Chapter Seven

Madeline had been much cheered by how many people were putting coins into her charity bucket. And then everyone seemed so solicitous toward her. People really did care about impoverished pupils!

She had hoped to stay nearby her bucket and watch it fill up and then encounter Lord Souderton there to thank him for bringing her charity to Lady Reddington’s notice.

However, her mother explained that it would appear selfish to stay only in the room where her own charity was featured. She must be seen to take an interest in other charities too and put coins in other buckets.

Naturally, that made a deal of sense. And, in any case, she might very well encounter Lord Souderton in any of the rooms.

She was both anxious and the smallest bit worried to see him. Would he have heard any gossip going round about the line of men outside her door? She was very hopeful that it had all gone by unnoticed, as her father had not heard a thing about it.

What she had not anticipated this evening was being waylaid by Lord Bumbledon. She did not positively dislike the gentleman, but she would not have sought him out for anything in particular.

He had sought her out though, and then insisted on escorting her to the refreshments room, and then insisted that they sit at a table to drink their glasses of wine. He’d been talking ever since.

“Now, what I say is, putting one’s efforts towards those young people who have the faculties to advance in their schooling is all well and good. But, will they ever be candidates for membership in the Royal Society, as I am likely to be? Will they ever make great leaps in the scientific endeavors, as I plan to do. That is what I wonder.”

Madeline had not spent one moment of her life wondering any such thing, so she did not reply.

“I intend to dedicate my life to advancing scientific inquiry—that is where the future lies.”

“Very noble endeavor, I’m sure,” Madeline said. It was something suitable to say, as she could not very well say what she was actually thinking, which was: “Inquire away, Lord Bumbledon—I have not the slightest interest in it. Or you, for that matter.”

“Of course, I realize that many gentlemen look upon a wife as merely an elevated housekeeper. I think of marriage as a real partnership—the lady must be suitably educated to allow her to keep up with my ideas. I think that is immediately apparent when one makes the acquaintance of my mother. She is a force to be reckoned with, I can tell you. By the by, she very much looks forward to knowing you.”

Madeline was growing alarmed at the direction of the conversation. Why should Lord Bumbledon discuss with her his views on marriage? Why should his mother be interested in knowing her? She did not know what sort of lady could be convinced to hitch her horse to Lord Bumbledon’s carriage, but it had nothing to do with her!

She looked over Lord Bumbledon’s head, searching for any sort of rescue boat to pull her off this floundering vessel of conversation.

There he was. Lord Souderton. Every time she got a look at him it nearly took her breath away. His tall physique and shining brown hair and dark blue eyes…he was heavenly to look at.

She smiled. He smiled back. He was making his way to her—her rescue boat had arrived.

“Lord Souderton,” she said.

Lord Bumbledon turned, and Madeline could not miss the rather sour expression he wore.

“Lord Bumble,” Lord Souderton said.

Madeline pressed her lips together to stop from laughing. She did not know if Lord Souderton had deliberately mispronounced the gentleman’s name or if he did not recall it. In either case, it was rather funny.

“It’s Bumbledon, Lord Sourton.”

Gracious, now they were having a war of words.

“Souderton, the Marquess of Souderton,” the lord said.

Madeline pressed her lips together, as that was a barb meant to say: “I am a marquess and you are?”

“Lady Madeline, if you would accompany me,” the marquess said, “I would show you something of interest.”

“We are engaged in a conversation,” Lord Bumbledon said.

Madeline was determined to jump ship and get on her rescue boat. “Lord Bumbledon, you have graciously given me much to consider.”

She leapt to her feet and laid her hand on the marquess’ arm. As she sauntered off with Lord Souderton, she heard Lord Bumbledon let out a sort of snort—it sounded like the grunt one of their bulls liked to make when he was irritated about something.

“May I inquire what he was blathering on about?” Lord Souderton said.

“Something about scientific inquiry and how he would like his future wife to be clever enough to keep up with it.”

“Was he now…”

Madeline nodded. “It was very off-putting, actually.”

“As it should be,” the marquess said.

