Chapter 7 #2
I had waved him off, but his words hit me soundly again, like an echo that refused to stop.
I required a future. Madeleine had none.
I found her beguiling. Her nature sweet and kind.
To my astonishment, I liked her. For some reason, she delighted me.
Recalling Geraldine’s words of her being a rare gem, I had to agree.
She deserved more than the drudgery of toiling as a servant the rest of her life.
She deserved to be the lady she was born to be.
The wispy idea solidified quickly in my brain, taking shape, causing me to smile.
If I saw it to its completion, not only would I have acquired the land I desired, but I would also have angered Barnett to utter distraction when the news reached him.
Beaten him at his own game. Then I would work on taking Milton Manor and completely ruining him.
But that would be a dividend to the entire idea.
I studied Madeleine from under partially closed eyes. She had no idea I was watching her. Tallying up her potential. I discerned a backbone in her somewhere that her father had tried to remove. I saw it when she tried to defend her friend. When she insisted on aiding my suffering.
She was stronger than I thought—and much braver and fiercer than her father ever gave her credit for.
She would make a fine wife.
My idea was perfect. And to my surprise, the thought of it suited me. I grunted in surprise.
“My lord, are you well?”
“Indeed, Madeleine,” I assured her. “Very well indeed.”
MADELEINE
As the carriage rolled down the approach to the marquess’s country seat, I found myself shockingly grateful for the last few unexpected hours.
Despite the cramped nature of the latter portion of the journey, thanks to the marquess’s massive size taking up so much of the conveyance’s fine interior, I had enjoyed his company.
The necessity of aiding him had assuaged the fear keeping me in its relentless thrall, and I had become persuaded that Lord Wheaton was not at all like my father.
He had shown me courtesy and kindness, taking an interest in my past and accomplishments.
Our conversation had reminded me of the girl I had once been, a girl I had been forced to lock away as if she had never existed.
He was still in pain from the injury to his leg, but some of the strain had fled his countenance.
The tense lines around his mouth had relaxed, suggesting that perhaps he had been similarly put at ease by our time together and my tending his foot.
I didn’t fool myself that I had charmed him, of course.
I was the daughter of a baron, but I had spent the last few years earning my keep as a housemaid. I was below Lord Wheaton in station.
Still, speaking with him had been effortless.
“We approach Wheaton,” he told me in his deep, soothing baritone.
There was pride in his voice as he spoke of his home.
“The journey wasn’t as arduous as I worried it would be, my lord,” I commented. “How is your injury? Is it paining you?”
“Thanks to your ministrations, I will be well enough now that I am where I belong. Wheaton is a true beauty.”
He was not looking at his estate as he uttered the words, however. He was gazing upon me.
Warmth crept up my throat. I liked the way his dark gaze fell over me.
The way he seemed to see me. These were dangerous feelings, and I knew it.
Lord Wheaton wasn’t courting me. I had never graced a ballroom and had spent a third of my life as a servant.
The marquess was a handsome man, kind and capable and intelligent.
Judging from his fine carriage, he was also wealthy.
No doubt he had all the ladies in London eagerly setting their caps at him.
Besides, he intended to send me away as soon as he could.
I banished the sudden pang that notion caused in the vicinity of my heart. Why should I wish to linger here? Wheaton was not my home any more than Cliffwood had been.
I cleared my throat. “I’m pleased that I was able to be of use, my lord. It’s the least I can do, given your generosity.”
“Generosity?” A dark brow rose. “My dear Madeleine, all I’ve managed to do is injure myself and allow you to tend to my lame foot.”
My cheeks heated even more at his intense regard and the note of praise in his voice. I was accustomed to my father’s disapproval. Lord Wheaton’s appreciation for my efforts secretly thrilled me.
“It was my pleasure to help in any way I could.”
“And it was my pleasure to share this carriage with you and to be afforded the opportunity to become acquainted with you.”
We stared at each other, my heart quickening until I was certain he must hear it above the din of jangling tack, creaking wood, and falling hooves.
The carriage rocked to a halt.
I looked away from him, past the Venetian blinds on the carriage window, to the manor house that loomed beyond. My breath caught in my throat, for the marquess’s home was at least thrice the size of Cliffwood, and its faultless exterior showed nary a hint of disrepair.
