Chapter 5

Chapter Five

M ore days passed, and Madeleine woke up for a sixth day without her husband present. She bit her lip, aware of the stares of the staff as they served her breakfast.

While Lucy prepared her for the day, Madeleine formed a plan in her head.

After the Duke of Silverton had visited, he had not returned personally for a second time, despite his threats, but the collector he had sent had left another letter of threat towards Lord Kinsfeld.

I wonder what his own investigations have turned up , she pondered, gritting her teeth as Lucy tied her stays.

Madeleine had once been surrounded by riches, jewels, and beautiful gowns but now… now that had dwindled, and every time she thought about it too hard, a cold, steel anger wrapped around her heart.

For a while now, she had secretly had her maids cover her lack of new wardrobe. They had resewn dresses, and reused fabrics, so she might feel—more importantly, look—as though she wore something new. But deep down, Madeleine knew.

She knew she was growing more and more desperate with the lack of what Donald had left her.

She was much too angry to be worried. If anything had happened to him she would have been notified.

A lord didn’t disappear without notice, not truly.

“Somewhere, someone knows something,” she said with a bite to her words, not quite meaning to say it out loud.

Lucy blinked. “Pardon, my lady? Do you require anything?”

“Nothing,” she answered quickly. “Do I have any engagements today?”

“None today, my lady. However, there is Lady Morgan’s ball tomorrow.”

“My day is free, then,” Madeleine considered to herself.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Very well. You are dismissed, Lucy,” Madeleine told her, as soon as she was dressed.

Her hair was hardly finished, but she was dressed, and that was all she cared about. As soon as Lucy left, Madeleine left her chambers moments later and sought out her housekeeper.

The older woman was in the empty drawing room, stood at the window. Behind her, two maids were dusting the fireplace.

“Mrs. Raleigh,” Madeleine said, “I wish to know the whereabouts of Lord Kinsfeld. I presume you know where he is. As the housekeeper, you oversee everything, do you not? You will know when the master of the house leaves and returns.”

Mrs. Raleigh turned up her nose, averting her gaze. “I know nothing, Lady Kinsfeld.”

Her gaze returned to Madeleine, taking in her appearance, and a small curl of her lip graced her mouth. Madeleine did not feel anything beneath the woman’s judgment, only the knowledge that she knew her place.

“I think you do, Mrs. Raleigh.”

The housekeeper only smoothed her plain dress. “I must get on with my duties, Lady Kinsfeld.”

Before the woman could leave, Madeleine got in her way, aware of the sneaking looks from her maids. “What you must do is tell me what you know.”

“Lady Kinsfeld?—”

“I will remind you that I am the mistress of the house,” Madeleine said, steeling her voice. “I control who is hired, and who is fired. I would not wish to see you replaced due to a… misunderstanding.”

Mrs. Raleigh’s stony expression fell slightly. “My lady, I cannot.”

She sweetened her voice. “I understand your loyalty to my husband. He has employed you for many years, but I will take full use of my control of the house’s staffing if you remain uncooperative.”

After a moment, Mrs. Raleigh nodded.

Her voice was quieter when she finally spoke. “I have heard from Lord Kinsfeld’s valet that the master has a gambling habit, and indulges it frequently.”

That was not news to Madeleine, but it seemed she had been in the dark about the frequency and depth. She knew her possessions he had lavished her with once had been taken to cover some costs but… she did not realize just how bad the situation was.

“How bad is it, Mrs. Raleigh?” she asked, her chest tightening.

“I cannot say, my lady.”

“Oh, I think you must.” Her voice was hard. “I have a right to know.”

“If I may say, Lady Kinsfeld, if you do not already know then there could be a reason.”

Madeleine saw red for a moment. “I—Mrs. Raleigh, we are both women in a world that is ruled by men. I am the lady of the house, yes, but my life is still handled and controlled by men. My father, then my husband. I am trying to understand my husband’s situation, as I am sure you understand. Surely, if this was you in my situation, you would want another woman to help you out—to help you where no man has.”

The housekeeper’s gaze flickered, her mouth tightening. “And should this get around to Lord Kinsfeld, I can be assured that my employment is safe? Many of the staff have been let go over the last months.”

“As I said, I can control who remains hired and who does not. If you help me, I will do my best to secure your position.”

Mrs. Raleigh swallowed, her shoulders slumping. “I have heard that His Lordship has been seen… Well, with several women at the Golden Hand.”