Madeline was not certain what he meant by that, but she liked the sound of it. Lord Souderton wished she was put off by Lord Bumbledon.

“What was it you wished to show me?” Madeline asked.

“Nothing, really,” the marquess said, laughing.

She liked the sound of that even better. Lord Souderton had come to collect her for no reason at all.

“I did just wish to tell you that I hope you are not perturbed by any talk going round.”

Madeline felt her face going white. What talk? Was this about the men turning up at the house?

“I mean, the idea that you wished to become a schoolmistress…”

That was the story? That she wished for her own school?

“And wished to wed a schoolmaster—”

Madeline gulped. Wished to wed a schoolmaster? No, that could not be the story. That would mean people thought she’d advertised for a husband!

She cautiously looked about to see if she could note any condemning glances, but she did not. In fact, where eyes were upon them, they seemed to be solely on Lord Souderton.

“And then this nonsense of Lord M, well it is all too ridiculous.”

Who was Lord M?

Before she could ask who Lord M was and what he had to do with any of it, her father appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“We are departing Madeline.” He said it so sternly. He looked so angry. Had he heard whatever this story was?

“So soon?” the marquess asked.

The earl’s voice was tight as a bow string as he said, “This instant.”

Her father took her by the arm and fairly marched her to the door. They took their leave of Lady Reddington, who was told that the countess had a terrible headache.

Madeline knew better though, her mother was wide-eyed and pale. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Their carriage was already waiting and they were hustled inside. As soon as the door was closed, the earl said, “I expect a full explanation of what I have heard this evening and if what I have heard is true, I will take steps against Lord Souderton. He will be ousted from White’s so fast he will tumble on the pavement and his ducal father be damned! I will also require an explanation for why I have heard this from a friend and not my own family!”

“What does Lord Souderton have to do with it, though, Papa?” Madeline asked, entirely confused over what her father was talking about.

“ Apparently , and quite unknown to me, he was either insulted by you at Almack’s and decided to take his revenge or rejected by you and decided to take his revenge. That revenge came by way of advertising some nonsense in the newspapers that included our address! Apparently , there were hordes of men lined up at our door, seeking entry, though Lord Janney was not altogether clear what they wanted. Now, apparently , the gossips have got hold of it and printed the story, disguising Lord Souderton as Lord M. The M is for marquess, I am told.”

It was a dizzying amount of information and none of it had anything to do with the truth. How on earth had Lord Souderton been pulled into it? It made no sense at all.

He seemed to know it, though, as he’d mentioned Lord M.

Madeline shook her head rather violently. “That is not at all what happened.”

“So there were no crowds of men looking to gain entry into the house?”

“Oh, there were, unfortunately, but not for the reasons you think,” Madeline said.

“I don’t think any reasons because I do not know anything about it!”

“My dear,” the countess said, “this entire episode is a mountain out of a molehill. All that occurred was that Madeline was determined to locate some impoverished pupils and she advertised for it. She simply did not know that she ought not put in our address.”

“That is the truth, Papa,” Madeline said. “I supposed I might receive a few letters or have one or two schoolmasters call at the house. And, I had every intention of requesting Mr. Penny or one of the footmen to stay in the room if I were to conduct an interview. For propriety’s sake.”

“For propriety’s sake? I cannot think of anything more filled with impropriety than placing an advertisement for gentlemen of any sort contacting you.”

“Yes, well, I see that now. But really, Papa, if the talk was so terrible, people would not have been as kind to me this evening as they were. There were quite a lot of coins in my charity’s bucket.”

“That’s because they all think you are a victim of Lord Souderton’s pique!”

“That part of it, I do not know how it happened,” Madeline said. “Why should Lord Souderton be blamed for advertising for a schoolmaster to marry me? Of course, that is all nonsense and not at all what the advertisement said, but even if the story went as wild as that, why should he be blamed as the author of it?”

The earl sat back, appearing stunned. “A schoolmaster to marry you?”

“Yes, I suppose it was said that I wished for a school of my own.”

“I have had it up to my eyes with these notions of impoverished pupils! Look where it has got us! We are swimming in the seas of calamity, and something must be done. What will Bumbledon think of all this?”

