The Redemption of Madeline Munrove

by Mary Campisi

  “Oh.”

  He did not miss the disappointment lingering in that tiny word.

  “Would you like a cold cloth? A cup of tea?”

  He forced a smile and shook his head wondering if Madeline could give him the one thing he had only begun to realize he needed—her heart.

  Chapter 11

  I fear Douglas Fontaine will arrive soon.” She should have been concentrating on the man’s imminent arrival rather than exploring Simon Schilling’s body. But, oh, what a body. The feel of it, the scent, the taste…

  “I shall be ready for him,” Regina said, patting the knife strapped to her calf.

  Some things could not be anticipated.

  “You can’t take a knife to the man,” Sarah said. “That would be quite uncivilized.”

  Simon had been a gentleman. If not for his headache, she might have behaved in a most uncivilized manner.

  Regina scowled. “So?”

  So, indeed. She might well have thrown herself at him. But to what end? How had this yearning for continued exploration with Simon Schilling begun and when would it stop, for stop it must. Mustn’t it?

  “What do you think, Madeline?” Annabelle asked.

  Madeline pushed away memories of last night and said, “Sarah is right. We must use intellect and reason when dealing with Mr. Fontaine. I believe he is employing the same on unsuspecting victims.” Weston came to mind though his role as victim proved curious. She believed the fleecing had occurred on both sides. “It is time to prepare our strategy, beginning with presentation.” She pointed to Regina. “You must don a gown.”

  “I don’t want no gown.”

  “Think of it as a play where you are an actress. Your real person is hidden beneath clothes and speech that belong to the character. When you quit the character, you leave behind all the trappings. ‘Tis quite entertaining and you would do a grand job of it.”

  Regina twirled her braid around her finger and contemplated Madeline’s words. “I could do a proper job of it, like me mum did with her customers. She told me she pretended she was a prisoner and they was all food.”

  Annabelle gasped. “She told you that?”

  Regina’s head bobbed up and down. “’Course she did. It made sense.”

  Sarah coughed. Annabelle flushed. Madeline cleared her throat and said, “Yes, well, let us think of you as a young lady from America whose parents have passed on. You have journeyed to England in search of a cousin.” They all needed a story. The slim possibility existed that Douglas Fontaine would retain Lingionine, forcing them to flee. The three women stood a better chance of not getting caught if they separated and ventured out under assumed identities. It was an unwelcome thought, but a necessary one.

  “Where does this cousin live?”

  “Somewhere in the country. Yes, definitely the country,” Madeline said, “where life is leisurely and calm.” Unless a man like Simon Schilling was in residence.

  “No pickpockets and whoresons and such?” Regina giggled. “This will be some mighty serious acting.”

  “Can you do it?” Annabelle asked, clearly uncertain of the girl’s capabilities.

  “Of course she can,” Sarah said, patting Regina’s hand. “I shall pin up her hair and teach her the proper use of a fork and spoon. Mayhap Madeline has a gown for her.”

  “If I gotta wear one, can I have a drapery gown?”

  If drapery material got Regina out of breeches, Madeline would allow her to choose from any room she wished. “Of course. Sarah will teach you which utensils to use while dining and Annabelle will teach you proper speech.”

  Regina made a face. “Now I’m gonna sound like one of those that sticks her nose up at the likes of me and my mum.” She eyed Annabelle, “Like her.”

  “Ladies, we must work together if we are to foil Mr. Fontaine’s plan to take Lingionine. If he believes we are but helpless females, incapable of protecting ourselves, his defenses will slip.” She smiled. “And we will steal back the deed.”

  “Why do we need a story when we told Mr. Schilling we were sisters?” Regina asked. “Can we not tell Mr. Fontaine the same?”

  Madeline suspected Simon knew the truth all along, a truth he had gleaned from observation and Gregory’s overactive mouth. “‘Twas a weak attempt to protect you. Mr. Schilling has not inquired but he is no fool. Be certain, he has figured you out.”

  “Then an orphan it is,” Regina said, twisting her braid on top of her head.

