by Kit Donner
Tears formed as she looked back at 21 Sullivan Court, the Georgian town house, and the only home she had known. What would Matthew do without her? He would be directionless without her or their father.
Madelene drew up her shoulders and shored up her confidence. She would go to the altar willingly, but she didn’t have to like it. She would consider it a brief sojourn in the country until she returned, and life could resume as she knew it.
She had enough mettle in her to get through this unfortunate event and prayed the days would pass quickly. For some reason, even knowing she was helping her brother did little to bring solace to her heart.
“Millie! You must know where they have gone!” Matthew pleaded with the young woman who sat in the kitchen crying into her apron.
“But I don’t, sir. I don’t know the name of the church. I only heard they was to be married today.” Her pasty complexion was pinked with raw tears.
Matthew braced his hand against the doorjamb. “You say he told you his name was Leonard Brelford?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Aye, sir, that is what ’e done says. And his cousin was with ’im too. ’er name was Miss Caroline sumthin’.”
He yelled, “Can you not tell me anything that might help?”
Millie only cried louder and harder. “I don’t know nothin’. It all ’appened so fast.” Her Cockney was more pronounced when she was anxious and had displeased him.
Matthew rubbed his face and wandered away from the kitchen to the parlor. Seated on the settee, he moaned into his hands. All of his plans for naught. While he had been making final preparations with the authentic Brelford, some stranger, calling himself Brelford, had swooped up his sister and taken her somewhere in London, or anywhere in England, or the seas, for that matter.
This stranger must have learned of their plan and spirited his sister away. That could be the only possibility. But why? And was this stranger actually going to marry his sister? Or just ensure the wager would end with his sister unmarried? He was sure to lose everything by the end of day tomorrow.
His only recourse was to find Madelene immediately, for she had to marry the real Brelford, unless. Unless. The more he thought on it, it could just be possible that there was one other person who had placed a bet Madelene would be married, and ensured it happened. There was more blunt to be had betting Madelene would marry in three days than not. He determined to go to White’s to search for answers.
The dagger. He had forgotten about the dagger. Matthew dashed upstairs and burst into Madelene’s bedchamber.
It was gone. Madelene’s trunk where he had hidden the valuable dagger was missing, along with his sister. No one knew he had hidden the object in her trunk but him.
Time was now his foe. He had to get the dagger back before anyone found it. Madelene would have no understanding of its value or importance because he had only mentioned the dagger in passing without any of the details.
Matthew had stolen the dagger from a young man, having intercepted him on his way through Covent Garden. Surprise on his side, Matthew had plucked the dagger from the youth’s belt before the boy knew what had happened. On his return home, he congratulated himself the theft had not resulted in violence.
It had been just as the count instructed him on where to locate the youth and how to steal the dagger, with a promise of a handsome purse for returning it to its rightful owner, the count. Matthew had hidden the dagger in Madelene’s trunk because many sought the valuable object, and he feared he himself would be the victim of thieves. He was to have returned the dagger to the count on the morning after next.
Now disaster loomed everywhere he turned. No Madelene, no won wager. No dagger. It didn’t bear thinking about. He went to change his clothes for the club. Perhaps a look at the betting book and a bottle would help with this unfortunate change in circumstances.
Flames from street lamps wavered in the onset of darkness as the trio descended from their carriage and walked up the steps of the south front entrance to the Roman stone portico of St. George’s Bloomsbury. The Corinthian pillars under a coffered ceiling, part of Hawksmoor’s designs, accented the stepped tower with George the First’s Roman-clad figure atop.
Madelene tried to stem her shaking hands by clasping them together. The stranger, who would soon be her husband, walked beside her with his hand on the center of her back, his expectation that he clearly expected her to flee.
In the carriage, she thought to rail at Mr. Brelford for his appalling behavior in carrying her off in such a manner, but he completely ignored her by talking quietly with his cousin.
With little to do, she had moved closer to the inside wall of the carriage to subtly sneak a peek at her betrothed. Could this man really prefer the company of men? Madelene found this difficult to believe, although she had never met someone of that ilk before. And why this should be the first thought to have occurred to her, she couldn’t exactly say.
Madelene breathed a sigh of relief she would not know his touch because of his predilections. She could feel his heat emanating from her side, and she kept telling herself it would do no good to find this man the least bit attractive.
Out of the corner of her eye, noting his acceptable looks, she had hoped he would be somewhat more handsome than what her brother had described. He certainly was not unattractive.
Interestingly enough, the man before her bore little resemblance to Matthew’s description. Her brother hadn’t mentioned any bushy eyebrows or unruly brown hair or the spectacles and bushy mustache, which helped to hide his features.
He looked to have a strong chin and dark eyes, the color difficult to ascertain. Indeed, he appeared fit and healthy in his weathered broad-shouldered black coat and faded breeches. Her betrothed would benefit from a more stylish hair design and fashionable clothes. Little wonder at this marriage to gain an easier living, or perhaps he possessed unsettled debts such like her brother.
