Читать книгу Protected by the Major - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 9

Chapter One

Hallam Ravenscar, now a major in His Majesty’s Own elite cavalry regiment, and the recipient of some half-a-dozen medals for gallantry on the field, straightened an imaginary crease in his immaculate coat of blue superfine and placed a diamond stickpin in the soft folds of his cravat. His short dark hair was brushed casually into a fashionable style and he looked the complete man about town, his eyes grey with a look of steel in them. Having returned to England after Napoleon was finally defeated to the shocking tragedy of his cousin Mark’s murder, he had played his part in the unmasking of an evil rogue. He was now in London to see his man of business and to purchase a wedding gift for his cousin Captain Adam Miller to Miss Jenny Hastings.

A half-sigh left his lips for he had been urged by his lawyers and agents to consider marrying an heiress, too. Indeed, it must be marriage or the more drastic step of selling his late father’s estate, which was at present burdened with insupportable debt. His father had been a lifelong gambler and after the death of the wife he’d adored, he had plunged deeper and deeper into the abyss.

Hallam had been fighting for his life in France when his father succumbed to a virulent fever and it was only on his return to England that he truly understood what awaited him.

‘You have little choice, sir,’ Mr Hatton, his father’s lawyer, told him. ‘Had your father lived he must have sold most of the estate but since his death I have had hard work of it to keep the bank from foreclosing. It would be better to sell than let them simply take the estate. That way you might save something.’

Hallam knew that he was close to ruin. He had the small estate his maternal grandfather had left to him, but that was little more than a large farmhouse and some one hundred acres, most of which was let to tenants. Together with his pay, it had brought him sufficient income to sustain him as a cavalry officer, but was hardly enough to support a wife and family in style, unless he could find another source of income. Adam had invited him to come in as a partner with a wine-importing business, and Hallam had agreed. He would need to sell his commission and that would bring sufficient funds for a modest investment—but what of the future?

His lawyer had made no bones about it. ‘Your mother was the youngest daughter of an earl, Major Ravenscar, and your father the younger son of an old and respected family. You do not at present have a title to offer, but I think you might find that the daughter of a rich merchant would welcome an offer.’

‘Good grief, you want me to sell myself?’

Hallam had greeted the suggestion with horror and disgust, but in truth he could see very little alternative. He might make a fortune with Adam, but that was well into the future. In the meantime he had two choices, neither of which appealed.

Damn it! He would not think about the problem of his estate tonight. He was engaged to meet some friends to dine, and from there they would go on to a card party at the house of Lord Devenish. He understood there would be some dancing after the musical recital for those that cared for it—nothing lavish, just a few couples standing up in the gallery.

He picked up his swordstick and hat, gave himself another depreciating look and left his lodgings to keep the appointment. It was years since Hal had thought of marriage, being content to flirt mildly with charming young ladies and enjoy a friendly relationship with an obliging widow while on service in Spain and France.

How could he even consider marriage when his heart had never completely healed? Madeline had dealt his heart and his pride a severe blow. While the pain had subsided gradually, and a harder, stronger man had been forged in the fires of battle, Hal had never felt anything stronger than affection for the lady who had so kindly tended his wounds and given generously of herself.

Had he wished to marry for comfort’s sake, he could not have done better than to wed Mrs Sarah Bowman, for she had been a soldier’s wife and would have been willing to follow the drum—but Hal did not wish for a wife. How could he marry when his heart was dead? Madeline had killed it when she married her count for his money.

It was ridiculous to think of Madeline. She had long forgotten him—and was probably content in her marriage with several children at her skirts.

The picture gave him pain and he put it from his mind. He must forget Madeline and move on. Perhaps it would be better to take his lawyer’s advice and seek out the daughter of a wealthy Cit, who would be grateful to offer her father’s money in return for a home and a place in society.

His lips curled with distaste at the idea, but he would not be the first or the last to seek a solution to his money problems in this way.

