Chapter 9
MADELEINE
Istared at the note, reading and rereading the dark, masculine scrawl. The written words both thrilled me and filled me with dread.
Madeleine—
I request your presence in the library this evening for dinner.
Please know it matters not to me what you wear—a potato sack borrowed from the kitchen would be lovely if you donned it. But I believe a solution is at hand.
We shall eat later, as you may rest. Please join me at seven. We have much to discuss.
Yours,
Alexander
Much to discuss.
Yours, Alexander.
He believed himself to be mine? That I was his, then?
His announcement before his footman opened the door of the carriage drifted through my mind continuously. I could not stop thinking of it.
When he had simply informed me he wished to marry me, I was speechless. Certain it was but a cruel jest on his part.
Except the way he looked at me—his dark gaze all at once sincere and intense—I knew he was not jesting. I had never had a man stare at me the way he did. Bold. Decisive. In command.
Making me breathless and want things I did not comprehend nor was able to understand.
But I knew this. Lord Wheaton was not a cruel man.
After the time we had spent in the carriage, I knew that with an absolute certainty.
The way he had spoken of his estate, his regard for the land and his farmers.
His worry over his horse. He never complained about how much pain he had to be in, only accepting my attempts to ease it with a warm, genuine smile of gratitude.
He was polite and honest with his emotion when he thanked me for the small repast I had thought to bring him.
Praised my talent for drawing. Asked me question after question about my life.
His open disdain for my father made me want to laugh.
He was amusing, and his unfiltered words were as accurate as they were scandalous.
Yet, they made me feel better on some level I could not identify. And he seemed to regard me with respect and perhaps a little admiration.
I knew I admired him. He was rakishly handsome.
I loved the way he wore his hair—far too long to be fashionable, yet I sensed he cared not a whit for others’ opinions.
It suited him, and I wondered how he would look with it loose.
I could see the waves in the thick brown strands, and I felt the urge to touch them and ascertain if they were as soft as they appeared to be.
He smelled of fresh air and cut grass—rich and lush in the sun.
I couldn’t stop staring at his broad shoulders, the sheer size of him dwarfing me.
Yet I was not afraid to be alone with him.
But…marriage? To me?
Why would he desire such a thing? I was certain he could have any woman he set his eyes on.
I was nothing. A nobody. A discarded daughter of a baron who was cruel and unjust. Disliked and unrespected by many.
I had heard the other servants talk. Caught whispers of the many rumors of his debts and dishonor.
Deep in my own heart, I was embarrassed to be associated with him and grateful I was only thought of as a servant by most people.
Why would Lord Wheaton want me?
A knock brought me from my confused thoughts, and I crossed the room, opening the door. Mrs. Dougall bustled in, fabric draped over her arm, a small bundle clutched in the other.
She laid the fabric on the bed, and I gasped when I saw what it was.
A pretty gown. Not only one. Four of them that she spread out on the mattress, then stepped back with a satisfied smile and a nod. From the bundle, she produced a smart pair of nankeen walking boots, a night rail, and some underpinnings. A proper hairbrush and a set of lovely combs.
“I believe these will fit well enough for now,” she informed me.
“I don’t understand.”
She patted the closest gown. “Lord Wheaton asked me to get you some proper-fitting clothing. The dressmaker in the village had a lady come through and order some pieces for her daughter but never returned for them. They looked to me as if they would suit for the time being.”
I blinked, running my hand over the fabric.
The gloves covering my skin prevented me from feeling the soft material, but I could see they were lovely pieces.
Simple but well made, with beautiful stitching and lace.
I caught sight of a soft pink walking gown trimmed with passementerie at the hem, complete with a matching spencer, and a pale-jonquil muslin day gown that was spare of trimmings and perfect for the country.
There was even a riding habit in Pomona green.
The last one was an evening gown of deep celestial blue, stunning in the vividness of the color.
It was more elegant, yet still refined, the bodice ornamented with embroidered rosebuds. I loved every single one.
