IMAGINE ME
CLANDESTINE
PROMISES KEPT
BY GAYLE EDEN
Copyright © 2007-2012 Gayle Eden
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The right of Gayle Eden to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First Published August 2007 First Edition Second Edition 2008-2011
All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published by Air Castle Books at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
London's business district was congested as usual. Madeline Duvall stood on her tiptoes, to try to catch sight of Mr. Goodwyn, who had gone to another building across the street to drop off some paperwork. Her arms were filled with slim leather satchels and two thick leather-bound ledgers cut into her skin. The pedestrians and coaches, carriages, and hacks, obstructed any glimpse of the opposite street. As usual, on a weekday, the congestion was dense and the noise level high.
Blowing a strand of nut-brown hair, which had fallen from beneath her suede black hat, she decided to hire the nearest hack and meet him back at the office, near the docks and warehouses. A male or maid usually escorted females on the streets, and though she had accompanied her father's trusted clerk before, she was not now, and was getting odd looks by the crowds.
Many of them of them recognized Madeline and cast her a smile, a tip of the hat. Madeline nodded back. Several who did not were eyeing her with rather too much curiosity. She was dressed in a lightweight dove carriage coat and black gown of no-nonsense lines- her usual attire when working with Goodwyn.
Like her sister Liddy, younger by one year, she was most comfortable in these areas of London. Her father, a merchant and businessman, widowed when the girls were just nine and ten, had taught them very well. They were educated and capable, very able to see to themselves, as were many females of business.
It was still not a normal sight to see respectable women on the street alone, and while many of these men may know herself and Liddy, they were expected to keep with Goodwyn's escort whenever possible.
Indeed, on the docks and at the warehouses, the clerks and captains were familiar with the girls—from a young age Louis Duvall had from the time of his unexpected widowhood, taken turns bringing one of the girl's with him, leaving the other with Mrs. Derry, the housekeeper. They had each been educated whilst traveling and observing their father at his business. Then whilst at one of the homes he owned or rented, being trained in domestic duties, as well as ladylike arts. Especially on the insistence of their Aunt Tabitha, who was part of society and wed to Sir Jasper Bryson.
An unusual upbringing, to be sure. However, Louis could bury himself in business and travel and would have seen very little of his daughters had he not brought them along at times. His girls made him laugh, relax, and forget business on occasion, which was something their mother Melissa had been able to do. Melissa VanHuss had been the daughter of a Merchant. She understood both the realities of being diligent in trade and taking time to enjoy an opportunity when travel permitted.
Since the war with France had ended, Madeline and Liddy had taken every opportunity to drag their father off, when away from England's shores, to enjoy sights and sounds of the locals, and though he grumbled, he was secretly glad for it, they knew.
Their Mama's sister was a great gun. Aunt Tabitha was a woman of cheerful countenance, rotund figure, and good sense. She and her husband often hosted Louis or the gels at their townhouse or country estate. Nevertheless, since she had wed into society, no matter that it was not the highest echelons, she understood from both herself and Melissa's upbringing that Merchants moved in circles very similar to the titled. The females trained as hosts and prepared for wife and motherhood as well as the many unique duties that came with being in a merchant family.
In addition, it was not unnoticed by wealthy merchants that daughters and sons, were accepted into the best schools, and academies, and invited to ton functions. Impoverished titles were in need of blunt. It became quite common for the classes to marry, albeit the snobbery very much existed whenever a cit was introduced into the old and established families. Merchants had their versions of debutante balls, though it was of greater import to introduce one's daughter into London society, where the guest list included the aristocracy.
The merchants, captains, and businessmen, had mansions that rivaled and sometimes overshadowed old money. To Tabitha’s mind, Melissa would have wanted her girls to be as comfortable at a Duke's table as they were at the assembly halls in the ever-growing Industrial cities, where businessmen set up grand residences.
It went without saying that many of Louis's cronies were not so sophisticated, intelligent, or classed as himself, having obtained their wealth in this generation. Their wives and offspring could be both coarse and boorish, in some cases naively ignorant. Men of all classes still balked at educating their females. Some did not do more than spoil their sons either, by throwing riches at them.
It was this fringe of the newly wealthy that often skewed the opinions of high society, but that was not the norm. Many generations of merchants were greater educated, better traveled, and stronger in ethics than the aristocracy. They had their clubs, mansions, and in many cases were the prop that kept many old and respected titles able to live with the dignity and style as before.
To Tabitha and to Louis there were expectations in all classes of society, and hypocrisy existed everywhere. It was to anyone's advantage to have confidence and know the vices as well as the virtues, both male and female.
Madeline was not far from the Royal exchange. London's business district was one of the most crowded. She had spent the morning in two dusty, humid, offices, attempting to settle some business her father needed completed. His age and health had taken a turn this past winter. He intended to remain in London the next few months whilst his physician attended him, and whilst Liddy coddled and scolded him.
Madeline deduced that he was greatly concerned for their future, and that his affairs were in order, in the event he did not recover. Louis had been going at such a fast pace, that he scarcely seemed to notice his age, or theirs—until ill health slowed him down.
Muttering, Madeline walked a bit hoping to find an available hack sitting by the curb, awaiting the many Lords and businessmen who would be seeking conveyance. It was nearly the lunch hour.
She was just about to step down off the street, when a lacquered and crested coach rumbled by. She froze, unable to think or breathe. And while she took a step back, she had no time to turn and lose herself in the crowd when the Earl of Fairbane's driver paused right there— right at the spot where the occupant was in arm's length of her.