If the worst came to the worst, he would consider it, but for the moment he would look for other ways to pay his debts.

* * *

Lord Devenish’s rooms were overflowing with guests, all of them enjoying the fine champagne and other wines, which waiters offered them constantly as they circulated with trays. Hal accepted a glass and sipped it, moving through the crowded rooms and stopping now and then to talk to people he knew. He was hailed as a hero by many, welcomed home and greeted warmly. His bravery had been mentioned in dispatches and everyone was eager to congratulate him, asking how long he intended to stay in London and offering invitations to all manner of events.

‘The Regent told me you were an outstanding officer,’ Lord Devenish told him as he clapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him to the house. ‘Knew your father well, m’boy—and regretted what happened at the end. If you need any advice or help you know where to come.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Hallam said and smiled. ‘I do not suppose you know of an heiress in desperate need of a husband?’

He meant it as a jest, to turn off the offer of help, but his host looked grave and then light dawned in his eyes. ‘As it happens I do, Hallam my dear fellow. Her father is indebted to me for various matters of business I put in his way and told me he would like to see his girl settled with a decent fellow. He made it plain that he doesn’t look for money, but a good family and the entry into society is what is hoped for. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?’

‘Oh, I hardly think it necessary just yet,’ Hal said lightly. ‘It would be a last resort, sir.’

‘Well, I can’t vouch for the girl’s looks or manners, never seen her—but I’ll ask them to a supper party and send you an invitation. Make up your mind when you’ve seen her.’

Hallam thanked him and passed on as some newcomers arrived. He had spoken lightly, but his host had taken him seriously—but he would not think of a marriage of convenience just yet.

As the rooms filled up, the ladies took their seats for the musical recital, but most of the men moved into the card room, where several tables had been set up in readiness. Hal was invited to join a hand of whist for modest stakes and accepted. He was a skilled player and won as often as he lost. Provided he stayed within the limits he’d set himself for his lifestyle, he did not consider it wrong to gamble a little. Unlike his father, he never played the dice or faro, though he enjoyed a game of skill.

His luck was mixed that evening for he won the first hand with his partner, lost the second and third, then won the fourth, which meant he rose from the tables for supper in no worse case than he had been when he sat down.

Making his way into the supper room, he helped himself to a small pastry and ate it, sipped some wine, then made his way out to the terrace to smoke a cigar. A lady was about to enter the supper room and for a moment he stood in her way. He apologised and glanced at her face, feeling shocked as he saw the beautiful sophisticated lady whose path he’d blocked. Her hair was piled high upon her head, one long ringlet falling on to a white shoulder, her gown cut daringly low to show off the sweet valley between milky-white breasts. So far different from the girl he’d known was she that he spoke without thinking.

‘Madeline...good grief! I should not have known you.’

For a moment she seemed too stunned to answer, then a look of sadness swept into her eyes. ‘I dare say you think me much changed, for I am older.’

‘No, no, you are beautiful,’ he said, recovering. ‘You have become a great lady, Madeline.’

‘It is the gown,’ she said and a half-smile was on her lips. ‘I had heard you were home—and I was sad to hear of Mark’s death. You must have felt it deeply. You were always close as young men.’

‘We became even closer for we served together in France,’ he said. ‘How are you? You look very well.’

‘I am quite well,’ she said. ‘I am glad to have seen you. Please excuse me, sir. I went out for some air and my husband will look for me.’

Hal stood to one side, allowing her to pass. For a moment as he’d looked at her the years had slipped away and he’d forgotten their parting, forgotten the pain she had so carelessly inflicted. Now he had remembered and he felt the bitterness sweep over him.

She was obviously content with her life and her marriage, and why should she not be? The diamond necklace she was wearing must have cost a king’s ransom. He was a damned fool even to think of her. She had made her own life and he must make his. Perhaps he should move on in his life, make a marriage of convenience, as Madeline had.

