Chapter 5
Madeline could not remember at what point she’d fallen asleep. It was a miracle that she could fall asleep at all. To be sure, the duke’s carriage rode along a lot more smoothly than Papa’s, and the seats were very nicely upholstered.
Papa held the baby, who slumbered cheerfully in his arms. The duke had wedged himself into the corner, and she suspected that he was at least trying to take up less space.
It was not working, of course. His long legs refused to fold up neatly, and his broad shoulders took up over half of the seat anyway.
“Almost there,” he remarked, staring out of the window.
Madeline felt as though he were aiming that remark toward her, since she had just woken.
She had fallen asleep with her forehead pressed against the window.
There was undoubtedly a circular red mark there.
Had she been drooling out of the corner of her mouth? Perhaps.
Maybe he’ll change his mind about marrying me, Madeline thought sourly. I wish he would.
The words itched in her mind. She told herself once more that the idea of marriage—to this man, of all men—was frankly repulsive.
Yes, that was the word. It repelled her, which of course was the natural response.
Was the duke handsome? Yes, he was, and there was something thrilling about the sheer size of him.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but he seemed so much larger in places like the Devil’s clubhouse, in comparison to, say, Almack’s.
She couldn’t even imagine the duke at Almack’s.
Did he even have vouchers to go there? Surely he must. Surely everybody went to Almack’s.
“You are staring very intently at me, my dear,” the duke drawled. “Dare I ask what I have done to incur your ire?”
Before Madeline could respond, Papa spoke up, giving a nervous little laugh.
“Ire? Ire? Oh, Your Grace, you are quite mistaken. My Madeline is the sweetest girl you could imagine. There’s not a bit of ire in her.
Why, it seems only a little while ago that I held her in my arms just like this babe here.
” Papa paused, glancing down misty-eyed at the sleeping Adam.
“It goes by quickly, Your Grace. More quickly than you might think possible, believe me. Never let a moment go by without your noticing; that’s the advice I’d give. ”
The duke paused, glancing over at Papa. Papa wasn’t looking at him, on account of watching the baby. Madeline bit her lower lip hard, watching the duke’s expression soften, just a little.
She hadn’t known his grim, steely expression could soften.
Abruptly, the look vanished, and he glanced out of the window again.
“Ah, we’re here,” he remarked. “You’ll see my house up ahead, Lady Madeline. Or should I say, our house?”
When he said things like that, Madeline almost believed that they were getting married.
After her short nap, however, she felt invigorated and clear-headed and could see quite clearly that they would not marry.
Perhaps the duke would go so far as announcing an engagement, while he worked on prying Adam away from her.
A gentleman, of course, would never jilt a woman, but the Duke of Tolford was not a gentleman. He was a devil, and he would cut her loose the moment he had gotten what he wanted from her.
She couldn’t let him know that she’d figured it out, of course. So Madeline only smiled politely in response to his remark and peered out of the window.
Sure enough, they were trotting up a wide drive of well-raked gravel, hurrying toward a huge house that looked haunted. She would not have been surprised to see a white and ghostly face at the window, its gaping mouth stuttering out a warning.
Perhaps I do read too many novels, Madeline thought wryly.
As they approached, the huge, rounded doorway swung open, and a woman came hurrying out. She was a tall woman with a headful of gray-white hair and an elegant black velvet gown.
“Who is that woman?” Madeline asked, frowning.
She felt a strange sort of buzzing along her skin when the duke glanced at her. What a strange sensation.
“That is my mother,” Tristan responded at last. “The Dowager Duchess of Tolford, Dorothea Lovell.”
“I remember the duchess,” Papa spoke up abruptly. “I remember when she came out all of those years ago. What a fine woman she was; everybody said so. She had great dignity.”
Dignity? Madeline thought, frowning. What a curious word to use.
She was vaguely aware of the duke stiffening, pressing his lips together in a tight, thin line.
“Quite,” he responded in a brusque voice, which indicated that the subject was closed.
