Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

“ H ow well married life is suiting you, Duchess Madeline!” exclaimed Lady Halveston, a mutual acquaintance whose husband, Viscount Richard Halveston, had been at school with Charles.

“You are positively blooming, Your Grace,” agreed Lady Geraldine Bennett, introduced by Madeline as an old friend of Letitia’s. “Something in the air here certainly agrees with you.”

Guests had begun arriving at Huntingdon Manor from eleven o’clock that morning. In good humor despite his exertions of the previous night, the Duke of Huntingdon welcomed the first arrivals heartily. His unusual bonhomie raised more than a few eyebrows among both the lords and ladies of his acquaintance and his own staff.

Beside him, Madeline seemed to glow in her role as hostess.

“You are too kind, Lady Halveston. As are you, Lady Geraldine. But I thank you, nonetheless. We are so pleased to have you with us as we open the doors to Huntingdon Manor together for the first time and celebrate Lord and Lady Radcliffe’s marriage.”

Charles did not doubt the sincerity of the many compliments his wife had already received on the positive effects of married life. Madeline was truly radiant today, both calm and joyous. How could he have held back from such a woman for so long? He must have been blind, not to have taken her to his bed from the first night. Or stupid. Perhaps both.

“In my experience, Duchess Madeline is always this radiant,” he smiled, putting a hand on Madeline’s arm and feeling a new wave of desire when she covered it with her own.

“I only hope Benedict and Letitia are as happy together as the two of you in a year’s time,” smiled Lady Geraldine, looking across to the slightly baffled-looking Marquess and Marchioness of Radcliffe, who evidently had no idea what might have been fueling Charles and Madeline’s very convincing show of unity and affection.

Politely, Madeline handed Lady Geraldine over to her sister, flashing a maddening little grin to Charles as she did so. God, he wanted her again…

How many times had they coupled last night and then again this morning when they both awoke at dawn? He could not remember, and yet it was certainly not enough.

At breakfast, it had been all the Duke could do to keep his hands from his wife and make polite conversation with Cecilia. He did not think Madeline would have thanked him for a display at the table such as that given by Benedict and Letitia. Still, if Cecilia had not been there, he would have been tempted to lock the doors and take his wife on the table.

The Duke of Huntingdon took a long deep breath as he watched his wife at work in the hallway.

“So wonderful to see you…”

“Loxton will show you to your room…”

“If your maid can handle the unpacking, come and join the ladies in the main drawing room…”

“You can reach the gardens through the French doors in the yellow sitting room along that corridor going east…”

Madeline moved and spoke smoothly, mistress of all details and social niceties.

She wore a cream day dress and light jacket today with blue embroidery and detailing, her chestnut hair in an elegant but perfectly arranged twist. Her French maid had worked her miracles again this morning. This, despite the fact that Charles had reluctantly delivered his wife back to her rooms at only eight o’clock, his kisses innocently observed when Gabrielle inadvertently opened the door to reveal them embracing in the corridor…

Not that Madeline needed miracles… Her rich figure was perfection, in his view, and her relatively plain toilette — at least beside golden-haired Letitia’s outfit of shimmering green silk and sapphire jewelry — only set off her clear, pale skin and vibrant eyes.

His wife’s only ornament today was the pearl choker Charles had gifted her to cover the last traces of his lips at her throat. She had blushed at breakfast when his gaze fell on her adornment, and he knew it had been chosen for his eyes.

“Your duchess is a fine woman,” commented an older male voice at the Duke’s elbow, slightly too appreciatively for Charles’ liking and too close to the truth of his present thoughts. “Very fine indeed.”

As he turned to the speaker, any initial cold reaction melted. Charles realized he had been too lost in sensual daydreams to hear the arrival of yet another carriage.

“Welcome, Lord Oakley! I’m glad you could join us at Huntingdon Manor this week. I thought you would be some hours yet, so this is indeed a pleasant surprise.”

