Chapter Two

Owen could not remember the last time he’d gone somewhere he did not wish to go. And yet, here he was at Almack’s with his father on one side and his mother on the other as if he were a prisoner in danger of bolting off.

Which was not entirely inaccurate.

They’d already been assaulted with Lady Jersey’s inane blatherings, and then her subsequent bringing over of various young ladies, including the dry Lady Agatha. Naturally, his father had made quite the fuss over her. Owen had dutifully put his name down on her card, as he had done with every other lady foisted in his direction. What else could he do?

He had assiduously avoided putting himself down for supper and had high hopes that by the time that grim offering rolled around he might slip out unnoticed and hightail it to his club to see who else was still up and about.

“Duke,” a hearty voice said behind him. “Duchess. Well met.”

Owen turned to see a middle-aged man and his lady, and a stunning young woman. A really stunning woman.

Where had she come from? If he had ever seen such a lady in passing on the street, he would have fallen off his horse.

Her hair was black as midnight, as were her eyes. And then, the dimple on her chin…what was it about a dimpled chin that made him a little weak in the knees?

“Earl, Countess,” his father said. “And this must be your daughter.”

The young lady curtsied and then looked him dead in the eye as if she were offering a challenge of some sort. Why? What was she doing? It was oddly…off-putting.

“Souderton,” his mother said to him, “do say hello to the Earl and Countess of Winthrop and their daughter, Lady Madeline Cole.”

Owen reflexively bowed.

“I am certain you will like to put yourself down on Lady Madeline’s card?” his mother hinted.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Lady Madeline?”

She handed over her card. He noticed she had rather marvelous long fingers. Really, everything about her was very elegant. Aside from the off-putting staring.

He was rather confounded to see that her only opening was for the dance before supper. He had been determined to avoid putting himself down for that one.

As he scribbled his name, as there was no choice in the matter, he assured himself that it could be worse. It could be Lady Agatha. At least this staring lady would be pleasant to look at. Assuming she stopped staring on occasion.

“Lord Souderton,” Lady Madeline said, “what are your views on impoverished pupils?”

What did she say? What impoverished pupils?

Her mother touched her arm and laughed. “Our daughter is a great one for thinking of other people, my lord.”

He would suppose so, but why was the lady thinking about impoverished pupils at a ball at Almack’s?

“What’s this about impoverished pupils?” his father asked.

“I am determined to start a charity for them,” Lady Madeline said. “I intend to raise money for books and fees and such so that all human potential can be recognized and realized. It is our duty, I feel.”

“Our duty?” the duke asked.

“Now, dear,” Lady Madeline’s mother said hurriedly, “perhaps we leave the conversation for another day.”

“I am afraid such conversations cannot be put off, Mama,” Lady Madeline said. “There are, even as we speak, those human potentials not being recognized and realized.”

Owen was beyond perplexed. What was this lady? She had the looks of a diamond of the first water and the conversation of a scoldy matron who was intent on throwing cold water on a comfortable fire.

Mercifully, the band had finished its tuning and Lady Madeline’s first partner came to collect her. Owen, himself, hurried away to find his own partner.

It seemed there was to be a long supper full of dreadful conversation in his future. He was all but certain he was to hear of impoverished pupils and be questioned as to what he was doing about it.

Perhaps he would just stare at her and ignore whatever it was she was going on about. That would be far more pleasant.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline knew very well that her mother and father were aggravated with her. Perhaps they had a right to be. She had thought to be direct in introducing the subject of impoverished pupils, but her nerves had caused her to launch into it apropos of nothing.

She was not an idiot, she could see very well that the idea had not found favor among her listeners. It might very well be the case that such weighty subjects were not suitable for Almack’s at all.

The Duke and Duchess of Redmond had seemed frowny upon mention of her charity. Their son, the marquess, had looked near flabbergasted.