A group of laughing, talking gents had stopped in the middle of the streets. Whistles, shouts, a few curses and mutters filled the air in an effort to unclog the congestion. However, this too was a ritual, largely ignored, and more often than not, someone would turn, notice, and before long, join in the conversation, or laugh and call out some amusing remark. Bucks passing by were agitating things further, by calling out wagers and trying to prod some fellow on a high-perched phaeton to squeeze through the melee.
Madeline heard none of it as she mentally groaned and watched the curtain pull back, so that Dorian Engstrom, Lord Fairbane could poke his head out and see what had caused the halt to his progress.
Her stomach tightened viewing that wavy black hair, blue black with only a hint of silver threads. His aquiline profile tensing her further, she wanted to look away but could not pull her eyes from that bronze visage.
His nose was arrogantly flared in agitation that she well remembered seeing on him, brooding brows were the same, lashes thick and long—that mouth, still sensual yet the lines at the sides had deepened. His face overall was harder and more sinewy than the last time she had seen him. Still, there was a harsh beauty to his darkness, an encompassing dangerous edge that emanated from him.
Madeline did not have to see his eyes to remember their deep ebon hue. They were devastating eyes, haunting yet hard, and when he did sit back, settling his broad shoulders and lighting a cheroot; he glanced over blowing a stream of smoke from those flared nostrils, looking to the street as if sensing someone. Her own of anxious gray/blue stare tried to mask anything that might show.
She felt that same sensation, the stomach dropping and light-headedness that came the first time he had looked at her.
“Madeline…” He seemed to still and blink, and it was as if his mouth formed her name but she heard the deep rasp of his tone whether in voice or in her head.
It served to jerk her out of the shock. Madeline swallowed turning and crashing into a couple, muttering an apology before hastening away, weaving in and out the crowd. She knocked a newspaper from some toff's arm, bungled her jacket in the umbrella hook of some gouty Duke, and her right knee smacked into the sturdy briefcase a passing solicitor carried.
Hurry…hurry…hurry …Madeline, Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“Madeline!” She heard it this time, his shout and a curse.
However, she spotted the brown suit and hat, the familiar figure of Goodwyn standing on a low wall of planters, near a law office, looking worried and vexed.
“I am here,” she called out, seeing the sun glint on his lenses as he looked down.
“Thank goodness.” The wiry Goodwyn jumped off his perch and hurried to her. “I was getting worried.”
They reached each other and he took her burdens, offering his elbow for her hand and saying, “What a day. I do believe every soul in London is on the streets. I've secured us a hack, just across the street.”
Madeline allowed him to lead her, but peeked back over her shoulder just before stepping off. Mr. Goodwyn always walked fast, which suited her fine, as she was tempted to run. She realized the tall dark man was trying to make it through the crowds.
Dorian was head and shoulders above most, and even without his caped coat, he was broad of shoulder. Nevertheless, it was near impossible to find a clear path to her, and since she had no wish for him to reach her, Madeline turned after seeing that he was standing still while a stream of men blocked his way. Their eyes met again for a brief but long-enough second, Madeline wanting him to realize she had seen him and did not wish to encourage an encounter—then she hastened on with Mr. Goodwyn, breathing her first shaky sigh when they were in the hack.
Though he sifted through the papers, questioning, talking, and they spoke of business on the way to the offices, she stared out the window; her kid gloved hand gripping the door edge to settle her reeling senses. Madeline tried to tamp down the memories that poured into her head, sounds, smells, emotions, which had nothing to do with the Madeline Duvall most people knew, and everything to do with the woman she became after meeting Lord Fairbane.
She wanted to return to their townhouse, to her cool chambers and to the understanding arms of dear Liddy, who was the only one she trusted and confided her secrets to. There was more business to see to, and a supper with Mr. Goodwyn's wife and family, at their lovely home. She had accepted last week, and his older daughters and son were her good friends. Ordinarily real life, that life, would excite her, for the chance of a relaxing meal with laughter and pure fun, as the clan were a lively and amusing bunch— normally, it would balance out the business and fill her thoughts.
However, there was another sort of excitement, a mixture of chaotic feelings trying to overtake her mind and body. When Goodwyn fell silent, losing himself in reading the Times, she sat back, slumped and raised her gloved fingers to rest against her lips. Unbidden the memory flooded, so that the eyes that looked outward saw only those memories in her mind.
Chapter Two
She was traveling in Oxford with her father on business. It was just after her seventeenth birthday and she and Liddy had kidnapped their father from his business and thrown a lively, well-attended party at Browery Farms, her father's favorite house, near Southampton, where they had memories of their mother, and where Liddy had learned to ride the fastest horses from the locals.
Madeline had taken Mrs. Derry and the butler out on the lake in a boat at the age of twelve and overturned it, nearly drowning them all, but learning to swim the hard way as the stately Walton turned out to be an excellent swimmer—and after soothing poor Mrs. Derry's panic and gotten her to shore, he had made Madeline swim to him, assuring all that if she snuck out in the boat, and overturned again, she would be able to save herself.
However, the party had been wonderful, with much dancing and high spirits. Madeline had many friends in the neighborhood, and many from all over England had accepted the invitation weeks before. Louis, after realizing it was his daughter's birthday, had joined in the fun and purchased Madeline the roan she had been coveting since she was fifteen, from Lady Strouth, their neighbor.
Afterward, Liddy had elected to go up to London with Mrs. Derry, and some of the staff, to get the townhouse ready, and to meet with Madeline and her father who would take a slower route, as he had decided to make some personal visits, and accept invites put off too long to discuss business and investments. One of his long-time associates was Lord Sherburne, an Earl of sixty years with whom Louis enjoyed both hunting and great fishing at the Earl's box in Scotland.