Archibald Barton seemed briefly surprised at the warmth with which Charles shook his hand, but he quickly returned the gesture with equal vigor. At around sixty years of age, of medium height and slim build, and with gray hair and blue eyes, it was hard to pin down any more meaningful first impression of the man.

“I was delighted to be invited back to Huntingdon Manor, Your Grace. I’ve been here before, of course, in your father’s time, but that seems so long ago, doesn’t it?”

The man seemed to study Charles closely as he spoke, as though looking for something — most likely remembrance. The Duke shook his head.

“I was likely overseas, Lord Oakley. I did not return until after my father’s death, sadly. I believe we’ve only met in passing in London, but I hope we will remedy our lack of acquaintance this week.”

“Of course, of course,” smiled the older man, not at all put out by this explanation and lack of recognition. “Let me introduce my family.”

He beckoned to a nervous-looking young man and an inscrutable young woman who had been hanging back behind him.

“This is my son, Henry, Viscount Morgan…”

Pale, thin and blue-eyed, rather like a shadow of his parent, young Henry bowed to Charles.

“I am very glad to meet you, Your Grace. May I say what an honor it is to be invited…”

“…and this is my daughter, Lady Juliette,” added his father, cutting off the young man’s anxious attempt at a formal greeting.

“Your Grace.”

“I am charmed,” Charles smiled, acknowledging Lady Juliette’s curtsey with his own small bow.

Henry Barton could not have been many years younger than the Duke himself, and Charles wondered why he stood for such treatment. Still, if he had no self-respect, that was his own affair.

“Isn’t my girl a beauty?” remarked Lord Oakley proudly of his daughter, a comment to which Charles saw no reason to reply.

Sharing the same coloring as her brother, Lady Juliette Barton was certainly more comely. She seemed more self-possessed than her sibling despite her relative youth. Slim and shapely rather than thin, some might have called her a “pocket Venus” when compared to the full-sized Venus of Letitia, Lady Radcliffe. She could not have been long out in society, and Charles doubted she would remain long on the marriage market.

Lady Juliette raised a pair of blankly innocent sky-blue eyes to his as she rose from her curtsey.

“You are both very welcome at Huntingdon Manor,” said Charles, disinterested in either of the younger people and wondering how best to get Archibald Barton alone. “You must meet my wife…”

Seemingly alert to everything happening in the hallway, Madeline had already turned towards their group with a smile and was quickly at his side and making all three newcomers welcome.

“I do hope you will enjoy your time here,” she said after introductions had been made. “We have planned a range of diversions and entertainments for both gentlemen and ladies.”

“Perhaps Viscount Morgan and Lady Juliette might wish to settle into their rooms?” Charles suggested. “Since Lord Oakley has arrived early, I hope he will not mind if I pick his brains on certain business matters where I’ve heard he has expertise. I would not wish to bore the rest of you…”

“Naturally,” Madeline smiled, extending an arm to each of the younger people. “I have arranged some of the best rooms for you…”

“What about that sister of yours, Your Grace?” interrupted Lord Oakley, casting his eyes searchingly over the entire case present in the hallway. “Now, she was a lively young lady as I remember. I hoped she might show my family around.”

Astonished at this statement, Charles looked to Madeline, whose eyes were as wide as his although she recovered faster.

“Lady Cecilia will be with us at luncheon, but I have two maids ready to take Lord Morgan and Lady Juliette upstairs immediately.”

“Too much carousing last night, I’ll be bound,” guffawed Lord Oakley, to Charles and Madeline’s consternation. “I well remember Lady Cecilia’s high spirits.”

For the first time, the Duke felt some qualms about his plans with this man but quickly dismissed them. Archibald Oakley was known to speak plainly and act fast. He had no time for sophistry or pretense, and his reputation was one of a hard-headed, quick-dealing man of business. As a widower, he also had no wife to remind him of his manners or social graces.

Oakley had likely only confused Cecilia with some other young woman of slight acquaintance, and his mix-up would resolve itself when he saw her.