That part of it, his reaction, did sting the most. While she had assured herself that all of her efforts must go toward helping impoverished pupils and that she did not have the slightest interest in any gentleman she might encounter…

Well, as it turned out, that was not entirely true. The marquess was tall and slim, but delightfully broad shouldered. His hair was the color of the heartwood of a walnut, rich brown with subtle glints of copper. His deep-set eyes were a dark blue—like a lake under moonlight. There was a slight upcurve to his lips as if he were often amused.

It occurred to her that she had assured herself of her entire lack of interest in gentlemen because she had never seen anything like this sort of gentleman at home. It was easy enough to be uninterested when one only saw farmers or gangly sons of barons who had not yet made the leap into manhood.

This man, this marquess, had made the leap into manhood. And what a leap he’d made.

As she danced through one set to the next, she did her very best to forgo mentioning the impoverished pupils.

It was all for naught, though. After all, what was she to say when a gentleman inquired into her pursuits at home? Or what she enjoyed doing? Or her hobbies? Or what she liked to read?

All those questions led back to the impoverished pupils.

One lord seemed as oddly struck by it as the marquess had been. Another feigned interest, though it was not very convincing. Yet another, and this was most disturbing, had joked that he would not want his own tenants to get too clever.

Lord Bumbledon, who her father had been talking about for months on account of he was bookish and so must find favor with her, had claimed it was a weighty matter that deserved serious consideration.

What was so weighty about it? If a young person had a mind that was being underutilized, then certainly that should be remedied.

Madeline was certain Lord Bumbledon was a very fine sort of gentleman, but he was not very inspiring to look at. He was not ugly, exactly, it was just that he was not anything in particular—he was a bit paunchy and his hair seemed to be thinning out. There were those gentlemen who looked so uninteresting that one might pass them by on the road and forget they’d ever seen them.

On the other hand, Lord Bumbledon had said that if he came down on the side of funding impoverished pupils after giving it serious consideration, her own charity would be the one he would donate to. It was the first offer of potential money and so that could not be dismissed.

As the dance before supper arrived, Madeline felt her nerves begin to rise.

There was a small feeling of having made a fool of herself in front of someone she did not wish to look foolish in front of.

“Lady Madeline,” the marquess said, approaching.

She nodded and held out her arm without comment. If she could not entirely trust her words, she could trust her feet. She had never made herself foolish by dancing and she would not begin now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Owen was nothing if not observant, though that sometimes was more of a curse than a blessing.

As the night had worn on, he could not help but be cognizant of several things.

One, the gentlemen present all took what opportunities they might to stare at Lady Madeline Cole. He could not be surprised by it, he’d done the same. She was so striking in appearance that it was hard to look away.

Owen was well aware that she’d be talked about all over Town as the great beauty of the season. It irked him, though it was a very stupid thing to be irked about.

Two, Lady Madeline’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Winthrop, were looking decidedly uncomfortable. The countess was downright wringing her hands as her daughter made her way through the sets. If he had to guess, he would imagine the countess was fretting over how much her daughter was talking about impoverished pupils.

Three, his own parents had whispered between themselves after the earl and countess had moved off and he presumed they commented on Lady Madeline’s very odd introduction. His father, in particular, would not care to hear of impoverished pupils at Almack’s or anywhere else. The duke’s ideas of the world were ingrained—everybody had their place and if people were to begin shuffling places the whole world would collapse. Owen thought it was a very convenient conviction for one sitting comfortably at the top of the heap.

Now he had collected this lovely and odd lady and led her through the steps. If her conversation had been awkward, her dancing was not. Not at all.

She really was something to look at and as their hands touched…well he could not really describe that feeling, other than to understand he’d never felt it before.

Her conversation, though, had seemed to dry up. He’d been having a time of it getting her to say anything at all.

The set concluded and he led her into the supper room, nodding at a footman to bring whatever poor offerings were on hand.

“On behalf of Almack’s,” he said, “I will apologize for what is to be brought to us. I sometimes wonder what the Patronesses mean by it.”

The footman set down two plates, each with a thin piece of stale bread that seemed to have only a glancing acquaintance with butter. Another footman behind him brought two cups of tea that were decidedly on the light side, being more the color of summer honey than anything else.

