Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

“ I believe we shall have storms before morning,” said Cecilia, attempting yet again to break a long silence at the top end of the dinner table. “The air is so heavy after a week of sunshine. Don’t you agree, brother?”

“I suppose so,” Charles muttered and took another forkful of meat to ward off further questions.

“I hope you are enjoying the beef, Lady Bentham. It is from our own estate,” Madeline’s voice floated across from the bottom of the table. “The kitchen has done a sterling job tonight.”

Charles flashed only a minimal smile of acknowledgement down the table in response to his wife’s attempt to enlist him in this exchange. He could not bring himself to care what the Benthams thought of Huntingdon beef right now. He wished there had been time to speak to Madeline alone earlier, but there seemed not to have been a clear moment since his clash with Oakley.

As for dinner, it had been a tense affair from the moment the party assembled for drinks at seven o’clock. Three guests were now notably absent. The others gathered in quiet corners to exchange snippets of gossip and speculation about this absence, falling silent whenever the Duke, Duchess, or their family members approached too closely.

Charles found it hard to enter into any real conversation despite Madeline and Cecilia’s best efforts at the table. Most guests talked openly only of the weather or food. Letitia and Benedict contented themselves with holding hands and gazing at one another rather than engaging in any more physical displays of newlywed affection. Even Lady Terrell seemed subdued, wearing gray muslin and no jewelry.

“The beef is fine, Duchess Madeline,” spoke up Lord Radley. “Huntingdon produces the finest local beef to be had, barring my own farms, of course. You and Duke Charles must come and sample the finest of the Radley estate sometime soon.”

This elderly neighbor, who had brought his wife and nephew to join tonight’s dinner, was the only one who seemed oblivious to the strain abroad in the household. Throughout the evening, Lord Radley regaled the party with stories of his favorite dogs and horses over the years, seeming surprised and pleased to be encouraged for once, his audience relieved at the simplicity and dullness of his tales.

Madeline smiled and nodded noncommittally to the man’s invitation to visit Radley Hall while Charles looked down at his plate and cut himself another piece of meat with great concentration.

“Your current hunter is a descendant of your first, you say, Radley?” Lord Bentham pursued an earlier talking point before silence could descend again.

Charles tuned out entirely now. He had no interest or awareness of whatever answer might have been given. His mind was entirely occupied with the Oakley problem.

He could not let Archibald Barton win; that much was certain. But the cost of such a fight might be truly terrible, especially for Cecilia and Madeline, caught in the crossfire. The Duke’s sense of responsibility and guilt only grew heavier the longer he considered the problem.

It was Charles who had identified Lord Oakley as a suitable business partner and brought him to the house. Neither Cecilia nor Madeline had played any part in it. Both, in fact, had told him of their dislike for the man, and he had not listened. Madeline had even called Oakley a “swindler” on the night of the ball, had she not?

But now both of them stood to be punished for his error in judgement. It was insupportable. He must protect his women against the coming storm, but how could it be done?

At this thought, as if on cue, a deafening clap of thunder sounded almost directly overhead and then another, making several of the party around the table jump. These were followed by a heavy downpour of rain and flashes of lightning.

“You were right,” the Duke said to Cecilia grimly. “The tempest has arrived.”

“I assure everyone that Huntingdon Manor is very solidly built,” stated Madeline, trying to calm the more nervous among the guests. “It has stood up to far worse storms than this over the past century. Although perhaps, Lord and Lady Martin, we might send a footman to check for potential leaks in the old building wing before bed. There are other rooms available.”

Several thunderclaps later, Lonsley entered the room and came to the Duke’s side. At the words the butler murmured in his ear, Charles unthinkingly brought his fist down hard on the table, startling the guests more than the storm’s arrival had done.

“Damn it all!” he exclaimed, throwing down his napkin and marching out of the dining room door without ceremony.

“You must excuse us,” Madeline said swiftly, flashing a pleading glance to both Cecilia and Letitia as she jumped up from her seat. “Do not wait.”

Rushing out after Charles, her heart beat wildly. She had already guessed the cause of his agitation and followed him to mitigate his potentially explosive reaction rather than merely investigate.

“What the hell is going on?” Madeline heard her husband demanding. “Why are they still here? Is their coachman entirely incapable?”

Indeed, as she had suspected, the Bartons were gathered in the hallway as their coachman and Owens, the chief groom, attempted to explain something to the Duke.

