Chapter 14
Fourteen
They were sapphires, the jewels, in a gold-cloth box lined with white silk.
“Not paste?” Her aunt reached out a reverent finger but didn’t dare touch them. Earrings, necklace, hair pins… They glinted pure and perfect in the sitting room’s sunlight.
“Not paste, no.” Madelaine was sure of it—hadn’t even questioned it, knowing the man. He’d shudder at the mere idea.
Besides, she suspected he took some perverse pleasure from the generosity of the gift—sorry, donation—knowing it would annoy her, for reasons too trite and stupid to even name.
“But that must be…”
“Worth a ridiculous amount, yes.” She snapped the lid of the jewellery box shut and put it down—a little carefully, she had to admit—on the low table before the sofa where she sat. “Which could have been spent on far better things.”
Her aunt’s gaze lingered on the box for a moment before coming hesitantly to Madelaine’s face. “I suppose…I suppose Lord Cotereigh very much wishes to win his wager.”
She gave a sharp nod then stood up, unable to sit still. “He certainly does.”
“I have to say…he is a much more generous man than I ever imagined. The way he helped with that boy and insists on keeping him. And of course, I can’t forget how kind he was to me when I was so stupidly overcome yesterday. He was so…gentle, for such a man normally so grave and…and…”
“Imperious? Domineering?”
Infuriating, abominable, despicable, confusing… The way he’d taken hold of her wrist as though he had every right to touch her!
“Well…I suppose you could describe him like that. But he’s been nothing but good to us.
Where would we be without his help? Look at you, invited to the Allingham’s ball, and with Lady Frances taking you in her own carriage again!
I used to know old Mrs Allingham, once, a long time ago now.
I haven’t seen her in many years. I suppose one loses touch… ”
Madelaine turned on her aunt. “It ought to be you going with me. You have as much right as anyone. You’re a countess, Aunt. These people were all your people before they…they turned their noses up at you.”
Her aunt arranged the creases in her skirts then took to fiddling with the rope cord edging a cushion. It was starting to fall off.
“Well, I suppose they were really all Charles’s friends before they were ever mine, and once he was gone… Anyway, I probably annoyed them over the years.”
The guilty note of apology in her voice made Madelaine’s jaw clench.
“And…” Her aunt’s feeble smile wobbled. “It doesn’t do to be always harping on about things of no interest to anyone. I suppose it is impolite, only my emotions get the better of me and I forget myself.”
“I suspect they all would have listened longer if they’d sooner been able to forget you were a country parson’s daughter!”
Her aunt looked up, a splash of colour in her cheeks at the reminder of this very old embarrassment.
“I’m sorry.” Madelaine hurried forward and knelt down, clasping her aunt’s hands in hers.
“I’m only so frustrated that you, with your loving heart, only ever wanting to do such good, aren’t esteemed as you should be.
And it is worse that the people judging are so…
so…” Infuriating, abominable, despicable, confusing.
“So very unworthy themselves. It is all back-to-front, and it drives me to agonies of frustration.”
“Don’t despair, my love.” Her aunt freed a hand from between Madelaine’s and smoothed it over her hair.
“I sometimes feel that same frustration too, or a shade of it, but I remind myself how lucky I am. An independent widow, with more than enough means to support myself in every comfort I need, and the freedom to help all those causes I care most about. It matters not what balls I do and don’t get invited to, not when I remember all the people I’ve helped.
We are doing good, however small it sometimes seems.” She sighed, then stroked Madelaine’s hair again, a brighter note springing into her voice.
“And now you are finding this new way of approaching things with Lord Cotereigh’s help!
Perhaps there is a way to do it all and court society too and thereby make an even greater impact than we ever thought possible.
Just think what you might achieve with his help! We have much to be thankful for.”
Madelaine forced herself to nod and smile. She got back to her feet.
“You are right, as always. I am emotional of late, it seems.”
Her aunt’s smile was soft with sympathy. “It’s April, dear. You know you have reason to be kind to yourself.”
Madelaine jerked another nod, having to turn away. Yes, April! Always such a difficult time. And for almost a full day and night, her mind had been preoccupied with another man entirely.
Guilt, sharp and sickly, flooded her to the bone. Lord Cotereigh wasn’t worth thinking of. He was an annoying fly. An alarming, large, dark horsefly, the kind that took great painful bites.