“Perhaps they mean it as a Roman alimenta—they give simple offerings to those less fortunate and thereby make themselves superior and gracious,” Lady Madeline said.

Owen was taken aback. Whatever he’d thought she might say to what was on her plate, a reference to the ancient Romans had not been on the list.

“I presume, by that observation, that you are very well-read, Lady Madeline,” he said.

She looked wary of the question, though he could not think why.

“I have had the privilege of access to my father’s library,” she said.

“I see. Tell me, what sort of hobbies do you enjoy?”

Now she seemed even more wary. Why? What could be so alarming about hobbies?

“Oh, the usual sorts of things,” Lady Madeline said.

Owen nodded, struggling to keep the conversation going. “I suppose you’ve painted no end of fire screens and you net purses.”

Lady Madeline looked at him as if he had two heads.

“Fire screens?” she asked, making it seem as if he had inquired into her interest in worshipping the devil.

“I had supposed that was a usual activity?” Owen asked. It was, he knew it was. His mother had painted every fire screen in the house.

Lady Madeline bit her lip and then a small sigh escaped her. “It’s no use,” she said. “I have attempted to avoid my real interest as it occurred to me that it might not be the time and place, but I simply cannot blather on about fire screens I’ve never painted.”

Now Owen supposed it was his own turn to look wary.

“As you have already been apprised of,” Lady Madeline went on, “I am determined to start my own charity for impoverished pupils.”

“Ah yes, the impoverished pupils.”

“Yes, I comprehend you don’t find much merit in it. But I have been volunteering at my village school and it has given me a purpose. To justify my existence, you see.”

“I did not realize a young lady needed to justify her existence?” Owen asked. Certainly, that could not be the case. How many ladies had he met in Town? Hundreds. He had yet to hear of any of them requiring a purpose to justify their existence. For that matter, he’d never thought to justify his own existence.

“To my mind,” Lady Madeline said, “if one does not justify one’s existence then they are simply breathing air to no purpose. It cannot be right.”

What an idea…

Just then, a footman approached and said quietly, “My lord, your valet has arrived with a note that requires your immediate attention. He is in the foyer.”

Blast. He’d arranged that gambit with Henderson before he’d left the house as a way to extricate him from the Patronesses’ gaze. He was to avoid engaging himself for supper and then be called away.

He had no wish to be extricated just now, this conversation was far too interesting. It was bizarre and unexpected, but he could not help but wish to continue it. He had not the first idea of what to make of this lady. He could look at that dimpled chin all day, though.

Nevertheless, he would need to play along and at least go out and pretend to read this note from his valet.

“Lady Madeline, I won’t be a moment,” he said rising.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline watched the marquess stride from the supper room. What a man he was. He even strode round with a certain something about him, as if he’d invented striding and other gentlemen could only weakly imitate him.

How completely odd that she had not been the least interested in gentlemen and now she could not stop staring at this one.

She had done her level best to avoid mentioning the impoverished pupils, as it seemed he was not enthusiastic about the project, but to her chagrin she discovered it could not be done.

It occurred to her that she might be rather single-minded as a matter of temperament. There was no reason why she could not paint fire screens and raise money for impoverished pupils, and yet it also seemed impossible. Was one to waste hours of one’s day on such a pointless activity? Had anybody ever been in their drawing room and said, “Who painted that fire screen? It really does something well for the state of humanity.” No, they had not.

On her other side, a hand gently touched her own. She turned and found a very prepossessing matron gazing down at her.

“Lady Madeline,” she said, “I could not help but to overhear. Do come see me about this charity of yours on the morrow. Two o’clock if you please.”

The lady handed her a card and drifted away.

Madeline glanced down at it.

Dowager Duchess of Ralston

Bedford Square

Goodness. A duchess was interested in her charity! A dowager duchess, which was the most senior of duchesses! At least, it seemed it must be so. Her own dowager countess at home brooked no challenges from any front. She said she’d lived long enough to not give a toss for anybody’s feelings and she was eccentric enough to get hold of her dead husband’s sword and chase out anybody who dared cross her. Her mother told Madeline she’d actually done it once too and a local baroness was still hot about it.

