Chapter Nineteen

Madeline felt she’d been swept up in a whirlwind that could not be stopped. She did not wish it to stop, but it was dizzying all the same.

Lord Souderton’s valet, Henderson, had retrieved his coat with alacrity and got them off before the duke or duchess noticed an unmarried young lady standing on their doorstep.

Henderson, cognizant of maintaining propriety, had ridden the back of the carriage with the groom, leaving Madeline and Meggy staring wide-eyed at each other. They were on their way to a fencing establishment where the only women to be found were actresses training for the stage.

Madeline could not be certain if that was better or worse than turning up at Lord Souderton’s house.

“If we see an actress,” Meggy said, “you ought to look away. I will give her a stern warning expression so she knows what’s what. On top of everything else, we can’t have it said that you’ve been socializing with actresses.”

“I do not suppose they would be very interested in socializing with me either,” Madeline said.

“Perhaps not, but they would lose nothing over it. What will you say to Lord Souderton?”

“I will tell him it was Bumbledon all along,” Madeline said, looking quizzically at her maid. That was the whole point of this excursion—to tell Lord Souderton she’d solved the mystery and had been so very wrong.

“But then what?”

Madeline paused. She had not thought about the then what. She would like to tell him of her regard, but she could not because he’d not said anything and only sent daffodils.

“I reckon you ought to say everything,” Meggy said.

“Everything?”

“Say what’s in your heart. If you do not, you’ll just end a mopey spinster.”

“I realize that, but Meggy I cannot say what I feel.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because, well because he must say something first. If I were to say something first, it would be wildly inappropriate, for one. And for another, a gentleman so assaulted might feel compelled to pretend at returning the affection, even if he did not feel it.”

“Aye, I reckon that would be a rum situation.”

“Yes. Yes, it would. Very rum. You see the difficulty.”

Meggie sighed. “When my sister Jenny was proposed to by James Kreagel, he just said, “Well, Jenny? What of it? Should we make a visit to the vicar?” She said, “I reckon so.” Seems an easier way to go about things.”

Madeline supposed that would be easier, but not exactly the situation she found herself in.

The carriage slowed. They had arrived to Angelos.

Henderson was at the door in a moment, helping Madeline and Meggy to the pavement.

The coachman leaned down from his perch and said, “My lady!”

He did not elaborate, nor did he need to. Madeline understood him perfectly well. He had imagined it would only be Henderson to go into the establishment and the fact that they waited outside had already been questionable. Now he was scandalized, would like to stop her from going in, but did not know how to do it.

“It is quite all right,” Madeline said to the coachman, though she did not know that to be absolutely the case. In truth, she was certain it was not the case. She guessed that when they returned home, he would go straight to Randall, the head coachman, who would go straight to Mr. Penny, who would go straight to her father. What a story the earl would hear—your daughter and her maid went to Lord Souderton’s house, picked up one of his servants, and proceeded to a gentlemen’s fencing establishment.

Henderson led them in. He nodded to the alarmed porter and said, “Here to see Lord Souderton.”

Madeline did not imagine that at all lessened the young man’s alarm, but he let them pass.

They walked down the corridor as Henderson said, “We’ll have to go through the main room—there is no other way to the smaller room that Sir Jonathan has taken for the afternoon.”

Madeline nodded and held her head high.

Meggy muttered, “For the love of all that’s holy.”

“Just follow me,” Henderson said. “Keep your eyes forward, looking at nobody.”

“Avert your gaze from actresses!” Meggy whispered.

Henderson snorted and said, “Consider my eyes averted.”

The valet opened the door to a room large enough to be a ballroom, and almost as well appointed. It had a chalked wood floor and high, elaborately plastered ceilings.

Though she’d been directed to look at nobody, Madeline took surreptitious glances around. She did not see any of the actresses Meggy was worried about. There were several pairs of men fencing, though upon their entrance the swords fell and hung limply at their sides. There were rows of raised benches and various men watching the play were scattered throughout. The spectators followed their progress with looks of surprised interest.

