At the Bride Hunt Ball Page 5

  “Nonsense, it would have made its way into your possession somehow. I was simply helping out my man.”

  “Your man?” Her brow knitted together.

  “Come. I’ll walk you inside.” He surprised her by taking her hand in his large one as he guided her up the hill. “I must explain something to you, in private, and after, you can tell me just why you felt compelled to test the waters.”

  Nearly to the top, she found her voice again. “I would very much like to change first.” Something slimy, which she hoped was simply mud and not a leech, slid down her calf. “That is, if you think the duke will tolerate me traipsing through his castle dripping muddy pond water everywhere.”

  “I can assure you it’s quite all right,” he said, a flash of warmth in his icy-blue gaze. “But first you must allow me to clarify something that was said—”

  “Mr. Devine,” Madelyn said on a loud sigh, trying to free her hand from his firm grasp. “I should like to freshen up a bit fir—”

  For some reason unknown to her, everyone standing on the hill collectively gasped. And Madelyn could have sworn Mr. Devine groaned under his breath.

  When she opened her mouth to speak again, a blushing Charlotte shook her head hurriedly as if she were trying to send Madelyn a signal. Puzzled, Madelyn’s brow furrowed. She looked to her stepmother, whose alabaster skin turned positively crimson.

  Priscilla stepped forward, grabbing the wrist of Madelyn’s free hand. “Please forgive her, Your Grace. The water must have influenced her sense of propriety. I’m quite certain my stepdaughter meant to address you properly and I—”

  “Your Grace?” Madelyn eyed Mr. Devine suspiciously. “Why did she address you as if you were…”

  Her voice trailed off as she studied the fading yellow crescent of a healing bruise on his forehead, then dropped to the family crest embellished on the buttons of his dark green jacket. Her mouth fell open, her eyes opening wide as the connection dawned. No. This man standing before her exuding an easy confidence was not Mr. Devine. He was a rascal, a schemer, a fraud, and she should have known better than to believe in his glittering gaze.

  Her skin prickled with embarrassment. “You’re the duke.” She breathed the words in a whisper of disbelief. She felt like an instant fool. “In the garden…you lied. Why would you lie?”

  “Don’t be silly, darling.” Priscilla squeezed Madelyn’s hand painfully so that all four fingers and thumb were smashed together within her own. “His Grace hasn’t a need for untruths.” She settled her apologetic gaze on the duke. “Please, let me take her inside so I might talk to her, settle her down. She’s normally quite endearing, if you just give her another chance.”

  “Baroness,” the duke stressed, his eyes seething with anger as they fixed on Priscilla’s pleading gaze. “Kindly loosen your hold. I believe your grip is cutting off the flow of blood to Miss Haywood’s fingers.”

  Priscilla let go instantly. With a bow of her head, she backed her way up the hill like a chastised child.

  As soon as the duke returned his attention to Madelyn, his eyes softened. “I did not anticipate this. Really, how could I,” he said quietly, giving her hand that was held within his a gentle squeeze. “I had planned to capture your attention privately before—”

  “Before what?” Madelyn asked, struggling to keep her own voice low. “Before I could humiliate myself?”

  “I dare say,” he said with a dark look, “you seem to be doing a fine job all by yourself.”

  “You mock me.” She whispered the words, but they still held the heat of censure. Looking at their joined hands, she pulled hers from his hold. She shot him one last reproachful glare, then grasped the blanket threatening to slip off her shoulders. With a sniff, she trudged up the hill. He beat her to the top, blocking her path.

  “Wait,” he ordered, his austere expression telling her he was a man accustomed to having people do exactly as he commanded.

  She refused to look at him any further, choosing to fasten her angry glare at the center of his chest. For a moment there was nothing, no words, no whispering from the other guests, just the sound of her angry breathing, her chest rising and falling with the exertion it took from slogging up a steep hill in a drenched gown.

  Finally his cultured tones broke the silence. “I didn’t lie to you,” he said quietly, for her ears alone to hear. “That is my given name.”

  “We both know that is not how you should have introduced yourself,” she bit out. “And it’s certainly not proper for me to address you so informally.”