  “What’s my story?” Sarah asked. She rubbed her belly and rocked gently back and forth.

  “No more talk of Lucien. Your husband is dead.” Madeline pushed past the girl’s stricken look. “Think of the child. It is much easier to garner sympathy for a widow than an unwed mother.”

  “Here.” Annabelle yanked off her wedding ring and handed it to Sarah. “You have more need of this than I.”

  Sarah slipped the ruby ring on her finger and murmured, “Thank you.”

  Annabelle nodded and stared at her naked finger. “What must I do?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  Madeline grasped her hand and implored, “Try, very hard to let go of your fear. Hold your head high and know you are indeed a lady. We shall make the story known of the humiliation you suffered when your husband died in his mistress’ bed, leaving you penniless from the debts incurred with gambling and women. Your dire situation has forced you to seek employment as a governess which shall earn you the sympathy of wives should you need to procure employment. You will use my mother’s maiden name, Hayworth, should that be necessary.”

  Annabelle bit her bottom lip. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

  “You must try to relax. Sit with Sarah this evening while she plays the pianoforte.”

  “Splendid idea,” Sarah said. “Music is quite soothing.” She rubbed her belly and added, “For everyone.”

  She meant the baby. Lucien’s baby. Sarah could talk about the child as often as she liked and she could even talk about the baby’s father as long as she did not mention him by name or imply he was not dead.

  Annabelle fidgeted in her seat and promised, “I will try very hard to relax.”

  The poor woman gave the appearance of one about to faint. “Tonight, listen to the melody. Let it carry you away. Do not tell yourself you must relax or that is the very last thing you will be able to do. Tomorrow, Regina will instruct you on the basics of defense so no man ever harms you again.”

  Regina clapped her hands and grew giddy. “With or without weapons? To injure or scare? From short distance or far? If weapons, a knife or a pistol?”

  “That is enough for now.” Madeline hazarded a glance at Annabelle whose face resembled pea soup. “At present, we are only interested in the basics.”

  “Oh.”

  The poor girl sounded so despondent Madeline had half a mind to tell her to throw in the rough-and-tumble defense as well.

  “And you, Madeline,” Sarah asked, “how can we help you?”

  Her heart shouted, Protect me from a repetition of last evening. Erase the seductiveness of Simon Schilling’s smile, the deepness of his voice, the feel of his skin. Strip my longing to be with him again which multiplies as the hours pass.

  “Madeline?”

  She gazed at the trio and smiled. “That is easy. Play your parts and prepare for the arrival of Mr. Douglas Fontaine.”

  * * *

  “Stop! Stop at once!”

  Douglas swung around as Madeline barreled toward him, red-faced, arms flailing, torso bent forward in a rush of speed and fury.

  “Damn,” Gregory muttered from atop the mare Douglas had saddled for him. “We’re in for it now.”

  “Remove your person from that horse at once,” she demanded when she was but a few footsteps away. She shot a dismissive glance at her brother and said, “Get down. Now.” Then she turned to Douglas. “You had no right to encourage him. He was perfectly fine until you came along and I will wager began filling his head with grand heroics which
I am certain included riding a horse.” Her upper lip curled in obvious contempt. “You were not here when he lay beneath a horse, his leg trapped.”

  “But Maddie—”

  “Get down,” she repeated. “Now.”

  Douglas laid a hand on Gregory’s bad leg and stopped the boy from dismounting. “Will he never be permitted to ride again?” This was not the encounter he had hoped for, not after those curious fingers explored him so eagerly last night. He had rather hoped there would be a quiet interlude this afternoon with conversation and subtle glances and then a continuation of an even more thorough exploration this evening. Now she would probably rather spear him with a pitchfork than touch him.

  “A horse almost killed him,” she hissed. “Have you no concern for his safety?”

  “On the contrary, I have the utmost concern for Gregory’s safety—” he tightened his grip on the boy’s leg “—which is why we have been practicing this past week.”