“Their man is correct, Your Grace. The roads are presently unsafe,” Owens said steadily, unbowed in the face of his employer’s wrath although the Bartons’ coachman looked terrified. “The horses will slip and break a leg in the mud out there, never mind what would happen to the carriage if they took fright.”

“Why the hell didn’t they set off this afternoon before the damned storm?” blazed back Duke Charles. “It was fine enough then to get them to a coaching inn.”

“We were not ready this afternoon, Duke Charles,” interrupted Lord Oakley with an insolent smile. “Your hospitality was withdrawn rather abruptly, you must admit.”

He was standing a little to the side, already dressed in cloak, hat, and gloves and watching the Duke with interest. Madeline knew Oakley would be conscious of the disrespect Charles implied by ignoring him in favor of the servants.

“When will the roads be safe, Owens?” she asked pleasantly before Charles could retort.

“Sunrise, I would judge, Your Grace,” the groom advised. “I can’t recommend setting off before then.”

“Then I want them gone at sunrise,” Charles ordered loudly. “Is that clear to everyone? If it’s not safe for the horses by then, they can all damn well walk.”

“Well, if we’re staying tonight after all, is there any chance of dinner?” grinned Lord Oakley, almost laughing, and Madeline put a quick restraining hand on Charles’s arm.

“Lonsley will have food brought to your rooms,” she stated in neutral tones with a glance to the butler. “Your breakfast will be brought to you too at dawn.”

“And you’d better stay in your rooms to eat it,” growled Charles. “Make sure I don’t see you again.”

He turned on his heel and began to stride away towards his study.

“Until we meet in court, that is,” said Lord Oakley smoothly to Duke Charles’s back, causing him to stiffen and pause.

In the background, Lady Juliette and Lord Morgan huddled together like two lost waifs, the young woman’s blonde curly head lost somewhere inside the deep cowl of a black hooded cloak. Madeline thought she detected a faint sobbing, hopefully from the girl rather than her older brother.

She followed her husband and took his arm firmly, steering him onwards to his study and away from the danger of Lord Oakley’s goading voice.

“I could wish that man in hell!” Charles raged as soon as they were alone, and the door closed. “How dare he threaten me and my family in my own home?”

Then he paused and looked at her soberly, struck by some unhappy realization. Despite his agitation, or perhaps because of the vigor and animation it lent to him, the Duke looked particularly handsome right now. She fought against the wistful thought she had confided to Letitia earlier, wanting to keep her mind clear. If only he might love her…

“I already know, Charles,” Madeline told him. “Oakley is threatening you with a court case. Lady Juliette told me before tea, and I’ve also heard second-hand reports of what went on in here after luncheon.”

“You were right, Madeline,” the Duke said bitterly. “You were suspicious of him from the start. Now, I find I have entangled myself and my family in dealings with a drunken, blackmailing swindler who poses a potential danger to unaccompanied women.”

“More than a potential danger,” Madeline commented, wondering if this was the right time to tell him of Gabrielle’s aunt.

Charles swept on without seeming to hear her remark.

“I shall not bow to him. Never! But there is going to be an almighty fight, Madeline. I do not know how bad some of the publicity might be. I am not afraid for myself, but I do fear for Cecilia and for you. I have been thinking about how best to handle the situation.”

“We will weather whatever comes,” said Madeline staunchly. “Oakley should fear for his own reputation if he chooses to take this matter to court. He has more to hide than we do, I am sure.”

“His daughter’s reputation, you mean? Evidently, he doesn’t care for that at all. Or at least, he cares only to the tune of the ￡10,000 he wrongly believes he can extract from me against its security.”

“I mean Oakley himself,” Madeline corrected him, taking Gabrielle’s letter from her pocket and handing it to Charles.

“What is this?” he asked as he opened it.

“An unsavory piece of Oakley’s personal history. Gabrielle, the daughter of the former Vicomte D’Orsay, thought that we should both be aware of it. I expect this was not the only case.”

Charles looked at her with incomprehension and then began to read.

“The man is an animal!” he said angrily as he read, beginning to pace the room as he turned the pages.

Once he was done, the Duke turned back to Madeline. His face was set, and his brow was heavy, but there was no sign of his earlier explosiveness.

“You must go,” he said in a low but certain voice.

“What?” Madeline questioned, almost dropping the letter he had returned to her.