  “If you care to remember, your manner of behavior that evening did not lead either of us to comport ourselves within the rules in which the stricture of society insists.”

  She looked up at him, her expression incredulous. “Why did you lie? Was this why I was chosen?” She glanced at the faces of those who stood about them, though at some distance. With the exception of her stepmother and Charlotte, everyone else grinned like imps, leaning an ear forward in desperation to overhear more of their conversation.

  “For a game? Am I the joke?” She swallowed hard, defiantly ignoring the voice inside her head telling her she was behaving coarsely. After a moment of silence she shook her head, disappointed—in herself, in him. She made to take a step around him.

  He anticipated her move, his broad shoulders impeding her path yet again. “Indeed, I tricked you into receiving the invitation,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But if I had not, you would have run from me as you are trying to do now.”

  “Mr. De—” Madelyn stopped herself, attempting to take control of her emotions. “Your Grace,” she said with forced sweetness, “did it ever occur to you that there could, possibly, be a woman in all of England that doesn’t wish to marry into your family?”

  “No, quite frankly,” he said with an arrogant arch of his brow. “If there were, I’d consider her the silliest of fools.”

  “I see,” she said, affronted.

  With a sharp tug, she grasped the slipping blanket tighter across her shoulders. Taking a cleansing breath, she forced a brilliantly fake smile as she started to tremble, not knowing if it was from anger or cold.

  “Please, let me pass,” she said, her mask of composure slipping.

  In response he looked down at her like she was a faro box and he the gambler waiting to see which card sprung next. After a long minute, he stepped aside. “Of course.”

  Madelyn strode past him, feeling strangely bereft that he’d given up trying to stop her. Then, thinking that a very odd feeling for her to have, she broke into a run, dashing across the lawn and on toward the castle, never slowing her pace.

  Halfway across the lawn, however, it occurred to her that she didn’t even know where she was going. She just knew she had to get away from him and the crowd of onlookers. Oh! How the Fairbourne twins must be enjoying her mortification.

  A doe-eyed servant girl appeared at her side, applying a running curtsy as she tried to keep up with Madelyn. “Miss, I’ve readied a bath for you. Your bags have been taken up.” She continued to run alongside. “I’m Jenny,” she panted, “and I’m to show you to your room.”

  Madelyn stopped abruptly. She turned to Jenny, who seemed more than relived for the respite. “My bath? Do you mean to say, that man,” she gestured behind her with a sharp nod of her head, “that conniving rogue, anticipated me falling into the pond?”

  “I don’t know, miss.” Jenny looked uncomfortable, quite like she wished one of the other servants had been assigned to see to Miss Haywood’s comfort. “It would seem so. My father says the master’s always thinking of things ahead of time. It’s a sign of a great leader. He’s very watchful too. He probably took one good look at you and knew you’d end up in the pond.”

  Madelyn didn’t know what she thought about that. But speaking of ends, she mused with a cringe, the pain in her own end had begun to throb fiercely.

  “Tell me, Jenny,” Madelyn prompted as she continued toward the castle at a decide
dly slower pace. “What remedies do you know of to soothe the pain from a wasp’s sting?”

  “I don’t rightly know, mum, I’ve never been stung myself. But I could find out.”

  “Please do,” Madelyn said as she stopped at the base of the multitiered steps leading up to the castle’s main doors. Well, there was no other way to get up them without putting one foot in front of the other. She took a step. Cringed. Took another step. Cringed. “Why do there have to be so many steps?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The steps. You see…” Madelyn paused to look over her shoulder, making sure no one else could overhear. “I’ve been stung back there.” She pointed vaguely to her backside. “Every step produces a twinge of pain.”

  Jenny’s mouth quirked with a suppressed smile.

  “Whatever you do, Jenny, please do not speak of the whereabouts of the sting to another soul. I’ve been embarrassed enough for one day.”

  “I shan’t, mum. I promise.”

  Chapter 4

  By noon the entire household knew exactly where Madelyn had been stung. It was a spectacular feat, she supposed, taking into account the vastness of the castle.