He walked about the terrace, smoking his cheroot and then threw it into the bushes. He would speak to Devenish, ask him to arrange that supper party soon. If the heiress were presentable and—more importantly—agreeable, he might as well take the easy way out and marry her.

* * *

Madeline entered the hot, overcrowded rooms and realised she could not bear it another moment. Her throat was tight with emotion and she felt close to tears. How unfortunate to bump into Hal like that! He had been much in her thoughts these past weeks, since Lethbridge had told her about Mark Ravenscar’s murder. She had longed to write to Hal and tell him how sad she was, but it would not have been permitted. Indeed, she dare not for fear of what her husband might think or do.

Lethbridge was unpredictable in his moods. When she pleased him, he would buy her a new jewel or a stylish gown such as the one she was wearing this evening, but he was often jealous and if she appeared to enjoy the company of a gentleman too much he would come to her room last thing at night and rage at her. Sometimes he would punish her.

When they first married, she had tried to be a good wife to him, welcoming him to their bed with a smile, but he was a cruel man and he had taken her without thought for her pleasure, subjecting her to things that shocked her innocence, as if she were a whore rather than an innocent girl. It was a long time since she had been able to smile at him or do anything but freeze when he touched her.

A little shudder went through her for her husband had been in an odd mood of late. Their relationship had been deteriorating for some time, because of their unfortunate situation. Lethbridge needed a son to succeed him, but Madeline doubted it would ever happen. Her husband blamed her, though what she could do about it when he’d ceased to visit her bed long since she did not know. When he did come to her it was to punish her rather than make love to her.

She blinked hard, blocking out the tears that threatened. She would not pity herself simply because she’d seen Hallam—been so close to him that she might have touched him, had she dared. Pain ravaged her, but she struggled to keep an appearance of calm. No one must be allowed to see her distress. Pride was all she had left. She did not ask for pity. Indeed, she would not allow it. She had married for the sake of her family and nothing had changed. Nothing could ever change while...

No, she would not think of that now. She had the beginnings of an unpleasant headache and all she wanted was to go home. In her own room she could give way to the tears that might bring some relief to her distress.

She stopped a passing footman and asked for her carriage to be brought round.

* * *

Only when she was being helped inside did she ask for her husband to be told that she had retired with a headache. The last thing she needed was to drag Lethbridge from his cards to accompany her home. He would be angry either way, but tonight she needed a little solitude.

Seeing Hallam so unexpectedly and at such close quarters had brought home her wretchedness. She must hope that Lethbridge would play late and be too tired or too drunk to bother with her when he returned. In the morning she would have recovered sufficiently to face him, but if he questioned her tonight she was not sure she could hide her despair.

* * *

Fortunately, Madeline’s husband had enjoyed a successful evening at the tables and had ignored the message that his wife had gone home because of a headache. Rising from the tables at three in the morning with his pockets filled with the guineas he’d won from his companions, he’d called for his carriage, which Madeline had had the forethought to send back for his convenience. Conveyed to his home in a mellow mood, he did not bother with visiting his wife’s room, but drank a glass of brandy after his valet had undressed him and went to bed to smile over the evening’s play and sleep through until late the next morning.

* * *

Madeline was up and dressed and about to go out when her husband entered her room in his dressing robe. He looked at her from narrowed eyes.

‘Is your headache better, madam?’

‘Yes, sir, I thank you,’ she said. ‘Forgive me for leaving early. It was shockingly bad and I did not wish to disturb you.’

‘Just as well for I could not have left the play,’ he said. ‘My luck was in and I won several hundred guineas.’

‘I am sure that is very pleasing, sir.’

‘It pleases me,’ Lethbridge said, a slightly sour twist to his mouth. ‘As you are aware, Madeline, I have little else to please me in my life.’

She lifted her head proudly, a nerve twitching at her temple despite all her determination to show no feeling of any kind. He was looking at her in such a way and she steeled herself for what must come next.

‘Madeline, must you always treat me so coldly? Is it unreasonable of me to want a child? I’ve given you so much.’

