Chapter 44 #2
“You couldn’t stop them,” she replied. “Even Rosalie has admitted she can’t stop them. If a duchess is powerless, what does that make you?”
He said nothing, his jaw tight.
“So long as I am seen as my father’s property, I belong to him, Charles,” she went on, spinning around to face him again.
“I belong to the Blaire family. They don’t care that I am their daughter.
They only care that I am worth a fortune.
You heard Burke just now; my dowry alone is twenty thousand pounds.
But since I did this horrible thing in running away, James believes my father will deny me my dowry rights,” she said with a shake of her head.
“The only money I can offer you must come from the Leary fortune. But it is significant, Charles. A townhouse in London, mine shares, land in Ireland. I could give you a full accounting if you wish—”
“Christ, I don’t care about the money,” he said. “Of all the many things I am considering with this proposal, the money is least among them.”
“But you must consider it,” she pressed. “You’d be foolish not to. You could be rich beyond your wildest dreams! Even without the dowry, we’d want for nothing.”
“Madeline, I don’t care about the money—”
“Then why do you hesitate?” she cried, tears once again stinging her eyes.
His hand dropped away from her shoulder. He hated that he was hurting her. “I . . . don’t know,” he lied.
“First you said it was because you loved another. But surely, we are past all that now. I would never come between you and Warren. You do not have to give him up, Charles.”
He groaned, dragging a hand through his curls.
“Madeline, do you even hear yourself? You are asking me to make a vow of marriage knowing I don’t intend to keep it.
You really intend to marry me, support me, and keep my lover in your home so I can be with him whenever I wish? Do you not see how mad that sounds?”
She squared her shoulders at him. “Perhaps that would have been the arrangement at first,” she replied, holding his gaze.
“But Charles, you know how things are . . . changing . . . between us, I mean,” she added, inching forward.
“Between the three of us. I don’t know what to call this.
I’m not sure there’s even a word for it.
Three people in a marriage is not the common practice, I grant you.
But why should we sacrifice our own happiness for the sake of a set of rules that only sometimes apply? ”
He raised a brow. “What can you mean?”
She shrugged. “I mean that all marriages are a farce. Show me a good marriage where a man is loyal to his wife, and I will show you ten more that are held together with little more than habit and spite. My own parents are like oil and water. They make each other miserable. For those rare few like Rosalie and the duke who stumble into a love match, maybe there can be fidelity. But most of the people in my circle are in arranged marriages. It is a business deal, Charles. Nothing more.”
“That is not the case in my circle,” he replied.
“We lowly commoners must live by the rules, Madeline. And I am doubly confined by my position. As a man of the Church, I cannot be seen with Warren. There can be no hint of impropriety. It would ruin us both. It could land us in jail, or worse. I may love him, but I must love him from afar. And I cannot think of dragging you into the middle. I would never do you the dishonor or put you in such danger.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “You know, at some point in my life, I’d like to think that I could be the mistress of my own fate. I must tell you that there is nothing I hate worse than having all my decisions made for me, Charles.”
He blinked, surprised by the sudden strength in her tone. “I’m only trying to protect you—”
“You are trying to control me,” she countered. “And I get enough of that from my father and his brothers, my mother, my governess, my tutors, my fencing instructor. Every single person in my life tells me what I should want and how I should behave. I am sick to death of it!”
“So, you expect me to just step back and stay silent? As your husband I would have no say in our life or the living of it? You want total control?”
“No,” she cried, her voice almost a groan.
“Ugh, I want to be free, Charles! I have lived all my life in a physical cage. The four walls of a drawing room have been my bars. I am kept quiet and confined. I am fed and petted and given pretty things to look at, but I am trapped! I cannot breathe but know that someone is looking over my shoulder, ready to tell me I am doing it wrong!”
He shook his head, her pain striking him like a lance to the chest. “Madeline, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be free with me,” she begged, sweeping forward to take his hands in hers. “Do you know what I see when I look in your eyes?” She gazed up at him, those beautiful blue orbs open and wide, luring him in.
“What?” he murmured, desperate to see himself through her careful gaze.
“I see a like soul, trapped inside another cage,” she murmured.
He sucked in a breath, his hands going stiff in her grip.
“But your cage is of your own making, Charles. For you are a man. You could do and be anything in this life. You have only to try for it, to dare to believe it could be yours, and it can be!”
“You make it sound so easy,” he muttered, dropping his hands away from her.
“You simply must get out of your own way. For that is where we are different. I am in a cage and others hold the key. Even you stand before me now with a key, Charles. You could free me. And if you will only let me, I could free you too. You don’t have to live trapped inside your mind, inside your fear.
You don’t have to push Warren away anymore.
If you trust me, if you let me in, you can be together.
I can protect you both. My wealth, my position, they will be our sword and shield. We could all be together—”
“Please stop,” he groaned, shrugging away from her.
It was too much. Hope was such a rare and fragile thing.
Charles had lived a life watching all his hopes and dreams dashed upon sharp rocks.
Again and again, his candle was utterly snuffed out.
His parents dying young, leaving him and his brother with nothing.
His uncle barely making enough to feed them all.
He took the offer of the late duke to go to Cambridge, not because he wanted to be a curate, but because he had no other options.
