at parties—she’s been out for several years, but with her advantages, I suppose she feels no great compulsion to marry.”

  Charley
had said something similar, Hugo recalled, but he couldn’t help wondering if Lady Madeline’s parents had anything to do with her decision. Just then, as though conjured by his thoughts, the Whitboroughs entered the Great Hall. No denying they made a striking pair, he mused: the duchess with her dark beauty and exquisite bones, the duke no less splendid, in an almost leonine way, with piercing sapphire-blue eyes and a full head of tawny hair, barely touched with grey. Even more compelling was the sense of power they wore so comfortably, like matching cloaks. One could easily imagine they would be most exacting, when it came to approving suitors for their eldest daughter’s hand. Perhaps they’d even scared off a few? A pity if it were so: a prize like Lady Madeline was surely worth the hazard.

  Not that it was any of his affair, Hugo reminded himself hastily. He’d matrimonial plans of his own, and once this house party was over, he’d have the time and opportunity to pursue them. So he let his gaze drift about the room, noting the other guests and absorbing Branscombe’s further comments in silence.

  And when Her Grace approached him some minutes later, he was not—most assuredly not—disappointed to learn that he would be escorting Miss Christabel Middleton, rather than Lady Madeline!

  Given the order of precedence, Madeline was not surprised to find herself paired with Lord Rupert Bonham at dinner. He was a marquess’s son, after all, and blessed with a handsome allowance and an even more handsome face. Most eligible, if one went by appearances alone.

  She believed she had his measure before the fish course was over: witty, amusing, agreeable in an indolent sort of way, but no more mature than Hal was, really, despite being a few years older than her twin. Ripe for any flirtation, she had no doubt, but she suspected the very mention of anything more serious would cause Lord Rupert to blench and hastily find reason to be elsewhere. Nonetheless, she could enjoy his practiced gallantries on a superficial level through the meal, even though her thoughts and glances kept straying towards another man.