  “Practicing?” she screeched, making the horse’s ears prick up. “Practicing what? Gregory?”

  The boy shrugged and did not meet her gaze. “Simon showed me how to mount and dismount, how to put on the bridle, and watch the horse’s actions.” He paused, and added, “I was real careful, Maddie.” He looked at her then and his eyes grew bright. “Honest I was.”

  Madeline’s jaw twitched and her nostrils flared. Douglas stepped back, just out of reach. He had learned long ago to stay out of eye-scratching distance from an angry woman. “Gregory has exhibited extraordinary care and aptitude with Gwyneth. I believe he will make a superb horseman.”

  “I do not care what you believe,” she spat out, pointing a finger at him. “I am not paying you for your opinion on my brother’s ability with a horse.”

  Why the little witch. “I was not aware I was to be paid for all services provided,” he countered with a forced smile. There, let her answer to that.

  She gasped and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Such services will no longer be required.”

  Ha! If Gregory were not present, Douglas would name the service she’d enlisted beginning with the stroking of his back and nibbling of his ear.

  “I’ll get down now, Maddie,” Gregory said, shoulders slumped, voice defeated. “Please don’t be angry.”

  “No.” Douglas stopped him. “Wait here.” He grabbed Madeline’s hand and led her to the side of the stable where they were sure not to be overheard. “Have you so little concern for your brother that you would risk his manhood to stave off your own fears?”

  She yanked her hand away and crossed her arms over her middle. “I have great concern for Gregory which is why I am stopping this madness you have created.”

  “I have created nothing more than logical steps to help the boy regain his independence and shed his fear, a fear I might add, that you ignited.”

  Her mouth flew open and she spewed out a venomous, “How dare you?”

  He expected she might foam at the mouth at any moment. Well, let her foam. The boy’s manhood was at stake. “You would turn him into a eunuch? Cowering at the first sign of danger behind his sister’s skirts?”

  “He is not like other boys his age.” Her voice trembled with the first signs of weakness. “You have seen his leg, seen his—” she hesitated “—his infirmity.”

  Douglas glared at her. “I see the infirmity you have placed on him, one which will become permanent if the boy is not permitted to release it. Let him go. By all that is holy, let the boy become a man.”

  She shook her head, hugged her middle. “I cannot lose him.”

  “You cannot lose him? What of Gregory? Would you have him forgo all that hints of a risk?”

  “Of course not.” She lifted her chin and regained the fight of the woman he first met in the stable. “I would ask merely that the risk be calculated to weigh heavily in the odds of victory.”

  “A sure thing then? That is a mathematical impossibility. Life guarantees nothing.”

  “Then he will not ride.”

  Douglas grasped her shoulders and said, “Give over, Madeline. Refusing this will only harm the boy.” When she did not fight to get away, he moved closer. “Think of the boy. I would not see him harmed.” He gentled his voice as though speaking with an unbroken colt. “I only desire to help him.” And then, because she was too near and his thoughts had become jumbled, he murmured, “As I desire to return to a bed with you.”

  “Never!” She jerked from his grasp, lifted her skirts and took off toward the house.

  He considered going after her but the three pair of eyes staring back at him from the window deterred him, as did Gregory’s throat clearing which began and ended on a cough. No one heard what Douglas said but he was certain everyone, including Matilda, heard Madeline’s response.

  So be it. He would not beg or crawl or repent. He would wait until she became rational again and then he would engage in a logical discussion, providing a list if necessary and formulated in his head, of the many reasons Madeline might desire to continue her exploration of his body. He would begin the formulation of such a list at once, in hopes she returned to a rational human being by nightfall.

  * * *

  Douglas’s hopes of engaging Madeline in logical conversation dwindled as supper progressed. How long was she going to pretend to ignore him? Not that she was succeeding if the flushed cheeks and multiple dropped utensils were any indication. Douglas would have been amused if he weren’t so annoyed. He truly had never met a more headstrong woman and he found it exasperating. Which intrigued him. Most females bored him, especially the beautiful ones. Madeline proved the grand exception. He would get her to admit her feelings because by God, a woman like Madeline did not stick her tongue in a man’s mouth and flatten her breasts against his back if she had no feelings for him. The woman had feelings, plenty of them, and he would wrest them from her. Never, indeed.