The carriage reached a round courtyard in front of the house, and a pair of footmen bustled down the steps to open up the doors.
Madeline climbed down first, blinking in the light and trying to surreptitiously stretch out her legs.
Long journeys were awful, and she felt as though she had spent entirely too long in the confined space of a carriage.
The dowager duchess blinked at her curiously and came scuttling down the steps toward her. It was odd seeing such a tall, distinguished-looking woman creep around like a nervous debutante.
“Forgive me, I didn’t know that we were expecting guests,” the dowager quavered. “Tristan told me that he was bringing back poor Anthony’s son, and I hurried here at once.”
“I have brought guests, Mother,” Tristan responded, climbing nimbly down and extending his arms to take the baby. Cradling the still-sleeping Adam in the crook of his arm, he reached out to help Papa down.
Madeline offered a wan smile to the dowager, trying to swallow down the familiar surge of nerves.
I hate meeting new people.
She couldn’t quite understand why her encounter with the duke hadn’t inspired such fear. Was it because she was too wretchedly angry at the fellow? Perhaps.
“This is Lady Madeline Huxley, and this is her father, Lord Beaufort,” the duke added.
The dowager broke into what seemed to be a genuine smile.
“What a pleasure to meet you! My poor Tristan doesn’t host very often here. It’s a terrible pity. Oh, and Tristan, before I forget, I must tell you that your friend, Isaac, has come to visit. I left him in your study.”
The duke grunted. “I’ll see him directly. Oh, by the way, Mother, Lady Madeline, and I are engaged.”
There was a long, taut silence after this.
“What?” the dowager managed, eyes turning wide and round. “Engaged? Oh, Tristan…”
“Your Grace,” Madeline burst out quickly, a flare of unease starting up in her gut. “I should like to tell Charlotte the news myself.”
I’d rather explain to her that there’ll be no marriage, so that she can understand the full scope of what is happening.
“As you like,” the duke shrugged. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes.
“Yes, but if you tell her husband, she’ll hear by the end of the day,” Madeline tried to explain. “So, I should be obliged if you wouldn’t tell the Duke of Arkley just yet.”
“Tell me what?” the man in question said, from somewhere behind them. Madeline gave a squeak of alarm and spun around, eyes widening.
Sure enough, there stood Isaac Cecil, the Duke of Arkley, with an expression of suspicious curiosity on his face.
Oh, dear, Madeline thought miserably.
“Very well,” she muttered to Tristan under her breath. “You will have to tell him now. I suppose we might as well get it over with.”
Tristan gave a short nod and turned to his friend. He gave a sweet, wide smile.
“Isaac, my friend, I have wonderful news.”
Isaac eyed him dubiously. “I find that hard to believe.”
Tristan grinned. “Well, prepare to be very wrong. Lady Madeline and I are to be married.”
“Married? Married, Tristan?”
Tristan sighed. “You keep repeating that word as if you think it will change anything, my friend.”
Isaac heaved an irritated sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
The two men had retreated to their study, leaving Dorothea to entertain Lord Beaufort and Madeline in her parlor.
There was talk of finding a nurse for the baby, but in the meantime, Dorothea seemed content to cradle the little thing herself, staring down at him with adoration.
Tristan had left the happy little group talking easily enough.
Any nervousness that Madeline might have felt at coming face-to-face so abruptly with her future mother-in-law would no doubt have been wiped away by Dorothea’s kindness and friendliness.
I daresay she’ll just be happy that I am marrying a lady and not an opera singer, he thought wryly.
“You seem to think that this is all a joke,” Isaac stated at last. “And I saw incredulity on Madeline’s face.”
Tristan took a moment before answering, pouring out two glasses of whiskey.
“Incredulity? What do you mean by that?”
Isaac gave another sigh. “I mean that she doesn’t believe a single word you say. And who can blame her? This seems to be just another move in a fight over that poor baby.”
Tristan gave a huff. “A fight that Madeline is determined not to lose. She intends to honor her promise to her friend. I cannot make her see that brothers trump friends.”
Isaac accepted the glass of whiskey with tight lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The blood of the covenant, after all, is thicker than the water of the womb.”
“Not so with Anthony and me.”
“And yet he never told you where he lived until it was too late.”
That stung. Tristan shot an angry glare at his friend, although of course, Isaac would not be cowed.
“Anthony was stubborn,” Tristan stated at last. “We had that in common. He wrote frequently to me. It was never Mother or me who resented his marriage. It was Father, as well you know.”
“I make no accusations, Tristan.”
“It doesn’t sound that way.”
Isaac set aside his whiskey glass with a decisive click.
“I only want you to understand the gravity of all of this. This is not a silly dalliance, Tristan. It is a serious and binding engagement with a very respectable lady. And what’s more, she’s a friend of my family.
Charlotte adores her. There’ll be consequences if you back out of this marriage. ”
Tristan settled himself in his usual seat, a high-backed armchair beside the fireplace, directly opposite Isaac.
“What if I told you that I had no intention of backing out?”
Isaac was silent for a moment. “I thought… Miss Bolt…”
“Miss Bolt wants to be a duchess. I imagine she does not particularly care whether she becomes a duchess or a lady. We have had good times together, but of late I’ve noticed that her ambitions have taken a singular turn.
She is not financially dependent on me, by any stretch of the imagination, and she does not love me.
Nor do I love her. I’m free to marry, as is she. ”
“I see,” Isaac murmured. “Sometimes, Tristan, you truly do baffle me.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Tristan responded, grinning and lifting his glass in a toast. “I don’t require your blessing on my engagement, but I do not have many friends, so I’d like it all the same.”
Isaac gave a low, incredulous chuckle. “As if it would make a difference.”
“Tut-tut, Isaac. I have the highest opinion of your advice.”
“To be sure. She’s too good for you, you know. Madeline, I mean.”
Tristan missed a beat, recovering himself quickly. “I am touched by your faith in me.”
“I don’t mean it as an insult,” Isaac clarified.
“I only mean to say… oh, I don’t know what I mean.
But I will say this, my friend. I like Madeline Huxley.
She is a good friend to my wife, and I am fond of her myself.
Her father is a sweet and kindly gentleman who lacks the social bite to protect his daughter if the need arises. You must not take advantage of this.”
Tristan eyed him for a long moment, swirling the liquor around his glass.
“I think perhaps you underestimate her,” he said at last.
Isaac frowned. “Who?”
“Madeline Huxley, of course.”
“Oh. Well, she is a sweet girl. Very shy and very reserved. You must not take advantage of that either.”
“She has fire in her.”
Isaac pursed his lips, eyeing Tristan for a long moment. “I’ve never seen any fire in her. Some ladies really are just sweet, soft creatures, and there is nothing wrong with that.”
Tristan took a thoughtful sip. “Hmm. I’m afraid we must agree to disagree, my friend.
At any rate, the marriage must happen. I will not relinquish my hold on Adam, and neither will she.
I’m sure my right would be upheld in the courts, but I don’t wish to drag Lady Madeline and her father through such an ordeal.
It would not be in my nephew’s best interest either.
Madeline and I can marry and go about our lives as before.
Nothing needs to change. I don’t require a duchess or an heir, so she need not worry herself about me. ”
Isaac’s eyebrows lifted a notch. “You intend to have a white marriage, then? Not consummated?”
“Yes, that seems the simplest choice, I think.”
Isaac was silent for a long moment. He drained the dregs of his drink, then got to his feet and moved thoughtfully over to the decanter again. Tristan could have sworn that he whispered something like ‘good luck’ under his breath.
“I beg your pardon?” Tristan inquired.
Isaac glanced back at him with a faint smile.
“Oh, nothing,” he responded blandly. “More whiskey?”
Tristan wordlessly nodded, narrowing his eyes.
Luck, he thought wryly. I don’t need this stuff. Perhaps my bride-to-be could do with a good dose of it, however. We shall see, I suppose. We shall see.