Chapter 24
Vauxhall was full. Full. Madeline had never quite understood how an outdoor space could be full, but she understood now.
There were grand terraces, dotted with gazebos designed for outdoor eating and drinking, and each terrace was thick with stalls.
There were jugglers, tightrope walkers, fortune-tellers—these kept hidden in the corners or beside shadowy pathways—and of course food and drink sellers.
James, who seemed thrilled that his family had joined him, insisted on buying mugs of cider for everybody. He came hurrying back from a stall, a smile on his face, with four mugs awkwardly carried in his hands.
“Pity your Papa couldn’t join us, Madeline,” he remarked, handing over her mug.
“Yes, I feel as though I have not seen him in an age,” Madeline remarked with a sigh. She took her mug and took a long, refreshing gulp. It seemed to warm her from the inside out. A chuckle drew her attention, and she glanced over at Tristan.
“Are you laughing at me?” she whispered.
He grinned. “I’ve never seen a young lady attack cider so ferociously.”
Madeline flushed, and James tutted.
“For shame, cousin! Let the lady enjoy her cider. What do you think of the lights, Madeline?”
She glanced up at the countless lights strung across the terraces. Small candles were placed inside paper lanterns, suspended on ropes high above their heads. It filled the space with a buttery glow and a sense of warmth.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. “What shall we do while we wait for the fireworks to begin?”
“We could take a walk?” Dorothea suggested, eyeing the shadowy walkways dubiously.
Countless paths crisscrossed the woodland around the terraces.
Many of them were well-lit, but not all.
Lovers with less than wholesome plans would choose those pathways, but of course, respectable ladies would avoid them.
However, with people crowding everywhere, Vauxhall was perhaps one of the few places where a lady and her gentleman could wander off a little for a private conversation.
Sometimes there would be hot-air balloon rides, or Punch-and-Judy shows, or singers.
The entertainment was endless. There was, of course, food to be bought—gingerbread, pies, sweetmeats, sugared plums, and so on.
A person could feast forever in Vauxhall.
Surrounded by sights, sounds, and smells, Madeline began to feel excited. She really had not gone to Vauxhall in a long time, and the place was so much more thrilling than she remembered.
And then a voice cut across the noise, clear and beautiful. A woman stood on a low platform a little way away, singing a tragic aria. Madeline stiffened.
“I say, they’ve got an opera singer!” James exclaimed, standing up on his tiptoes. “How glorious. She seems familiar. Who is she?”
“Miss Juliana Bolt,” Madeline muttered, not loud enough for James to hear. She felt Tristan’s eyes on her and resolved to behave as well as she could. Miss Juliana Bolt had a right to be here at Vauxhall, just like everybody else. They would avoid her; that was all.
“Tristan, do you see that stall over there with those cunningly made pieces of jewelry?” Dorothea gasped, looping her arm through her son’s.
“How pretty they are! I see a delightful carved wooden pendant that a friend of mine would like. And that colored glass bracelet—I would like that. I think I will buy a few souvenirs. Would you escort me through the crowds? I think we have a little time before the fireworks begin, don’t we, James? ”
“Of course, Aunt,” James responded. “Off you go, then. I’ll stay here with my cousin-in-law, and we’ll get to know each other a bit better. How does that sound, Madeline?”
She nodded and smiled. Tristan’s eyes landed on her briefly, then he let his mother tow him away through the crowds.
The jewelry stall in question was only across the square, and so Madeline let her gaze follow them both.
Being taller than just about everybody in the crowd, Tristan was easy enough to spot.
That familiar warmth in her chest returned as she watched him, bowing his head to let his mother whisper in his ear.
He is so solicitous of her comfort and her health. He adores his mother. That’s a fine thing in a man, to love his mother. Papa always said that. Oh, heavens, now I miss Papa too.
I should talk to Papa about this business with Tristan.
Not, of course, about what happened at the opera, but I could tell him that I feel drawn to him, and I believe that he is fond of me.
Perhaps he can shed some light on what I ought to do next.
I fear that Tristan will soon lose interest in me and leave my company for someone else.