Loudly, Henderson said, “A lady has a message of some urgency to be delivered. That is all, nothing to be alarmed by.”

Madeline was grateful he’d not said her name, though she could not hope it would stay unknown forever. Ladies were pointed to as the gossipers of the ton , but she’d noticed her father partook in the habit just as often. He heard no end of things at his club.

They reached a smaller set of doors and Henderson said, “Lord Souderton is in there.”

Madeline pushed past him and threw open the doors.

There he was. He’d been sitting on a bench with Sir Jonathan. Now, both gentlemen leapt to their feet.

“Lady Madeline?” Lord Souderton said.

He was obviously surprised to see her, as well he might be. He was also looking glorious at this moment, his shirt soaked through and outlining his chest. She had not seen him before in anything but layers of buttoned up and formal clothes. It made her weak to see him rather dishabille and perspiring from exertion.

“It was Lord Bumbledon,” she said. “He sent the drizzling box.”

Lord Souderton stepped toward her. “Yes, I thought so.”

“I did not know! How could I have thought that you…when you…then I…and you…”

“But you know it now,” Lord Souderton said, coming closer.

“I am ashamed of what I thought. You see, I thought…well I thought you must be…”

“A first rate rogue.”

“Yes,” Madeline said, hanging her head low, “I am ashamed to say that I did think it.”

Lord Souderton was in front of her now. “How could you think it, though? Certainly, Miss Welter could not have been so convincing.”

“Well she was, I’m afraid. Or I was very foolish, which is the more likely answer. And then, there were the daffodils to consider! The daffodils really did send me in the wrong direction.”

“The daffodils? Why? I rather thought that would be a hint between us.”

“They were a hint. They communicated friendly regard. So I thought, oh I cannot say what I thought!”

“I can,” Meggy said, her arms crossed. “She thought you sent the daffodils to say let’s be friends while I move on to Miss Welter. Daffodils—the flower to send when you wish to be vaguely pleasant but noncommittal.”

“I have no plans to be friends with you, Lady Madeline, nor do I have any intention of moving on to anyone else.”

He was staring down at her now. He was so close she could reach up and touch him if she dared.

“Oh, you do not? Wish to be friends?” she asked, for lack of anything rational to say.

“I do not.” He leaned down to touch his lips against her own. His arms wrapped round her waist and she threw her own arms around his neck.

“Lord, lord, lord,” Meggy said from somewhere behind her. “Are you engaged? Is this an engagement? If it’s not, I will put a stop to it this instant!”

“I do not think you have anything to worry over,” Sir Jonathan answered her.

“Assuming the lady says yes,” Lord Souderton whispered in her ear.

“Ask me, then,” Madeline said. She could not answer a question not asked. He must ask. It must be official. She would not leave this place hoping she was engaged or presuming she was. It had to be a hard fact.

Lord Souderton laughed softly. “Yes, ma’am. Lady Madeline, will you do me the honor of agreeing to wed me, and be stuck with me forevermore.”

“I will, yes, I most definitely will.” Madeline paused. “Though—”

“No though about it,” he said nuzzling her neck.

Really, it was very distracting. But she must not forget her point.

“It is just that I cannot with good conscience forget about my impoverished pupils.”

Lord Souderton laughed into her hair, which was becoming very mussed. “You would not be Lady Madeline Cole if you could so easily throw over your impoverished pupils, nor do I expect you to.”

Lord Souderton, goodness she could not even recall his given name, was tracing his lips along her collarbone.

Madeline did her very best to keep her mind on the practicalities. “And then there is the other problem of your father, who I do not think favors me.”

“My father will adore you once he sees the guillotines are not coming for him on account of your charity. He will never adore you as much as I do, though.”

She had done her duty, she had outlined all the impediments. There was nothing to stop them, as he’d brushed them all aside like gnats. “Well, then, I say an unhesitant yes with no though about it.”

Sir Jonathan cleared his throat. “I will escort your valet and Lady Madeline’s maid to the carriage. Assuming you would prefer some time alone.”

