Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“ C ome in,” said Charles without immediately looking up from the letter he was writing, the hesitance of the knock on his study door making him think it was likely to be one of the younger serving staff coming to carry out some act of routine cleaning or maintenance.

Instead, a moment later, he found a pale, young, blond gentleman in a fully-buttoned and very smart town suit, standing nervously in front of his desk. Despite recognizing him quickly, the Duke frowned in some puzzlement at the man’s appearance.

Why had Lord Morgan dressed up so formally? He had not been so attired at breakfast, a meal at which he had been the only member of the Barton family present.

They were also in the countryside and planning a long ride after luncheon with more lawn games in the garden for those uncomfortable on horseback. In either case, sturdy country suits or riding breeches were the only sensible choices.

Charles sighed and put down his quill. Henry Barton’s inability to dress himself properly was none of his business.

“Good morning, Lord Morgan. I trust you are well after last night’s exertions?”

“V-v-very well, Your Grace. Th-th-thank you. It was a s-s-splendid ball.”

“Glad you enjoyed it. And your father, how does he fare today?”

Charles looked keenly at the young man. He was already so flushed and self-conscious that it was hard to detect any further reaction at this probing about his father.

“He is ind-d-disposed, Your Grace. I hope we will see him for d-d-dinner.”

The Duke nodded with as much patience as he could muster. All well and good. He hoped Oakley was abashed by the previous night’s inebriation and humbled by his now-famous encounter with the wasp. A day’s absence from the party was the decent course for him, and it was right that his son notified Charles. Henry Barton could go away now, duty done. But he did not.

Charles had wanted to complete and dispatch this letter to his lawyers before luncheon. It was the right thing to do, and he wished certain matters to be finalized as soon as possible.

What did the Barton boy want from him? Was he just going to stand about until he was dismissed? It was hard to believe he was closer to five-and-twenty than fifteen years of age. Had his unfortunate stammer worsened since he’d been at Huntingdon Manor?”

“Can I help you, Lord Morgan?” the Duke asked briskly at last, when the long silence continued, keen by now to end the interview if possible.

Henry Barton swallowed and nodded, trying to pluck up the courage to say something. The further long pause irritated Charles profoundly, but when a flood of words was finally released, he was stunned.

“I think your sister Lady Cecilia is a wonderful woman, and I beg your leave to court her, that is to ask her if I can court her with your permission…”

A series of emotions swept over Charles, one after the other. Surprise, reflection, retraction of surprise, and a bittersweet sensation he could not quite categorize. So, Henry Barton wished to court Cecilia, who had never had a suitor in her life. Where should he even start?

Part of him wanted to laugh the young man out of the room and tell him to come back when he’d grown up. Another part of him was more thoughtful, recalling some of the things Madeline had said about Cecilia, particularly her questioning of whether anyone had actually consulted his sister herself on matters concerning her own life and health.

“Take a seat, Lord Morgan,” said Charles, stalling as he tried to assemble a response that was best for Cecilia.

While last night did not change his wish to do business with Lord Oakley, building social ties with the man and his family was a separate question. Some men were unfit for the company of ladies. That did not mean they could not be successful in business, finance, or politics, but it did mean, like Lord Oakley, that Charles might not want them around his sister.

“My sister is very shy, Lord Morgan. Extremely shy. She has also been ill. You do understand that?”

“I am shy, too,” said the young man with a blush. “I understand that very well. I would only like to talk to Lady Cecilia at first. If she does not like me, I will expect nothing further.”

Charles sighed at the thought of all the awkwardness embodied in Henry Barton and his clumsily expressed wish to court Cecilia. There was little to recommend him as an aspiring husband.

Still, he could not think of a reason or a means to turn the young man down flat without potential insult to his family at this sensitive time. It was already going to be hard enough to smooth over Archibald Barton’s drunkenness as Charles must in order to keep him on board for his Holland business.

The Duke wished now that he had merely taken Lord Oakley out to dinner at his club a few times in London to tie up this Holland business rather than inviting him here. He could have saved himself God only knew how much trouble.

Extensive as Oakley’s experience appeared to be, he was not the only low-countries expert in London, Charles reminded himself, drumming his fingers on the desk. The Earl’s drinking and uncouth behavior must be weighed in the balance against his social deficiencies. Charles was no longer sure of the outcome of such a weighing and would have been content never to lay eyes on the Barton family again.

“I will discuss the matter with Lady Cecilia, Lord Morgan, and let you know my decision after that,” he pronounced at last.

“Thank you! Thank you,” said the young man, gratefully, leaning forward as though he might spontaneously shake Charles’s hand.