Madeleine shook with fury that she contained in front of her housekeeper. She drew back.

“Thank you, Mrs. Raleigh. That would be all,” Her answer was clipped, angry.

Hurriedly, she called for a carriage to be prepared. Her fury directed her right to one of the most well-known gambling halls that she knew of, the Golden Hand. A notorious place she did not really think she would see the inside of, but she made her way there.

How could he do this to me ? She thought furiously, her jaw clenched, her hands forming fists in her lap as she fought to control herself in the short carriage ride to the gambling hall.

How dare he?

Women and gambling—and meanwhile she waited at home for him, foolishly telling herself that the rumors could not be true.

To do it was one thing—to be seen was quite another.

It brought shame down upon her.

Humiliation burned through her, even hotter than that of the previous days when she did not know where he was.

Knowing her husband’s habits, and having a hint of where to look, was both a blessing and a curse.

Madeleine entered the gambling hall, enduring the looks of men who gawked at her as she moved through the main room.

The air, thick with cigar smoke and the sour tang of spilled liquor, pressed against her like an unwelcome embrace.

The tables were littered with cards and glasses, the room gleaming with golden fixtures and plush furnishings that gave the place its name—the Golden Hand. But for all its luxury, it reeked of debauchery.

Gasps punctuated the raucous laughter and shouted bets as heads swiveled toward her. Conversations stalled, the clink of glasses faltered, and for a moment, the hum of the room stuttered into silence.

A respectable woman. In a gambling hell.

It was unthinkable.

“Good God,” someone muttered near the entrance, loud enough to carry. “What is she doing here?”

“Lost, perhaps?” another voice replied, dripping with mockery.

She felt their stares like a hundred tiny daggers, slicing through the thin veil of her composure.

Some men gawked openly, their expressions ranging from astonishment to lecherous amusement. Others whispered to their companions, their smirks betraying their assumptions about why a lady like her might be here.

The whispers burned in her ears, but she held her chin high, refusing to let them see her falter.

A nearby croupier snorted, leaning toward his companion. “Never thought I’d see the day. A lady come to gamble?”

His companion chuckled. “Not likely. She’s probably here to drag some poor sod back to his wife.”

Madeleine ignored them, her jaw tightening.

Summoning her courage, she approached a table where a group of men were engaged in a loud game of faro.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice steady but strained. “I am looking for Lord Kinsfeld. Do you know if he has visited here of late?”

One man leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with incredulous amusement.

“Your lordship’s gone astray, has he?” he drawled, prompting laughter from his companions.

Another man waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Haven’t seen him. Try the next table, my lady.”

A third man leaned forward, smirking. “Or perhaps he’s upstairs, enjoying the finer offerings of the Hand?”

Heat rose to her cheeks, but she forced herself to ignore the response.

“Thank you,” she said curtly, turning on her heel and moving deeper into the hall.

Her anger flared, hot and sharp, clashing with the cold shame that coiled tighter and tighter around her heart.

Table by table, she pressed on, ignoring the growing sting of humiliation, her resolve a fragile thread fraying with every step.

At one point, a younger man, clearly deep into his cups, stood abruptly as she passed.

“Lady,” he slurred, his words tumbling over each other. “You shouldn’t… you don’t belong here.”

“I’m aware,” she replied coldly, stepping around him without breaking her stride.

Further in, she thought she saw a flash of dark hair, the thick covering of a beard, and piercing blue eyes watching her from the crowd. Her breath caught.

“Could it be…?” she murmured to herself, heart lurching.

But then she dismissed the thought.

The Duke of Silverton would not be here , she told herself.

Plenty of dark-haired men were gambling, she reasoned, forcing her gaze forward, though unease prickled at her spine.

Before she could reach the last table in the main hall, right before the grand staircase that led to higher levels—levels that no doubt contained more debauchery and rooms that might hold answers she did not want to see directly—she halted.

A finely-tailored man towered over her, his mouth pulled downwards in a sneer.

“Lady Kinsfeld,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if he had smoked all his life. “I have reason to believe you are pestering my customers. Men come here for an entertaining game, not to be harassed by a pathetic wife who can’t keep her husband at home.”

Her face flushed, humiliation tightening her throat. She was cut off by a voice behind her that sent shivers down her spine.

“Careful, Mr. Barrington. One more word against Lady Kinsfeld, and you’ll regret it.”