Lord Souderton waved him off, though he had reached her lips now and there was no time to speak.

“Alone!” Meggy said, fairly gasping at the idea.

“They are engaged and in a public place, Miss,” Sir Jonathan said. “No harm will come of it.”

“Fifteen minutes, not a minute longer,” Meggy said with great determination. “If I have to charge back through that room full of men I will do it.”

Madeline did not pay too much mind to Meggy’s threats. She did not pay much mind to anything but Lord Souderton.

He kissed her deeply and what a revelation that was. She had always wondered about such matters, as it seemed a rather awkward thing to do. As it turned out, it was not awkward at all. It was lovely.

She knew very well that it was only the start of things she’d find out about. She was not na?ve, her mother would never have countenanced sending a young lady into the world without an understanding of what went on between a man and a woman. And yet, hearing about it was turning out to be insufficient. Seeing how kissing was a thousand times better than described, she would be fascinated to discover the rest of it.

Somehow, they had drifted to the bench she had found him on when she’d arrived. She also found herself sitting on his lap, which her mother had not mentioned at all.

“What is your name,” she asked, peeking down the gap at the top of his shirt to see what was underneath. “Your given name. I must have heard it somewhere, but nobody ever calls you by it.”

“Owen,” he said.

“Owen,” she repeated. “I like it. I will call you Souderton in public, as it is the done thing, and call you Owen in private.”

He kissed her hand and said, “I will call you Lady Souderton in public, as it is the done thing, and call you my mad little marchioness in private.”

Madeline bubbled with laughter. “Gracious, I forgot for a moment that you are the eldest son of a duke. Marchioness is a little grander title than I was expecting for myself.”

He traced his finger along her cheek and down to her lips. Then he kissed the dimple on her chin. “You will make a fine duchess.”

“Are you certain?” Madeline asked. Somehow, she had not really considered if she were up to such a task. It did seem entirely too grand. How was she to be anybody’s Your Grace?

“Entirely certain,” he said. He kissed her dimple once more.

Really, she did not know if that were true. Delightfully, she determined she did not much care at this moment. Lord Souderton, Owen, ran his hands along her sides and she had begun to think about how soon it would be before they were properly wed and unclothed.

The time drifted delightfully by, Owen’s hands doing remarkable things though they were still clothed. She could not say how much time had passed, though it was likely more than the fifteen minutes that Meggy had been counting on.

Lord Souderton tipped her chin. “Now, Lady Madeline Cole, we’d best see your father before we create a scandal. I believe we have involved ourselves in enough scandals for one season. In any case, I imagine your maid is as good as her word and will be storming in any moment.”

He lifted her to her feet and kissed the top of her head. Goodness, it was really very interesting to be kissed everywhere.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline’s father speedily gave his consent to the match with Lord Souderton. He may have had his hopes for Lord Bumbledon, but Mr. Penny had prior alerted him to the visit to the house and subsequent unmasking of the lord as the sender of the drizzling box.

After the earl heard the sordid tale, he decided to admit to the countess that Lord Bumbledon had loaned him money to cover some bad investments and he might have allowed himself to be unconsciously swayed by the debt. Or even a little consciously, if he really had to face himself.

The countess found herself finally having the answer as to why the earl had kept putting Lord Bumbledon forward when he wasn’t much to look at, or talk to, and his prospects were not exactly dazzling. Wisely, she determined that there was no cause to burden Madeline with the information. She did not see the value of informing Madeline that her father had been affected by any mercenary ideas, even if it had been unconsciously done. After all, for all his hinting and hoping he’d never delivered any orders or ultimatums on the idea.

The countess counseled her husband to take a step back from Lord Bumbledon and the earl found himself happy to do it. Really, when he faced the truth of it, Lord Bumbledon was nothing like his father, who had been a very fine man. The countess also wrote a stern letter to Lord Bumbledon that he would be paid his debt when it was convenient, and he would be wise not to complain about it. The earl did eventually get around to paying it, though it was a full five years before he did so.

