Chapter 17 #2
She couldn’t help letting her gaze drift over to Burke.
He seemed wholly unfazed by their intimate moment, casually eating his soup without waiting for the duke to sit.
Following his lead, Madeline busied herself with reaching for her spoon.
Next to her, Charles adjusted his chair, also doing his best to look away.
In moments, the duke had kissed Rosalie’s brow and took his chair, gesturing for the footman to bring him the first course. The entire energy of the table shifted to make him the center of attention. James Corbin simply could not be denied. “How long are you in town then, Bray?”
Mr. Bray cleared his throat. “I’m not exactly sure, Your Grace. I’m due in Bredbury soon after the new year, but I wanted to be here for my uncle. I’d like to stay until . . .” He fell quiet, his meaning clear.
He wanted to stay until his uncle passed. Madeline’s heart broke for him. He must be close with the gentleman. She had a faint memory of Mr. Selby joining them at lunches and dinners during the summer she spent here.
“Of course,” James replied. “He talks of you often. I know how he’s missed you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace” he replied stiffly, his gaze lowered to his bowl.
“While you’re here, I wonder if I can’t put you to work?” James went on.
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Mr. Bray replied.
At the same time, Burke called down the table, “Oh, leave the man in peace, James.”
“Ordinarily, I would,” James replied. “But we’ve had something of a crisis here. A fire,” he explained to the curate.
Mr. Bray leaned forward, setting his spoon aside. “Oh god, where?”
“Carrington. Ten houses on the row burned to the ground.”
“Behind the mill?” said Mr. Bray.
James nodded, reaching for his glass of wine. “The very same.”
“I hadn’t heard,” Mr. Bray replied with a sad shake of his head. “I only got in late yesterday. And the casualties, sir?”
“None, thank god. But nothing is salvageable. Total ruination. I’ve resettled the families for now, and reconstruction is set to begin next week,” James explained.
“But I know it would ease minds to have a visit from another curate. Hoxley is running about like a mad man, but what with Selby as ill as he is . . .”
“Of course, sir,” Mr. Bray said immediately. “I’d be more than happy to help however I’m able. I can write a note to Hoxley at once.”
James flashed him a grateful smile. “Good man. Why not come by in the morning so we can have a proper meeting? I have something else I would put to you as well.”
Mr. Bray reached for his wine glass with a nod. “I am at your disposal, sir.”
“Excellent. Come by at ten.”
“And that’s enough of business tonight, my love,” Rosalie said, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze. “We don’t want Madeline to feel neglected.”
“I notice Madeline is here alone,” James replied, his gaze drifting pointedly over to her.
Madeline sucked in a breath, grateful when Rosalie spoke for her. “Yes, her parents are preparing for a grand adventure in Spain. They intend to leave poor Madeline alone, and at Christmastime too. I simply had to have her here with me.”
James cast Rosalie a knowing glance. “Curious that you spoke nothing of it, wife.”
“Did I not?” she replied absently, buttering her roll. “I’m sure I must have. Perhaps I mentioned it to Burke.”
“Or perhaps you simply weren’t listening,” said Burke.
James shot him a glare.
“It was sudden, Your Grace,” Madeline admitted, speaking up at last. “And I would certainly never wish to intrude—”
“Nonsense,” said Rosalie. “We’re more than happy to have you here. You’re always welcome at Alcott, Madeline. Stay as long as you like. Certainly, you’ll stay through the new year,” she added.
“Whatever you wish,” James said at Rosalie before turning his attention back to Mr. Bray. “So, what calls you all the way to Bredbury?”
Madeline wanted to listen to Mr. Bray’s response but was distracted by the look Rosalie shot her across the table. Madeline narrowed her eyes, trying to read the subtle movement of Rosalie’s lips as she surreptitiously gestured at Mr. Bray.
What? Madeline mouthed, her eyes darting from Mr. Bray back to the duchess.
Him, Rosalie whispered again, a smile quirking her lips.