“I doubt that very much,” said Madeline without any inflection. “Maud, Annie, please could you show Lord Morgan and Lady Juliette Barton to their rooms and make sure they know the way to the dining room for luncheon at half past twelve?”

The two maids nodded their understanding and led the younger members of the Barton family away.

“Now, I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your business. We expect no further guests until after luncheon, Charles. If you and Lord Oakley wish to speak in the library, Lord Radcliffe and I can hold the fort here quite adequately.”

Charles nodded, instinctively squeezing Madeline’s shoulder as she passed from them and began to usher the remaining guests from the hallway into the drawing room.

“You have married well, Your Grace,” said Lord Oakley with a wide smile. “Your wife anticipates your every need.”

The Duke of Huntingdon kept his face straight and forced himself not to shiver in his remembrance of Madeline’s embraces last night. No woman had ever met his needs even half so well, no matter their experience.

“I have married well,” he agreed shortly. “Now, Lord Oakley, I have heard from many sources that you are an expert on the economies of the low countries…”

While Archibald Barton was by far the smaller man, and certainly let himself be physically swept along in Charles’s wake, the Duke could not shake off the impression that it was Lord Oakley leading him to the library rather than the other way around.

“Henry is a promising young man, only a little shy. A good woman could bring him out of himself. I know it.”

“Henry?” Charles frowned.

A moment ago, they had been discussing the present favorable exchange rate and cheapness of commercial properties in several port cities of Holland. He was personally uninterested in Lord Oakley’s offspring but aware that he must play the good host.

“Yes,” sighed Archibald Barton, finishing, with a slight smack of his lips, the second glass of whisky Charles had poured. “The boy hangs back like a bashful maiden at society events. What he needs is a confident young woman to take him in hand.”

“I see,” said Charles carefully, his opinion of Henry Barton falling steadily. “Perhaps his sister can help him now that she’s out in society. Lady Juliette did not seem at all abashed to be in new company.”

“You’re absolutely right,” returned Lord Oakley with a gratified smile. “There is no society that my Juliette is not equal to. Her manners and tact are beyond compare, but social requirements for young gentleman are different. Henry lacks them, I fear, although not irremediably in the hands of the right woman.”

“I’m sure Duchess Madeline and Lady Radcliffe will very much appreciate Lady Juliette’s company,” remarked Charles, unsure what he was expected to say. “She will be an adornment to our company, especially the ball.”

“Quite, quite,” agreed Lord Oakley. “But returning to Lady Cecilia…”

Returning to? An hour had passed quickly in the company of Lord Oakley, but they had not discussed Lady Cecilia at all. The Duke had been quite careful not to bring her into their conversation. Cecilia had promised her presence at luncheon, and that was as much as he could presently hope for. Anything else was hostage to fortune.

“Another whisky, Lord Oakley?” Charles offered although still only a few sips into his first glass himself.

“Why, how kind…”

Fortunately, the gong sounded for luncheon before any further liquor could be served. The Duke did not judge Lord Oakley for enjoying his drink. It was, after all, some of the finest whisky the Scottish Highlands could offer, brought specially in a barrel by Benedict. Still, he wanted this man to keep a clear head, given that Charles’s interests were largely more business related than social. It was just as well to deprive him of a third measure.

“Come, Lord Oakley. You must be in need of more solid refreshment after your journey. I have kept you too long in here. Forgive my selfishness.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” answered his guest with one more longing glance at the decanter before he rose. “Might we continue our conversation this afternoon?”

“Absolutely, if you are not too fatigued from your journey. I have long been thinking of investing in the Netherlands. The chance to speak to someone with your knowledge and experience is a real boon to me.”

“To me also. There are so few men in society who appreciate the opportunities and rewards that Holland can offer, Your Grace. You have gratified me already with your interest.”

Yes, they had certainly made a promising start, and Charles had high hopes of what might be agreed and accomplished within a week.