“You must leave with your parents at the end of the party, the day after tomorrow, and take Cecilia with you. It is not safe for either of you to be associated with me.”

“Charles!” she protested, reaching out to him, but he caught her hands before she could touch him. “You’re sending me away? How long for?”

“I don’t know,” the Duke answered, his face torn by multiple strong emotions. “There are things that must be done, and it is better that I do them alone. The deed of separation I have already requested from my lawyers should shield you to some extent, whatever happens next.”

“No, Charles!”

“I have decided,” he said firmly. “You will obey me in this, Madeline, if in nothing else. There is nothing more to discuss. I shall inform Cecilia in the morning.”

Releasing her hands, he left the study and shut the door. Alone inside, Madeline laid her head on the mantelpiece and closed her eyes as pain welled up inside her.

Whatever it was he intended to do, Charles was sending her away from him. Maybe forever…

Having smoothed her hair and composed her face, Madeline rejoined the ladies of the party in the drawing room for coffee after dinner. With an effortful smile, she made polite conversation with all as befit her role as hostess.

At last, she was alone on the sofa with her mother and Letitia nearby.

“Mother, I shall be coming to stay with you and Father for a time after the house party. I may bring Cecilia too, if that is acceptable.”

“Why, of course, my dear,” said Lady Terrell with a broad smile. “You must be exhausted after your first house party. It has been an ambitious undertaking in a house as large as this. We shall look after you until you feel up to running Huntingdon Manor once more. It will be a joy to take Cecilia out to tea if she is well enough.”

She put an arm around her eldest daughter and kissed her cheek affectionately as she spoke.

“Are you sure about this?” Letitia asked Madeline gently, leaning across from her chair.

“It is not my choice anymore,” answered Madeline sadly, thinking of Charles’ voice as he had effectively ordered her out of the house.

No, he didn’t love her, she told herself, and he never would. Beyond their bedroom games, she was only a nuisance and distraction to him, something to be cleared out of the way when he wanted to concentrate on more important matters.

But her family were good, kind people, regardless of their loudness, their oddities, and any other faults that society might find in them. Madeline was ashamed that she could ever have felt embarrassment on their behalf.

Her family did not drink, gamble, or swindle people. She had no doubt that her parents loved her and Letitia more than anything else in the world. If any man had ever insulted or dishonored them, she was entirely certain that Lord and Lady Terrell would have taken their daughters’ side. Madeline knew that she had much to be thankful for, despite her present misery.

“I take it you have spoken to Charles?” Letitia asked quietly when their mother rose to speak to Lady Radley.

Madeline nodded but had no chance to say more before the gentlemen returned from sitting with their port. Charles’ face was morose as he led them into the room. She had been unsure whether he would even return to the dining room or how he might have explained their absence. Knowing him, in the aftermath of his temper, he had likely said nothing at all.

Despite everything, Madeline longed for her husband on sight. She wanted to be in his arms, to comfort his sorrow, to feel his body on hers and deep inside her.

Seeing Letitia rise and go straight into Benedict’s embrace did nothing to cool her desire. The longing grew almost painful when she met Charles’s eyes for a moment, and she had to look away. She did not know whether it would be worse to avoid him until she left with her parents or to seek him out and be rejected.

Now, she only sipped her coffee and watched him quietly from the corner of her eye, hoping that no one else would see her distress. Cecilia approached her brother from the other side of the room.

“They are still here, aren’t they?” Madeline heard Cecilia ask him quietly, and Charles nodded.

There was no need to ask to whom she was referring.

“The storm prevented their departure, but they will be gone before breakfast,” he said shortly.

Cecilia nodded, her face pale and nervous. Madeline was not surprised. The incident in the ladies’ retiring room had shaken her up a great deal, and it was no wonder she was on tenterhooks for Lord Oakley to be gone from the house. The unwanted suit from Lord Morgan was also likely a burden her sister-in-law longed to shrug off.

“Might I have a word with you, Your Grace?” interrupted John Stephens, drawing Charles away from his sister and into a corner of the room.

Duke Charles and Stephens spoke closely and with some animation; the conversation seemed unlikely to be brief, whatever it concerned. Cecilia looked forlorn standing there alone without her brother, and Madeline went to her.

“You look tired, Cecilia.”

“I am tired,” Cecilia admitted. “It has felt like a very long day in a very long week. But you must be even more exhausted than me.”