Madeline shook her head and shrugged.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Burke muttered. “Bray, are you married?” he called over James.
Both men paused, their gazes shooting down the table to Burke.
“Excuse me?” said Mr. Bray.
“You’re not married, right?” Burke repeated.
Rosalie cleared her throat as she reached for her glass of wine, making a noise that sounded decidedly like the word “don’t.”
Madeline wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
If Mr. Bray heard the duchess, he didn’t let on. “No, I’m not married,” he replied.
“But you have nothing against the institution, right?” Burke pressed. “Surely, you don’t think poorly of marriage. You’re a curate, after all.”
“He’s just been made vicar,” James chastised. “And you accuse me of not listening.”
“So, you must want to get married,” Burke said, ignoring the duke’s admonishment. “Given the right lady comes along, of course.”
Mr. Bray blinked, glancing from Burke to Rosalie. “I—”
“Burke, what the hell are you doing?” James muttered. “Why are you asking the man such questions?”
“What is strange about asking a man of the cloth his thoughts on marriage?” Burke said with a shrug. “Is he not licensed to sanction the act? Does he not counsel families on the rite as part of his profession? Surely, he must have a ready opinion.”
James’ scowl was enough to have Madeline desperate to burst into flame. On Burke, it had absolutely no effect. “We are in mixed company. Save your interrogation for the brandy room.”
“Does marriage not affect the fairer sex?” Burke replied. “I imagine the ladies are just as interested as I to know why a man as handsome and witty as Charles Bray is yet unmarried.”
Madeline watched the men parry words across the table like they were holding foils. Mr. Bray easily held his own.
“You sound like you’re interested in me for yourself, sir,” he said through a tight smile. “Can I soon expect an offer?”
“Hardly,” Burke replied, taking a sip of his wine. “Lifelong bachelor, me.”
“Ahh, so you do not ask to hear my answer then, sir,” Mr. Bray countered. “You ask to debate my position. If I say I am for it, you mean to counter me with claims against it, as any self-professed bachelor would.”
“You mistake me, Bray. I have nothing but the highest opinion of marriage,” Burke replied. “I will sing its praises to the end of my days.”
Mr. Bray narrowed his eyes. “Your bachelor days?”
Burke raised his glass in salutation. “Exactly.”
“Burke, that’s enough,” called James. “You don’t have to answer his question, Bray,” he added at the gentleman.
“I don’t mind, Your Grace,” Mr. Bray replied. “And to answer you, Burke, yes. I too have a high opinion of marriage.”
“And what is required to make a good marriage?” Burke pressed.
“Jesus, Burke,” James muttered, reaching for his wine.
“I’m curious too,” Rosalie admitted, earning her a sharp stare from James.
Mr. Bray cleared his throat. “Well . . . I suppose a marriage of like minds is ideal.”
“So, a marriage of two people with similar tastes,” Rosalie offered. “Perhaps liking the same books and music.” She flashed Madeline a knowing smile.
Oh god, this was a disaster. Madeline felt ready to be sick into her napkin. She fought the urge to sink down in her chair, shifting away from Mr. Bray. Rosalie and Burke clearly wanted her to set her cap at him.
She took a deep breath, trying to center her swirling emotions.
It was one thing to imagine marrying a man when the idea had no substance.
So far, she’d only pictured a faceless sort of presence.
Her husband. He had no identity. But in the span of moments, her clouded idea was torn to shreds, and in its place, Rosalie and Burke had tacked up a handsome portrait of the soon-to-be-vicar.
Madeline snatched for her wine glass, nearly missing it. She fumbled her fingers around it, bringing it to her lips.
“Certainly, sharing interests is preferred,” Mr. Bray conceded, sparing her a quick glance as she righted her wine glass before it spilled.
“And temperament,” Burke prodded. “What sort of temperament is best in a wife?”
“Are you ill?” James growled down the table. At the same time, Mr. Bray said, “Well, I suppose that depends entirely on the husband.”
“Take yourself as the husband,” said Burke. “What kind of temperament would you look for in a wife?”