Regarding the news of the engagement, Owen’s mother and father were rather a different matter. At least, his father was. The duke pointed out that it would be verging on madness to have a marchioness advising farmers to learn more than they should.

Owen was unmoved. He pointed out that the great composer Joseph Haydn was the son of a wheelwright and a cook. There were those remarkable talents out there somewhere, and his lady was determined to locate and nurture them.

The duchess said helpful things, such as, “My dear, you are very fond of Haydn, you have always said so.”

Eventually, the duke was resigned, though not particularly because of Joseph Haydn. Rather, he could not see his way clear to cause a scandal over the matter.

Owen wasted no time pushing the contracts to be drawn up as speedily as possible. His idea was to obtain a special license and wed in his drawing room.

The countess, who was always so indulgent with him, put a firm foot down on that idea. He was the eldest son of a duke. It would be a very public wedding and an exceedingly elaborate wedding breakfast.

Madeline had at first dreaded the notion, but the duchess took everything in hand and spent a deal of time helping with her trousseau. She began to enjoy her time with the duchess, as did her mother.

It was not so much the clothes that were interesting, but Madeline was able to pry so much information from the lady about her intended. She now knew that when he’d been seven, the marquess had slipped into his tutor’s room in the dead of night and stolen all his trousers. The maids of the house spent months tittering over it. Owen, himself, spent a month without desserts.

Madeline was also given to understand that Lord Souderton had a deep hatred of cabbage—even the smell of it put him out. He claimed he could smell it cooking a mile away and he was suspicious of people who pretended to like it. Madeline vowed it would never make an appearance on his table unless she was very cross with him.

The duchess also recounted that at Eton, Lord Souderton had led a crowd of boys to protest over the meager offerings at dinner on Saturdays. The duchess suspected cabbage had been on the menu, though that had never been confirmed. The duke had received a stern letter about that particular incident, outlining that the great institution of Eton would not tolerate protesting mobs. The duke had written back, “You’d best fix the Saturday dinner, then.”

Between Madeline’s regular meetings with the duchess and her mother, Madeline spent long hours in her drawing room with Owen. Sometimes her mother or father came in for a while, sometimes Mr. Penny stood guard at the door. Oftentimes, they were left on their own. It was assumed that an engaged couple would act with an appropriate sense of decorum.

Neither of them were very interested in decorum. Between sneaking kisses and other intimacies where they could, Owen became acquainted with Mr. Mandrake, the aging Pomeranian. Like most dogs, Mr. Mandrake had little respect for rank and treated Owen no better than he treated Mr. Penny.

None of that was to matter. Owen had once suggested that Mr. Mandrake might be more comfortable staying where he was, rather than moving house. The look of horror on Madeline’s features caused him to revise his idea—Mr. Mandrake would of course have the run of their house.

Mr. Mandrake, though he had slowed in his elder years, proved that he could still catch a butler unawares when he had the mind to. And a marquess too, if he were feeling peppy. Mr. Penny did not miss him when he departed.

The wedding, when it finally came, was held at Saint George’s, with even the queen in attendance. Madeline wore a lovely crème silk with delicate netting, streaked in silver thread, and a finely made lace veil.

She was grateful that the actual time in the church was a blessedly brief affair. She supposed there must be some brides who liked to have all eyes upon them, but she did not. She’d stared into Owen’s eyes for most of it, attempting to ignore the idea that the queen’s eyes were boring into her back. Fortunately, the nightmare she’d had repeatedly about falling down in front of the queen did not happen.

The duchess hosted the wedding breakfast, and it was as elaborate as one would expect from a duchess. Aside from plentiful food and drink, she’d arranged a lovely quartet to play quietly, ice sculptures of swans, and there were enough flower arrangements to fill up the palace.

It was to be supposed that the guests stayed on long, as champagne flowed very freely and the quartet relocated into the ballroom. Madeline and Owen said their goodbyes on the early side of things, though. They had between them settled on a plan for their wedding trip.