  “You must consider the fact that there are hundreds of servants,” Charlotte said, following Madelyn across her bedchamber. “Certainly enough to keep a steady wave of gossip flowing strong.”

  “Yes, but if I encounter another giggling Fairbourne twin or one more well-meaning servant armed with a secret smile and another poultice for wasp stings, I’m leaving.” Madelyn plucked a small blue pillow from her bed, fluffed it, then placed it atop the cushioned bench at the foot of her bed.

  “But you mustn’t go,” Charlotte cried, removing the pillow before Madelyn could sit on it and tossing it back upon the bed. “Remember your agreement with your stepmother.” She pointed to the blue and yellow striped chaise lounge across the room. “You’ll be infinitely more comfortable there.”

  Madelyn nodded. “It wasn’t an agreement. It was blackmail.” She shuffled over, gingerly settling down on her side, her head resting on the curved arm.

  “Still, you must pretend to try and snag the duke. And Priscilla shan’t believe you are, based on what happened when we arrived.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll simply find the castle’s dungeon and hide in it for the next fourteen days. Charlotte, I’m positively mortified.”

  Charlotte, deciding to sit on the lounge near Madelyn’s feet, was bent halfway down to sit when her dark blue eyes grew wide. She bolted across the room, catching her dozing mother’s empty teacup just before it hit the floor.

  “I don’t think Wolverest has a dungeon any longer,” she said, settling the cup back on the tray on a nearby table. “But really, how in the world does addressing His Grace improperly outshine falling into a pond and exposing yourself?” She paused, sticking out her own nearly flat chest. “I mean, revealing yourself, Madelyn?”

  “Nonsense. I had a blanket.”

  “A blanket that kept gaping open.”

  Madelyn groaned. “Thank you for pointing out that added facet of my humiliation. At least the deceiver pretended not to notice.”

  “Your deceiver noticed, all right. His gaze dropped down every time you blinked.”

  Madelyn sat up, her backside aching with a knot of pain. “He’s certainly not mine,” she said, patting the loose bun atop her head, still damp from her bath. “And I don’t believe you.”

  “You should,” Charlotte said. “I observe everything.” She turned, studying her napping mother for a moment, then looked at Madelyn with a cheeky grin. “I’ve something to show you.” Reaching inside the front of her bodice, she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

  “What have you there?” Madelyn asked.

  Unfolding the paper as if it was made of spun sugar, Charlotte held it directly beneath her nose, her eyes skimming the lines. “It is a list of Lord Tristan’s favorite things.”

  “Wherever did you get that?”

  “Myself.” She smiled proudly at Madelyn. “Through careful observations—not to mention heavy eavesdropping—I concluded several of his lordships predilections. I made a list and I’ve been studying it.”

  “Charlotte, I’m amazed.”

  Her friend’s playful expression turned doubtful. “Do you think it strange?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Charlotte tried to sigh with vexation, but smiled instead. “Well, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Would you like to hear them?”

  Madelyn smiled at her friend’s show of remarkable trust. Anyone but Charlotte would hoard such vital information, disbelieving her claim to dislike Lord Tristan. But not Charlotte. They had an unbreakable bond sewn in childhood on threads of unconditional love and a mutual obsession with snooping about, books, and anything covered in, baked with, or drizzled over with chocolate. Besides, they both had a family member who criticized them to excess, only they each handled it differently. Madelyn pretended the barbs didn’t hurt, while Charlotte constantly altered herself.

  “Yes, please, read on,” Madelyn said. “Words cannot express the extent of my interest.”

  Charlotte raised a skeptical brow before reading aloud. “His favorite color is red; his favorite fruit is strawberries…” Charlotte paused, her nose scrunched up as she squinted to read the next line. “…his favorite flower is the Papodee—no, oh goodness I’ve forgotten the pronunciation. The Pahippo—no, that doesn’t sound right either…Oh! I’ve got it. The Paphiopedilum orchid.” Looking mightily pleased, Charlotte smiled briefly to herself, then her pale brows knitted in thought. “Whatever do you suppose that looks like?”

