Chapter 44
Charles emerged from his meeting with James well satisfied. Based on his reports, James was going to double the foodstuffs delivered to the fire victims. He’d also approved Charles’s plan to host a charity bazar in Finchley for the following Sunday.
Charles spent the morning penning letters to three other friends from Cambridge, asking them to do the same in their parishes.
If nothing else, he was sure the gentlemen could be relied upon to send along a little something, even if it came from their own coffers.
But Charles wasn’t above begging or accepting charity—not when it was all going to a good cause.
“I was told to find Mr. Burke before I take my leave,” he told the footman.
“Right this way then, sir,” the man replied. Charles was fairly certain his name was Geoffrey.
The footman led the way to the library, which was easily Charles’s favorite room in the house.
It was a massive space, with vaulted ceilings and shelves that stretched around three walls.
The shelves were fit to burst with books, including a very fine collection of hand drawn atlases that were a particular favorite of Charles’s as a boy.
The fourth wall was floor-to-ceiling windows of the finest imported glass, framed in deep blue curtains, which flooded the space with dazzling winter sunlight.
“Mr. Bray, Your Grace,” the footman announced to the room.
“Good morning, Mr. Bray,” the duchess called in greeting from the far side of the room. She was seated in a large, wing-backed chair near the windows. Mr. Burke sat in a matching chair. And the third chair surely must be claimed by—
“Madeline was just teaching Burke a few important lessons in backgammon,” the duchess teased. “Come join us, sir.”
Charles crossed the room towards them, feeling a phantom kind of tug under his left ribs at being close to Madeline again so soon. He’d hardly slept, recalling everything that happened over the last several days. His thoughts were in constant turmoil, his heart warring with his head.
And then there was Uncle Selby’s declining health.
The man was getting so weak, he could hardly sit up in bed, let alone make the trek to his favorite reading chair a floor below stairs.
As soon as Charles was done here, he meant to go and sit with him.
Perhaps he’d ask the duchess to borrow a spare backgammon set. It’d been years since he’d played.
“I believe it is your turn, Madeline,” said the duchess, leaning back in her chair with both hands balanced over her rounded stomach.
Charles came to the table’s edge, finally able to see around the wingback to spy Madeline.
Christ, she’d looked beautiful this morning.
Her golden hair was down and curled, a wild spray of sunlight around her shoulders.
Her dress was of the softest yellow, the perfect tone to make her skin look white as a pearl.
He still wanted to count those freckles dusted over her cheeks.
“Good morning, Lady Madeline,” he murmured.
“Good morning, Charles—Bray—I mean, Mr. Bray,” she corrected, nearly dropping her cup of dice on the board. It was so awkward and endearing he wanted to lean down right now and kiss the tip of her freckled nose.
She huffed, shaking the cup to rattle the dice and tip them out onto the board. With slender fingers she picked up a white counter and clicked it around the board, knocking one of Burke’s pieces off.
“Damn,” Burke muttered.
“She’s better than you at this game, admit it,” the duchess teased.
“She’s had a few lucky rolls of the dice,” Burke countered, gritting his teeth as he counted his remaining pieces in play. “And backgammon is hardly a game of skill.”
“You were the one to suggest it, sir,” Madeline replied. “I was happy to play chess or cribbage . . . or nothing at all. It does seem a waste, seeing as this is a library, for not one of us to be reading a book.”
“I told you to come down at any time, day or night,” said the duchess. “The house is yours so long as you’re here, Madeline. If you want a book, take one. Take five. Take ten. Hoard them in your room like a greedy little dragon.”
“Pull up a chair, Bray,” said Burke, rattling his dice in his cup. “You can play the winner.”
Charles stifled a groan, checking the time on his pocket watch. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time this morning. I’m due back for tea with my uncle.”
The duchess perked up. “Oh?”
He didn’t miss the way her gaze darted from him to Madeline and back.
Christ, how much did she know? Between what James knew, what Burke most definitely knew, and what Madeline may have told her .
. . well, he had to assume that Rosalie Corbin knew everything.
Or enough of most things to paint a full picture.
“Did James dispense with the constable then?” she asked, her gaze on Burke.
“Aye. Constable Coates is well away and satisfied for now.”
Madeline stiffened, her hand freezing as she reached for her dice.
Charles glanced between them all. “A constable was here? Is there a problem?” he asked.