They were both of the opinion that they’d heard enough talking from the ton to last them for quite a while. They wished to go somewhere they would know nobody and would be unlikely to run into anybody who wanted to talk to them.

They would travel to Wales, west of Swansea, to a friend’s estate overlooking the sea. As the journey would take at least six days, it was assumed that the couple needed to be off in good time.

Madeline and Owen had not the least intention of spending their wedding day bouncing along in a carriage. In the late afternoon, they repaired to the Pulteney Hotel, Owen having reserved their best suite of rooms. Meggy and Henderson arranged for their dinner to be sent up at eight o’clock and then excused themselves to their own rooms.

The curtains were drawn, shutting out the light and noise of Piccadilly Street. Her mother had advised Madeline that she would experience some feelings of shyness at this particular moment. She did not in the least.

She did, however, think that she should have had Meggy undo all her buttons before she’d gone. Nevertheless, Owen brought so much determination to the task that it was done more speedily than she had imagined it could be.

The next hours were a revelation. As she had expected from that very first kiss, explaining what went on had very little to do with experiencing what went on.

Aunt Pegatha had sometimes referred to relations between a man and a woman as a pleasure for the man and a duty for the woman. Madeline could only think that Lord Pegatha had not been doing it right.

There had been some moments of discomfort, to be sure. She’d been well prepared for that. But that would not last, she knew. And then, what was left! It really was glorious.

They’d had a lazy dinner on trays in bed and drank a bottle of very good hock. Both of them had imagined that they would set off first thing in the morning, in fact the carriages had been called for seven o’clock. But, when the time came, they found they would rather remain abed.

The carriages were sent back to the stables and two more nights were spent at The Pulteney. When they finally did set off, they passed at least two people who looked confusedly at the arms on the carriage, certain that the marquess and marchioness had left London days before.

Their journey to Wales was not executed in any more organized a fashion. At four of the inns they stopped at, they stopped for longer than they’d planned. They finally reached the house near Swansea and spent the days walking the small beach and the nights to themselves. Both of them lost track of time and six weeks drifted by.

They were finally roused when the duke sent a letter asking if they were dead, as they were meant to be back a fortnight ago.

Madeline and Owen had long talks between them regarding their residence in Town. Owen thought he ought to rent a house so that she might be the mistress of her own domain. Madeline thought otherwise, at least for a beginning. She was of the opinion that the duke needed to be worked on in the name of family harmony and that sort of work must be done in close quarters.

It was precisely what she did. She flattered, she cajoled, she tracked down a book he could not find, gifted him an elegant snuff box, and made a point of saying things like, “Ramsey, do be sure the merchant sends over the best port for the duke—he has a very refined palate.”

Though notions of the guillotine still drifted through his thoughts from time to time, he became very comfortable with his daughter-in-law’s admiration. His duchess was entirely amused.

In those early days, the duke had held onto some hopeful notions. Namely, that once Lady Madeline settled into being the marchioness, she would leave her wild ideas behind her.

She never did.

Her wild ideas remained firmly intact all her life.She funded her first two pupils, Johnny Shepardson and Maisie Jennerson from the village school. One would go on to become a clerk to a solicitor and the other would open her own dress shop. Over time, Madeline built a spiderweb of connections to schools all over England and Scotland. Letters would arrive, describing this or that pupil, his or her circumstances, and his or her particular aptitudes. Money came in and money went out. It was not necessary to mention any of it to the duke.

In any case, he was easily distracted by grandchildren as they came on the scene. He was an indulgent Grandpapa and liked to see the children off to bed in the nursery. To soothe them to sleep, he would outline how lucky they all were by detailing the Reign of Terror. The nannies and nurses were left to deal with any nightmares that might have emanated from close descriptions of a guillotine.

One might have imagined that once the truth of the drizzling box went round, Lord Bumbledon would have been finished, every door must be shut against him. Certainly, he would never dig up any self-respecting lady to wed him.