When they had arrived at the grand estates however, the Countess was in the midst of her end of summer soiree, and though graciously invited to join, Madeline and her father had declined the early day events. Louis saying, they would return later that evening, after supper, and whilst the guests were fully entertained with music and dancing.
They had gone to a lovely little Inn and Madeline ate while listening to her father talk. As always, Louis's bewhiskered face glowed when he did so and his intelligent gray eyes focused on the meeting ahead. He had curly hair, gray then, as now, and Liddy’s was stick straight and more strawberry than blond, it was from him that Madeline got her own curly nut-brown locks that were a challenge to keep contained.
They had arrived at the brightly lit estate, being shown into the Earl's library/study, and Madeline had sat by the French doors when the Earl had entered. The men drank brandy and talked business. These estates and grand homes were not new to her.
The closest Louis had to it however, was a villa in Italy he had not seen but once, and one the girls had only seen paintings of. There were French properties before the war, but Louis was still trying to sort out some disputes on that with a distant cousin. Nonetheless, other than their London townhouse, which was tasteful and elegant, he preferred the farm, still a small estate of sorts, fully working, and the home had four stories…. There was a seaside house of similar size, an unassuming dwelling in Yarmouh, and a dozen rented apartments in Leeds, Yorkshire and Manchester.
Her father partnered in many ventures, there were ships, plantations, exotic parcels he had circled on maps in his study, where his partners oversaw harvesting, shipping, or building something.
Madeline often mused on the sights and sounds unique to the upper crust of English society, the highly charged atmosphere of decadence and wealth that one felt when there were so many together at these entertainments. The coaches in the yard, as they had driven up, were polished and crested, brass shimmering, and drivers liveried, distinguished in their top hats and tails.
She was lost in her own daydreams, smelling the scent from a profusion of roses in the garden, and having the glass of Madeira, she had accepted from a discreet maid Iino her hand. The Lady Sherburne had invited her to join the party. There had been times that she had accepted such invites before, but after the weeklong birthday celebration at the farm, she was happy to forgo the more formal society gathering.
“You must stay here tonight. I insist,” the Earl was saying. “Do come and join the party. There are a dozen men on your planned stops here. You may find yourself able to make London in half the time. I hear there is some prime flesh at Tatters this year….”
Madeline stood while the men were still in conversation, and as the host invited her to join them. She saw her father's satchel stuffed with papers. Thanking his Lordship, she told her father, “If Lord Sherburne doesn't mind, I'll make use of his study and prepare the copies for your signatures. I would welcome some work after my wonderful party.”
Her father had explained that to the Earl, then, “Thank you, Madeline. Yes. You could leave his on the desk, ready for his seal. And if you agree, we will stay overnight.”
Aware that many of her father's business cronies were in attendance, she had agreed, waiting while the host summoned the housekeeper, who instructed her, which chambers to go to when she was ready to retire.
Her father and Sherburne left her, deep in discussion. Madeline carried the papers to the Earl's desk, finding writing materials where he had directed, and later thanking the maid who brought her a coffee she requested.
Removing the deep blue pelisse she had worn, hanging it on the chair back, she pushed up the sleeves of her white blouse. Still in her half boots and blue skirt, her hair was gathered up informally with several fat curls hanging down her back. The blouse was square necked and of light fabric, comfortable, with the rose scented breeze wafting through the doors.
The shelf-lined room was done in warm paneled wood and there was a billiard table at the far end near an unlit hearth. A long table with several chairs next, and an expanse before the desk that was a clear path to the French doors. Soft lamps glowed and the smell of books; beeswax, and ink, joined the outdoors scent. The soft tick of the clock was dominant over the muffled and distant sounds of music, as the ballroom was at the far wing of the mansion.
Copying from her father's notes, and long adept at writing the legal and business documents required, she lost herself in that for an hour, learning from his solicitors and clerks the importance of correct wording and precise language.
Thus it was startling, alarming when a door she had not seen, about mid room had been flung open from the interior. She had thankfully rested the pen or else ink would have ruined her completed work, but as it was, she froze.
A male dragged a woman through it, holding to her arm, and spinning her around to face him after the door banged closed.
“Unhand me, Dorian. How dare you?” The woman nearly shrieked. Her beautiful blond hair trembled with outrage, and the diamond encrusted gown sparkled whilst she struggled from his hold.
“How dare I? I will tell you what I dare. I am dragging you out to that coach, and my mother afterwards, and you will both get yourselves back to Fairbane, where I told you to stay.”
“You wouldn't! I will not go. Susan and I…”
“Shut up, Claudia, and listen to me. This is not just my repeated command, but Worley has issued his demands in the card room, not five seconds ago. In the strongest possible terms, you will stay away from his son.”
“Worley is a stuffy old goat. Marc is a grown man.”
“He is a silly, green, pup, whom like the majority of your lovers thinks getting into your bed is worth the trouble.”
It was then, when that free hand reached up and struck his face that Madeline really looked at the man.
Tall, dressed in formal black and white, his ruffled shirt undone and missing a neck cloth, raven black hair glinted in the lamplight—wavy and to his broad shoulders. Lofty, lean and yet obviously muscular, he stood over six feet, broad chest and handsome head above the woman glaring up at him
He wore snug black trousers, gleaming Hessians and a formal jacket with velvet lapel. But there was a rakish dishevel to his appearance, as if he had been playing cards, drinking, raking his hand through his hair, and— possibly having dragged the woman all the way from that distant ballroom.