‘Forgive me, I cannot love you.’ She raised her head, cold and proud as a marble statue, and heard him suck in his breath.

She tensed as he moved towards her, her body suddenly rigid as he reached out to take her in his arms. An icy coldness swept through her and she stood perfectly still as he held her crushed against him, his mouth on hers. He tried to force her mouth open with his tongue, but she could not open to him. Every nerve in her body rejected him, even though she did not say or make any attempt to repel his caress as his hand moved over her breast. She could not prevent him touching her, but neither could she respond for he had killed her young eager warmth with his cruelty and his vile treatment of her body, making the most intimate of acts a bestial ordeal rather than a pleasure.

Lethbridge swore and flung away from her. ‘You do not refuse me, but you make it impossible for me. You are frigid, madam, an iceberg. Your father cheated me and so did you, for you told me you would obey me in all things.’

Madeline looked at him, seeing him from a distance. She had learned long ago to shut out his cruel words and to stop herself feeling anything. She could not help herself, for the first few weeks of their marriage when he’d claimed her as his bride had shocked and distressed her so much that the only way she could cope was to lie still and think of something else as he forced himself on her. Lethbridge called her cold and perhaps she was—but she really could not bear his touch unless she closed her mind to what was happening.

‘I am sorry. I cannot be what you want me to be. I would if I could, but it is impossible. Why will you not divorce me and take another wife who can give you all you want?’

‘Because I want you,’ he said, his mouth hard with anger. ‘I was deceived in you, Madeline. I thought you a warm lovely girl who would welcome me to her bed and give me an heir.’

‘Forgive me, I have tried...’

‘Oh, yes, you try. With that look of martyrdom on your face. It is enough to make any man shrivel. Damn you, madam! You have cheated me and I shall not stand for it.’

‘I have already asked you to let me go. What more can I do?’

‘You could act like a woman instead of a damned ice queen,’ he muttered. ‘Where were you sneaking out to when I came in?’

‘I have an appointment with my dressmaker.’

His eyes narrowed in fury. ‘Go and spend more of my money then, but remember there will be a reckoning one day. You will accompany me to dine with friends this evening—and I want no more excuses, no headaches. Do you understand me, madam? I want a child and I shall come to your bed tonight without fail. Be prepared to accept me.’

‘When have I refused?’ she asked, and as he flung away in disgust she took the opportunity to move towards the door. ‘I must not keep the horses standing, sir. Please excuse me, I shall see you this evening.’

Lethbridge was a bully when angry, though he’d been kind enough in his way at the beginning of their marriage. It was her fault, Madeline knew. Her fault that his attempts to be a man in her bed had begun to fail soon after their wedding. Her husband said it was her frigidity that had made him impotent and she believed him. Yet her dislike of being touched by him was so great that she could not bring herself to accept him with smiles or sweet words. She had tried, but as soon as he touched her intimately, she froze.

If only he would divorce her and take another wife.

If only she had never married him.

Bitter tears stung her eyes as she thought of what might have been. Seeing Hal the previous evening, remembering the sweetness of his kisses before she’d sent him away, had made her see her life for what it was—an empty shell. If only she could go back to that day...if only she could have been Hal’s wife...

* * *

Hal dressed with care that evening. Lord Devenish had arranged the supper party to which both Hal and Miss Helen Carstairs were invited together with perhaps fifty others. The introduction was to be casual, for as Devenish said, if too much were made of it and Hal did not care to continue it would be an insult to the young lady.

Hal would never wish to cause a young lady distress and he believed Miss Carstairs to be no more than eighteen; the daughter of a Cit who had ambitions, for his only child was no less deserving of respect than a lady of high degree.

Two weeks had passed since the ball and Hal had begun to recover from his brief meeting with Madeline. He’d been stunned by the change in her, amazed by her beauty and reminded of the pain she’d caused. But he had his feelings under control now and was giving serious consideration to the idea of marrying for convenience.