But not only was Wheaton impressive in size and grandeur, the commanding edifice was simply an architectural marvel.
“Here we are at last,” the marquess said softly.
I took in the grand stairs flanking either side of the entrance, the Doric columns, high sloped roof, and at least forty windows across the front facade alone.
“I hope you will feel at home at Wheaton,” he added.
This was not a home. It was a palace.
“I am certain I shall,” I managed weakly.
My mind went to the task of cleaning all those windows, of beating the carpets that would line the immense floors.
Maintaining such an impressive household would require an army of domestics.
Perhaps I could be incorporated into the servants here.
I didn’t doubt, after my time spent during the journey with the marquess, that he would be a fair man.
He would not be exacting, unjust, or cruel and callous as my father had been.
Yes, mayhap I might find a place for myself here after all, if he allowed it. I truly had no wish to dwell in London. The thought of it frightened me, although I had to admit, it would be better than staying at Cliffwood.
“Madeleine, there is something I wish to discuss with you,” he said, his tone shifting.
I forced my attention back to the marquess, painfully aware I had been gaping at his estate like any green country girl.
What must he think of me? I was a maid he had taken as forfeit in a game of cards, and yet he had treated me as if I were a duke’s daughter instead of a wastrel baron’s despised offspring.
I needed to show him the deference he deserved, to remember my place.
“Of course, my lord,” I said, bowing my head.
Over the course of our journey to Wheaton, I had allowed myself to forget the vast differences between us.
The marquess was a wealthy, powerful gentleman in his own right, and yet he had not been haughty or cold.
When we had been conversing, it had been easy to think of us as simply man and woman.
His polite interest in me had quite battered the walls I ordinarily kept around myself.
“Madeleine.”
I waited, thinking that now would be the time he would inform me of his true intentions.
I would be sent away sooner rather than later.
But I had no wish to go to London, as I had told him earlier.
Perhaps I might somehow persuade him to keep me here.
I could be of service. I’d already proven myself with the liniment and binding of his foot, had I not?
He cleared his throat. “Would you look at me. Please?”
I glanced up instantly, our gazes meeting, that same surge of awareness I had experienced from the first moment our paths had crossed in the drawing room cutting through me. Stealing my breath.
“You know why I have brought you with me, do you not?”
I nodded. “My father offered me to you.”
“At the time Barnett had you forcibly brought into the drawing room, I had no intention of accepting.”
I swallowed hard against a rush of disappointment. It sounded as if there would be no place for me here after all.
“Of course, my lord.”
“My intention, after I saw your terror and the baron’s intolerable treatment of you, was to see you somewhere safe.”
“To your friends in London.”
“Quite.” He paused, his jaw hardening.
“Is it your foot, my lord? Are you in pain again?” I asked, thinking that perhaps he would require more liniment now.
“It is not my foot. It is the matter of making a rather delicate request of you that has me searching for words.” He puffed out a small laugh.
A new kind of warmth settled over me. Not shame but something else. Something far more dangerous.
“You wish for me to be your mistress,” I blurted.
The marquess stared at me in silence, his expression inscrutable.
Would I accept? It was far more honorable to be a maid. But the marquess was a handsome man. A fair man. A kind man. And I…
I liked him. I found him intriguing. And he seemed to think me equally interesting, if his questions during the carriage ride had been any indication.
As Geraldine had told me in her practical, no-nonsense way, I would be better served by ruining myself than by remaining at my father’s home.
She hadn’t been wrong when she had told me that my mother would have wanted more for me than the life of a maidservant.
“I don’t want you to be my mistress, Madeleine,” Lord Wheaton said, cutting through my wildly racing thoughts.
My stomach plummeted. How embarrassing. Why would a gentleman like the Marquess of Wheaton wish to take a maid as his mistress? What a fool I was to believe it even for a heartbeat.
“Forgive me for the conclusion, my lord,” I hastened to say, misery churning in my belly.
“I want you to be my wife,” the marquess announced.
The carriage door swung open in the next moment, which was just as well, for I found that my tongue was incapable of coherent speech.