Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

B y four o’clock, Lord and Lady Terrell had also arrived to join the house party. Lord and Lady Bentham were there now too along with Mr. Stephens, the latter’s brother. He was a personable second son who planned to make his fortune in politics.

Madeline and Letitia’s parents brought raucous laughter and a vibrant splash of color to the first tea party in the Huntingdon Manor gardens — quite literally. The color of Lady Terrell’s dress was almost painful to look at in the late afternoon sunlight.

“Charles, do you have five minutes? It’s about Cecilia.”

In contrast to the rest of her family, Madeline spoke quietly, coming to stand unobtrusively beside her husband while servants were setting out trays of tea and cakes on tables along the terrace outside the house.

“Cecilia?” he queried. “I thought you’d dealt with that. She seemed very well at luncheon, thanks to you.”

He raised her hand and kissed it, gratified by the blush that bloomed on her cheeks in response. Despite this reaction, his wife was not to be distracted from her task and pursued her object regardless.

“No, Cecilia is upset but managed to calm herself during the meal because I promised I would speak with you. She is very much struggling with all these people around. You must see that.”

“Is she?”

He scanned the garden and saw Cecilia lurking near the conservatory door where he had left her a few minutes earlier. Her expression was somewhere between uncomfortable and indifferent as the awkward Henry Barton tried yet again to make conversation with her.

“Yes, Charles,” Madeline sighed. “She is struggling very much indeed. It was all I could do to persuade her not to run off to her rooms earlier. I fear we could have a scene if we don’t take care.”

Charles frowned. He was not willing to allow Cecilia to simply vanish. It would not be good for her and would raise difficult questions among the guests.

“What would you suggest?” he asked his wife, prepared for an argument on this topic despite the throbbing physical desire he felt by simply standing next to her.

“For a start, tell that young man over there to stop bothering her. He has been following Cecilia about since he arrived. Then, I think we should appoint some trusted guests to be at her side to support her if she feels overwhelmed, so she knows where she can safely turn if you and I aren’t at hand.”

The Duke cracked a smile.

“That pipsqueak is Lord Oakley’s son, Henry. Lord Morgan. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unfortunately, Oakley appears to be laboring under the misapprehension that Cecilia is the spirited young woman to bring Henry out of his shell. I suspect he has encouraged his son’s interest.”

“Then I can trust you to put them both right,” said Madeline decisively. “There are other young women here who could accomplish Lord Oakley’s task very credibly. Letitia’s friend, Lady Geraldine, for example. She has spirit enough for at least three young ladies.”

“A good idea,” said Charles approvingly. “I will introduce them. But how can we arrange friends to support Cecilia? Apart from ourselves and Benedict, she knows no one here particularly well.”

“I shall introduce her to my parents,” announced Madeline. “They may be eccentric, but they are kind, and they are already aware that Cecilia has been unwell. There would be no need for any great explanation, and all should be kept within the family.”

They both looked towards the bright purplish shape of Lady Terrell, by the entrance to the kitchen garden, laughing heartily at something her husband had said or done. Letitia and Benedict were there too, laughing almost as hard as their elders.

Charles saw Madeline wince as Lord Terrell struck a bizarre pose, much to the amusement of his wife and bemusement of Lord and Lady Bentham nearby.

“What about ‘The Discus Thrower’?” floated over his voice, a question not immediately comprehensible to the Duke’s ears.

“Oh no!” Madeline breathed. “He’s pretending to be a statue again, imagining what style would best suit the location. I should stop him.”

Charles laughed and held onto her arm, keen to see what would happen next.

“Let them be,” he urged her. “They are family, as you say, and I see no great harm in such playfulness. Do you?”

“No, but Lord and Lady Bentham might. And what if my father starts undressing?”

Recognizing the extent of her concern and hoping that this final dread-filled question would remain hypothetical, Charles released his wife’s arm.

“Ask them to look after Cecilia,” he urged. “I’ll send her over to you.”

Striding across to his sister, he pointedly ignored the nervous young man who seemed so determined to make himself Cecilia’s shadow.

“Madeline would like to introduce you properly to her parents, Cecilia,” he announced, nodding towards the family group now assembled by the kitchen garden. “Look, Lord and Lady Terrell are over there with Benedict.”

Madeline gave a welcoming smile, and Lady Terrell beckoned vigorously to Cecilia, indifferent to her dignity in public to an extent that was almost endearing as well as amusing.

“Go on,” Charles urged his sister. “You must learn to meet new people, Cecilia.”

Cecilia nodded without any great enthusiasm and obeyed his instruction, if only to remove herself from the orbit of Henry Barton who was clearing his throat and seemed likely to make another attempt at speech. Charles nodded to the man in brief politeness and then walked away.

At the edge of the upper garden path, he peered down towards the lower gardens. There was to be ground billiards after tea, and he wanted to check everything was set up. Naturally, given that Madeline had dealt with the lawn games, he could see that all was in place. A footman waited by the area of play in case anything further wasneeded by participants.

“Poor Harry!” sighed a sweet, small voice at the Duke’s shoulder, and he turned to find himself in the company of Lady Juliette Barton. “He wants to speak to Lady Cecilia so very much but cannot find the courage. I do wish I could help him.”

Following her gaze, Charles spotted the rather insubstantial young man again lingering on the edges of the group into which Cecilia had been welcomed. The loud and confident figures of Lord and Lady Terrell were evidently too great an obstacle for him to broach. The Duke felt confident that, if he were to make a nuisance of himself, Madeline could deal civilly with him.