She supposed he could have been a laborer. The way he had carried her from the parlor to the carriage with little effort spoke of his strength and fortitude. But his manners implied an entirely different situation.
Not that his looks or beastly manners mattered a whit to her. He would be her husband for one month only, and in name only. After all, it wasn’t as if she would need to spend all of her time in his presence. Indeed, they need not spend any time together. She was looking forward to visiting Aunt Bess, whom she hadn’t seen since her father’s funeral.
Through the doors, the vicar in formal robes greeted them in the dark silent alcove. Gold friezes shimmered in the candlelight, creating a soft, hallowed warmth around the small group. Father John guided them to the east apse on the right side of the church, mainly used for baptisms and a few hurried marriage ceremonies, their steps echoing on the wood floor.
Madelene shivered, in part due to the church’s dampness, but more from her impending marriage of doom. She could hear the shackles clank closed ever so softly. What would it take to be free of him, of this marriage? Only her brother imprisoned. It seemed she was the one to be imprisoned behind wedding vows.
She swiftly glanced at the man who held her arm and escorted her to their place before the altar. He certainly seemed determined to wed her. His face lit by candlelight was a complete mask. How little she knew about her husband-to-be. He must be desperate since he, too, was marrying an unwilling stranger.
Odd, her brother would benefit from this marriage as well as the man standing next to her. But Madelene? She would claim her reward within a month to return home to London and Matthew, free of his creditors.
She looked forward to the day she could continue her work on her designs for ladies of the ton. Even Matthew had no idea. Her secret shared with only Madame Quantifours herself, the establishment on Bond Street.
Madelene kept looking back to the large wooden doors, hoping and praying her brother would come dashing through and call a halt to this, this travesty, this mockery. Where could he be? He had to know she needed
him at this moment.
When the vicar began the marriage rites, Madelene’s heart pounded uncontrollably, almost to the point of feeling faint. Swooning, maybe that would work. But one look at the sternness of Mr. Brelford’s visage made her think twice about creating any delay.
“I will.” Her voice registered barely above a whisper in answer to “…keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” Could this truly be happening?
It was done. There was no turning back.
She waited with bated breath at the end of the ceremony, when he turned to her, his new bride. His shadowed brown gaze held hers briefly. She tried to read emotion in his face, a hint of kindness or understanding.
Nothing.
With a hand under her elbow, he hurried her to the table with the parish registry and showed her where to place her signature.
Resigned, she signed Madelene Colgate before Miss Montazy called her over to congratulate her and welcome her to the family. In a daze, Madelene hardly noticed the walk back to the entrance and down to the carriage.
Settled into the carriage with its dark ruby squabs, the newly married couple began their journey north to Dumfries to see her aunt. Unbeknownst to Madelene, her new husband had an entirely different direction in mind.
Chapter Three
“What is this? You don’t have the dagger, Colgate? You were to deliver it to my associate in Canterbury by tomorrow morning.” The Count Giovanni Taglioni sat in his gilded chair behind his large rosewood desk as if he were judge and jury in the Old Bailey, his swarthy features forbidding with black eyes and a minute mustache. By the look on the count’s unforgiving features, Matthew knew he had to offer a plausible excuse for the unfinished matter of the dagger.
The count’s dark eyes narrowed on him, awaiting an answer that no doubt would displease him, very much. The air simmered with the smell of opium, although Taglioni appeared quite lucid. Perhaps his imbibing only waited for this business to be transacted. Various dark candles placed on white pillars around the deep blue parlor did little to welcome visitors, while the light at the count’s desk proved especially unilluminating. Attired all in black, Taglioni was known not to suffer fools lightly.
Could it only have been three weeks ago when Matthew had stood before the count in this dark chamber in the large glittering town house in Mayfair? How the count had even found him to request his assistance still puzzled Matthew. Their meeting had taken place at the late hour of midnight, as the count directed in the note he sent to Matthew, asking him to come to 5702 Trumbull Place and to be vigilant of anyone watching his movements.
“Please do not worry, my lord. The dagger is very safe. I simply need a few more days to collect it, and then I will deliver it as planned.” Perspiration beaded Matthew’s forehead, which he attempted to mop with his handkerchief.
The count viewed Matthew with half-masted eyes. “I will be generous and give you more time. You have exactly a fortnight to return the dagger, as originally planned. I’m assured you won’t disappoint a second time.”
Matthew nodded and rose shakily, anxious to depart this claustrophobic atmosphere.
“Colgate. One more thing. Have you considered my offer for your lovely sister, Miss Madelene?”
Clasping his hands in front of him, Matthew bowed his head slightly. “Ah, yes, my lord.” He paused. “Although my family is honored by your request, I fear that my sister has already accepted another’s hand in marriage.”
The count snickered, reaching for his snuff. “I believe you misunderstood me, Colgate. I was not offering matrimony for your sister, since I understand she has no dowry. I am also not willing to settle for no as an answer. You see, I have decided to take your sister, Madelene, back to Florence with me. That is the best solution for all. See that you provide the dagger and your sister within a fortnight.”