A dowager duchess could only be overruled by the queen herself. What an opportunity. If the duchess decided to back her charity, there was no limit to what it could become.

Madeline felt her spirits floating high in the sky. Perhaps she had been scolding herself to no purpose. Perhaps Almack’s was a place where one might speak about one's charity to good effect. Certainly, that seemed to be the case.

Lord Souderton returned to the table. He glanced with interest at the card in her hand. “I see the Duchess of Ralston has seen fit to know you.”

Madeline threw her chin up. “Actually, the duchess has requested that I call upon her on the morrow to discuss my charity. For impoverished pupils.”

“I see,” he said enigmatically.

Or perhaps he said more, it was hard to tell. She found herself far too immersed in staring at his face to pay too much attention to what words were coming out of him. He was talking about the duchess hosting an event each season called Secrets Exposed, but Madeline could not make heads nor tails of it.

She was much too distracted about wondering what it would be like to touch the marquess’ hair. She supposed of all the things that were not done at Almack’s, touching a gentleman’s hair would certainly be high on the list.

She would like to touch his hair, though.

“I hope your valet did not bring you distressing news?” she asked, forcing herself to speak rationally.

“No, no, just some sort of palaver over a tailor, I cannot think why he came to tell me of it.”

“I suppose because he’s a valet,” Lady Madeline said, “the tailor must occupy his thoughts often.”

The marquess nodded. “As the impoverished pupils occupy your own.”

Madeline was not certain if he were teasing or expressing some sort of disapproval or interest or what he meant to say by it.

However, she felt ever so emboldened by the Duchess of Ralston taking an interest in her charity.

“Tell me, my lord,” she said, “what occupies your thoughts? How do you spend your time?”

The marquess stiffened just the littlest bit, as if he did not like to be questioned.

“I gamble mostly. Vingt-et-un is my preferred game.”

“Oh dear,” Madeline said softly.

“I gather you do not approve of gambling,” the marquess said tightly.

“Not on moral grounds,” Madeline said. “Only on practical grounds. One, it seems very stupid that there are gentlemen who have lost estates over cards. Two, it rarely enriches more than one person and so what benefit to society can it offer?”

“It does have the benefit of being fun, though,” Lord Souderton said.

Madeline paused. The lord was looking downright annoyed, and he was right—people gambled because they found it fun. She even found it fun on occasion. Not for vast amounts of money, of course.

“I’m afraid I have become rather single-minded regarding what would be for society’s benefit and what would not,” she said.

“Perhaps it is not for a young lady just out in society to take up such matters,” the marquess said. “Perhaps those, such as the king and queen, already have the situation well in hand.”

There was a hot irritation in his voice and it stung her like a hundred bees. Particularly, it stung her eyes and Madeline was horrified to know that they would appear glittery this moment. He’d all but said she’d made too much of herself, she’d overestimated the significance of her opinions.

Nobody had ever hinted such a thing to her.

She could not cry, not at Almack’s.

Madeline blinked slowly to move the gathering water away and took in a long, slow breath. “Why do you not tell me of your horse, Lord Souderton. I understand gentlemen do like to talk about their horses.”

“My horse?” the marquess asked.

Just then, Madeline’s mother approached. “My dear, I can see you are beginning to tire. We will take our leave.”

Madeline had never been so grateful to be taken home from an entertainment in her life. She was all too aware that the countess had been watching her closely and had noticed things beginning to go awry. Sometimes, her mother’s understanding of her was a hindrance. But then sometimes, it was just the thing that was needed.

As the carriage made its way through the quiet streets, her father said, “Well? How did you make out on your first venture into society, Madeline?”

How to explain that it had been an evening of deep valleys and high peaks? She’d almost cried in front of the marquess. He’d made her feel foolish and it stung. On the other hand, the Dowager Duchess of Ralston wished to see her regarding her charity. She felt as if she might weep and laugh at the same time.

“It was very well, Papa,” she said evenly.