Handsome, she thought at the time, despite the savage anger and contempt, which tightened his sinewy, bronze face. A harshly cut visage that matched the deep raspy tones of his voice.
However, the words between them also registered as he let the woman go with a shove, growling, “I mean this, Claudia. Go home. I will not pay your gambling debts this time, nor Mother's. And if you push Worley into calling me out over your affair with his son, I will divorce you.”
“You won't.” The beauty had gained her composure and she stepped back from him, there was a smug smile on her elegant face. “You won't divorce me. As for my…gambling. I think my dowry covered….”
“Your dowry! Do not embarrass either of us at this point. We both know that you spent that a week after we were married.” He laughed coldly.
“I have my jewels.”
“Fakes,” he snapped, “Just as my mother's are.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do not distract from the point. Your gambling, as well as my mother's, has been a long-standing argument between us. I have told you before that Fairbane is the last of my holdings. Thanks to the mess my mother left my father in, there was barely enough to sustain it. You and she are well matched. In fact, I suspect the two of you planned for some time on our marriage.”
“We are not as stupid as you, Dorian.”
The man slapped her then.
She flew at him, managing to rake her nails down his face and leave blood dripping.
He, grappling, had said, “Bitch. I will not do this again. I will not. You are drunk, which is the only thing that saves me from wringing your neck. Dammit, Claudia. Stop it.” He shook her roughly.
“I won't give him up. Nor will I bury myself at Fairbane. I had to plot and plan to get myself this far to gain a title that I deserved. I am not ashamed of that, nor will I apologize to you. You were not that foxed, you enjoyed the sex…at least for a month. You put me from your bed over a silly, meaningless tryst, with a handsome footman, who would never have breathed a word of it.
Being the daughter of a Baron is nothing; nothing, compared to becoming Countess Fairbane. Moreover, your mother knew that. Of course, she was my friend, my mentor. I did not move in your circles, in hers, she moved in my father's — Oh, why are we going through this again? You may well hate your mother, but she has friends, she had power.”
“She has nothing save that title. The fast set may hang on her skirts, you may have worshipped her from afar, but she will age as you will age, and then where will your lovers be? When you have been cut by the cream of society for sleeping with those hostess's husbands and sons, when you have men fighting like fools for your nonexistent honor. Do you think that I will risk my life for either of you? That I will challenge the slander attached to your name? I would not waste the time. You deserve it, you both deserve it.”
“Poor Dorian. The whole of society pities and mocks you.” She had laughed.
“So you tell me,” he retorted. “But this is between you and me. However, my mother arranged to attend this gathering, I suppose it was through one of her many lovers. These guests would not welcome either of you in their homes. I have tried to tell you that before my father died, he told her honestly, how far she had fallen. He was welcome in society, not she. And, having borrowed from lovers, from his cronies and moneylenders. Even in a society, that tolerates excesses— she has been cut. “I am well aware that your father traveled in fast circles, that mother gave you another idea of her reputation when you arranged to come to Fairbane— and slip into my bed…”
“Are we going through that again?” The woman snarled.
“No, that too is long past. But you became my wife, the Countess you wanted to be, and you have tried in these four years to run me down in the gutters with you.”
“I beg to differ. Slumming is your taste, My Lord. I prefer Worely's heir, and I assure you his digs are well addressed.”
A nerve ticked in the man's jaw. “I am through warning you, Claudia. This is the last time. When I go to London, I will let it be known that I am no longer covering your debts. I will start a divor…”
“You won't. You can't!” The woman's hands fisted at her sides.
“I will. I mean what I say. If mother dragged you here under some false promise, you are an even greater fool. You both have assumed me in that same category. However, I have told her that the dowager house, everything in it, has been mortgaged to pay her debts. When that is gone, she is on her own. The same goes for you.”
Wrath bathed the woman's face. “You won't do it. You are too afraid of Worley and his ilk to chance the scandal.”
“I live a scandal,” he had snarled. “From the day I had the misfortune of marrying you, I live it. I care not that you are no better than a whore. I grew used to my mother's indiscretions long before you came along. Half of society has their beds warmed by each other. Most are discreet. But you are an embarrassment, your drinking, and gambling, your gutter class vulgarity disgusts me.”
“That is too bad. I will challenge any divorce. I will have my own witnesses.”
“Cut that young man loose, Claudia. Go back to Fairbane, and let last season's scandal die down. Then maybe…”
“They will find another scandal to discuss. I did not tell that stupid boy to challenge his brother.”
The man grabbed her arms, frustration vibrating from him. “Why won't you hear? You force me to take drastic measures.”
“Unhand me.” She had squirmed, “I'll do as I damned well like. I do not need you. I never needed you, save for the title. Go ahead, get the divorce. Even Marc is more a man than you.”
He’d let her go so fast she had stumbled, but ignoring the rage even Madeline could see building in him, she had spat, “I'll end up his wife. You watch and see. That fat goat of a Duke will die in some mistress’s bed, the hypocrite, and I'll be wed to his heir.”
“Stupid… Deluded.” He had shaken his head. “You insist upon that affair and what I have done will seem kind compared to his wrath. I have tried to tell you, Claudia that under the veneer of polite society there is a real danger to crossing certain people of power.
Worely is no fool. He has a wife picked out for his son, a young, virginal wife, whose father is a Marquis, whose bloodlines and rep are impeccable. You may think you know the game, but you learned from the wrong people. You admired the wrong people. The Duke's bloodlines go back a hundred years past your father's puny title, and had you not maneuvered yourself into marriage with me, gaining my title, you would never have met men of his rank.”