Madeline did not in the least concern herself about what Lord Bumbledon would make of it. She could see, though, that her father needed to be soothed. “Now, Papa, the impoverished pupils can hardly be blamed—”

“Cannot they? Your season is effectively over and with any luck at all people will forget about it and you may try again next year.”

Madeline wished to say something, but she had no words. Things had begun to look promising with the marquess. In truth, now that it looked as if she would be leaving Town, she realized she really liked him. A lot. Not just his looks, which were spectacular, but him.

What would happen? He would likely be wed by next season. How could he not be, he was too glorious to avoid it. Ladies would throw themselves at him and he would marry one of them.

She sighed and said, “I suppose I will have to find solace in working with Miss Price.”

“Are you mad? Have you completely lost your wits?” the earl said, incredulous.

Madeline wished she had not mentioned Miss Price or anything to do with the school, as her father was rather irate about it just now.

“No, my girl, we are not going anywhere near that school. We will go to the house in Brighton.”

“Brighton?” the countess said. “At this time of year?”

“We have no choice,” the earl said. “We cannot stay here and if we go home to Norfolk everybody in the neighborhood will wish to know why Lady Madeline Cole could not manage to get through a season. Furthermore, I do not wish my daughter to be anywhere near that blasted school!”

Madeline felt her eyes burn and she tipped her head back and blinked to move the water off before it dripped down her face.

“Now my dear,” the countess said in a soothing tone, “relocating to Brighton might seem a rather rash response. It may give more credence to the story than we care to do. With the ton , it is always best to face down whatever gossip has landed at one’s door.”

“I do not see how we recover from this,” the earl said. “How is Madeline to secure a husband with this talk going round?”

“I suspect that the successful suitor will be made of sterner stuff than any gentleman shying away from this ridiculous story.”

The earl began to show a glimmer of hope. Madeline did too. Perhaps they were not to hide away in Brighton after all?

“Well, I suppose it’s possible. Bumbledon would likely stand up to it. His intellectual friends will not likely be bowled over by society gossip. They’re too busy thinking complicated thoughts, I would imagine.”

The countess laid a hand on Madeline’s own, instinctively knowing her daughter was on the verge of protest over mention of Lord Bumbledon.

“All I say,” the countess went on, “is it is too soon to think of leaving Town.”

The earl considered this. “Perhaps you are right. We will stay for now. But, if the situation becomes untenable, we are off to Brighton. Furthermore, if at any time in future a horde of men are found lining up to our door, I demand to be apprised of it instantly!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mr. Horatio James Liddlington, III, Baron of Bumbledon, had given careful consideration to Lady Madeline Cole. As always, he’d taken in much counsel from his mother, the Dowager Lady Bumbledon.

At the beginning of the season, they had compared notes very favorably. Lady Madeline was comely, reasonably well-read, and she seemed na?ve, which would naturally make her pliable. It was of the utmost importance to the dowager that any lady becoming his baroness could be molded into what they wished for—a proper Liddlington.

There might be some who would say that Lord Bumbledon ought not shoot so high. He was only a baron and did not own vast tracts. And, after all, Lady Madeline was being hailed a diamond of the first water.

Those people were not in possession of all the facts, though. Madeline’s father, the earl, owed him a deal of money. The lord had got himself into a scrape the year before, committing a large sum to a risky venture. It had failed, and though the earl would eventually climb out of the hole, he had needed immediate funds to keep him afloat. Particularly as it was soon to be Lady Madeline’s first season—her father could not bear to admit that he’d made a mistake and her dowry was at all affected.

As the earl and Bumbledon’s father had known each other since Eton, they had quickly formed a rather close relationship upon Bumbledon coming to Town. The earl and his father had exchanged letters for over twenty years and so the earl felt as if he’d always known young Bumbledon. At one particular meeting, Bumbledon could see well enough that something troubled the earl and pressed their families’ long association to know what it was.

The earl had poured out the story. Bumbledon was certain the earl had not expected such an easy way out of the difficulty as a personal loan, but he had got one, and the baron’s discretion too.