If Miss Carstairs were an agreeable girl and not a complete antidote, he would arrange to meet her again and discover if they were suited. And he would not compare her with Madeline.

* * *

Madeline sighed as she looked at the gown her husband had asked her to wear that evening. It was a pretty shade of green, fashionable and made of the finest silk, but once again the neckline was far too low for her taste. Given her own way, she would have worn a tulle fichu with the gown to cover herself for modesty, but if she did Lethbridge would more than likely tear it away. However, she would wear a stole and cover herself a little whenever she could.

They had been invited to a supper party at Lord Devenish’s house, an evening of cards and pleasant conversation with some music. There would be no dancing this evening, but that did not disappoint her for she was seldom permitted to dance, unless Lethbridge chose to bestow the privilege on one of his friends, which seldom gave her pleasure.

She wished that she might plead a headache and stay home, for she would have rather gone to bed with a book to read, but her husband would have been furious with her again. His recent visit to her bed had once again ended in failure and at the moment he was treating her with icy indifference.

She found herself thinking once again of the man she’d loved as a young girl. It had shocked her to see Hal the other night, but since then she had looked for him in vain. If she could just speak to him, see his beloved face...explain why she had been forced to marry Lethbridge...but it was all too late.

Tears caught in her throat. Of what use was it to think of a time when she’d been happy? She was married to a cruel man and nothing could change that, as she knew too well.

Lethbridge was waiting for her in the hall when she went down, glancing impatiently at the long-case clock in the hall, as if he thought she were deliberately making him wait.

‘Can you never be on time?’ he demanded. ‘I do not wish to be late, Madeline. Come along for it does not suit me to be caught in a queue of carriages.’

She sighed, but made no reply. Since this was a small supper party by the standards of high society they were unlikely to have to queue outside the house and would possibly be some of the first to arrive. Why he was so impatient she could not know for he normally preferred to arrive later in the evening.

However, she went silently ahead of him and out to the waiting carriage. It was, she supposed, unlikely that she would meet Hal this evening for it was a small affair and she was not even sure that he was still in town.

* * *

Miss Carstairs was a pretty fresh-faced young woman with a lively mind. Having been introduced to her by his host, Hal stayed to talk to her for a few minutes, asking her how she went on in town and whether she was enjoying herself.

‘I live in Hampstead, sir,’ she told him in an unaffected manner that did her great credit, ‘but if you mean am I enjoying this supper party the answer is I think so. I am not sure why I should have been invited for I am certain most of the company is above my touch, but Papa was keen to come. I believe he has business with Lord Devenish.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Hal said. He smiled, feeling relieved that her father had said nothing to his daughter of a possible match with one of the guests. She seemed a pleasant girl and he had taken a favourable opinion of her when he moved on to greet other guests.

Hal could not flatter himself that she had been more pleased to meet him than any of the other gentlemen present and for himself there was at the moment no more than a mild appreciation of her open manner. He would need to meet her several more times before he could even consider the idea of asking her to marry him.

Unsure of his feelings on the matter, he moved forwards into a large drawing room where several ladies were seated at a table. They had cards, wine and sweet biscuits before them, but seemed more interested in talking than in actually playing cards. The serious players, usually gentlemen, would be found in the card room where several tables would be set up for their convenience.

He was about to pass through when he heard laughter and, glancing towards the table, saw that Madeline was one of the ladies seated in the group. Her beauty was dazzling and his breath caught in his throat. She looked up and saw him and for a moment he thought he saw pleasure in her eyes, but in the next instant it had gone. She inclined her head to acknowledge him, but her expression remained calm, even withdrawn.

Hal walked on towards the card room. He felt a tumble of emotions inside, torn between dismissing Madeline and making himself known to Mr Henry Carstairs with a view to courting his daughter.

It was what he should do, what the wealthy merchant had hoped for when he brought his daughter to this supper party. Yet even as he told himself that the girl would make an excellent wife, he knew he could not do it.