He added, “Instead of recognizing that truth, realizing your chance to become a woman of influence and power. You began crawling into the wrong beds and offending your hostesses—by flaunting your affairs with their husbands. You blackmailed and bribed to cover debts before some fool came crawling to me in desperation…”
“You are no saint, Dorian. How dare you! When I wed you, you were sleeping with Lord Ralston's wife.”
“That is a lie. I had an affair, a discreet affair with her, several years before. That is nothing compared to your actions. You will not learn discretion. You, like mother, have to flaunt your excesses and exceed the boundaries no matter how low. You are ruined as she is, and if I were not required to show my face in London, I would be spared the disgust of hearing what I already know whispered in every club and drawing room in town. I am sick of it. “
“I am sick of you.” She headed for the door, then spun back to add, “I will go. I will take your mother with me. However, not to Fairbane. Not to that dreary old house with your dreary old servants. Marc wishes to travel to Rome. I'm sure you'll inform me of the divorce, so that I may plan my wedding in time for next season.”
“Don't do it, Claudia. I warn you. Do not….”
“I will do as it pleases me,” she had returned, laughing as in great jest. Then she had looked up and down him. “Your shirt is quite stained in blood, Dorian. I would apologize for maiming your handsome face, but I rather like the fact that I am leaving my mark on you. You were once cruel enough to call me forgettable. Now you will not think so.”
The door slammed close. His muttered, “Bitch…” echoed behind it as he touched his hand to his cheek and came away with blood.
Madeline saw it had soaked into his collar as he removed his jacket. Half stunned still by the fray she had witnessed, she had gasped softly seeing the gouges when he turned fully toward the desk.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” he snarled, stilling, with his fingers stained with blood, his hand still half raised to his face.
“Madeline Duvall.”
That face had rippled with anger and lack of recognition.
She added in stumbling words, “My father had business with Lord Sherburne…ah, he is…we were passing through. And I usually write up the papers afterward…I… we're not…” She had stopped then and came round the desk, going to the decanter and pouring two whiskeys.
Madeline dipped her hanky in one, and walked to him, reaching out the other. “Here, drink this.”
He was shaking, fingers holding a tremor of that anger when he took it.
“Sit down. Let me clean that.” She nudged him toward a leather chair and was rather surprised herself when he went.
Sitting, he knocked back the drink, his eyes on her as she leaned over and cleaned the blood from his cheek. The scratches were deep and she held the soaked cloth there while she met those dark eyes.
“I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I saw no way to exit.”
That muscle flexed under the cloth. “You're… young.”
Her brow rose and Madeline's smile was still part nervousness. Up close, he was even more handsome, and his eyes were compelling. Even though she had witnessed a private moment, not exactly of a man in control—although she could not say she would not have done differently, given the exchange.
“I just had a birthday. Wonderful party, by the way. We have a farm in the country. My sister Liddy and I often travel with our father on business, learned it inside and out and…”
“Christ...” he murmured, “I have befouled the ears of a child.”
She had laughed again, although he was being quite sarcastic. “Other than the fact that your private argument with your wife was aired…inadvertently in my ears, and I did witness an exchange of violence. I'd say that the London docks and some of Captain George's men, could put even you to blush.”
“Captain George?”
He was eyeing her strangely, as if he was dazed, not quite believing she was real.
“Just a partner of my father's.” She stepped back and looked at his cheek. “I has stopped bleeding. It may not scar as much as she would like, but you will be wearing them a while. She tossed the cloth onto a table. “Shall I refill that?” She gestured to the glass.
He handed it to her, rising as he did, and Madeline felt his gaze as she went to the decanter. He proceeded to the desk, searched out a cigar, lit it and walked to the French doors.
Handing it to him, she decided that standing five feet tall was a disadvantage. Sitting it was not so bad, but now, as she leaned at the opposite door, she had to look upwards at his profile, watching him expel the smoke.
“Who is your father?”
“Louis Duvall. You may not know him. He has some acquaintance among the titled, but other than longstanding friends, who can drag him away for occasional sport; fishing, hunting, he travels and works too much.”
“And takes his daughters along?”
“Since my mother died, yes. However, Liddy and I take turns. After the war, when he was going to be gone several months, we sailed along. But, here at home, one of us sees to the house or our own amusements, the other goes along to the office. It's quite safe and we're well protected.”
She laughed. “Most of his associates, the workers, and clerks are protective of us. We have grown up with their own children.”
He had grunted, looking off into the darkness, and Madeline knew his mind was not on a single thing she said, but rather on the ugly scene before.
“I'm sorry. It seems a rather miserable existence.”
He lowered the cheroot and turned his head to look at her. Madeline resisted a gulp at that black stare.
Feeling her age, sensing that he was going to say something mocking, she added, “Not all marriages are happy ones. No matter what the class. Yet divorce is… I am sorry.” She looked away into the shadowed garden. “I take it; you are The Earl of Fairbane?”
“Heard of me, have you?”
It was a sneer.
“No. It came up in your… argument.”
“Dorian Engstrom, Earl of Fairbane. Fool and…” He fell silent a moment, a very taut silence, before murmuring, “Just which birthdate did you celebrate?”
“My seventeenth.”
“Good God.” He groaned and took a step out, as if to remove himself from her presence. Several vulgar words followed under his breath as he downed the other whiskey.
Madeline oddly understood that. He was at least twenty-seven or eight, and worldly in the sense even a well-traveled, educated girl could not be. There was also that air of cynical anger and bitterness clinging to him.