Bumbledon had hinted round the idea that if he were to become a relation, all debts must necessarily be washed clean. He was all but certain that the earl’s mind had worked behind the scenes, forcefully rejecting any mercenary ideas by convincing him that the baron and his daughter were well suited.

Now, things had taken a surprising turn, and he was not certain what he thought about it.

The dowager bustled into the room, as always rustling in her black bombazine. She refused to throw off the widow’s weeds for any other attire, and many a person was much struck by her apparent worship of her dead baron. Of course, she hadn’t been able to stand the sight of his father and had practically danced on his grave. She’d only married him because she did not care to end a farmer’s wife.

His father was a gruff and uncomplicated man. Though his mother was a farmer’s daughter, she had run rings round him. She had not liked that she could run rings round him, and his father had liked it even less. Over time, everything about him began to bother her—even his breathing was too loud.

His mother had been determined that her son would be nothing like her husband and had driven his education forward. That had made things even worse.

By the end, mother and son were ranged against the father, often laughing at his ideas and dismissing his opinions. The baron spent most of his time in Town on account of it. One morning, during one of his rare visits, he’d left the house in a fury and broken his neck going over a fence.

The dowager stuck with wearing the weeds because it reminded her every minute of every day that her despised husband was gloriously and permanently dead.

“What is the latest news?” the dowager asked.

“Apparently, the talk is that the Marquess of Souderton was the author of the newspaper advertisement for a schoolmaster husband for Lady Madeline.”

“Why?” the dowager asked. “What’s in it for him? Why would he do it?”

That was indeed a sticking point. It was said that the marquess was offended in some way or a disgruntled rejected suitor, but it had not seemed as if he were particularly rejected at the rout the evening before.

“It does not make any rational sense,” Bumbledon said. “Lady Madeline did not avoid him last evening. In fact, she strolled off with him.”

“Perhaps he’s convinced her he had nothing to do with it? Perhaps he rushes in now as the rescuing hero and she’s changed her opinion of him,” the dowager speculated.

“Perhaps,” Bumbledon said thoughtfully.

“Well then, there is only one course of action,” the dowager said.

Bumbledon looked at her expectantly, as his mother did generally direct their activities. He might be the intellectual, but she was as crafty as an old cat when it came to out-maneuvering.

“We will go to the newspaper offices and get to the bottom of who paid for this advertisement. We will get proof that we can present to Lady Madeline. Then, that marquess will be exposed for his lies. She will turn away from him with speed.”

“Excellent notion. When should we go?”

“My physician comes in the morning—we’ll see if he’s invented some new answer to my rheumatism, though I doubt it. We will set off in the afternoon, plan on having the carriage waiting at one o’clock.”

Bumbledon nodded, very much relieved. His mother always knew what they should do. She was the lighthouse he steered by; when she was absent, he felt adrift and not certain which way to go. His father had once accused him of hanging on her apron, but he did not see it that way. The dowager simply knew what to do, and then told him.

With any luck, Souderton would be driven off. That would be at least one competing gentleman out of the way.

“Here’s another thing you ought to be doing,” the dowager said. “You need to lure Lady Madeline into your intellectual circles. She thinks of herself as an intellectual, does she not? Get her and her father an invitation to Sir Rodger’s lecture on Shakespeare’s collaborations—everybody there will be old as the hills and you will be the young buck seen in a favorable light.”

“Yes, yes, of course. And invite the countess too?”

“Forget her mother,” the dowager said. “She’s not the one who borrowed money. In any case, it would be just like a countess to be a little too impressed by Lord Souderton’s dashing good looks.”

Bumbledon mulled that idea over. Did she mean to say he did not stack up when it came to that?

He sucked in his stomach and threw his shoulders back.

The dowager looked him over. “You might think of a corset. At least until after the wedding. Perhaps a little hair powder to fill in any sparseness? And if you are feeling ambitious, I understand a set of calf pads will give you a good leg.”

Bumbledon staggered to a sofa and sat down. He’d no idea there were so many deficiencies to correct.