Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“ A nd he was tossed right out of that club! Oh, the shame !” The Baroness of Inglebury clasped her hands, lifting her eyes to heaven like Sarah Siddons herself.

Madeleine Cluett, the Countess of Kinsfeld, had her hands clasped in her lap, listening to the conversation that flowed around her.

“As his mother,” the baroness continued, “I was mortified! Yet none of his friends were willing to follow him out of that club. Of course, it was left to his father to scrape him off the street.” She shook her head.

“A model heir,” snorted one of her ladies beside her.

“Hush now,” the baroness snapped, flushing.

Madeleine leaned into her friend, Tessa Derrington, the Countess of Easthall, fluttering her fan in front of her mouth.

“Do you know what I have noticed regarding these gatherings? Everybody adores telling their own stories until they receive an opinion that negatively comments on their beloved. Yet moments before, they were calling them for shame,” she said.

Tessa smirked. “Indeed. She wishes to humiliate her son for a good story until there are repercussions.” She turned to Madeleine. “Yet you have your own story to share, do you not?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Madeleine looked back at her friend, at her straight hair, as fierce as fire, and her pale face, lips curved in a knowing smile.

“There is something on your mind. I am wondering why you do not share.”

“With these ladies?” Madeleine whispered, mockingly scandalized.

She shook her head, trying to laugh off the fact that her friend had noticed the sour mood she had tried to hide behind dressing up for the soiree.

“I prefer to keep my personal life to myself.”

Tessa huffed. “Of course, but you cannot keep it from me .” She whacked her fan lightly against her husband’s wrist. “Colin, do tell Madeleine how she cannot keep her thoughts from me.”

Colin, the Earl of Easthall, blinked at his wife for a moment before he laughed. “Ah, Tessa. Do not get me involved in your… womanly dalliances. And do not use your fan upon me again!”

“Oh, hush. You love me exactly how I am.”

“Tessa, you are positively the most tyrannical woman I have ever met. How can a man enjoy that?”

Tessa tucked her fan beneath her husband’s chin flirtatiously. “You should ask the mirror that, husband.”

Madeleine blushed at their outward display of affection for one another. In truth, she was not embarrassed, but merely jealous. At least the focus was off of her.

“So, Madeleine, you must share with me what is on your mind.”

Or perhaps she was not so easily forgotten.

“One moment, Lady Morgan is telling a riveting tale,” she lied, not at all listening to the woman who spoke.

Yet she tuned in, hoping not to have to share her thoughts.

The parlor walls in the Inglebury estate must be laden with gossip, Madeleine thought, as Lady Morgan spoke of her husband’s most recent shame.

Apparently, his cousin had disappeared abroad and not returned, having left with a large sum of money.

“Rumors say he has begun a new life!” another lady said, laughing. “What do you say of that?”

“I say good riddance,” Lady Morgan muttered, sipping her wine.

She continued her tale, and Madeleine continued her own examination of the heavy drapes that were drawn back to expose the window. She did not want to ignore her friend, truly, but how could she possibly share what weighed on her mind?

She had not seen Lord Kinsfeld in four days now.

How can I admit that I do not know where my own husband is ?

“I think it is time for Lady Kinsfeld to share a story,” one of the other women suggested, her voice sickly sweet.

The comment, however, was not even directed at Madeleine, but another woman. The two of them whispered in the other corner of the room, their gazes sliding to Madeleine and away again, as if they thought they were being secretive.

Madeleine met their gaze, her jaw set. She did not flinch.

“She must have many stories, what with Lord Kinsfeld’s reputation,” another woman giggled.

“I have noticed his absence today,” the first lady answered. “I do wonder if he has frequented…”

Tessa huffed at them, tapering off their speculation of Madeleine’s husband’s whereabouts. “They are shameless. Ignore them. See, Lady Finley is showcasing her embroidery. Is it not beautiful?”

Madeleine nodded but she could not fully take her attention off the gossiping women. And once she noticed them, she began to notice the other stares, and suddenly, the whole room felt focused on her, and a shameful flush swept over her.

Ignore them. They know nothing. It is mere gossip .

One of the women stood up, her smile that of a trickster—pleasant enough to look at but hiding venomous intent underneath. She gracefully crossed the room to place herself in the empty chair next to Madeleine. She fluttered her fan.

“Lady Kinsfeld,” she purred, her blue eyes sparkling. “Where is your husband tonight?” Her voice was raised, gaining the attention of others nearby. “I believe the other ladies were right. He is absent tonight, as he has been at many events lately.”

Madeleine felt her practiced smile fix into place. “It is good of you to enquire but Lord Kinsfeld is busy with estate matters.”

Her answer was polite enough but her insides tightened with anger. She was furious—both at her husband, Donald, for abandoning her, and herself for enduring such humiliation.

“I see. Well, they must keep him very occupied.”

Madeleine’s smile was tighter. “Indeed.”

The lady looked as if she considered pressing harder but Colin cleared his throat. “I dare say, if I was kept as busy as Lord Kinsfeld that I might be worthier of my title.” He gave a short laugh, and Madeleine knew it was not true at all, but the joke took the attention off her.