“We’re riding after lunch, don’t forget,” the Duke added pointedly, taking up his quill again. “You might want to change.”

“I will,” assured the would-be suitor, and he finally left Charles alone to the letter that unraveled all the foolish half-dreams he had allowed himself since Madeline had arrived here at Huntingdon Manor.

If his wife truly wished to leave him, he was man enough to let her go.

“No!” Cecilia said loudly, slamming her book closed, almost before Charles had finished telling the story of Henry Barton in his study an hour earlier.

“No? He’s just a harmless young man who thinks you might have something in common. Where’s the harm in simply talking to him? It would be good practice for talking to other young men. Surely, you must want your own home and family someday? Not with young Harry, of course, but someone else more…suitable?”

“No. I shall stay here at Huntingdon Manor forever and help to look after your and Madeline’s children,” she declared.

Charles sighed deeply, hiding the ache that such a remark triggered in him. For a short, crazy interval, he too had begun to imagine a life here with Madeline and their children. He did not know how he would explain Madeline’s imminent departure to Cecilia when he was still struggling to come to terms with it himself.

“Can you give me a reason for your refusal? That might help me both now and on any future occasions when young men approach me about you.”

Cecilia shook her head vehemently, her lips tight and angry.

“He’s so inoffensive, Cecilia. I would understand if you said he was too shy or too silly or too much under his father’s thumb, but why so strong a reaction?”

“His father is a wicked, wicked man!” blurted Cecilia. “I will have nothing to do with that family. Not even for you, Charles, and I love you more than anyone in the world.”

“Lord Oakley did himself no favors last night, I understand,” said Charles with another sigh, this time one of resignation. “I will encourage no addresses to you from his son on the grounds of your health and inexperience for now at least.”

“You may give whatever grounds you think best, brother, but do not expect me to change my mind.”

“Maybe not. But I do ask you to consider that Lord Morgan is a very different man from his father. If you judged all men by their relatives, then I wouldn’t fare so well with Mother and Father in my lineage, would I?”

“Madeline knew you were a good man before she married you, Charles, and our parents were long dead and gone. Your goodness and independence are perfectly obvious to any woman of sense and intelligence, especially someone as spirited as Madeline, who is unafraid of your temper. You can’t tell me I’m wrong about that.”

“Now, you’re trying to change the subject, Cecilia,” he grumbled, unwilling to discuss what Madeline thought of him, then or now. “I shall return downstairs. Luncheon is in an hour; don’t forget.”

On his way back downstairs, he met a freshly washed and changed Benedict, humming happily to himself as he joined Charles on the staircase. With a touch of bitterness, he remembered noticing Letitia and Benedict smuggling themselves away from the morning’s other light post-ball pursuits and sneaking back upstairs together earlier.

“What a lucky man you are, Benedict,” he told his friend with a touch of acerbity.

Lord Radcliffe only laughed.

“Yes, I am, aren’t I? Now say that again like you mean it.”

Charles shook his head with a rueful smile.

“Ignore me. I am only jealous of those who spend their mornings in more enjoyable and worthwhile pursuits than mine.”

“Then forget your sober, but pointless tasks and join me in the billiards room,” Benedict grinned. “I feel I could beat you right now. In fact, I feel I could beat any man alive.”

Charles smiled.

“Yes, making love does have such an effect on one’s confidence, but let’s see what it does to your actual skill with a cue.”

At the billiard table, Benedict was his usual self, mixing bumbling mistakes with shots of brilliance that had Charles applauding loudly. Charles played a tight, controlled game, his arm almost as stiff as the cue.

“Remember to have fun,” whispered Benedict as Charles potted a ball without any evidence of satisfaction.

“I don’t think I can,” Charles admitted, and his friend raised a sympathetic but questioning eyebrow. “Madeline will be leaving me after the house party is over.”

“Aha.”

Benedict put down his cue and considered this news thoughtfully.

“Have you told her you don’t want her to go?”

Charles started, unable to tell his good friend the lie that he didn’t care one way or another. He shrugged with frustration.

“How can I?” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think what I want matters in this case.”

“Tell her,” said Benedict firmly. “If it’s the last thing you do, Your Grace — Charles, Duke of Huntingdon — tell her. I’ve seen you together this week. It’s obvious that if you let that woman walk out of your life, you will regret it forever.”

The Duke looked bleakly at the wall in front of him before turning back to the billiard table.

“I knew I could rely on you to make me feel better, Benedict,” he said sarcastically, and the other man laughed.

“Best of three,” offered Benedict, taking up his cue once more.

