Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ Y our door was locked last night,” said Charles in a low but urgent voice, putting his hand onto Madeline’s arm as she made to walk past him on the stairs. “You didn’t open the door when I knocked.”

The sight of his broad-shouldered body and tense but handsome face made Madeline catch her breath. She had hoped not to see him today until they were safely among others in the breakfast room. A public row was the last thing they needed.

Had her husband actually waited there on the landing for her, rather than going downstairs to where several guests were already eating? Madeline suspected he had, but this did not appease her.

“Yes, it was locked,” she confirmed. “I rather assumed you had other things, and other people, on your mind. I am sorry if I misunderstood.”

“What other things or people?” he demanded in apparent bewilderment that only felt like a further goad.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” exclaimed Madeline, keeping her voice down with great effort. “I’m not entirely blind, Charles, and I’m certainly not stupid. Don’t treat me as though I am.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I only know that I spent the entire day yesterday longing to…ah, to… be in the arms of my dutiful wife. Then I find she has retired without me and locked her doors against me. Don’t you think I deserve at least an explanation? Don’t you know how much I want you?”

“Are you going to order me to your rooms, so you can mount me?” she hissed angrily under her breath, looking around to ensure no one was listening to them.

“Of course not!” he hissed back. “What kind of a man do you take me for?”

“I’ll do my duty at any time you ordain, if that’s what you require, but you can’t expect me to pretend that I don’t see the attention you pay to other women.”

“Other women? You can’t possibly think…”

Madeline uttered a derisive laugh as the Duke rubbed his brow, shaking his head in frustration.

“I don’t simply think, Charles. I have eyes to see.”

“You can’t mean… Lady Juliette? That simple child? How could I bed you one day and be thinking of her the next? It’s impossible, at least for me. I’m no rake, Madeline, whatever other faults I have.”

“I don’t know how it’s possible,” Madeline threw back, “but that’s how it looked. Every time I saw you, you were in her company. She was hanging on your every word.”

“That’s not my fault. She kept seeking me out for some reason. I tried to introduce her to other young ladies several times, but it didn’t work. As for young men, she ran away from Mr. Stephens’ attempts at conversation and turned up beside me again.”

“Of course,” Madeline retorted sarcastically. “It must have been excruciating to have such a beautiful young woman simpering up at you all day. What absolute torture you endured!”

“You’re jealous, Madeline,” the Duke said aloud, as though he had suddenly found the solution to a particularly complex problem. “But there’s no need for it. I only want…”

Yanking her arm away from his hand, Madeline marched downstairs.

“No, I’m not jealous,” she snapped. “I’m angry. Rightfully angry. Now just let me get on with my day. There are things to be done.”

While she managed to successfully hide from their guests the resentment simmering below the surface of her smile, Madeline could not dispel it. The anger consuming her from inside felt almost as strong as the pleasure she had experienced at Charles’s hands. She was unused to such strong, overpowering emotions and feared herself.

“Are you sure you won’t join us for the duck hunt, Duchess Madeline?” asked Benedict with a grin as gentlemen gathered in the hallway after breakfast with firearms, gamekeepers, and bags. “Letitia can look after the ladies this morning. You should see Her Grace shoot, Lord Bentham. She’s a crack shot with every weapon.”

“How…accomplished,” murmured Lord Bentham, peering at Madeline through his monocle in astonishment and evidently unsure whether Benedict was joking or not.

Madeline thought Bentham looked more prepared for a Saturday morning stroll in Hyde Park than a duck hunt in the countryside, but that was his own business, she supposed.

“Yes, my daughter is a far better shot than me,” agreed Lord Terrell cheerfully. “I warn all you gentlemen not to stand too close. I’ve winged a few ears in my time.”

Lord Bentham edged away from Lord Terrell with an uneasy smile, no more certain whether this statement was a joke than the one from Lord Radcliffe.

“Not today, Benedict,” said Madeline with a tight smile. “Charles must enjoy himself without me. I’m sure he’ll manage.”

