Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Fifteen

M adeline awoke with a pounding head, a rolling stomach and faint memories of something that seemed more dream than reality. The conversation with Mrs. Wilson came back first, along with all it implied. Dinner, or what they’d had of it, was simply a blur. But it was what had occurred after Oliver escorted her to her room, that was a perfect picture in her mind. Every sensation, every smell and taste and touch, every frenetic beat of her heart as he’d kissed her in a way she’d never even dreamed of—all of that was permanently emblazoned upon her memory.

More importantly, what he’d said afterward was ringing in her mind. He intended to do it again. And more.

At that moment, Lucy entered bearing a tray laden with toast and jam. There was also a small pot of chocolate. The very idea of it made her nauseous.

“His lordship stated you might wish to have a bit of breakfast in your chamber this morning. Now, knowing what I know, Lady Foxmore, I have to wonder how it is that his lordships knows what you might want in the morning?”

Madeline blushed. “He escorted me to my room last night after dinner.”

“Oh, I know. There’s a reason I didn’t come to attend you last night. I saw him bringing you into this room… what I don’t see now is the indication that anyone spent any time in that bed other than you!”

Madeline sighed wearily and scrubbed a hand over her face. “I took your advice about plying Mrs. Wilson with a bit of brandy in her tea. And I may have overdone it. I was not myself.”

“Foxed. You were foxed,” Lucy noted.

“I was,” Madeline admitted.

“And that’s why he brought you to your chambers,” Lucy observed, sounding completely dejected by the notion. “I’d rather hoped there might be another reason.”

“Well—” Madeline broke off, not certain how much she should say.

“Well what?” the maid insisted, forgetting all protocol. She deposited the tray on the table and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Did he say something? Did he give some indication of why he hasn’t… well, why things haven’t progressed?”

“In a manner of speaking, things have progressed. He kissed me, Lucy. And he said intends to do so again!”

Lucy grinned. “Oh, that is wonderful. So all that worry was for nothing!”

“I wouldn’t say for nothing… I still don’t really understand anything that comes after kissing,” Madeline complained. Getting answers from anyone was simply impossible. She might as well have tried to squeeze blood from a stone.

“The thing of it is, making love isn’t like baking a batch of scones. There aren’t a single series of steps that have to be taken for it to come out right. It can be done in different ways to suit different people and… I think you just have to trust that he’s baked a batch of scones or two before.”

Madeline’s first response was a roll of her eyes, an act she immediately regretted as it only seems to make her aching head worse. But then she presented her maid with a baleful stare. “Scones? Really? Scones?”

Lucy shrugged. “I couldn’t think of a better example. But the sentiment is quite true. What I could tell you, assuming we didn’t both die of embarrassment, wouldn’t be at all what you’d experience. I think it best if you just allow him to guide you… and now that he’s kissed you, you’ll have some inkling how the rest of it will go. Was it grand?”

Grand. It had been that. It had been so much more than that, however. Simply saying yes to the question would not at all describe the experience. “I do not have words for what it was… I can only say that it was truly wonderful.”

“You need to go shopping,” Lucy stated. “Today. I’ve packed, unpacked, repacked and unpacked again every item that was purchased for your trousseau. And I can guarantee you, given that your former almost-mother-in-law was the one that chose most of those items, none of them that are intended to be worn inside the bedchamber are the sorts of things a new bride with a handsome husband ought to be wearing.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Madeline demanded. “They’re lovely.”

“Yes, they are. If you’re a maiden aunt or a spinster or a dowager. You need something that is more—”

“Not maidenly?” Madeline suggested. “Is that really necessary?”

“I wouldn’t call it necessary. But it certainly can’t hurt.”

Madeline considered it. The nightrails and wrappers that had been purchased as part of her trousseau were completely indistinguishable from the very staid ones that her mother wore. In fact, they were more matronly than those she’d seen her mother in. “I need to bathe and get ready for the day, then we shall make our way to the shops.”

“I’ll see to it,” Lucy stated and rose quickly. “Right away! We’ve no time to waste.”

Hours later, they were in a small shop on Bond Street. Madeline was surveying the lacy peignoirs, if they could even be deemed such, given how little fabric was involved in their construction.

“This is not my usual dressmaker,” she whispered to Lucy.

The maid nodded. “Indeed, I should think not. Madame de Rambeaux is quite exclusive and also quite scandalous. She does not dress wives, my lady. She dresses mistresses.”

“Then what on earth am I doing here?” Madeline demanded.

“Trying to be a wife who will eliminate the desire for a mistress,” Lucy answered quite boldly.

In those terms, Madeline looked back at the selection of nightrails. “The blue silk or the pink?”

“The white one and the black one. And perhaps a few others besides, but no pastels. They’ve never suited your coloring, no matter what your mother said.”

“Well, isn’t this sweet. Shopping for some flattering unmentionables to tempt your untemptable husband?”

Madeline knew that voice. The moment she heard those whispered words behind her, she recognized the viciousness of them. Coraline.

Turning to face her sister, she demanded, “What do you want, Coraline?”

“Only what is owed to me,” Coraline replied.

“A smack is all that’s owed to you,” Lucy muttered.

Coraline’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What a pathetic excuse of a countess you are if you cannot entreat your servants to better behavior than that!”

Behind her sister, Madeline could see the shopkeeper’s gaze locked upon them as her eyebrows raised in shock. No doubt the woman would be taking notes on the exchange. Mindful of that, Madeline kept her tone civil when she demanded, “What do you want, Coraline?”

Her sister stepped ever closer, but her voice rang out for all to hear. “My darling sister, can I not wish you well? Can I not offer felicitations on your most advantageous match?”

“Of course, you may,” Madeline replied. “And I am very grateful for them.”

And then, as always, Coraline’s viperous nature struck out of nowhere. She whispered softly, “You advantageous match… in name only. Apparently, Edmund and the earl have one thing in common. Neither of them wanted you.”

Those words cleaved her in two. They hurt far more than they should have, given the source. How on earth did Coraline know that her husband had not yet consummated their marriage?

“I’ve no need of your venom, Coraline,” Madeline stated, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard. “We need never speak again and I shall be content with it.”

“But we will,” Coraline insisted. “Because if you do not give me what is owed, if I am not given half of what grandfather left you, I shall tell the world that your own husband reviles you. Is it because you are so singularly undesirable? Or is it that he wants to know whether or not the bastard you will whelp is his?”

“There is no chance of that, as you well know. Not the money and not the child. You accused me only of the things you yourself were guilty of.”

Coraline smiled coolly. “The ton doesn’t care if you’re guilty. They only care that the gossip is hot and fresh. Think about it, sister dear, or face their censure once more… perhaps forever this time.”

And then Coraline simply turned and sailed away, her skirts swishing behind her. Madeline watched her exit and felt her heart sinking.

“It’s no use, is it? I have to tell him and once I do, I’ll never know if he’s in my bed because he wants to be or if it’s simply a way of avoiding further scandal,” Madeline observed.

Lucy was still watching Coraline, glaring at the woman’s departing back. “You do have to tell him, on that I agree. But there’s no reason you have to tell him tonight.”

Madeline looked down at the ready-made peignoirs the shopkeeper had laid out for them. “Get them all. One in each color and have them delivered to the house.”

Lucy grinned and nodded. “Certainly, my lady.”