Madeline snatched up her dice, rattling her cup.
He took in the stiff set of her shoulders, the way she wouldn’t look at him. “What am I missing?”
Burke groaned as she bumped another of his pieces off the board. “The constable was here for Madeline.”
Fear lanced Charles’s chest like an arrow. “What? Why?”
“Obviously, because her parents are looking for her,” Burke replied. “A girl worth twenty thousand pounds doesn’t get to just waltz away whenever she wants.”
“Oh, yes she can,” the duchess replied defensively. “And Madeline’s worth is not tied to the price of her dowry, Burke.”
“You’re quite right,” Burke replied. “If anything, we are selling her short, seeing as the Leary fortune she will inherit at marriage is worth easily three times the sum of her dowry. What do you say to that, Bray? Would you let a lady worth over eighty thousand pounds slip away?”
Charles stilled, glancing down at Madeline. He needed to speak with her alone.
“Burke, don’t push,” the duchess muttered.
“I never meant to be such a nuisance,” said Madeline, her voice soft.
“It was no trouble,” Burke replied. He glanced up at Charles with an impatient look. “James met with the constable and told her she wasn’t in the house. Which, at the time, she wasn’t,” he added with a wink.
“I was with Warren,” she blurted, snatching her dice off the board. “Mr. Warren,” she added too late. “In the stables. That’s where I was while the constable was in the house.”
Charles’s stomach clenched tight as he had a sudden mental image of Madeline tipped back in the hay like another of Warren’s many conquests, Warren rutting between her legs. He blinked, clearing his throat. “Well . . .”
Their awkward moment was not missed by the duchess and Burke, who were both looking supremely uncomfortable.
“Yes . . .” Burke added. “Yes, she went down to see the new colt. Just born this morning. A fine little chestnut fellow—”
“Ahh—” the duchess cried out, slapping a hand over her rounded stomach, and doubling over. “Oh no, I’m feeling strange pains.”
Madeline reached out a hand. “Rosalie, are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” said Burke, taking his turn with a roll of the dice. They rattled in the cup, landing with a clatter on the board. “Breathe it out, Your Grace.”
“No, no,” said the duchess, rubbing the spot on her side. “I think I need to go and have a lie down. This is a particular pain,” she added, scrunching up her brow. “Burke, will you assist me?”
Burke scooped his dice back into his cup. Glancing between Charles and Madeline, back to the duchess. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” she added with a fervent nod. “I need to lie down now. I’m so sorry to cut your game short, Madeline.”
“I can take you,” Madeline urged, getting to her feet.
“No, Burke can do it,” the duchess repeated. “He’s stronger. He’ll catch me if I faint.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Burke muttered as he got to his feet. But he dutifully stepped around the back of Madeline’s chair, helping the duchess to her feet.
Charles fought the urge to roll his eyes. The duchess was being painfully obvious with her intentions. But he could only feel grateful because he was now desperate to talk to Madeline.
“Do take care, Rosalie, and rest,” Madeline called after her.
“You’re unbelievable,” said Burke as he placed an arm around the duchess’s waist, helping her shuffle away.
“I know, right?” she said with a grin. “Now, shush, and help me.”
They bickered softly to each other as they crossed the room towards the door.
“I guess I’ll be taking the duchess upstairs now!” Burke called back across the library in the height of melodramatic fashion. “It will probably take me at least a quarter of an hour. And then I’ll be back to resume our game!”
Not waiting for Madeline’s response, he showed the duchess out and shut the door with a snap.
Charles didn’t bother to watch them go, his eyes already back on Madeline. She stood next to the duchess’s abandoned chair, worrying her bottom lip in a way that would make Warren feral if he were here. Why was he suddenly nervous now that he was alone with her?
“So . . . are you alright? The constable being here didn’t frighten you?” he asked.
She wrapped her arms tight around her middle, flashing him a veiled look before she focused her eyes back on the door.
“Madeline—”
“Of course, it frightened me,” she snapped. “I’m frightened, Charles. This is what frightened looks like,” she added, waving a hand erratically across her person.
“Madeline, I—”
“My parents think I’m missing. At this moment, they are scouring the whole of England looking for me. But I can’t tell them where I am, because the moment I do, they’ll come for me. They’ll lock me away for good, and they’ll throw away the key!” She spun away with a soft sob.
“That’s not going to happen,” he growled, his anger bristling as he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.