“I added these as well, child,” she murmured, handing me a pair of the softest kid gloves I had ever beheld in an ivory color trimmed in a rich brown. “The master said you always wear gloves. These are lighter than what I think you have and would be more comfortable.”
I stared down at the gifts laid out before me. I had been still a child the last time I was given a new dress to wear. My own boots. Fresh underpinnings.
I looked around the room, the rose-covered walls feminine and elegant.
The comfortable bed and the large armchair where I could soak up the heat of the fire that was banked low at the moment.
The long and beautifully scented bath I had been allowed to relax in at my leisure earlier.
I could scarcely believe all this was happening.
“Am I dreaming?” I whispered.
Mrs. Dougall smiled. “I think perhaps, my dear, you are finally waking up from a long, bad dream.”
I caught my lip in my teeth, worrying the flesh. I met her eyes, and she nodded slightly, seeing my question.
“Ask me,” she instructed.
“Have you known Lord Wheaton a long time?”
“Yes. I came here as a maid in my young years. He was a lad. Eventually, he became the marquess and made me his housekeeper. My husband is the head gardener and keeps a small cottage on the property, and I join him there when I’m able. We are fortunate Lord Wheaton has made an exception for us.”
I knew how rare it was for a housekeeper to marry, let alone live at the same estate as her husband. It was another example of the marquess’s generosity of spirit, and I was heartened by Mrs. Dougall’s revelations.
“Is he—is he a good man?” I asked, my heart thumping in my chest so loudly, I was certain she could hear it.
“He is. He is a kind and generous employer. Strict but fair.” She smiled as she shook out a gown, holding it up to me with a satisfied look. “He has a reputation for being cold and aloof, but to those closest to him, he is not.”
I recalled seeing him for the first time. The fear I felt at his regard. His stern expression and the way his lips turned down as he studied me.
“He has had a difficult life, but he has risen above it. He had to work very hard to bring this estate back to life, but he has never complained. He is honorable, and I am proud to work for him. But he is private and keeps his emotions private as well.”
“I understand.”
“He does not suffer fools easily and dislikes society as a whole. He trusts few and allows even fewer to be part of his life, but once you are within his world, he is a benevolent and compassionate gentleman.”
I nodded at her words.
“Now, dinner is at seven. I shall return in a while to help you dress. You will join the master.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and her tone told me not to argue.
“Yes.”
ALEXANDER
I paced the library, not understanding the anxiety that pulled on my nerves.
I had no doubt that Madeleine would appear momentarily.
We would dine together, and I would lay out my plans.
The more I thought on my idea, the more I liked it.
Marrying her was a good thing. She would make a fine wife and companion.
And, I had no doubt, a good mother. I was certain she would agree.
Surely marriage to me was a more pleasing situation than working as a servant elsewhere?
I was thought to be handsome. I was wealthy and could provide a good life for her. Children. Unfettered with worries and away from the dreary life she had been living, my offer had to be tempting at the very least.
I rubbed my temples, feeling doubt. She had admitted to wanting a husband and a happy life. Was she hoping for love? I was not known as an emotional man. In fact, I was certain my father had beaten that idea out of me. But I could care. Feel fondness. Desire.
She intrigued me—more than any other woman I had ever met. There was an intelligence hidden under her fear. I found her charming, and when she forgot to be afraid, I could see a slight glint of mischief in her eyes. I liked her laughter and her sweet smile.
What I didn’t like was the exhaustion etched into her skin. The apprehension she carried with her. The timidness she showed to the world. Her belief that she was nothing. Her worth was far greater than she realized, and I planned on proving it to her if she allowed me to do so.
A soft rustle made me turn to see Madeleine hesitating in the doorway.
I smiled widely at the vision she presented.
The dress she wore was simple, a soft pink color that looked pretty against her pale skin and dark hair.
Gathered under her ample bosom, it showed off her figure far more than the dowdy gray hand-me-down frocks she had been forced to wear.
Her hair was up, revealing her delicate neck.
The only thing missing was some jewels to set off her eyes and skin, but I planned on changing that soon enough.
For now, she looked sweet, lovely, and I realized, with a small smirk, decidedly nervous.