They were in the hallway now, and guests were already walking downstairs or across the hallway towards the dining room. The Duke’s eyes focused instantly on the sway of Madeline’s lithe figure, leading a group away from the drawing room. Again, he had to fight down his lust, reminding himself that he could now have his wife in his bed any night he chose.

The distraction of physical desire meant that it took him several moments to realize that Cecilia was standing frozen in the hallway in evident distress for some baffling reason. Her face was pale and drawn as she stared towards him, one arm clutching at the wall. A young man stood nearby, the weakling Henry Barton, although she seemed not to have noticed him by sound or sight.

“Cecilia?” Charles queried, concerned that their guests might be about to witness one of her breakdowns and slightly irritated by the prospect.

While he had no doubt that their mother was in some way to blame, he could not help feeling some annoyance at Cecilia’s inability to control her feelings, today of all days. He was tempted to urge her to pull herself together although he knew from experience that this would do more harm than good.

Fortunately, Madeline was ahead of him. Smoothly delegating the rest of the guests to her sister and Benedict, the Duchess of Huntingdon was already at Cecilia’s side.

“Charles, do take Lord Oakley into luncheon. I wish to consult Cecilia on a ladies’ issue — some matter of dress. We will be there presently.”

Putting a capable arm around Cecilia, Madeline steered her away from the other guests and into a corner, brooking no resistance from the insubstantial Henry Barton, who failed once more to attract Cecilia’s attention as they passed him.

Lord Oakley shook his head and turned away from his dejected son.

“Look at him,” he commented to Charles, his words perhaps warmed by two large glasses of excellent whiskey. “Any real man would have insisted on walking Lady Cecilia into luncheon, but he just lets her walk away.”

“We’re having lamb from the Huntingdon estate today,” said Charles, unable to make any sense of either Lord Oakley’s words or his sentiments. “I find our lamb unparalleled, and I only hope you will agree.”

He vaguely noticed Madeline’s French maid standing stock-still at the top of the staircase, staring down to the hallway with the same intensity of feeling as Cecilia but less vulnerability. Perhaps she had ruined one of Madeline’s garments during cleaning and sought an opportunity to tell her. In any case, it was irrelevant to Charles.

With only one backward glance of concern towards the half-hidden figures of Madeline and Cecilia, their heads in close conversation, the Duke steered his guest towards the dining room. Lady Juliette was waiting there patiently at the doors, as pretty as a picture in a pale pink silk dress, light-blonde ringlets framing her face.

“Oh, there you are, Father, Your Grace. I was looking for you.”

She dropped another graceful — and to Charles’s mind, unnecessary —curtsey.

“We were talking business in the library, my child,” said Lord Oakley affectionately. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with although I wish your brother would show a bit more gumption in company.”

Archibald Barton certainly had no hesitation in showing favoritism towards his offspring. The girl pleased him, and the boy less so. It only made Charles more intolerant of Henry. If the young man had any guts, he would have cleared off years ago to make his own fortune and forge his own life in England or further afield.

Why stay at home to be abused and disrespected? Charles had certainly never done so with his own father. Although perhaps that decision came with its own consequences, he reflected, thinking of Cecilia and whatever had befallen her in his absence.

“I did not want to go into luncheon by myself,” spoke up Lady Juliette in a sweet and dutiful voice, more and more reminding Charles of a little blonde doll his sister had once owned as a child. “I preferred to wait for you.”

“Quite so, dear child,” answered her father patting her arm. “Your Grace, might I presume to ask you to escort Lady Juliette to the table? She knows no one here except myself and her brother. It would be a great favor.”

Charles agreed readily although he was confused by the request. It was no great favor at all. He was a married man, after all, and Lord Oakley could hope for nothing in that direction. Still, if Archibald Barton wished their families to be closer, that could only be a good thing for Charles’ plans.

With a smile, he offered his arm to the young woman and walked her into the dining room. Surely, it could not hurt to be kind to Lord Oakley’s favorite child?