She glanced briefly to her husband at the other end of the hallway, his face as taut, dark, and frustrated as she imagined her own looked. They had barely spoken at breakfast, the words each wished to say to the other likely entirely unsuited to company.

“Haha. I’d never trust a woman with a gun, myself,” guffawed Lord Oakley, shouldering his weapons and pointedly ignoring his son. “They’re too impulsive. Being a good shot would only make matters worse, don’t you think, Your Grace?”

This jesting question was thrown to Charles, who simply shrugged moodily.

“Of course, a woman may be ornament and comfort on such an outing as today’s as long she’s not armed,” Lord Oakley continued to speak, offering an arm now to his daughter who had appeared from one of the cloakrooms, wrapped in her outdoor cloak and sturdy boots. “Isn’t that right, Juliette?”

“Yes, Papa,” said Juliette obediently.

“I always take Juliette out with me when I shoot game,” Archibald Barton explained to those around him. “She’s a darn sight more pleasant a carrier of flask and maps than my gamekeeper, and she makes better conversation than my son.”

He laughed at his own words as others smiled politely. Henry Barton flushed but said nothing in the face of this open disrespect, and Juliette appeared not to react at all. Was there any sense or feeling in that pretty little head?

“We shall all count ourselves lucky to have such an amiable companion,” said Mr. Stephens with a sympathetic smile towards Juliette Barton in this awkward moment.

This small show of support surprised Madeline. From what she had seen of him, John Stephens was a serious young man with even more serious political ambitions. He was quite the contrast to his dandy brother-in-law, Lord Bentham.

Already well-connected, Stephens hoped to be elected to parliament within five years. He aspired eventually to a ministry where he might exert influence on transport and industry with a view to improving the lot of the common man and enhancing England’s reputation on the world stage. What interest could he have in a featherhead like Lady Juliette? There were far more suitable potential wives out there.

Madeline’s musings on Juliette Barton’s intellectual worth were swept away by the sudden realization that the girl’s inclusion in the hunting party meant that she would be the only woman among all these gentlemen for several hours. Once again, Charles would doubtless seek her out, this time away from Madeline’s prying eyes.

“Loxton, add a folding chair to the cart for Lady Juliette,” Duke Charles ordered in reaction to Lord Oakley’s announcement. “An extra cup, some cushions, and a blanket too. The weather is warm, but there is aways a breeze by the lake.”

There was no expression readable on her husband’s face as he spoke beyond a slight harassment at making last-minute changes to the hunting party arrangements. This in itself made Madeline suspicious.

A blanket and cushions? Surely, he could not intend anything…physical with that girl, could he? Certainly not with her father and brother present. Nor did the Duke of Huntingdon have any reputation as a rake.

No, that idea was unthinkable, and she reined in her imagination. But it was bad enough that Charles was likely toying with Lady Juliette’s foolish young heart — encouraging her flirtation — and trampling on Madeline’s feelings at the same time.

Was that what really drove him? The seduction of women whether physically accomplished or not? The Duke had succeeded in seducing Madeline, satisfied himself, and then immediately moved on…rather like Casanova.

Madeline’s gaze was drawn inexorably to her husband as these thoughts raced through her head. Part of her knew that they were irrational and even absurd, but jealousy blinded and blocked her. Letitia was saying an over-affectionate farewell to her beloved Benedict, despite the fact that they would meet again in a few, short hours. That too was infuriating in Madeline’s present mood.

At that moment, the Duke turned away to speak to his gamekeeper, perhaps to avoid Madeline’s accusing eyes.

“Ladies, the card tables are set up in the conservatory,” Madeline announced crisply. “How many do we have for bridge?”

“Madeline, will you please open the door? We need to talk.”

On her bed in the darkness, Madeline stuck her fingers more firmly in her ears but could still not entirely block out Charles’ voice on the other side of her bedroom door. He had been steadily knocking and seeking admission for at least fifteen minutes, and the frustration in his voice was audible.

He could knock for the entire night for all she cared, Madeline thought stubbornly. Or lose his temper, break down the door, and have to explain himself to staff and guests if he liked.