But perhaps I am being silly. Perhaps Papa thinks otherwise. Maybe…
“I hope you don’t mind my engineering this opportunity for us to be alone together,” James said suddenly. “But I could really think of no other way to do it. I don’t imagine we’ll have many chances to speak privately, do you?”
Madeline froze, her fingers tightening around her mug of cider.
She glanced warily up at the man, trying to assess what was now going on.
He didn’t look like he was about to do something ridiculous, like declare his love for her and threaten to challenge Tristan to a duel, but how else was one supposed to interpret such a speech?
“And why are you so keen to speak to me alone?” she managed at last, feeling that clarity was the best way to get to the bottom of all this.
James sipped his cider and shot her a wry smile.
“Not for the reason you think, I imagine. You seem like an excellent sort of person, Madeline. Any fellow ought to be thrilled to see you marry his beloved cousin. But then, of course, not every fellow has Tristan as his cousin.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “I know Tristan well. I know his… his habits. I’ve been acquainted with most of his mistresses. Do forgive the vulgar reference to those women, but you cannot be unaware.”
Madeline swallowed, staring down into the murky depths of her cider.
“I am not, but Tristan and I have agreed not to embarrass each other. He wants me to trust him.”
“The trouble with Tristan is that, at the moment, he thoroughly means a thing,” James said slowly and tensely.
“He might tell a woman he cares for her, or that another woman means nothing to him, or that he wants them to trust each other fully. At the moment, he really does mean it. But then the moment passes. I… I have never known Tristan to keep such promises, no matter how often he makes them. It’s all his father’s fault, you know. ”
“His father?”
“Oh, yes. The old duke was a selfish, self-serving fool who took pleasure in cruelty. He was keen to raise his sons the same way, and for the most part, he succeeded.”
Madeline swallowed dryly. “Tristan does not take pleasure in cruelty.”
“Take pleasure in it? No, no. But he does not recognize cruelty when he sees it. It is just ordinary to him. He watched his father humiliate and betray his mother, over and over again, as if it were as ordinary a thing as taking supper together. He does not feel the sting of betrayal the way he should. Tonight, for example, he might sneak off for a tryst with that opera singer of his and think nothing of any promises he made to you. I imagine he might try to make sure you don’t find out, but that would be all.
I suppose,” he added, with a dry laugh, “if you and I could do as we liked with no repercussions, the way the Duke of Tolford can, we would probably exercise that right, don’t you think? ”
Madeline shook her head, passing a hand over her face.
“Are you saying that I cannot trust my husband?”
“You might consider it a warning, I suppose. I am fond of my cousin, but then, he has betrayed me once or twice. I have forgiven him, naturally, because he is family. But I should not like to see a woman of my acquaintance marrying him. We have always joked that Tristan would make an abominable husband, and so it was something of a shock to me that he had married. I have tried to hold my peace and keep my counsel to myself, but the plain fact is… is…” He trailed off, frowning down at her.
Madeline forced herself to meet his gaze, waiting numbly for him to continue.
“The plain fact is that I can see that you are unhappy,” he said at last. “You seem to be a decent sort of woman. I like you, and I wish that you had been warned before you entered this marriage.”
Silence dragged out between them.
It was not a real silence, of course, not with all the chatter and laughter from passers-by filling the air, mingling with clashing strains of music coming from here and there.
While Madeline groped for a reply, the fiddle player stopped playing a bright, jaunty tune and received cheers and applause in return.
She could hear the clink of coins as they were thrown into his hat in thanks for his performance.
“Well, I was not warned,” she said at last. “Perhaps if I had been warned by a man who knew Tristan as well as you, I might have acted differently. What is the point of telling me now, pray tell?”
James glanced across the square to where Tristan and Dorothea were still at the stall. Swigging back the last of his cider, he turned to face Madeline.
“If you hate this marriage, Madeline, you can still escape it,” he whispered urgently.
She flinched back, eyeing him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if the marriage has not been, ahem, consummated, an annulment would easily be given. You can escape this marriage; you can. And frankly, my advice to you would be to do just that. I like you, Madeline, I do. You should request an annulment, take the baby, and go back to your father. Retreat to the countryside. Your father adores you; he’d do whatever was necessary for your happiness. ”
“And… and Tristan?”