“My wife suggested that your brother might have more luck if he chose to converse with Lady Geraldine Cranthorpe over there,” Charles commented, nodding towards the handsome dark-haired friend of Letitia’s at the tea table. “Cecilia is as shy as your brother, likely more so. I see little point in them keeping company if I am honest. Neither of them seems likely to profit from it.”

“Oh,” said Lady Juliette with an expression of surprise. “My father seemed to think that…”

She stopped and checked herself, blushing a little as though afraid she might have said something indiscreet.

“I expect your father might be thinking of another young woman. Perhaps another Cecilia of your family’s acquaintance. Do not trouble yourself, Lady Juliette, but do not encourage your brother in that direction either.

“I see, of course,” she nodded earnestly, showing no sign of leaving his side. “We would all like to know your sister, naturally. But if there has been a misunderstanding, I regret that.”

Lady Juliette stood there expectantly, her sky-blue eyes open and innocent. Wearily, Charles realized that this little blonde doll might be expecting him to walk her around the garden. Despite the girl’s prettiness and polite manner, he was already slightly bored of her company. He longed only for the passion, challenge, and understanding of an adult woman — his woman.

He felt his heart race and his breathing quicken simply in recalling Madeline astride him, learning how to ride his thrusting, surging body. Her breasts had bounced rhythmically as she panted and writhed on his manhood.

“Like this?”

“Oh yes, just like that…”

Bedroom sports seemed to come to Madeline as easily as other sports, and her enthusiasm was equal. It had been an unforgettable experience to deflower a young woman, possess her completely, and then enjoy one another with such lack of restraint.

The Duke swallowed and tightened his jaw, not wishing any such intimate thoughts to show on his face.

When Charles offered his arm to Lady Juliette, she grasped it eagerly, and he had to fight down a sigh of disappointment as he led her towards the rose gardens. Surely one turn there would be enough to curry favor with her father?

Perhaps he could push her off onto Letitia and her friends after that. He imagined that Lady Juliette would be happier with that solution too. Young ladies preferred one another’s company to that of old, married men, ten years their senior. Didn’t they?

“Our team is winning, isn’t it?” queried Lady Terrell, peering in confusion at the hoops, balls and mallets, and laughing players wandering among them. “Although I can’t remember who is on our team. How many teams are there?”

“No, Mother,” Madeline sighed. “Letitia’s team is winning by at least twenty points. But we play only for fun, and there will be another game after this if you want another chance.”

“Really? Oh, well. I suppose I’ve never really understood how the points are scored in this game. But imagine a sporting dress with an apron and belt equipped to carry a mallet and ball?”

“But why would you want to carry them?” asked Cecilia shyly, watching the game closely at Madeline’s side although not playing herself.

“For fun,” twinkled Lady Terrell. “You never know when you might suddenly feel like a game. Don’t you think so, Reginald?”

“Can you imagine a statue of a pall-mall player?” laughed Lord Terrell, his mallet lying carelessly on his shoulder. “Not very heroic, I shouldn’t think.”

He struck a faintly absurd pose with his mallet, his face earnest.

“Or how about this one?” he changed to a more thoughtful pose, gazing into the distance after an imagined lost ball.

Madeline narrowed her eyes, conscious that they were being watched, and ready as ever to rein in her father rather than see him subjected to ridicule. But then Cecilia laughed, and she relaxed her guard a little. Maybe she was worrying too much. There really was no harm in her parents, aside from an excess of enthusiasm.

“You look like Benedict when he whacked the ball hard for no reason,” giggled Cecilia.

“No reason?” Benedict smiled back, leaning on his mallet. “I forgot what game we were playing if I’m honest, Cecilia. Cricket balls are much heavier.”

“You thought you were playing cricket?” queried Cecilia incredulously and laughed again.

Madeline was relieved by this laughter. Cecilia’s agitation in the hallway had been beyond all reason earlier, and she didn’t believe Charles fully understood how close their plans for the day had come to derailment. It was as though the very sight of the people gathered there had brought on a crisis, despite Cecilia’s good progress and best intentions.

Only repeated reassurances and solemn promises that Cecilia would not be left alone with anyone she didn’t know had enabled the Duchess to bring her sister-in-law over the threshold of the dining room.

Madeline had certainly been right to ignore Charles’s suggestions of sitting Cecilia beside Lady Juliette Barton or other young people. Between Madeline and Benedict, Cecilia had managed to keep her place through the informal luncheon although her eyes appeared to have been cast down to her plate throughout the meal.

“Where is Charles?” Cecilia asked, and Madeline rolled her eyes slightly before she could stop herself.

She nodded her head towards the side of the field where the Duke was patiently teaching Lady Juliette Barton to hit a ball through a hoop so that she could participate in the next game. Something about that innocent, smiling young woman made Madeline’s blood boil.

Perhaps it was the fact that she seemed to have glued herself to Charles for most of the day. Madeline had slowly come to realize that every time she looked at her husband since Lord Oakley and his family arrived, he was in the company of Lady Juliette.

At the dining room door before luncheon, walking around the rose garden, and now teaching this pretty, little blonde poppet to play pall-mall. The more Madeline thought about it, the more furious she felt. It was a wicked sensation that she sensed could overwhelm all reason if she allowed it in.

“I think Charles wants you to rescue him,” Cecilia suggested under her breath, rather to Madeline’s consternation. “I think he’s been hoping you’ll rescue him for hours.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t look like that to me,” she huffed, dismissing this idea as one of Cecilia’s naive fantasies.

Stepping forward to take her turn, Madeline hit the ball precisely through its hoop with a single stroke.