She went back to the desk and placed the papers in a safe spot. Straightened the ones in the leather satchel her father carried. She would take them up to her rooms when she retired. Since she could smell the waft of smoke. The reverberation of the ugly fight hung in the air. She finished the tepid coffee, poured a finger of brandy in the remaining drink, and sipped it.
Sitting on the edge of the desk then, she thought the polite thing to do would be to leave. The man obviously had serious problems with his wife that he would not discuss with a seventeen-year-old girl. Yet she felt… not pity for him, just some confusion of her own.
Ordinarily she did not judge a man on looks. There were handsome men whose character repulsed her, plain men whom she found charming and attractive. She and Liddy were always discussing the merits of plain-looking, hard working, men as apposed to the polished dandies and fops who eyed them on Bond Street. Or the merchant's sons, a few exceptions aside, whose father's aimed to make matches between their offspring to control the Duvall wealth.
In addition, the earl was a married man.
Yet take away the inclination to be romantic and dramatic, and she still did not know why she could not do, as she ought, as was polite- and leave the room.
She instead walked back to the French doors and leaned against it. He crushed out the cigar, and set the glass on a low wall. He was standing there, looking toward the lit wing where the ballroom was situated.
“Will His Grace call you out, if she does that…leave with his son?”
The Earl turned his head, his eyes honing in on her. “He will not have to. The Countess will receive passage money to Rome, thinking to meet him there…Worley will get him married sooner than planned, and Claudia will have to find another young idiot to play.”
“You're going to tell him,” she guessed.
“Yes.” The shadow and light showed a clench of his jaw muscle.
“And your mother?”
“She will land on her feet. Like my… Like Claudia, she knows how to choose those whom she uses.”
“Your father didn't divorce her, however.”
“No. My father was a fool. He actually chose her, loved her in some…strange… fashion.”
Madeline crossed her arms and sighed. “Perhaps your society will count you wise to divorce your wife. It sounds as if there has been serious damage done.”
His smile was cynical. “As a merchant's daughter, I am sure you will appreciate what damage really matters in our circles.”
“Debt…”
“Oh, yes,” he ground out, “Mountains of it.”
“But you have your ancestral home?”
“Today. By the time word of the divorce gets out, they will be crawling out of the woodwork with duns and notes.”
She grimaced. “Perhaps my father can help you.”
He laughed, harsh, too long, and without an ounce of humor.
Nevertheless, Madeline was not insulted. She realized what it meant. The man was ruined. Not just from his wife, but also from his mother, and creditors wanting the duns paid. Business she knew. Markers and notes would flood his residence; solicitors would be getting involved. There would be whispers, scandal—
He may salvage something by ridding himself of Claudia as a wife, but the divorce was the least of it. Having a mother of the same ilk, she supposed it was nothing new, that he had grown up with the gossip.
“Why did you wed her?”
“Because I am my father's son. A fool.”
“You loved her?”
“No. Merely I have a warped sense of honor. I was foxed when…” He shook his head, as if recalling her age and finished, “She played the game very well, and I had just enough fool in me to fall for it. “
Meaning he thought he had dishonored her in bed, and so he had wed her. It was not a trick exclusive to the titled. She and Liddy knew of a certain fisherman who had used his daughter, the same daughter, several times that way with unsuspecting men.
One had been a foreigner, who had the ill luck to take shelter at the Tavern where the man's sister worked. They discovered he had a rich purse, and thus the man woke up with the girl in his bed and a gun to his temple. A wedding followed. The man fled on the next ship. Marriage apparently did not stop the scheme from being pulled again.
Yet she knew with the titled it was different. Baron's daughter or no, no matter how experienced, taking the woman to bed in his home, no doubt with the Countess ready to bear witness, and with the servants around…
“Is Fairbane a productive estate?”
He had looked at her. “Isn't it past the bedtime hour for chit's your age?”
“I've no idea.” She ignored his tone. “Forget my age for a moment, and pretend I have a brain. Is Fairbane productive?”
“It could be. There have been no advancements, naturally. In fact, it has been in a suspended state of creeping by, since my father died twelve years ago.”
She tilted her head. “Well, if you find yourself having to mortgage it. Send word to me. Madeline Duvall…” She gave him the London address. “I will see to it that you are able to keep it.”
“How grand that must feel, Miss. Duvall. To be so young and so rich…”
“No more than being so titled and so bitterly unhappy,” she whispered back.
Those nostrils flared and he took two steps toward her then stopped, flexing his fingers.
“Your rage is palpable.” Madeline straightened but did not look away from his dark eyes. “I'm not mocking you, Sir. I would bloody strangle any husband of mine who put me through a similar situation. Which is why, my father taught both Liddy and I to run our business—why he humors most of his cronies who would like to have us for their sons.
There are very trusted men around us; ones who will assure that money will go only to those who work for it. As we too, earn it. Fortunately, I do not have a society to please. Nor lusts for titles as some of our friends aspire to. What I do have, is a sense of someone's character…. And knowing how much pride the aristocracy takes in their homes, I don't imagine you'd save it simply to squander it.”
He muttered, “You cannot be seventeen years old.”
“I am. My father says, going on forty.” She shrugged. “I won't make you ask for my help. I do not want you to. However, neither can I offer it or give it without knowing you need it. I at least will be discreet. No one would know, nor would you have to wait until they are knocking down your door and carting out the ancestral portraits before you settle.”
“Either I am foxed…mad…. Or…” He shook his head. “Your father would know.”
“Of course. I don't draw out large sums without telling him.”
His cynical smile was back. He was going to say something about her wealth, and access to it, so she added, “He knows every estate and title, even if he doesn't know you personally. So long as papers are signed and placed with our discreet solicitor….”