Miss Carstairs did not deserve to be treated so ill. If he married her when his heart was still so affected by a look from Madeline’s green eyes, he would be doing her a disservice.

If he courted Miss Carstairs he might arouse feelings in her—feelings that might be crushed if he could not love her as he ought.

It had been a stupid notion. To marry for money was wrong and he would not subject any woman to that pain.

He must find another solution to his problems and he must forget Madeline. It was time he returned to the country.

* * *

Lethbridge rose from the card table after having lost heavily to the man sitting opposite him. Two weeks had passed since Lord Devenish’s ball, where he had won nearly a thousand guineas from Rochdale, but this evening he had lost more than three times as much. It was unlike him to lose, but the situation had been forced on him for Rochdale held the bank at faro and insisted on replacing the cards every hand, which made it impossible for them to be marked. He would have left the table before he became so badly dipped had the marquis not goaded him into remaining.

‘I believe I am in debt to you for several thousand pounds,’ Lethbridge said, trying to hide his anger, as much with himself for being a fool as the other man, for faro was not his game. ‘I shall have to beg your indulgence for a few days—say next week, when I shall have the funds to repay you.’

‘No hurry,’ Rochdale said and smiled in a way that annoyed Lethbridge. Accustomed to winning large sums himself, he did not care for being a substantial loser. ‘We may come to some other arrangement. But we should play again and you may recoup your losses.’

‘I do not play if I cannot pay.’ Lethbridge scowled at the thinly veiled insult. ‘I shall sell some bonds and pay you next Thursday—and certainly I am ready to play whenever you choose. It is not my habit to lose.’

‘No, I have noticed it,’ Rochdale said, an unpleasant smirk on his face. ‘Shall we meet again on Thursday next at the club and try our luck again?’

‘Delighted,’ Lethbridge said between his teeth. ‘But I prefer whist or piquet next time.’

‘Certainly, whichever you choose, Lethbridge.’

Walking away from him, the count balled his hands at his sides. Something pricked at him, something that made him suspect that the marquis knew the reason why Lethbridge normally won most evenings at the tables.

He couldn’t know for certain. Lethbridge was so careful. No one had ever questioned his luck, because he made a point of losing now and then. Most of the gentlemen he played with were half-foxed or too careless with the money they had so much of that they could afford to lose a few hundred guineas or even a thousand on occasion. He took care never to win huge pots, just enough to maintain his way of life—and he’d been forced to cheat because he himself had been cheated, not at the tables, but in a business venture that had failed, losing him some thirty thousand pounds. The ships he’d invested in had been unworthy and had sunk in heavy seas carrying a cargo that would have doubled his investment, but like a fool he had not raised insurance and that meant he’d lost all his money rather than just a part.

His family seat was intact for the moment, though it was heavily mortgaged, but he had expensive tastes—one of which was his wife. Her beauty pleased him and he liked to see her wearing valuable jewels and costly gowns...even though she was unresponsive to his advances. Why must she be so cold to him? He glowered at his thoughts for he honestly could not understand what he’d done, not realising that his habit of coming to bed the worse for drink, his coarse manners in the bedroom and his selfish way of taking what he wanted without considering her needs had turned her from a sweet gentle child into the cold woman whose icy stare could make him incapable of performing as a man ought.

With his mistress he indulged in all the base acts that pleased and aroused him, but with Madeline he could not manage to perform the simple act that might give him an heir.

Damn the woman! He was not certain why he put up with her. It would serve her right if he gave her the divorce she wanted. He could throw her out without a penny, for he’d never given her the settlement she’d been entitled to on marriage although it was hers by right, having been left to her by an uncle. Lethbridge suspected that if she had any way of supporting herself she would leave him and that would not suit him. He liked other men to envy him and he knew that Madeline was much admired. If he gave his wife her freedom, she would no doubt marry again, and quite possibly to a man even richer than he had been before a few unwise investments had made inroads into his fortune.

No, he would not let her go like that. He would force her to accept him. He would get an heir on her somehow.

