Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“ G ood evening, Your Grace,” Madeline said evenly with a respectful nod.

Charles returned Madeline’s greeting with a bow and took his own place at the table’s head. His wife’s smooth face was composed again. The flush he had seen on her skin in the library had faded back into her normal healthy glow, and that tantalizing glint of animal desire had vanished from her eyes.

He would not have been surprised if his wife had also deserted him for dinner after their encounter in the library. Justified or not, Charles knew that he had abruptly overstepped all markers that he had set out for their relationship.

“You look very well tonight, Madeline,” he said, keeping his tone light as he complimented her in hopefully acceptable terms. “I am lucky to have a duchess who will be both useful and ornamental for our first house party.”

Although he genuinely resolved to claim his wife at an appropriate time, he had not intended to stake his claim quite so bluntly. He was an English gentleman rather than a barbarian, and Madeline was a lady, if a particularly disobedient and willful example of her sex.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she returned a little uncertainly, apparently unaccustomed to fielding such personal tributes. “I am glad that my toilette meets with your approval. You too look well tonight.”

Charles nodded his appreciation of her compliment, glad to be returning to more predictable and civilized terms of engagement. He suspected his self-control had been partly undone earlier by the sight of Madeline unexpectedly riding along the lake earlier while he was out with his gamekeeper. She had not noticed him.

Upright, lithe, and strong in her seat, his wife had seemed almost a mythical creature: a female centaur at one with her horse. He could not help the swell of admiration her athleticism commanded nor his instinctive appreciation of her womanly physical form, so curvaceous in that riding habit…

Her presence today had been the last thing Charles expected, and it had been hard to keep his eyes from her or hide his reactions from Gloucester. It had been an equal challenge not to angrily demand to know what she was doing there in complete defiance of his instructions.

Now in the dining room, Madeline had turned her head to examine all the paintings around the dining room, either out of interest or to avoid his eyes. He couldn’t be sure which and felt a slight twinge of guilt. Whether she welcomed his advances or not, his wife had not sought them and had seemed shocked by what had transpired in the library.

“The weather is warm today, is it not?” she commented pleasantly, evidently as keen as Charles to keep conversation polite.

Until he saw Madeline that evening, the thought of bedding her had not seriously crossed the Duke’s mind. But then, in five short minutes, it had become inevitable as well as desirable. She was already his, after all, and her instinctive response to him had told him that her body knew it even if her mind had yet to catch up.

“Too warm, perhaps,” he answered.

Another inadvertent glance in his wife’s direction had the Duke subtly loosening his collar. His previous compliment on her appearance had the virtue of honesty. Madeline did look very well in that dress. Far too well in fact.

This discomfiture made it particularly unfortunate that Cecilia had not appeared at dinner that night, regardless of his or her maid’s efforts. Her presence might have diluted the tension that was now palpable in the dining room.

True to his word, for Cecilia’s sake, Charles had even taken down the picture of their parents. It sat on the floor, facing the wall, waiting for servants to wrap it and put it in the attic. Was he really prepared to destroy it as he’d claimed in his fit of temper? God only knew, but such an action would certainly cause talk in the servants’ hall.

Madeline glanced at the displaced painting and the empty spot on the wall. She had noted the maid removing the third setting at the table, but to Charles’s relief, his wife tactfully made no comment on either matter.

A footman entered with a tureen of soup, and another approached with a bottle of white wine. Charles waved his hand to redirect them as they approached the table.

“When the Duchess and I are here alone together, she is always to be served first,” he demanded, and the men obeyed.

The Duke watched Madeline as she sipped her wine, her eyes carefully averted and waiting until they were both served before taking up her spoon. Shyness? Modesty? Self-consciousness? If so, she was refusing to give way to any of them. Her composure was admirable, even if part of him already longed to break it again.

“The Huntingdon Manor kitchen makes a fine watercress soup,” Madeline commented conversationally, trying hard to act as though the confrontation in the library had never happened. “It is the best I have tasted.”

Did she not know how attractive she was tonight, he wondered? Particularly in that gown and to a man like Charles Wraith. He had always been drawn to physically capable women, especially those with ample curves and characters strong enough to balance his own. Weakness, delicacy, and passive aggression all repelled him. There was already a surplus of those qualities in the Wraith family.

“Then we should certainly have watercress soup on our menu for the house party,” he replied.

“I have already proposed it for dinner on the second day. If you have time tomorrow, we could review the full menu plan together.”

He shook his head quickly with a half-smile. Did it not occur to Madeline that if they sat down alone together, he might be tempted to go much further than he had that evening? Or did she hope that he would? In either case, it was best that they keep some physical distance until after the guests had been and gone. Lust must wait its turn.

