The Redemption of Madeline Munrove

by Mary Campisi

  “There they are!” Gregory shouted, pointing to Simon and Douglas Fontaine as they exited the barn.

  The topics of discussion were engaged in animated if not argumentative dialogue judging by the fierce expression on Simon’s face and the bold stance of his very large body. Douglas Fontaine did not appear intimidated by Simon’s size or anger as he stood with hands on hips and lashed out an angry stream of indiscernible words. Simon responded with a wave of dismissal and it was during this action that Madeline spotted the document in his hand. “Goodness,” she breathed, “he’s got the deed.”

  “Be damned,” Weston growled beside her. “He does indeed.”

  “I knew Simon would best him,” Gregory said, his words bouncing with excitement. “Didn’t you know he’d come through for us, Maddie? Didn’t you just know?”

  Yes. Somewhere deep inside, she had known Simon would play an important role in the hoodwinking of Douglas Fontaine. “I had a feeling he might become involved in one capacity or another.” She’d wanted to handle the situation herself, but she supposed there were times when it was necessary, even acceptable to depend on another. And Simon had not disappointed, indeed he had not.

  “What the devil are you talking about? Fontaine’s got the deed in his hand. Can you not see it?”

  Madeline and Gregory peered at the two men in question. They were still engaged in a heated discussion but Simon had a firm grasp on a document she could only assume must be the deed. Douglas Fontaine’s hands were on his hips and they were empty. “Weston, you are mistaken. Mr. Schilling has the deed.” She pointed to Simon’s left hand. “See?” Weston gasped and fell back, his face red, his lips white. “Weston!” Good heavens, what was wrong? Madeline thrust an arm around her brother’s waist and guided him to a chair. “Weston?” She peered at him, her concern mounting when he opened his mouth yet the words did not come. Seeing his tormentor again had been too much for him. Mayhap he recalled the pummeling and the bruising. Weston never had been one to weather illness or discomfort in an amenable manner. “He’ll not harm you,” she vowed. “All will be well.”

  Again, the attempt to speak, ending in a sputtering gasp, “Fontaine’s got the deed.”

  “No, Weston,” she said gently. “Mr. Schilling has the deed.”

  Her brother grasped her hand and shook his head. “Don’t you see, Maddie? Simon Schilling is Douglas Fontaine.”

  Chapter 21

  She’s coming.” Douglas scowled at Ethan and said in a lowered voice, “You will thank her for the generous hospitality and then you will leave. Immediately.”

  “Hmmm.” Ethan tapped his chin and said in an equally low voice, “Looks like your ladybird is bent on a purpose and not a pleasant one.”

  “What do you mean?” How could he tell Madeline was in a mood when she’d not spoken a word and was still several paces away?

  “Note the long stride, the unsmiling lips. The furrowed brow. Oh, it does not bode well for you, my friend.”

  “You’re worse than an old woman with your nagging and foreboding. Madeline is fine.” Though she did sport a bit of a frown around the mouth and her walk could almost be considered a trot.

  “You’ll see,” Ethan said in a sing-song voice.

  Blast, the man did that to irritate him. Well, see what he thought once Douglas wrestled a smile from Madeline’s sweet mouth, for he knew just the way to do it. “Hello,” he said when she was but a few paces from them. He softened his voice as he had last evening when he nuzzled her ear and entered her with one fierce thrust that drew moans and sighs from those lips. She would remember that, he was certain of it and once she did… Thwap! She struck his cheek with the flat of her hand. Douglas grabbed her wrist before she could repeat the exercise and glared at her. “What the blazes is that about?”

  Her eyes flashed the most vivid blue seconds before she delivered the words that would slice his heart. “I might ask the same of you.” She paused, her mouth pinching in obvious disgust before she added, “Mr. Fontaine.”

  Douglas attempted to speak but he barely had enough air to breathe let alone voice a word. It was Ethan who stepped forward and handled the situation as he’d done on many occasions when Douglas found his brain and his mouth working at cross-purposes.