“By then, I shall be buried in scandal, having a divorced wife, no doubt causing one abroad, as well as the impossibility of disowning my dear mother. You are a naive young woman, better educated than most, and possessing more sense than any deb, I have encountered in my life. Whatever politeness there is left me demands that I graciously thank you. But…”
“I'll leave my card on the desk.” She turned to go.
He caught her arm in three steps. “Listen…”
Madeline had turned, looking down at his dark hand on her arm, up to his face, not with fear or surprise, but rippling with shocks that she could not understand.
His marred cheek had started to bleed, to drip from the deepest part of a scratch, likely from him holding it so tensely. There was a jumble of chaos in his eyes. Anger and bitterness and yes, a loathing because of her youth or her kindness, Madeline did not know. She was too shaken herself to discern— if it was resentment of all, and her wealth, but there was a burning there.
His hand slid from her arm. For moments they simply stood like that, locked in whatever hot emotion that trapped them; the ticking clock, the muffled music, that blood red drop sliding down and dropping on his shirt.
When he flexed again, she reached up without thought and wiped the blood drop away. His hand caught hers swiftly. She could feel the stickiness as her fingers smeared the blood on the back of his hand where she had grasped him back instinctively.
However, he had pulled her to him and with that hand between them; lowered his head and kissed her. It came out of nowhere, with no intent, or meaning, she sensed. When her lips parted under the pressure, the demand in his, his tongue drove inside— to perhaps purge or punish. Madeline found herself overwhelmed with a fury and passion that made no sense, had no warning, but that the emotion in him called to.
Her free hand found his silky, cool, hair, and buried in it roughly, to hold on while she leaned into him and let him kiss her, taste her, punish her with fervor. Only at some point in the heated stroke of breath from their nostrils, she had mimicked his movement, and it was she who kissed him, delving under with her tongue—tasting him, rolling it through his silken hot mouth, moving her head in counterpoint.
His head jerked up, away, suddenly. He broke their hold, releasing her hand even as he removed hers from his hair.
She felt the swollen state of her mouth, the dampness drying on her lips. Endeavoring to calm the agitated state of her breathing, the thud of her heart, she stared while he raked his hands through his hair. Then, merely stood still while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Get out of here. Now,” he rasped low. “Now…”
Something penetrated the stupor, a danger, and a turn from outward passion to inward violence. She fled, hearing the crash of the decanter, the growl behind the door.
She did not see him before she left. Nevertheless, Madeline heard the whispers later. He had obviously told the Duke of his wife‘s plan. In addition, young Marcus, the twenty two-year-old Earl of Covington, was wed to his tender fifteen-year-old bride not two months hence.
Chapter Three
The scandal came, and having confided the whole in Liddy, Madeline and her sister weeded through whispers and rumors, reading of the divorce in the papers, hearing that the dowager Countess was living abroad for her health. There was no contest for the divorce from Claudia. Rumors swirled that she was in Rome, then later in France. The ton for the most part was saying good riddance to them both.
One year after it began, Liddy came to her rooms, as was their nightly ritual, to sit in the window seat and converse.
As the talk had centered on Fairbane since sharing that confidence with her, Liddy said, “I have spoken with Mr.Bergam, discreetly feeling him out. He hinted that the dowager property was indeed sold. Fortunately to a friend of the earls‘. However, he has not left London. He is said to be drinking heavily. And, I’m sorry; there are rumors that he's turned into a regular rakehell.”
“That's not right.” Madeline shook her head. “He's not a fool. What can that possibly help? He cannot afford to be so stupid.”
“Men are often stupid. Particularly, titled ones.” Liddy had wrinkled her nose, braiding her straight hair blindly while she met her sister's eyes.
Those green ones were still sympathetic as she added, “He's ruined, Maddy. Even those who disliked his wife cannot understand him wedding a woman so obviously like his mother. One hears his father was a well-respected man, a good one. That before his marriage, though as you say, there were likely discreet affairs, Lord Dorian served his title well and did much during the war. I understand he lived apart from his wife almost from the wedding, and worked here in London, with the war office. Even father knew that.”
“Father won't tell me anything.”
“That's because he suspects you're not being frank with him.” Liddy tied off the braid and sat back against a cushion. Crossing her arms while she stretched out her feet, she looked very much as Madeline recalled their Mama being, when they were young.
Liddy had those pale, fair looks, with dewy skin and good VanHuss bones. Madeline got her father's hair color and texture, a mix of his gray eyes with the blue tinge of her grandmother, and the Duvall features of strength or stubbornness— which could be called handsome rather than pretty.
Liddy had the more feline light pink mouth and blond lashes. She was taller than Madeline by three inches, slimmer too, though possessing plenty of curves. Madeline seemed to mature early in body, though she was not overly plump, she still had more generous hips, and notable breasts— which she tended not to enhance with low-cut gowns.
Madeline murmured, “I don't know why he should be suspicious.”
“How about the fact that you are inquiring over a divorced man — an earl— no less. And you've not been very subtle in asking if he knows of the Fairbane estates.”
“It has been on every tongue in London. The gossip. Why should my wondering make him…wonder?”
Liddy laughed. “Because there are any number of scandals, and you hate gossip, and well, you bring the subject up before he has time to shed his coat at the door.”
“I should just ask him right out. I should ask him — to go see the Earl and offer to help.”
Liddy's brow rose. “Yes. The next time father frequents a house of Eros or…” Her sister frowned. “I say… do you think father has a mistress?”
“I suppose so.”
“Hmmm. Now that would be an interesting bit of information. I wonder if he's bought her a nice home…keeps her in style.”