Her anger now included herself for the foolish tears pricking her eyes however tightly she closed them and tried not to think about Charles’s body, the touch of his hands, or the desperate surging of pleasure he could incite in her.

“Madeline, this can’t go on. You know that as well as I do.”

Oh yes, she knew it. It was unbearable. That girl had been all over Charles yet again on the returnfrom the duck-hunting trip. There had been some cock-and-bull story about a twisted ankle and Charles being stronger than Lady Juliette’s relatives.

“Madeline, will you please open this door? Now!”

Lord Oakley had made such a fuss about the ankle injury, but Madeline observed the girl walking into dinner with barely a limp that night. She was not taken in even if the men had been. It looked to her merely like a ploy for attention after a minor slip. Some young ladies did such things, and Madeline had always regarded their childishness with vague contempt.

But usually, those girls were seeking the attention of potential suitors, rather than distracting their married hosts. Flirting with a married man was utterly improper behavior for a young lady, but Madeline couldn’t be certain that this was what Lady Juliette was deliberately doing. Her pretty little face and anodyne conversation were too blank and innocent, as if she didn’t even know what flirting was.

“This is ridiculous, Madeline! How can we ever resolve anything like this?”

Maybe Lady Juliette was so naive that she did not even realize what she was doing. At just nineteen, this year was actually her first Season, and Madeline could hardly deny that Charles was an extremely attractive man. The younger woman might not even understand why she felt drawn to his company, knowing nothing yet of the physical union of the sexes.

Still, the more innocent Lady Juliette’s intentions, the more blame must be heaped on Charles for encouraging her. Could he even be seeking the daughter’s support for his plan to go into business of some sort with the father? Good Lord! That would show him in an even worse light than when she thought he’d put money before Cecilia’s wellbeing.

These last conclusions strengthened Madeline’s resolve not to answer the persistent questions and demands sounding on the other side of the door.

Charles’s voice spoke up again, but this time its tone had changed, softened and become harder to make out. Madeline realized he was not speaking to her anymore and took her fingers from her ears.

“Is there a problem, Mademoiselle D’Orsay?”

The Duke’s voice was all politeness now as he spoke to Gabrielle. While civil to all staff, except in temper, Madeline reflected that he had always shown an instinctive additional regard for the young Frenchwoman, treating her almost as a lady of the ton rather than an employee. She supposed she did too — Gabrielle’s own excellent manners and social graces made this attitude seem natural, despite her social status.

“No, I hope nothing to worry you, Your Grace. I merely hoped to have a short word with my mistress since she was so occupied earlier.”

Madeline was surprised but recalled that her maid had also seemed troubled in recent days. The young Frenchwoman was likely picking up on Madeline’s tensions and the abrupt end to her burgeoning relationship with the Duke which Madeline could not stop her young maid from regarding as some sort of grand love story.

She had several times cut off conversations where she guessed Gabrielle might be about to touch upon the Duke and particularly Madeline’s decision to bar him from his rightful access to her bed. She had seen the reproach in the young woman’s eyes as Madeline took the key and locked the door on Gabrielle’s departure both last night and again tonight.

“Yes, speaking with Duchess Madeline was my intention in being here too,” Charles commented with slight acerbity that Madeline knew was aimed at her and not her maid. “I wish you better luck than me.”

“Oh, but if Her Grace does not open the door to you, she must be fast asleep already,” said Gabrielle guilelessly, despite being perfectly aware of Madeline’s attitude and actions. “I would not wish to disturb her rest tonight nor yours. You will both be so busy tomorrow evening with the ball. I shall wait until morning. Good night, Your Grace.”

“Good night, Mademoiselle D’Orsay.”

Madeline detected Charles’s heavy sigh before two sets of footsteps departed in different directions along the corridor. She wondered what Gabrielle had wanted at this time of night. But more than that, she wondered what she was going to do about Charles. The present situation was truly unbearable, but she must endure it, at least until after the house party was done.