Miss Welter had other ideas though. Her first lifelong dream was to live near the seaside. Lord Bumbledon owned an estate in northern Somerset that had a fine view of the sea and a footpath down to the rocky shore. Her second lifelong dream was to wed a gentleman who would be easily managed.

So many gentlemen could not be managed at all. Her father had been particularly difficult for her mother to manage. Miss Welter had watched and learned and decided for herself that she must be the ruler of the household, as she had an intense dislike of being told what to do.

If Lord Bumbledon had one quality that stood him out from the crowd, it was that he was clay in the nearest determined woman’s hands. That had, until now, been his mother.

Miss Welter fanned herself and warned she might faint and hinted at a nervous disposition. Lord Bumbledon was entirely charmed. Naturally, the fanning and fainting and nerves made a quick exit after they were wed.

As Miss Welter was far sturdier than she had let on, she took Lord Bumbledon in hand. Before he was forced to flee Town regarding any rumors about him, Miss Welter met the rumors head on.

She blamed the entire fiasco of the drizzling box on the dowager, painting the lady as a senile old woman who was unnaturally attached to her son. She then paid a private visit to that lady.

What was said during that interview has been lost to history, but as Miss Welter could shout down a regiment of soldiers when she had a mind, it can be assumed the dowager was outmatched.

The Dowager Baroness was packed off to her dower house and the ton heard from her no more.

Once Lord Bumbledon had been separated from his mother, he was soft clay in Miss Welter’s strong hands. The couple went forward entirely unaware that the ton often referred to them as Lady Bumbledon and her footman.

As husband and wife, Madeline and Owen got on mostly peacefully. On the rare occasions in their marriage when they’d had a lingering disagreement, Madeline ordered cabbage for the dinner table. It took Owen almost twenty years to connect the arrival of cabbage to his lady’s irritation. Every time it turned up, he’d look round and say, “Cook knows I do not like cabbage,” as Madeline laughed behind her napkin.

Most of their problems, though, were not very serious and easily rectified behind a closed bedchamber door. They would go on to be exceedingly lax parents and suffer their own hair-raising situations once their children were old enough to provide them.

None of it was particularly unexpected, though it did perhaps provoke in them a modicum of sympathy for their own parents.

Mr. Penny found himself much relieved at the conclusion of the season. As he told his fellow members of The League —all’s well that ends well.

They had seemed thunderstruck to hear it. They asked about the gossip going round that Lady Madeline had charged into Angelos demanding to see the marquess. The queen herself had been invited to attend the wedding ceremony—what if she were to hear of it?

Mr. Penny claimed he did not know anything about it. After all, wishing not to know something was almost the same as not knowing it. Further, they must all agree that Queen Charlotte was astute enough to recognize nonsense when she heard it. As nobody dared question the queen’s understanding, the matter was dropped.

However, they also had a number of questions about Lord Bumbledon, and why the earl had ever promoted him as eligible.

Mr. Penny pointed out that as much as they worked to direct their lords and ladies in right directions, it was impossible to see into their minds. They would come up with strange ideas from time to time.

Nobody could deny the truth of it.

Their final meeting of the season had concluded, and he was glad of it. Mr. Penny was certain that he could calm himself from recent events and regain his naturally sunny temperament. In fact, every time he thought of Mr. Mandrake leaving the house, he was cheered immensely.

If he were at all concerned about anything, it must be Mr. Rennington. It would be that gentleman’s turn to lead them next season. Lady Eleanor Bancroft, eldest daughter of Earl and Countess of Trentwhistle, was to have her debut season.

Mr. Rennington suffered from nerves on a usual day, so Mr. Penny wondered how he would hold up. The fellow had a harridan of a housekeeper who made his life miserable. And then, there was something Mr. Rennington kept mumbling that did not seem to make sense—“Too much gardening. What are we to do about that?”

Mr. Penny did not know what the gardening in question was all about, nor did he want to. The brightest light on his horizon just now was that next year was Mr. Rennington’s problem.

The End.