Tessa stood up. “Madeleine, I believe our gracious host has opened up her art gallery for viewing. Shall we take a turn around there?”

Madeleine stood, her eyes still on the lady. Finally, she let Tessa lead her away.

Only when they left the parlor did she exhale deeply.

“Are you all right?” Tessa asked.

Madeleine nodded. “They are overwhelming at times, are they not?”

“They are hungry vipers,” Colin muttered. “They starve for stories when their own lives bore them.”

“But that is our wonderful society,” Tessa muttered drily before she directed Madeleine to the art gallery. “Come, Madeleine. Whatever does ail you, shall be forgotten in brushstrokes and landscapes.”

In the short carriage ride home, Madeleine finally breathed easier for the first time that day.

The sky had darkened, and her shoulders relaxed, yet the knot of tension remained in her breastbone no matter how many times she tried to rub at it. Her mind was lost to thoughts of her husband.

Where was he?

She had not seen him for breakfast, nor entering his chambers at night to retire for four consecutive days .

His bedsheets had remained cold, and his valet had not seen him, either. Yet the valet’s gaze always slid to the floor when he answered, as though he knew more than he mentioned.

The road passed by outside and Madeleine felt that familiar lurch in her stomach as the carriage pulled up outside Kinsfeld House, the townhouse where she lived within London’s most highly regarded square.

The ride from the Inglebury residence had taken no time at all but any silence was enough for her despairing thoughts to slip in.

I once imagined leaving events with my husband, in love, laughing and flushed from wine and a good evening. Our hands brushing, perhaps, retiring together.

Never mind.

Love was a dream she had long given up on. Her marriage to Lord Kinsfeld had solidified that for her.

With a heavy, lonely heart, Madeleine walked up to her chambers, avoiding the watchful eyes of her staff.

They whisper about my husband’s absence, too.

She had a moment to herself in her chambers before her lady’s maid came to prepare her for bed.

“Your gown was rather beautiful tonight, my lady,” the lady’s maid, Lucy, said as she helped Madeleine out of it.

Madeleine nodded, her hands clasping the post of the bed. “It was.”

Her responses were brief, had been brief ever since leaving the parlor. Her thoughts were away, fixed on the emptiness of Kinsfeld House, her husband’s absence being whispered about by the ton and servants alike. She had heard them upon her return.

Her chest tightened.

Where is my husband ?

She did not miss the man, but she hated the humiliation he forced her to endure by not being present. She hated that he left her to explain his absences, to lie to her friends, to endure the embarrassing rumors that he might be entertaining mistresses.

“Your nightgown, my lady.” Lucy helped her into the nightgown, the loose fabric a relief from the tight dress. It did a little to ease the tension in her chest.

“I will retire with a glass of wine tonight,” Madeleine told Lucy, and her maid nodded.

“I shall see to it.”

Lucy left, and Madeleine sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing over her nightgown, looking around her chambers. The hot tears of humiliation burned behind her eyes.

A sudden knock on the door had her blinking them away.

“Enter,” she called out.

It was not Lucy returning, but her butler.

Rather than walking in as Lucy would have done, he stood respectfully outside the door. Madeleine stood, wishing she could just curl up in her bedsheets. Her mind was heavy; she did not wish to deal with anything else tonight.

“There is a visitor here to see you, Lady Kinsfeld. He is very insistent to be seen. He says it is important. I have let him wait in the parlor.”

Madeleine frowned.

Nobody should be visiting at such an hour , she thought, confused.

Then she caught herself on a thought, her breath shortening. What if it was bad news about her husband? Or worse, it could be about Tessa or Colin.

Her heart stopped.

What if it was from her brother, lost to the army?

Suddenly, she could not go down to the parlor fast enough. She struggled back into her gown—she would prefer Lucy’s help, but she’d learned to fend for herself over her lonely marriage to Donald.

She hurried down the stairs and entered the parlor below.

Except it was not a constable, or anybody she recognized.

No, the imposing figure she entered the parlor to see was dark and tall. He looked up at a portrait of the young Lord Kinsfeld, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

From her position, she could only see the length of his dark brown hair, brushing his shoulders, unbound and wild, as if he had ridden hard to Kinsfeld House.

“Good evening.”

Madeleine’s voice was too loud in the silence of the parlor but the man turned to her—and she was taken aback.

He was impossibly tall, and blue eyes found her, piercing her through. His dark, neatly trimmed beard spread over a sharp jawline and strong chin. His thick brows rose at the sight of her.

His eyes flicked to her rumpled gown, running the length of it with a gaze that had Madeleine flushing unexpectedly. She had the urge to cover herself. Still, the way this man looked at her… She hadn’t been looked at like that in many years.

Her throat was dry, and only turned drier when his eyes locked with hers.

Finally, she found her voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, and before he could answer, she pressed on. “And what are you doing in my home at such an hour?”

His expression was cool as he regarded her.

“I am the Duke of Silverton, and I am here to collect a debt, Lady Kinsfeld.”