  “Lady Madeline, if I may address the situation? There is a very logical explanation for this mix-up and once learned, you shall look upon it with humor.” He cleared his throat and added, “Though perhaps not for a time, but eventually, I assure you.”

  Madeline ignored Ethan and leveled her gaze on Douglas. “Why did you do it?”

  The disbelief in her voice squeezed his heart until it ached. With nothing left but the truth, he said, “You had no parents, no funds. A worthless brother. I saw no harm in delaying the inevitable a few days.”

  “And Lingionine? What was your intent for my home?”

  Her disgust made him wish he’d told her days ago. He should have damn it, but he’d been afraid. He’d never known fear—reason had always circumvented that. But with Madeline, reason and logic had fled and fear had not only entered his heart but taken up a tidy, permanent residence.

  “Answer me, Mr. Fontaine. What did you plan to do with my home?”

  He could not tell her. Absolutely not.

  “I see.” Her lips pinched, her jaw twitched. “You will pile a lie on top of all the others. Even now, when you are found out, you choose to lie rather than admit the truth.” She lifted her chin two notches and spat out, “You, Mr. Fontaine, are not a man of honor.”

  Damn her, she would force the truth from him and by so doing, she would loathe him more than she already did. So be it. He would not lie to her again. He opened his mouth to speak the words that would thrust her from him forever, when Ethan stepped forward and interrupted him with a quick bow and a ready explanation.

  “Ethan Montague, Lady Madeline. Mr. Fontaine’s valet. Mr. Fontaine is the most trustworthy gentleman I have ever had the good fortune to know. If he led you down a murky path it was to shield you from harm and protect you from unfortunate circumstances. You see—” he paused and bestowed that devilish smile that stripped many a female of her clothes and her inhibitions “—he was quite taken with you. This very morning he asked that I call off his business in London. That I assure you, was quite telling.”

  “And what business would that be?”

  Damn Ethan and his blasted mouth. Did he think Madeline to be one of those willy-nilly women who lost themselves in a flirtatious smile? She would search for answers behind the words he lavished upon her—she would search for the truth. If Douglas permitted him, Ethan would pile the story high and deep with a stench to rival a week’s worth of Matilda’s droppings.

  Douglas memorized the details of Madeline’s face—the tiny scar above her right eye, the dimple on the left side of her cheek, the full lower lip. He would commit these to memory so he could pull them out on lonely nights and think of what might have been.

  “Mr. Fontaine, what business would that be?”

  Even steeped in anger and disgust, her voice moved him. “Ethan was searching for a wife,” he said. “For me.”

  Her eyes widened a second before understanding won over. “The gentleman he spoke of at supper, the one who sought a wife utilizing reason and logic. That was you?”

  He nodded. “It was.”

  “I see.”

  No, you do not see at all, he wanted to say. I have lost my heart to you.

  Her bottom lip quivered the tiniest bit before her mouth hardened and she asked, “What have we here?” She pointed to the sketch Douglas held in his left hand. “Might I hazard a guess? Could it be the deed to Lingionine?”

  “Of course not.” Douglas crossed his arms over his chest, hiding the sketch under his forearm. He would appear worse than a fool if she discovered his plans to improve Lingionine. He would look exactly like what he was—a lovesick idiot. If she must toss him aside and berate him for his behavior, at least he could crawl away with a
modicum of pride intact. Not much, but a scrap would do.

  “Telling tales again, are we, Mr. Fontaine?” She crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. “You are so very good at them, are you not?”

  Damn it, this was not all on him. “You must be quite adept at hearing falsehoods as I’m certain your brother has uttered his share of them.”

  “Leave Weston out of this. If not for him, I would still think you were Harold’s nephew.”

  “Munrove is here?” Douglas glanced at Lingionine. “Where is the coward? I’ll have a word with him.”

  Madeline blocked his path to prevent him from making his way toward the house. “You’ll do no such thing. Weston is in ill health and you will not beat upon him again.”