The mellow sound of the duetting mandolins floated around the yellow drawing room and out into the night through the open garden windows.

Beside Charles on the sofa for appearance’s sake, Madeline smiled a melancholy smile to herself. She had expected Letitia’s turn at tonight’s musical soirée to be an amusing novelty act, but she was reminded once more of her sister’s genuine musical talent.

Benedict played alongside her, apparently taught by his wife in only a matter of months. While his fingers lacked her virtuosity on the strings, there was no doubting the musical feeling and expression behind them nor the love between the two players as they occasionally glanced towards one another before continuing a phrase.

“Bravo! Bravo!” shouted Lord Terrell when the last mandolin piece finished, and the players bowed to their small audience. “That was marvelous, Letitia! And you too Benedict.”

Their father had never been a man to hide his feelings, unlike the Duke of Huntingdon, who applauded politely but rather flatly as though his mind was somewhere else rather than in the room. If Madeline had not sneaked several glances at her husband during the actual playing, she would have thought he felt nothing at all and cared even less that she would shortly leave him.

“Is something wrong with Charles?” whispered Lady Terrell to Madeline and Cecilia. The Duke had risen to stretch his legs and smoke a cigar outside with John Stephens before Lady Bentham took her turn at the pianoforte. “He barely spoke a word at dinner.”

“He has not been himself for some days,” said Cecilia, “but I suppose he is very busy.”

Madeline only shrugged and answered vaguely.

“I cannot say, but as Cecilia observes, he is certainly busy.”

Lady Juliette had not once been observed at Charles’s side since the confrontation in this room, a fact that made Madeline feel easier and allowed her excess of temper to subside. It also allowed for a more thoughtful consideration of her own recent behavior.

Tonight, Juliette Barton sat pale and silent on a chair next to her equally pale and silent brother, Lord Oakley having excused himself back to bed straight after dinner to no objection from the rest of the party. No one paid much attention to the siblings except John Stephens.

“It is more than that though, isn’t it?” Cecilia asked Madeline once Lady Terrell had retreated back to her chair. “He seemed so sad when he came to speak to me in my room this morning. Not angry, as he often is when busy, but sad.”

“Then you must be very kind to him, Cecilia,” said Madeline, thinking ahead to her own departure and remembering what Charles had once told her about how no one had ever stood up for him before his wife. “It might not seem like he needs such support, but he likes it, you know.”

Cecilia frowned slightly, wanting to question Madeline further, but Lady Bentham was now at the pianoforte. The gentlemen had resumed their seats, and the Duchess put her finger to her lips.

As she nodded to Lady Bentham to begin, Madeline felt qualms for the first time about her decision to leave Charles. She might have judged him unfeeling amid the hot jealousy of his companionship with Lady Juliette Barton, but now, with cooler blood, she saw the evidence of his feelings and harder still, remembered it in very intimate terms. Was she making a huge mistake?

She shook her head as if to dislodge this idea. Madeline had never been irresolute or vacillating. She had confidence in her own decisions because they were rarely lightly taken, but now, she was beginning to feel lost. What was wrong with her? Why was it so hard to think straight?

Sensing Charles’s gaze on her, she looked to her husband, only to have him turn away. As if in appreciation of Lady Bentham’s playing, Madeline closed her eyes.

“Madeline? Are you planning to stay there all night?”

It was Letitia’s cheerful voice that called Madeline back to reality. She stepped in from the terrace where she had been gazing at the stars and closed the French windows.

All the other guests had departed for their beds some minutes earlier, the musical evening having stretched out until after ten o’clock and many still feeling exhausted from the ball.

“No, I was just taking the air. I suppose I’ll head upstairs too, soon.”

She sighed and retrieved her wrap from a chair.

“What is wrong with you, Madeline? One day you and Charles are all over one another, and the next, you’re like enemy states under an unsteady truce.”

“We were not all over one another!” Madeline protested indignantly. “I leave such displays to you and Benedict.”

“Come down from your high horse, big sister,” laughed Letitia. “I’m implying nothing improper. Let me put it another way. When two people are happily sharing a bed, you can see in their eyes and hear it in their speech, just like when two people are fighting, you can hear and see that too.”

“Letitia,” Madeline tried to stop her, shaking her head, but her sister would not be deterred.

“You were in his bed earlier this week, and now, you’re not, are you? And neither of you seems happy about it. What is going on?”

Letitia’s voice was genuinely concerned rather than being critical or prurient, and Madeline loosened her guard a little.

“I found Charles’s attention to Lady Juliette Barton this week…disrespectful,” she admitted with some attempt at dignity. “I have realized that we cannot live under the same roof as man and wife. I don’t know why we thought otherwise, even for a few days. Our marriage was always a formal arrangement rather than a love-match. We will separate again as soon as the house party is over.”