* * *

Madeline walked into her bedchamber a week after the supper party at Lord Devenish’s house. They had attended one of the most prestigious balls of the Season, but she had danced only once with her husband, after which she had been forced to sit with the matrons and watch the young unmarried girls enjoying themselves while he repaired to the card room. She enjoyed the music and the conversation of her friends, but her feet tapped and she longed to dance. However, she had not dared accept the only offer she’d received, even though the gentleman was a friend of her husband’s. She would have suffered for it had she been reckless enough to dance without his permission.

And the only man she’d wished to dance with had not been there. She’d looked for him in the crowded room, but had not seen him.

‘I wish for a word with you, madam.’

Madeline breathed deeply as her husband followed her into the room. From the harsh expression on his face, she feared that she had displeased him yet again.

‘Is something wrong, my lord? Have I displeased you?’

‘Have you?’ he asked, eyes narrowed. He reached out and grabbed her by her upper arms, his fingers digging hard into her tender flesh. ‘You look guilty, Madeline. What have you done?’

‘Nothing.’ She lifted her head proudly. ‘I am tired, sir. I should like to be allowed to retire.’

‘And what of my wishes or needs?’ he demanded, his mouth thin and spiteful as he tightened his hold. ‘Will you never do your duty as a wife ought?’

‘Forgive me, Lethbridge. Have you forgot this is my monthly cycle?’

‘It is always some excuse with you—a headache or your feminine cycle. Is there someone else?’ He moved in closer, his face dark with suspicion. ‘Is that the reason you are so cold to me? If I discover you have betrayed me...’

‘How could I when you have me watched all the time? You know it is not so, sir.’

He pinched her arm. ‘I want a son, madam. You will give me one or I shall know what to do.’

‘I am at your disposal, sir. You may do with me as you wish.’

‘Damn you,’ he muttered and let her go so abruptly that she almost stumbled. ‘I came to remind you it is Adam Miller’s wedding next week. You will wear the blue gown I bought you—and I want no long faces in front of my friends, nor will I accept a headache as an excuse for not attending.’

‘Very well,’ Madeline said, lifting her head to look at him once more. ‘May I retire now, my lord? I am really very tired.’

‘Do as you please,’ he said. ‘You are a cold cat, Madeline. I shall spend the night with my mistress. She gave me a son...why can you not be as obliging?’

‘I only wish I might have a child,’ she said with such a ring of sincerity that his skin flushed a dark red, then he turned and left without another word.

Maddie rang for her maid, standing silently as she undressed her. She held her tears back until she was alone, but then, in the silence of the night, she wept.

Her life was so hopeless and the memory of Hal and what might have been served only to make her weep more.

* * *

Emerging from her milliner’s shop into a wet morning some days later, Madeline regretted having sent her coachman on an errand. She had intended to walk home, for it was but a few streets, and she had dispensed with the man’s services, preferring to enjoy a little fresh air. Now the rain had made it uncomfortable and she stood in the shelter of the doorway, looking hopefully at the sky. It looked to be easing off and, unless she called for a hackney, she had no choice but to walk home. She took little notice of the covered chaise that had just drawn up at the kerb.

About to walk past it, she halted as someone let down the window and looked out at her.

‘May I give you a lift home, Lady Lethbridge?’

‘Sir?’ Madeline stared at the gentleman in surprise. She was not on intimate terms with the Marquis of Rochdale and the idea of sharing a carriage with him was far from appealing. She knew little of him, but had been told that he was not a man to be trusted, though she was aware that her husband played cards with him. ‘I thank you for your thoughtfulness, my lord—but I am merely going in here.’

She turned into a small shop that sold gloves and laces and spent some minutes looking through them. The marquis drove off almost immediately and after a moment the rain had stopped enough for her to venture back outside.

The rain had almost stopped now and, by walking swiftly, she was home before it could fall again. She thought no more of the marquis’s invitation or of her refusal.