“I will leave the menus in your capable hands. In return, you will allow me to focus on the shooting and duck hunt without interference. Do you require my advice on the wines?”

“Only if you have favorite vintages you wish to serve. I have already investigated the cellars and consulted Lonsley.”

“Very well. I will review the wine list briefly at the end of the week and add anything I think particular guests might appreciate.”

They talked of such practical matters throughout the main course of beef with mushroom sauce and a dessert of summer fruits and custard.

“One more thing, Your Grace,” Madeline added after the final plates were cleared, a faint self-conscious flush on her face again. “Do you have particular expectations of my dress for any of the house party’s events? My maid has excellent taste and will have prepared for all likely possibilities, but there is also time to send to London if you had particular wishes.”

“Your maid chose your outfit tonight, didn’t she?” Charles now asked with a smile. “She certainly does have good taste…”

With an effort, he prevented his instinctive glance at her generous breasts from lingering too long and lifted his gaze back to her eyes instead.

“I have never seen you dressed less than appropriately for any occasion, Madeline. Like the menus, that is your own realm, and I do not intend to interfere.”

She nodded calmly despite the pinkness of her cheeks which was beyond her control. Madeline had clearly been taken by surprise at the effect she’d had on him earlier tonight, and he was touched by her confusion.

Despite her self-assurance and confidence in everyday life, his investigations before their marriage had told Charles that Madeline had no real romantic experience. During several London Seasons alongside her sister, her passions had always been expended on horses and family rather than flirting or courtship.

According to Benedict, she had once received a proposal of marriage without actually noticing, turning the young man down on the understanding that he was only inviting her to join him as a companion for a long walk. Letitia, who witnessed the proceedings, reportedly found the matter hilarious.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I will plan accordingly,” said Madeline. “Now, unless there is anything else we should discuss tonight, I plan to go to bed and rise early for my morning ride.”

“Of course,” Charles agreed, standing and tossing his napkin back onto the table. “You have had a long day. I would not keep you up late.”

“It is not necessary to escort me,” Madeline began to object as he offered her his arm at the dining room door. “I would not deprive you of an after-dinner drink, and I am sure that you have business to attend to.”

“There is nothing that would prevent me from walking my wife to the stairs after dinner,” he said with a shake of his head.

“You do not need to,” she said again, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“I insist,” said Charles, taking Madeline’s hand and placing it on his arm. “Remember, you are my wife, Duchess Madeline.”

At these words, he saw her eyes open wide and felt a faint tremor pass through her body via the hand on his forearm, but she did not object again.

“Very well,” she said softly. “I am your wife.”

Charles walked her from the dining room, across the long hallway to the foot of the staircase. There, he brought her hand very briefly to his lips and gave a slight bow.

“Goodnight, Duchess Madeline,” he said and stood back, letting her know that he would not pursue her further, for now.

“Goodnight, Duke Charles,” she answered quietly and then quickly gathered up her skirts and turned away.

He watched her ascending the stairs, his eye drawn to the curve of her hip and dip of her waist as she moved. What a fine hourglass figure she had, that wife of his who was not quite yet his wife.

As Madeline vanished around the corner of the second landing, another surge of lust reminded the Duke that there was nothing preventing him from consummating their union that very night if he wished. He could simply go to her rooms now, dismiss her maid, and take her in his arms. She might be a little frightened at first, but he would be slow and gentle.

Why was he waiting? He could not quite remember…

Charles had taken five steps up the staircase before he remembered that he still needed to speak to Cecilia before bed that evening. Cursing aloud and accidentally sending a young maid scurrying from the landing above, he changed his direction and tried to clear his mind. How could he possibly have forgotten his duty to his sister so easily? He had been distracted by pure lust.

Cecilia’s absence from the dinner table had been entirely unacceptable as was her deception with the letter to Madeline. He must make sure she knew that. But he would also assure her that the intimidating painting was now gone. That might do some good.

“Damn it all,” the Duke swore again, turning right at the landing towards his sister’s room rather than left towards the ducal suites.

He hated losing control of himself. Madeline must be bedded, but there was a time and a place for that, and it was not here and now. He must not allow himself to be diverted from his duties by base physical needs.

“You were missed at dinner, Cecilia,” Charles said sternly, seating himself on the small desk in his sister’s private sitting room. She was sitting in a comfortable chair with a book at her side.

“I was tired, Charles,” Cecilia excused herself. “I also thought it would be good for you and Madeline to have some time alone together at last.”

“Is that why you wrote to her?” he asked bluntly. “I know it was you, Cecilia. I’ve seen the letter. There’s no point in denying it.”

“Yes, it was me,” she answered with a hint of defiance. “You might scold me, but it was the right thing to do since you clearly weren’t going to bring her here yourself.”