A wistful note had crept into Madeline’s voice as she spoke, but she banished it, her final statement of intention clear and firm.

Letitia’s face looked incredulous. Could it really be so surprising to anyone that Madeline would be returning to her own separate household? She and Charles had only been under the same roof for a few short weeks of their year-long marriage. She hoped few others would remark on their arrangement.

“Lady Juliette?” Letitia queried. “My dear Madeline, Duke Charles cannot bear the company of Lady Juliette Barton. He has tolerated her only out of politeness as a host and the kindness any decent human being shows to an over-attentive puppy. He even danced twice with me at the ball to keep himself out of her company. Despite my rudeness, even I am preferable to Lady Juliette Barton.”

Her sister even began to laugh, finding something in the situation actually humorous. After an initial pang of annoyance at Letitia’s attitude, Madeline’s conscience kicked in. What if her sister had a point?

“It was not just one time, Letitia. It was many times. Every time I looked, I saw them together. It was intolerable!”

Madeline felt that she was trying to justify her actions to herself now as well as to her sister.

“Intolerable for Charles too from what I’ve seen,” Letitia chuckled.

“I could not stand it!” said Madeline forcefully, and then she sighed. “I feel like I’m going mad, Letitia.”

Her younger sister shook her head and took Madeline’s hands in her own.

“Madeline, I’m not like you. I lead with my heart, not my head. I always have done, and I know you think it silly of me, but it means I do have greater experience and understanding than you in certain matters.”

“Does it?” asked Madeline, feeling listless now and rather shamefaced.

“Yes, it does. Now, you always speak of your marriage as a formal arrangement, and that may be how it began, but it seems to me that something has changed, hasn’t it?”

Letitia resisted Madeline’s slight attempt to pull her hands away.

“All that has changed is that briefly Charles and I dreamt that we might be different people in a different situation. However, reality is not so malleable.”

“You’ve fallen in love with him, Madeline,” Letitia stated simply. “That is why you were so unnecessarily jealous of Lady Juliette. But I believe Charles has fallen for you, too.”

“No!” said Madeline, pulling back her hands and shaking her head. “That’s impossible! I’m not a woman men fall in love with. I’m too independent, too strong, too disinterested in gowns and hairstyling.”

“Duke Charles appears to like all of that in a woman,” said Letitia baldly. “He looks at you like a starving man at a feast.”

“He can’t…It cannot be…” Madeline continued to restate her denial but with far less conviction now.

“Open your eyes, Madeline,” Letitia urged her. “Before it is too late. Love is not something to be cast aside so lightly over a trivial misunderstanding.”

A trivial misunderstanding?! Was that really how it looked? Was that really how it was? Madeline closed her eyes, remembering the sensation of being in Charles’s arms again so briefly in this room last night. He had desired her physically, and she could believe in that, but the idea that it could be something more on either side was still incredible.

Nor could she see any way to take back her angry words, her rejections, or her notice of departure. She had spoken, and Charles had heard her and accepted her words.

“It is too late,” she said, raising her eyes to Letitia’s. “Even if I have misunderstood, even if he… wanted me before, it is too late now. I can’t turn back the clock.”

“I don’t believe that, Madeline. My advice is that you go to the Duke’s rooms right now, strip to your underwear, and kiss your husband until all possible protests cease. Use your lips on his manhood with sufficient skill, and the only words he will utter are ‘yes’ and ‘please’. I guarantee it.”

“ Letitia! ” exclaimed Madeline, her eyes opening wide at this idea, even as it sparked a scalding wave of longing in her belly.

“What, have you not yet done that?” Letitia laughed at Madeline’s blushes. “You have both appeared so very well satisfied in recent days that I imagined you thoroughly versed in the erotic arts by now.”

“Not that way round,” Madeline admitted. “Charles has kissed me most intimately, but I had not thought…”

“Then your husband has been a most generous and considerate lover, and it is your turn to return the favor.”

“But how does it work? I would not know what to do.”

“Oh, come here, Madeline,” laughed Letitia, with feigned exasperation. “Let me give you a short lesson.”

She whispered a series of shocking and thrilling instructions into her older sister’s ears that made the latter’s eyebrows rise almost to her hairline.

“Really?” breathed Madeline.

“Oh yes, and men like it just as much as women, I promise. You will see. Now, waste no more time on silly little chits like Lady Juliette Barton. Your husband awaits you upstairs.”

Mustering her courage, Madeline nodded and went to the door, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest.