Chapter 23
The nuns of St. Naomi’s seemed thrilled with Adam. They took turns holding him, cooing over him, and tickling him. Adam, for his part, seemed equally pleased with the attention.
It gave Madeline a chance to sit back and relax a little.
The abbess was a personal friend of Papa’s and always liked to greet Madeline personally when she arrived.
They were taking tea in a small, serviceable parlor overlooking the courtyard, watching the children play.
The abbess was a tall, strong-looking woman in her late middle years, famous for her strong opinions and equally strong will.
“We hear little of the outside world here, as you might imagine,” the woman said after a few moments of sipping tea. “But I did hear of your marriage. My congratulations. Is he a decent sort of man?”
Madeline found herself nodding without thinking twice.
“He is kind,” she answered, and that was honest enough. “I am fond of him.”
The abbess glanced sharply at her, and Madeline suspected that the woman had spotted the difference between ‘fond’ and ‘love’. Still, she said nothing.
“He is a man of title, I expect?” the abbess asked after a moment.
Madeline nodded. “A duke, in fact.”
“Ahh, I see. So you are Your Grace now. Congratulations.”
“It won’t affect my visits here,” Madeline said quickly, suddenly afraid that the abbess might think that she was going to start acting all high and mighty. She was not. The title duchess did not even seem to fit her yet.
“Don’t you worry; you and your father have always been fine, reliable patrons to the orphanage,” the abbess chuckled. “I wish you all the luck and happiness in the world. Which duke have you married, then?”
“The Duke of Tolford.”
The abbess choked on her tea. “T-Tolford?”
“Yes,” Madeline sighed. “His reputation precedes him, I see. He’s not as terrible as people think. In fact, I believe he has a kind side to him somewhere.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” the abbess murmured, recovering her composure. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief and nodded across the courtyard. “I believe he is coming now.”
Madeline was about to say that it was impossible, that Tristan would never come here, when movement caught her eye. She watched in amazement as Tristan himself appeared at the other end of the courtyard and came striding grimly toward the main building.
She had expected the children to scatter around him, vaguely horrified. To her surprise, they clustered around him, shouting and laughing and eagerly trying to catch his attention. She got to her feet, rushed to the window, and pushed it open.
“…not today,” Tristan was saying. “Look! Look! My pockets are empty. I know it’s a disappointment, but I shall bring double sweets next time, I swear it.”
The children gave a chorus of disappointment but seemed to recover soon after, turning on their heels and scuttling away to resume their games. Tristan, freshly abandoned, glanced up and spotted Madeline standing in the window. He pressed his lips together tightly and narrowed his eyes.
Why do I feel as though I am in trouble?
There was not much time to wonder, because at that moment Tristan strode toward her, slipping in a side door—he certainly seemed to know the place well—and a moment later was standing in the parlor.
“There you are,” he said heavily. “Did you not think to tell me where you were going? Did you not think I would worry?”
Before Madeline could think up a sharp enough response to this hypocritical speech, the abbess got smoothly to her feet.
“Your Graces, I shall see that more tea is brought,” she said sweetly. “In the meantime, I shall leave you the room and go and check on young Master Adam myself.”
She swept out of the room without another word, and even Tristan stepped aside to let her go by. The door closed behind her, and silence descended upon them.
“Well,” he said at last, his voice a little less angry than before. “Adam is here, then?”
“Of course he is,” Madeline managed. “Papa and I patronize St. Naomi’s.
It’s one of the finest orphanages in the whole country, and we want to support it as best we can.
I have been visiting for years, for as long as I can remember.
I thought that coming here might clear my head, and I thought it would be good for Adam.
And I was right about that, since he is much more cheerful today and has even been crying loudly, as babies are meant to do. ”
She gave a nod to punctuate the end of this sentence and leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms.
He had no right to storm in here—he had followed her, for heaven’s sake!—and demand explanations of her, especially when he would not offer her the same courtesy.
Oh, Madeline was not a fool. She knew that society and the law in general were full of hypocrisy and unfair standards. A woman’s property was not hers upon marriage. She did not even have control of her own body.
A man could keep as many mistresses as he liked, and his wife had no legal right to complain, whereas an unfaithful woman, even once, could be cast out and left to rot.
It did not matter whether her husband was a faithless brute who kept a mistress in the same house as his wife; she could not leave. She could not copy his behavior.
Similarly, Tristan had the right to control Madeline’s comings and goings, down to the last detail, but she had no similar right.
It was a worrying thought, knowing that her husband had that kind of power. Of course, Papa had that power too, but he would never choose to exercise it.
It is not fair. We, women, should not have to build our lives and safety around the forbearance and goodwill of others.
“How did you know I was here?” she said at last.
He sighed. “Charlotte and Isaac.”
“I should have known. I am surprised you could find this place.”
“I am a patron of St. Naomi’s, too,” he snapped.
Madeline blinked, sure that she had misheard. “What?”
“I believe you heard me correctly. My father hated this place and the abbess, so naturally I rushed to offer my patronage. I was thrilled to learn that they were entirely deserving. That was where I had gone the morning of the opera.”
Not, was the unspoken implication, into the arms of an opera singer.
“Oh,” Madeline managed weakly. She suddenly felt very, very silly.
A man who patronizes a place like this cannot be all bad, to be sure.
He held out his arms to the side and cleared his throat.
“Well? Have I your forgiveness?”
Madeline swallowed. “I am not sure that you require forgiveness for much else beyond taking me to that room.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “I know you are upset to go to a place that I once frequented with a lady friend. It was perhaps a little thoughtless of me.”
“A little?”
“But in my defense,” he continued determinedly, “I was very much preoccupied.”
“Preoccupied?” she echoed. “With what?”
“With you, of course,” he answered.
Madeline flinched at that, reddening. She could recall every detail of their encounter, of course.
She suspected that every second of their time in that room was burned onto her mind forever.
If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the tickling touch of her fingers on hers.
She could feel him, see him, almost taste him. She could…
Enough, she scolded herself, feeling a familiar wave of panic inside her. You must not get carried away.
“Well, then,” she managed at last. “I suppose you are forgiven.”
He eyed her for a moment, then threw himself into the chair that the abbess had vacated. “I ought to be more than forgiven for the pleasure I gave you.”
She turned bright red. “Sir!”
“Oh, don’t sir me. You had a wonderful time. Deny it if you can.”
She could not, so it seemed wiser to stay quiet. Madeline cleared her throat repeatedly, wishing that the glow in her cheeks would fade.
I don’t know him, she realized in a rush. I don’t know him at all.
In her mind’s eye, she could still see him coming toward her across that courtyard, the children crowded adoringly around him. They did adore him. That sort of trust and love had to be earned.
Those children liked him, and children, as everybody knew, were adept at seeing through lies and bluffs.
“Perhaps I have not been as kind as I should be,” Madeline said at last, carefully.
Tristan snorted. “You’re the epitome of kind, my dear.”
“I am not. I was too sharp with you, too unforgiving. A room, I suppose, is just a room.”
And I have no right, no right at all to ask whether you thought of Miss Juliana Bolt when you were kissing me.
The memory of his kiss made her blush. She glanced up to find Tristan looking at her carefully, a frown between his brows. He seemed to be on the brink of saying something.
Whatever he meant to say, she was destined not to hear it. At that moment, the door creaked open, admitting two nuns, one carrying a tea tray and one carrying Adam.
“No tea for me, thank you,” Tristan said abruptly, rising to his feet. “I think I shall go home.”
Madeline swallowed. “And I will come with you.”
He glanced down at her, surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Madeline answered firmly. “I am sure.”
Dorothea stood on the front steps to meet them, seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness between Madeline and Tristan.
“You’re back at last,” she gasped, waving a crumpled newspaper in the air. “Oh, the scandal sheets have been most cruel to you two. Your departure from the opera last night was noticed, Madeline, my dear. Speculation has run wild.”
“Let it,” Tristan grunted, handing over the sleeping Adam to Joan. “I don’t care much what they say.”
Dorothea sighed. “Well, we are not all as hardy as you, Tristan. Here, Madeline, read this.”
“She ought not to read it,” Tristan called over his shoulder, striding inside. The ladies hurried after him, with Madeline trying to read and walk.
It mostly said what she had expected to hear. The papers suggested that a breach was building between the Duke and Duchess of Tolford, leading to a public disagreement and the duchess ‘storming off’, as the paper claimed.
She thought of what they might have written had they known what had gone on in that little room, and her cheeks heated.
Clearing her throat, she folded the paper and handed it back to Dorothea.
Perhaps this would destroy society’s interest in Adam’s parentage.
Now that she and Tristan were wed, there would be no real ill effects.
Actually, that is not true, she acknowledged. Adam’s inheritance could be called into question. Illegitimate children are often punished by law. If he were illegitimate, he might be pushed aside as duke for somebody else, by a distant uncle or so on.
It did not matter, of course. Adam was legitimate and could be proved to be Anthony and Betty’s child, born in wedlock. It was not a concern to Madeline, but she would have liked society to stop talking so much about it.
“Well, you needn’t worry,” Dorothea said, cutting into Madeline’s thoughts. “We can go out tonight and show the ton that you and Tristan are as good friends as ever.”
Madeline paused. “Going out tonight? Where shall we go?”
Further up the corridor, Tristan stopped, stiffened, then began to walk back.
“Not another outing, Mother, please,” he sighed. “I am exhausted. I should like a quiet night in. Is that too much to ask?”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you made a scene in front of half of London at the opera last night,” Dorothea insisted. “I have an outing all planned, and it will not take up too much time.”
“I am beginning to feel as though I do not have much of a choice,” Tristan muttered, catching Madeline’s eye and lifting his eyebrow. She flushed, giving him a tentative smile in return.
“Now, there is supposed to be a truly wonderful firework display down at Vauxhall tonight,” Dorothea explained, her face lighting up in excitement. “You know how I adore Vauxhall. When was the last time you were there, Madeline?”
“We rarely go,” she confessed. “Papa does not enjoy late nights, and he gets so cold. Besides, the noise and chaos unsettle him.”
“Oh, what a pity, I meant to invite him. Well, I shall invite him anyway. We have seen too little of him since you married, and here I thought he might be moving into our house! We should all like that very much, I think. At any rate, James was the one who invited us to go and look at the fireworks with him. We can take a boat trip down the Thames to get to Vauxhall, watch the fireworks, have a glass of punch—you must have punch at Vauxhall, my dear—and we’ll be home before you can say snap.
You’ll enjoy it, Madeline, I think. And Tristan, my grumpy little fellow, I can promise you we won’t be out for too long. ”
Madeline nodded. “I should like to see the fireworks.”
They both glanced in unison at Tristan. He heaved a long, tired sigh.
“Can I say no?” he wondered aloud.
Dorothea sniffed. “I suppose you could try.”
He gave a snort of laughter, shaking his head. “Mother, you are a trial, I can tell you that much.”
“It would be nice for poor James, you see,” Dorothea added. “He did so want to spend time with you two, but of course, you left so early.”
“I should like to get to know James better,” Madeline confessed. “He seems like a decent man.”
“Then we’re agreed,” Dorothea said, beaming. “We’ll leave at six o’clock. Oh, do say yes, Tristan!”
Tristan looked as if he very much wanted to say no. Madeline said nothing, simply watching him. She noticed, for the first time, lines of exhaustion around her husband’s eyes. There was a paleness in his skin that she had not seen before.
Their situation, whatever their situation was, had clearly begun to affect him. Perhaps her behavior hurt him, too. After all, she had accused him of being unfaithful to her the very morning after they had agreed to trust each other.
She had kissed him and let him touch her, then stormed away and refused to listen to his explanations on anything. She had not believed, not for a moment, that he would do something so kind as patronize a place like St. Naomi’s.
Was that fair? No, she had to confess, it was not.
Somewhat abashed, Madeline glanced away.
He was afraid that I had fled, she thought, guilt stabbing her afresh. This morning, when he found me gone and Adam gone, he might have thought that I had run off and left him, taking his nephew and leaving him a laughingstock.
That is not fair. That is not fair at all.
She cleared her throat and glanced up, meeting Tristan’s eyes.
“I should like you to come, Tristan,” she said clearly. “If you can, that is.”
He held her gaze and nodded slowly.
“Very well,” he said at last, with a dry smile. “Fireworks and punch it is.”