Matthew nodded and found his hands trembling. He would think of something. Better to let the count believe he would follow his orders. By the time Matthew returned the dagger, Madelene would be safely married and living in Scotland, far from the powerful count. He hoped.
Mr. Brelford did not seem inclined to converse as their carriage rocked down the cobblestone streets of London and out into the dirt and stone lanes of the country. Madelene couldn’t remember the route she and her brother had taken years ago to Dumfries, and the opaque night only curtained the view outside her window.
With little else to occupy her, Madelene fell into an uneasy sleep.
“Miss Colgate, we are stopping here for the night.” She vaguely recognized her husband’s voice through a haze of sleep and felt his strong hand on her shoulder.
Voices of the groomsman and ostler could be heard outside as Madelene rubbed her hands and her face to bring herself into wakefulness. Her neck pinched where she had rested it near the window, and her back ached from the bumps and jolts along the way. She was glad to escape from the confines of the carriage and to gain distance from her—the stranger whose nearness disturbed her.
Madelene followed him into the Cock’s Crow Inn where Great George, the innkeeper, showed them into a private dining room for a light repast. Great George must have been named for his size and bellowing loud voice, for she had no doubt his voice could be heard miles down the road.
Exhausted beyond thought, she removed her bonnet and stifled a yawn behind her red glove. Feeling the need to be wit-filled taking their first meal together, Madelene stretched her arms above her head and walked the perimeter of the room a few times to undo the stiffness remaining from the carriage ride. She noticed the clock on the fireplace mantel showed nine o’clock.
The door banged open when Great George swept into the room, hurrying his servant girl with bread, cheese, and wine for them. Bowing to Mr. Brelford, he told them, “We haven’t had travelers for a day or so. We’re right glad of your fine company. Mary, there, will fix up a room for you.” He twisted his rotund self out the door, yelling over his shoulder, “Pork pies on their way!”
All the while, Mr. Brelford remained silent, in deep thought standing by the window. Her legs unsteady, exhaustion hung on her shoulder, Madelene couldn’t decide which she was in more dire need of, food or a bed. She certainly had little energy to ponder her predicament other than self-assured Mr. Brelford had arranged for two rooms, which would enable her to have a good night’s rest.
“Help yourself to the food, Miss Colgate, ah, Mrs. Brelford. You must be hungry,” Brelford told her politely, then turned his attention to the window again. Madelene wondered what he saw in the darkness.
She glanced over at this stranger, still too new an acquaintance to call “husband.” “Please sit. I find I cannot dine whilst you stand. Share the bread with me?” she asked her husband evenly.
He cast a cool gaze her way before joining her at the small table.
Gabriel had never been hesitant before in any situation, but now he had wedded his enemy’s sister, he took time to contemplate his actions and wondered whether the revenge he demanded from Matthew Colgate could be enjoyed at the altar of Madelene’s innocence.
And then there was the Count Taglioni, whom he had met a few times while in Florence due to Gabriel’s friendship with the count’s niece, Alessandra. He didn’t approve of the count then, and his opinion hadn’t changed since Taglioni had arrived in London. When Gabriel learned the count showed more than a passing fancy for Miss Madelene Colgate, it proved unsettling.
He knew what had to be done. Now he could hardly accept she was his wife, and little did she know her surname to be Westcott and not Brelford. She had signed the registry before him, and he made sure she had been called away before he signed his true surname.
By the time Madelene’s brother, along with the rest of the ton and the count, heard the news of the marriage, he and Madelene would be long gone from Town.
Yes, Miss Colgate had indeed captured his attention at the time of their one and only meeting. He remembered her deep blue eyes shooting arrows at him on the due
ling field for wounding her brother.
Her dazzling blue eyes certainly had left her mark on him. She never understood it might have been worse for her brother. Gabriel could have killed Matthew. Later, he realized while caring for his sister, Lucinda, in Florence, he wanted his revenge to last longer.
And Matthew Colgate provided the perfect opportunity by arranging a wager that someone would marry his sister in three days. Of course, his own pocket would increase in coin from winning the bet, but he continued to want the young man to suffer. Suffer he must, since there was no way Matthew could know his sister’s location and the status of her welfare.
A niggling thought that perhaps Matthew might be relieved and unconcerned his sister could not be located bothered him briefly, but he dismissed it out of hand. What brother would not care about his sister?
Yes, everything was falling into place, just as he had planned. Gabriel would decide when the time was right to return Madelene to her brother. When he divorced her, it would bring shame on the Colgate name and both brother and sister would be unwelcome in polite society. They would be ruined.
As for him, he could easily find a replacement bride, but there was more to consider than simply finding a wife. He would also need a mother for his children.
Madelene. His wife. The beautiful Madelene that no man could tame. Rumor had it she had broken many a heart with her own heart unengaged.
Gabriel knew his heart to be safe from her wiles, but after seeing her on the dueling field, tending to her brother, he had wanted her. Wanted to possess her. He wanted her to look at him with as much tenderness as she had given to her brother, undeserving though Gabriel himself might be. Perhaps only then would his lust for revenge be satiated. Perhaps.