Madeline glared at her. “Please attend my problem. Knowing papa, she is some plump matronly female who cooks his favorite leg of lamb and reads Gentleman's Quarterly, wears wool knickers and…” Liddy was giggling, so Madeline stopped and laughed too.
However, after it died down she murmured, “He's not going to come to me for help, is he Liddy?”
“No. I am sorry, Madeline. But the kiss aside. You are young. You are green compared to those of his society and ilk. You have seen these men. We both have. They live in their own world, and their titles make them a different breed.”
“Yes. I suppose so.” Madeline rested her chin on her hands, looking out the window at the puffs of chimney smoke. “I'll forget him, won't I?”
“You may as well. We know what happens to men who turn into rakehells. He would have nothing but his title in any case.”
Though Madeline nodded, she murmured, “But he isn't like them.” Even after Liddy left her to retire, she pictured Dorian in that library, remembered the passion and pain in that kiss. She groaned at the waste, the regret that such a man would have that terrible mess for a life.
It was three years, just after she turned twenty, when Madeline saw him again.
Meantime she stopped asking questions, made herself ignore the gossip, and there was plenty in her life to keep her busy. She and Liddy were on charity boards, they volunteered at schools and hospitals, they worked with their father and they traveled.
There were flirtations, amusements— and long weeks where she could forget him and enjoy life, as she ought. There were events, birthdays, Liddy's when she succeeded in talking their father into buying an old Scottish castle, which they enjoyed rusticating at, and researching the history.
Life was full, and Madeline was kissed twice more, once by a dashing corporal whilst visiting her Aunt's during a summer party. Another time she flirted with a man who was a mere shadow of Dorian, same in coloring but possessing not the height and breadth. The passion and the emotion were lacking. Madeline put it down to the situation, perhaps the whole of the circumstances that she had reacted so strongly to the Earl.
That year, when she turned twenty, she and Liddy were invited to a ball given by her Aunt Tabitha and Uncle Jasper. It had not escaped either of their notice that that Sir Jasper had brought a handsome Lord Lynbrook to dinner at their house twice, that the blond earl was much taken with Liddy, and that their father seemed to like the man.
Ross, as he insisted Liddy call him, was twenty-seven, polished and handsome - a well-heeled Earl, whose estates were located in Lincolnshire. He had very beautiful gold blond hair, nice sapphire eyes, and for the moment, Madeline noticed, Liddy actually seemed interested. Which was quite surprising, since she had hinted, not confided exactly, but hinted— that she had met someone in Scotland, who curled her toes with a kiss?
Madeline tried to get more information on the incident, the where's and when — but of a sudden, after their last stay at the old castle, Liddy had shrugged and turned the subject off, seeming to forget she had gone all dreamy eyed over the mystery male when telling about the kiss.
They went shopping. Having to take Aunt Tabitha’s maid with them as their own was down with a sniffle. Liddy purchased a beautiful green velvet gown with high waist, a ribbon under the breast, and train in back, luscious emerald silk gloves, and shoes. Along with the pearls their father gave her on her eighteenth birthday, she would likely be the belle of the ball, even amid her Aunt's society.
Madeline chose a bronze gown, a silk sheath beneath and lace overlay. The gown was cut low enough to satisfy fashion and modest enough to satisfy Madeline's awareness of her endowments. It too was in the empire style, and the long sleeves were sheer lace. She chose paten leather slippers in black, and had her hair trimmed, wearing it swept up in a band, with curls dangling over her shoulder.
Liddy went for a ribbon effect; her beautiful straight hair weaved with the green silk stuff, with one dramatic wave snaking to her small waist.
Upstairs in their Aunt's townhouse, after getting dressed, they compared themselves in the mirror and chortled.
“We don't do this often enough.”
Madeline eyed her in the mirror. “I take it your hair is not itching as mine is, and you don't recall that it will be sweltering hot in that gown, crowded below with Aunt's three hundred closest friends, and we had to starve ourselves this morning, because Aunt insists we should look pale, wan, and hungry.”
Liddy snorted with laughter. “You're right. I'm starving, as soon as this ball ends, I will meet you in the kitchens.”
Madeline hugged her. “No. I am rotten. Enjoy yourself, and the handsome Lord Lynbrook. Pretend you do not notice all the debs sticking their tongues out behind your back, because a Cit dares to cast her lowly eyes on one of their earls.”
They were walking toward the door, already hearing the music and crowds below when Liddy teased, “You'll catch an eye or two yourself, Maddy. You look ravishing.”
“Hmmm. I seem to recall Old Fabersham has one eye. Got the other put out by a maid he pinched on the bum. Perhaps I shall catch it if I bend over within his reach. I hear he wants a wealthy wife… his sixth I believe.”
They were laughing in a very unladylike fashion when they descended the stairs.
Their Aunt, who was busy in the receiving line with Sir Jasper, looked up long enough to catch sight of it and smile happily herself. She waved them over, but Madeline pointed to the table where champagne was being served. Tabitha nodded, counting herself lucky to get the gels to attend, and hoping as her husband did, that Liddy had the good sense to see what a catch Lord Lynbrook was.
It was useless to tell them to hide their brains and curb their humor. They were too smart for that and she knew they would be chortling behind their gloves at some of the perfumed dandies and eccentric old dowagers before the night was over. One thing she knew too was, despite being counted as competition by the debs, neither young woman would be cruel and mocking. Even if they abhorred the lack of education afforded such women, and contrary to what most believed, they were not on the hunt for a title— even if the titled men were hanging about for a rich wife. Madeline in particular seemed to have an aversion to the aristocracy.