  “Mr. Schilling, would you care for another biscuit?”

  Sarah of the swollen belly attempted to foist biscuits on him each night with a bright smile and a brighter disposition. Some people could learn from Sarah’s cheerfulness. He glanced at Madeline. She was staring at a hunk of beef attached to the end of her fork. Was she going to eat it or study the damnable thing until it petrified?

  “Mr. Schilling?”

  “Thank you, Sarah.” He snagged a biscuit and rewarded her with a smile. Gregory said the girl thought Douglas reminded her of some chap named Lucien, presumably the man who planted a baby in her belly. The lot of them could call her a widow until she turned five and forty, he recognized a girl carrying a babe about to be born on the wrong side of the blanket when he saw one.

  “Madeline, are you ill?”

  Lady Annabelle spoke, an oddity for a woman who usually did not utter a word when he was within earshot. What manner of horror and humiliation had she suffered? It must have been grave indeed, for Douglas had never encountered a woman who was rendered speechless by choice.

  “I am fine,” Madeline said, though flushed cheeks, glazed eyes and hunched shoulders did not constitute fine in Douglas’s opinion.

  Could she not garner a bit of joy from Gregory’s success this afternoon? The boy had not only mounted Gwyneth, he had ridden her around the inside property and with a little urging, coaxed the horse into a gallop. Gregory had not dismounted before he begged for another ride on the morrow. That, Douglas had told him was a matter he needed to address with his sister. A man could only lead a boy so far onto the battlefield before the lad had to lift his own sword. Besides, under the current circumstances, Gregory stood a far better chance of gaining his sister’s approval than Douglas did.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet Weston,” Gregory said, his face flushed, his words cheer-filled.

  Douglas had taken that exact unfortunate moment to sip his wine. He coughed and sputtered as droplets of wine splattered his plate. “Forgive me,” he managed, dabbing his chin and mouth with a napkin. “Must have gone down the wrong way.” Talk of the scoun
drel Weston Munrove had a decidedly ill effect on Douglas, especially at the supper table.

  Gregory was too enamored with his idea to notice his sister did not share his eagerness to unite her eldest brother and her hired hand. “Weston is an adventurer,” Gregory said. “And a bit of a gambler,” he added, lowering his voice, “but a lucky one.”

  Lucky indeed. Lucky at attempting to fleece unsuspecting victims of which Douglas was not. “I look forward to it.” Douglas had ordered the men he’d hired to deliver Weston Munrove to Ethan once they located him. Ethan would then contact Douglas, who would determine the scoundrel’s fate. The decision had been much clearer before he stepped onto Lingionine…before he met Gregory…before he touched Madeline’s soft lips…

  “Weston once won enough at cards to purchase a horse.” Gregory’s face beamed with pride. “His name was Zeus.”

  “Gregory, I am certain Mr. Schilling does not wish to hear of our brother’s spoils from a gaming table.”

  “Oh, but I do.” Especially, when the spoils were ill-gotten and connected to a thief.

  “What kind of cards was he playing?” The redhead, Regina, asked. “Was they legal cards or the other kind?”

  “Legal, of course.”

  “Hmmph,” this from Regina, who said it as though she doubted the boy’s words.

  Smart girl, but then she knew more of the inner workings of London than the rest of them. She might have seen the man’s sort, teeming the streets, honing their next swindle.

  “When I am old enough, I plan to travel to London and try my own luck. Weston said he would take me.”

  Madeline’s fork clattered against her plate. “He said that?”

  Gregory nodded, his smile spreading. “Said he would take me to the West Indies. Italy, too. Even Spain.”

  Douglas tried to kick the boy under the table and missed, landing the toe of his boot square on the table leg. “Travel is vastly overrated,” he said as a jab of pain spread through his toes.