“Not as exhausted as I would have been without your support, Cecilia. Thank you for joining us at meals and outings as you have. It has been a great help to me and to Charles.”

Cecilia’s eyes shone for a moment.

“I have enjoyed it, Madeline. Next time you and Charles throw a party, I hope I shall be well enough to do even more.”

Madeline could only smile sadly at this idea. There might never be another house party, but she would not spoil Cecilia’s daydreams. It was for Charles to break the news of their imminent departure in the morning, and Cecilia was yawning.

“Oh my, would you mind if I went to bed now, Madeline? I think I will need a long rest if I am to join you for a ride before breakfast.”

“Of course. Good night, Cecilia. We shall see you in the morning.”

They embraced, and Madeline released her to make her other goodnights.

Looking across to the other side of the room, Charles was still deep in conversation with Mr. Stephens. Madeline sighed as she watched him for a few moments longer, her physical longing refusing to be quelled.

While most of their guests excused themselves for bed relatively early, Lord and Lady Radley lingered late over brandy, having been invited to stay the night on account of the storm.

“Your first pony came from the Radley estate, Your Grace. Did you know that? You won’t remember, of course. You were just a tiny little lad, can’t have been more than four years…Do you remember, Lucinda?”

Lady Radley chuckled fondly in response to her husband’s prompt.

“Yes, I do. A fine little rider he was, Duchess Madeline. I remember him riding right around the yard the first time and then insisting that he stay on horseback for the groom to walk the animal home.”

“I can believe that,” Madeline smiled, stifling a yawn.

“We’ll do the same for your little ones when they arrive,” Lord Radley announced then, red-faced and jolly. “Nothing like a Radley pony, I say. How about a present for next Christmas? I suppose it’s too late for this year.”

“Hubert, you’re embarrassing the young people,” his wife admonished him as Madeline cast down her eyes, blushing, and Charles turned away.

“Not at all, Lady Radley,” Madeline recovered herself quickly. “We are simply tired after a long day and a busy week. Your company tonight has been a tonic.”

“My dear, we should not be keeping you from your bed,” said Lady Radley with an apologetic smile. “Look at the time, Hubert. We should retire at once.”

She rose from her seat, drawing her husband with her. As they thanked Madeline effusively for her hospitality, Charles rang for a footman to bring a lamp and show the elderly couple to their room.

When they were gone, the drawing room seemed very quiet apart from the storm still whistling outside, less thunderous than earlier but with higher winds and heavier rain. Charles gave a long exhalation of breath and went to stand beside the mantelpiece.

“Thank God that charade is over and done with,” he said, his green eyes very distant and abstracted from her now.

“Lord and Lady Radley can’t be expected to know that our marriage is merely a convenient arrangement,” Madeline observed. “They were only trying to be kind.”

Her words jolted him from his preoccupation.

“That isn’t what I meant,” he protested. “I was talking about the charade of pretending that I’m not a hair’s breadth away from going upstairs and hurling Archibald Barton out of a window.”

He came to stand before her although not too close tonight.

“But is that still how you think of our marriage, Madeline?” Charles asked her with a frown on his face, and Madeline shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak the right words. “I don’t want you to go, but you must,” he admitted. “It is the only way.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Madeline told him plainly.

Then, gathering her courage, she took a few steps forward and rested her hands on his lapels.

“I don’t want to leave you, Charles,” she repeated and felt his arms come around her as he breathed her in deeply, burying his face in her hair.

“Madeline…how I want you!” he said thickly.

“I’m yours, Charles,” she reminded him. “Yours to take.”

With a fierce sound from deep in his throat, his lips found hers, his hands drawing her tightly to him and then finding the lines of her curves once more through her clothing.

“But what if I leave you with child, Madeline?” he said, panting as he pulled back, despite Madeline’s small moans of protest. “I have given you enough burdens to carry alone. That one is too heavy.”

“Is it not already too late to worry about that? We have lain together so many times. What difference can once more make?”

“But it is different to do so knowingly, Madeline, surely.”

“It is no different,” Madeline insisted, and then her tone changed from one of demand to one of pleading. “Please, Charles, if you must send me away, take me to your bed one more time.”

The Duke said her name again, this time with even greater passion and then took her back fully into his embrace. Madeline’s legs were trembling by the time he pulled away a second time, caressing her face with an expression of intense hunger on his own.

“Let us go upstairs, Duchess, or I will have you over the sofa.”