  “Ill health?” Now she was beginning to annoy him. “I’ll venture the only ill health that miscreant has ever suffered was cuts from a barbed tongue and a rotten lack of conscience. Your brother entered into a game of chance and lost.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest and said, “To me.” He did not miss the way her gaze followed the hand with the sketch she believed to be the deed…as though she were calculating the distance between them. He would not put it past her to attempt a grab and run.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I wish I had clobbered you on the head when I spotted you that first day.”

  If this whole situation were not so pathetic it might be amusing. “You tried.”

  She shrugged at the truth of his statement and amended, “Then I wish I had succeeded.”

  Ethan cleared his throat and attempted yet again to find a way out of this mess. “Lady Madeline, while it is true Mr. Fontaine instructed me to locate prospective brides for him it is also true that he recently told me to halt the search.”

  Madeline’s face turned the color of Mrs. Fowler’s flour. She clutched a hand to her chest and stared at Ethan’s untidy cravat. “Why would he do that?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Why indeed?” Ethan queried. “There certainly was a bevy of beautiful, intelligent females. Quite wealthy too, I might add. But no, Mr. Fontaine was not interested in hearing about any of them.” Ethan’s lips flickered and he added in a low voice, “Not even the select few who could reason their way out of a wooded area. And do you know the reason for his disinterest, Lady Madeline?”

  Her face grew whiter still. “I am sure I do not.”

  “And I am equally certain Lady Madeline has no interest in your musings, far-fetched as they may be.” He shot Ethan a warning but when had the man ever listened to him?

  “She might be interested when she learns the reason behind your change of heart.”

  “That is enough.” Douglas never should have begged his father to permit Ethan an education. Ignorance might have kept the man silent.

  “What reason is that, Mr. Montague? Do tell.”

  Do not do it, Ethan.

  Of course, he ignored Douglas’s scowl and pranced on, “A woman caught his eye. Beautiful. Clever. Intelligent.” The man chuckled. “Spirited, too.”

  Madeline grew very still. “Go on.”

  Why would she want to hear the remainder of the tale? Certainly she knew the identity of the woman. Did she plan to wait until Ethan rendered him a eunuch to make a comment? To slam the nebulous proposal over his head as though it were the veritable shovel she had been so enamored with since their first meeting? Or, and there was the slightest bud of hope sprouting in his chest, would Ethan’s confession engender forgiveness for Douglas’s deceit and an opportunity to right things?

  Douglas could not tell and therefore, he must depend on Ethan’s ability to read people, in this case, Madeline.

  “The lady was in a sad state. No funds. No family.” Ethan shook his head. “It mattered not to him.” He paused and said in a voice Douglas had once heard him use on a sick horse, “Douglas Fontaine wanted to marry her.”

  Egad, had Ethan actually said that?

  Madeline gasped and shot a glance in Douglas’s direction which began at his eyes, traveled to his mouth and settled on his chin. “Is that true?”

  Who was she asking? Him or Ethan? The need to know her answer sliced his logic into tiny shreds. “And if it were?” he found himself saying. Madeline blinked. Twice. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Should he dare hope she might forgive him? Blast it all, would she just speak and be done with it? A breath later he received his wish as she inched her gaze from his chin to his eyes. Ah, there was something in those blue depths he did not recognize. It was not anger, for he had seen that. It was not passion or compassion. Nor was it disgust. What he saw was…nothing.

  “If it were true,” she said, “then he would be a fool to think she would entertain the notion of marriage to a man who lied to her from the outset and attempted to harm her family.”

  Later, when the pain of her words had eased, he would think back on his reaction and applaud his ability to appear unaffected. No twitch of jaw or narrowing of eyes. No sharp intake of breath. No emotion in his words as he said, “Then it is fortunate the offer has no merit.”

  Madeline bit her lower lip and squared her shoulders. “Indeed it is.”

  Was there the tiniest hint of regret laced in those words? Douglas darted a glance at Ethan who gave a slight shrug. Meaning, to hell with it? Try again? Damn it, no. He would leave here with a bit of pride, even if he had to paste the tattered shreds to his shoulders.

  “Mr. Fontaine?”