  “I have no idea,” Madelyn commented with a grimace as she tried in vain to find a more comfortable sitting position. “But I’m willing to wager five young women will be wearing them in their hair at dinner this evening.”

  Charlotte’s face fell. “Do you really think so?”

  Madelyn smiled, finally settling in. “No. But I do think you’ll positively go blind if you insist on not wearing your spectacles.”

  “About that…” Charlotte looked down, her tone turning glum. She began twirling a pale coil of hair around her finger. “Harriet told me Lord Tristan doesn’t like spectacles on women. She said that she overheard him say so at the Atkinsons’ ball last spring—that they make a woman look older than she is and…intelligent.” She mumbled that last part.

  “And he considers intelligence a flaw? Charlotte, why would you seek the interest of a man who—”

  “Don’t be silly, Madelyn,” Priscilla broke in. “A man like his lordship deserves whatever his heart desires.” She nudged Madelyn’s foot as she walked past her to stand beside Charlotte.

  “How did you get in here?” Madelyn asked, since she hadn’t seen or heard her door open.

  Priscilla peered over Charlotte’s shoulder, her eyes darting over the sheet of paper she was holding. “Our chambers share a dressing room. Besides, I have a key.”

  “But I don’t even have a key.”

  Her stepmother’s shrewd gaze lifted briefly to meet Madelyn’s. “Of course you don’t. Lady Rosalind presented all the chaperones with the key to our own room and our ward’s rooms so we might lock you in at night. To ensure the obvious propriety and safety.”

  The fact that Priscilla said “might lock you in” didn’t slip past Madelyn.

  Priscilla shrugged. “You can’t get out. And obviously, no one can get in, unless they have the key.”

  Throwing a hand to her throat, Charlotte gasped with masked delight. “Even his own sister believes Lord Tristan would ravish us in our very beds!”

  “Exactly,” Priscilla agreed. “Lady Rosalind assured us there was only one key for each room. And more importantly, my lady has informed all the chaperones that anyone caught outside their bedchamber without proper escort after midnight will be swiftly eliminated.” Reaching out, Priscilla snatched the sheet Charlotte was holding. “Tell me where you obtained this paper.”

  “’Tis mine
,” Charlotte answered, looking like she feared that Priscilla just might lunge across the space between them and bite her on the hand.

  “I can’t see how any of this scribbled nonsense is going to help you,” Priscilla scoffed.

  Madelyn stole a glance at the newly awakened Mrs. Greene sitting in a chair across from the fireplace. Charlotte’s mother had demonstrated a rather remarkable hold on her temper, having been forced to witness Priscilla’s catty impertinence in such close proximity in the past few days. However, if the pinched set of her lips were any indication, Mrs. Greene’s restraint was at its limit.

  “Humph,” Priscilla said haughtily, pulling Madelyn’s attention back to her. “Just out of curiosity, of course, has anyone made a list of the duke’s favorite things?”

  The room fell silent.

  “I don’t believe so,” Charlotte offered finally. “And why would they? He isn’t taking a bride.” She looked to Madelyn, giving her a slight what-else-was-I-supposed-to-say shrug.

  The baroness’s keen eyes skimmed the page, making short work of the list. She then crumbled it up, tossed it to the floor, and rounded her attention on Madelyn. “There are things of which we must discuss. Things I wasn’t aware of until today. We must have a chat.” Her frigid blue eyes widened momentarily as she attempted to stress the point.

  Madelyn knew what her stepmother wanted. Priscilla was very likely ready to explode with curiosity as to how and why it seemed she had met the duke prior to coming to Wolverest. As far as her stepmother knew, Mr. Ashton had been successful in hunting her down in the garden, and that she, having been intercepted by her stepmother in the hall across from the kitchens, missed her introduction to the duke with the other invitees.

  There was a knock on the door, and Madelyn arose from the cushioned bench with care for her backside. “I imagine it’s Jenny with another compress for the sting,” she said, shuffling across the room. She opened the door, revealing the maid. The girl bounced a quick curtsy.

  “Yes?” Madelyn asked.