And Charles had never been strong. He was too easily pushed by the whims and wills of others.
Too easily led away from his own desires.
He let Uncle Selby pull him away from Warren.
He let his mentor push him towards accepting a position in Bredbury.
He didn’t want to go to Bredbury! He wanted to stay here.
James Corbin offered him a position in Finchley, and he was too damn afraid of other’s opinions to take it.
Afraid to want something, try for it, and not get it. Again.
And now here was Madeline. Sweet, honest Madeline.
She was so lovely, so kind. How easy it would be to let himself be pulled by her too, led down the garden path into her bright future of a perfect forever, Warren at their side.
It was impossible. What she was saying was impossible.
There was no reality in which he could have them both. It was not done.
He didn’t even realize he was shaking his head.
Madeline looked so utterly crestfallen. “I see you are determined not to believe me,” she murmured. “This is your answer then? You’re saying no?”
Was he? Had the words yet passed his lips? He knew he ought to say no to her. Such a precious flower deserved better, more. “I—don’t want to ruin your life,” he muttered, letting his truth slip free at last.
Her gaze darted up, blue eyes deep and wide. “What can you mean? You wouldn’t be ruining my life; you would be saving it. Have I not just said—”
But he shook his head, letting her have all his fears.
“You said it yourself, I am a powerless man. I am a lowly vicar, Madeline. I have no wealth, no connections. I cannot fight for you, nor can I protect you. Not from the censure of the ton. I fear I cannot risk making you my wife, not if I will make you a social outcast in the same day, a joke told at teas and luncheons to which you no longer receive an invitation—”
“But I don’t want those invitations—”
“You say that now, but you haven’t yet felt the full sting of society’s hatred,” he shouted at her, watching her shrink back.
“You are insulated here at Alcott. Were we to join your family for Christmas, do you think their usual set would rejoice at your new inferior connections? Would they even shake my hand?”
“I—”
“And what of Warren?” he added, feeling fiercely protective of his dearest friend.
She blinked, lip quivering. “What of him?”
“Do you expect to drag him into this mess too? You would parade him around London drawing rooms as . . . what? Your handsome laborer? Would you watch as the feathered peacocks sipped their brandy and asked him about his scars? Would you watch them try to bed him as part of a bet? ‘Who can claim a wild night with Madeline Bray’s kept man?’ You know they will try it,” he added, eyes narrowed at her.
“I will bite the hand of any lady who dares to touch him,” she said, her voice quivering. “He is ours, Charles.”
His heart raced at the words. Ours. Christ, it sounded so good. He wanted it to be true.
“Not that he needs any protecting from us,” she added.
“But if it came down to it, I would use my wealth to keep us safe. We could leave London, Charles. Leave England. The three of us, we could travel. Our life would be ours alone. And I care not what the ton thinks of me. I will give not a fig for what they think of you or Warren either. I have never sought their good opinions. Why start now?”
He sighed a deep breath, dragging his hand through his hair once more. “You seem so determined,” he muttered. “How can you have such strong convictions? How can you see in me what I clearly cannot see in myself?”
She shrugged. “I have spent my life watching others. I am no great entertainer or orator. I am not the center of anything. I live quietly and reservedly. And I see people. I see through their armor and their veils. You are no great mystery to me . . . or to Warren,” she added.
“We see you just as you are. You are a good man. A strong and capable man. A kind one. An honest one.”
How could that be true? He didn’t feel like any of those traits applied to him on his best day.
She took one of his hands in both of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I will only say these next words one more time, so please listen.” She held his gaze, her openness overwhelming him.
“Charles, I need to marry now, and I want to marry you—no, please—don’t say anything,” she said quickly, raising a hand to his lips to stifle his words.
He groaned, trying to ignore how good it felt to feel her fingers brushing his lips.
“Please—just—let me get this out,” she stuttered.
“My pride cannot take asking you again. But I am offering you all that I have, Charles Bray. And I mean to take you both, if Warren will have me. I will be a wife to you both. But you must marry me. And soon. Free me from my cage, and I will do everything in my power to free you from yours too. I will help you learn to see yourself the way we see you.”
Tipping up on her toes, she brushed her lips featherlight against his.
“There, I have said my piece. Please do not answer now. This cannot be rushed, and I will not have you appeasing me out of pity or obligation. You must want this too. Do not speak a word about it until you are ready to say either yes or no.”
The clock on the mantle chimed and Charles groaned, knowing his uncle waited for him even now. He glanced back at her, desperate to do something—anything—to say without words how strongly he was coming to care for her. How badly he wanted to hand her the key to free him from his self-torment.
In the end, he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, taking a moment to breathe in her sweetly floral scent. “Can I come again tomorrow?” he murmured against her skin.
She nodded and pulled her hand away, dismissing him with a nod.
He turned for the door and stilled, glancing over his shoulder. “This morning with Warren . . . you didn’t just look at a horse . . . did you?”
She pursed her lips, crossing her arms around her middle. “No.”
He groaned, turning away. “And did you . . .”
Silence hung between them as she made him wait, made him wonder.
“Warren takes what he wants,” she called in a soft voice. “And I think I mean to follow his example . . . wherever it leads.”