  He had waited weeks to hear Madeline call him by his real name and now he almost wished he were Simon Schilling. “Yes?”

  “What plans have you for the deed?”

  Indeed. The deed. That’s what she wanted. It’s what she had wanted from the very beginning. He had merely been an interesting and unusual diversion while she waited for Douglas Fontaine to arrive at Lingionine so she could steal the deed back from him. For her dear, worthless, scoundrel brother. What a grand plan. And what a grand fool he had been. A sudden urge to quit the place gripped him, squeezing so tight his chest hurt. He stepped toward Madeline until his boot touched the hem of her gown.

  “It was to be a wedding gift.” He paused. “For my bride.” He scratched his jaw and pretended nonchalance as her eyes grew bright and brighter still. “Since I haven’t one of those, I’m not sure what I’ll do. But rest assured, Lady Madeline, when I decide the fate of Lingionine, you will be the very first to know.”

  Chapter 22

  What a horrid man. Liar. Cheat. Swindler.

  Bastard.

  Madeline hurled a pillow across the room and spat out a string of blasphemies no proper lady should admit to knowing, and if she did know of them, should exercise restraint and not repeat them. But when had she ever bowed to the dictates of a society run by men? For the exclusive benefit of men? More curses flew from her lips. A second pillow followed the path of the first. Followed by another until every pillow in the library resided on the opposite end of the room.

  Madeline started on the bookshelf next. She would discard every reminder of the man and his duplicity. Plato. Toss. Descartes. Toss. Oh, but she could not wait for the man to collect his meager belongings and leave. For where? London? Hah! Of course, that’s where he would head. For a wife? Well, good riddance. She ignored the spasm in her chest as she yanked a book on the pyramids from the shelf. Some poor woman would fall prey to those captivating eyes and inquisitive comments. Who cared if the man could deduce and analyze his way to the King’s court? Certainly she did not. Character was built upon honor, integrity and truth, of which Douglas Fontaine knew nothing. The spasm spread from her chest to her belly. Good heavens, the man had given her a good case of indigestion. She would visit Mrs. Fowler for a glass of milk as soon as she rid the library of books that reminded her of one very deceitful beast. The Model Wife caught her eye. Proper indeed.

  “Maddie?”

  Madeline stuffed the book back on the shelf and turned. Gregory stood several paces away, eyes bright, cheeks tear-stained. She needn’t ask why he was in such a state, for s
he knew the reason.

  He limped toward her and swiped at his cheeks. “Why did he do it, Maddie? I thought he was our friend.”

  Pain trickled through her brother’s words, raw and uncertain. She had thought he was their friend, too. She had thought him so much more than a friend. He was the first man she had come to grudgingly respect and at times, even trust. So much for that. The man she had given her body to did not exist. Simon Schilling was an illusion conjured up by a most manipulative man. “People often do things for personal gain.” She stroked her brother’s arm and tried to soothe him. “We could not have known.”

  “But why did he pretend to be our friend?” His voice cracked and he finished with, “Pretend to be my friend?”

  Damn Douglas Fontaine and his antics. Madeline threw her arms around her brother and drew him close. “We were hoodwinked, Gregory. Taken advantage of.” The truth of her words tormented her. “I let my defenses down and the blackguard swept in and played a cruel game upon us.”

  Gregory pulled away and met her gaze, his face torn with hurt. “But that’s what I don’t understand, Maddie. He had the deed. Why didn’t he present himself as Douglas Fontaine and make claim. Why the ruse?”

  “Perhaps I can explain.”

  Madeline and Gregory jumped at the voice. His voice. Douglas Fontaine stood in the doorway of the library, tall, ominous. He advanced on them, his stride purposeful and in command. Why had she not noticed the air of authority before? How could she have possibly missed it? Annabelle had seen it and she’d not held the man’s gaze longer than a second. Madeline had held much more than the scoundrel’s gaze and yet, she had remained oblivious. “Explain away, Mr. Fontaine as we are most curious to hear your reasons for playing with our lives.”