“I will remember what you said, Aunt, about us being able to do it all. And I will make a good start on it—I have at least two hours in which to catch up with our correspondence before I must dress for this ball.”
“Well…yes. But don’t exhaust yourself, my dear. And here…” She hurried after Madelaine to the door and passed her the jewellery box. “Don’t forget these!”
Madelaine took the jewels to her room, very much wishing she could.
She’d been to balls before, of course. A long time ago, when she was young, she’d attended local assemblies on several occasions, and three times she’d been invited to private balls held by the principal families in her father’s parish.
She’d been married by then, or knew without a doubt she soon would be, and so she’d been free to look around and enjoy the occasion without any of a young lady’s usual fretting about partners and appearances.
Now too she supposed she didn’t have to care about such things.
Lord Cotereigh had seen to her appearance, and he’d so very conveniently secured himself for a partner.
How she would spend the evening outside the bounds of their single set, she didn’t know, but she was determined to put all her childish, petty moods of yesterday behind her.
Tonight she would conduct herself calmly, rationally, and with the sole aim of extracting as much benefit from this forced attendance as was within her power.
There was little to be nervous about, she told herself firmly, straightening the velvet cloak around her shoulders as Lady Frances’s carriage rolled to a stop outside her aunt’s house.
She bid a smiling farewell, set a needless hand to check the position of a sapphire-tipped hairpin, and hurried down the stairs.
What did she care, really, for Lady Frances’s opinion? The woman had driven past a dying child, would drive past more, every day of every year she lived. God would judge her, if he ever cared to, it mattered not to Madelaine. Lady Frances was only a woman, just like a hundred others.
But her stomach clenched as she mounted the carriage step, and heat prickled her neck as she met the woman’s eyes.
She was accompanied by her mother tonight, or so Madelaine presumed the politely smiling but otherwise silent lady to be.
Lady Frances smiled too, both amusement and speculative curiosity in her greeting gaze.
“I hope you are feeling better, Mrs Ardingly,” was her opening gambit.
Ah, so that was the story agreed upon, in conference with Lord Cotereigh no doubt. She’d leapt from the carriage because she was sick. And how helpful to explain why she’d run to the privacy of an alley.
“Quite better, thank you.”
“I regret we could not stop and wait for you. The time of my next engagement was pressing, but I knew Lord Cotereigh had gone to your aid.”
“Yes. I was most grateful. As I am to you, for your kind attention tonight.”
Lady Frances smiled, gave a nod, and that was the end of the matter. Her next comments were on Madelaine’s gown, her jewels, and her cloak, and after that, she remembered to introduce her mother.
Madelaine had dimly suspected that her youthful attendance at Sussex assemblies wouldn’t have quite prepared her for the lavish pomp and glamour of a ball of the type Lord Cotereigh might deign to attend. But she hadn’t anticipated quite how short her imagination had fallen.
Their carriage was thirty minutes in the queue. When they finally stepped out, liveried footmen at hand, it was to join a slow queue of people climbing up a long sweep of torchlit steps.
A bright carpet had been laid on them. More footmen, powdered and wigged, lined the way.
There were vases overfilled with exotic flowers, and the grand doorway was festooned with more so the night air was perfumed with strange, tropical scents.
Two violinists played a duet from a balcony above the door, serenading the queueing guests.
More footmen stood either side of the door, bowing people into an enormous hallway, all cream and gilt, with mirrored surfaces everywhere to catch every spark of light from the twin cascades of mammoth chandeliers.
Madelaine kept her mouth closed, reminding herself not to gawk. She shuffled along behind Lady Frances and her mother, inching closer to where the host and hostess stood.
“It is always such a crush at the Allingham’s,” Lady Frances leant in to say. “They like it like that, think it makes them look popular. But”—her sweet smile was very sly—“it means they invite almost anyone.”
Like Madelaine, of course. She could hardly miss the insult when it was so directly made.
Fortunately there was no need to reply. They had almost reached the sanctified presence of their illustrious hosts. Madelaine heard the people ahead of them be announced and bit back a laugh.
“His Grace, the Duke of Cumbria; Her Grace, the Duchess of Cumbria…”
Oh, yes, clearly just anyone was here tonight.