He rejoiced to see this hint of the old Cecilia even while angry at her dishonesty and wincing at the emotional targets she had managed to hit with her remark.

“Cecilia,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair and closing his eyes, “Madeline is very capable, and you’re right that her presence here will guarantee that everything is well organized for the party and our guests. But it has made my life considerably more complicated in ways you can’t understand. You know you should have talked to me before writing to her —”

“Don’t you even like her?” his sister asked. “I’ve only ever heard good things about Madeline. Even though I haven’t yet met her, I believe that I like her.”

“Nor should you have absented yourself from dinner without my permission. I am the head of this household, and you have caused me some embarrassment tonight. Anyway, I didn’t say I didn’t like Madeline,” the Duke objected, diverted from his lecture. “It is merely that her presence is…distracting. My current priorities are Huntingdon estate business and you.”

He was unable to keep certain images of his wife from his head. Madeline in the library, mere inches from him, flushed with surprise and desire… Madeline’s supple form on horseback galloping along the path on the other side of the lake this afternoon, believing herself unseen… Madeline’s swaying hips as he watched her ascend the stairs this evening…

“Why did you marry her if you don’t want her around?” asked Cecilia pointedly. “Well, maybe I want her around. I’ve never had a sister, but I might like to.”

Charles softened his expression. So, Cecilia was lonely and wanted female company of her own age. That was perfectly natural, and who better than Madeline to provide it? After all, her steadiness and potentially good influence on Cecilia had been among the reasons he had chosen to marry her.

“Have breakfast with us tomorrow,” he instructed. “I shall finally introduce you. You will dine with us tomorrow too. I have removed the painting you find so objectionable.”

Cecilia thought for a moment and smiled. “I will, if you tell me why you married Madeline.”

Charles turned away at this challenge, rubbing his brow with annoyance and wishing that his sister would not bombard him with such questions. Having to think about such things was like pressing on an injury or striking at an unsteady dam in a river. He did not know what would happen if the pressure persisted but feared the consequences instinctively.

“I married Madeline because I needed a wife, and I believed her to be a good and sensible woman. That is all I can tell you.”

“And is she? Good and sensible?”

“Yes, good, sensible, loyal…strong, and stubborn as a mule too,” he answered with a smile twitching at his lips despite his exasperation. “I don’t know much more I can tell you than that, Cecilia. You must meet her and make up your own mind.”

“I will. While you are here, Charles, I wanted to talk to you about your guest list. I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

“A favor? Of course. You may add anyone you wish within reason. I would be glad if you did…”

“No,” Cecilia stopped him before he could continue rising by laying a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to add anyone. May I remove some guests or at least exclude them from staying here at Huntingdon Manor?”

“Remove? Most of the invitations have already gone out, Cecilia. Of the rest, we have verbal agreement from most. It would be very difficult at this stage.”

“But if it were important to me, could you do it?” she persisted.

Charles frowned, unsure what was on his sister’s mind or where this conversation could possibly lead.

“Well, not Benedict and Letitia obviously. Nor Lord and Lady Terrell, Madeline’s parents. We must have our London neighbors and our cousin, Terence, too, since he knows both Benedict and Letitia. My university friends are essential if the shooting is to be any real sport. The Earl of Oakley and his family are obviously important, given the potential investment issue…”

Cecilia turned away from him sharply, but then her shoulders slumped, and she sank back into her chair and closed her eyes.

“Who did you want to remove?” he demanded.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said hopelessly without opening her eyes. “Nothing matters, really. I would like to go to bed now, Charles.”

Unsure what he had said or done or how he could make it better, Charles kissed his sister’s cheek and bade her goodnight.

Unexpectedly, the Duke of Huntingdon entered the breakfast room the next morning to the sound of women’s voices and actual laughter.

Opening the door, he saw Madeline in her very form-fitting riding habit beside Cecilia in a white muslin day dress with a green sash, looking livelier than he had seen her in years. While he did not hear their exact conversation, he noted that they were already addressing one another by their first names.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, surprised but not displeased. “I see that you have already made one another’s acquaintance without my assistance.”

“My brother labors under the delusion that his presence is necessary for all things.”

Cecilia had actually teased him. He saw Madeline’s mouth twitch into a knowing smile, but she tactfully refrained from explicit agreement.

“I have always thought it a greater compliment to be wanted than needed,” she said obliquely.

“Then why do you make yourself so necessary in all things?” Charles inquired. “Is that not a contradiction?”

“What choice do I have when faced with the limitations of other people?” Madeline immediately countered. “It is better to get things done than to receive compliments.”

Cecilia laughed and clapped her hands.

“ Touché , brother. Sit down and eat your breakfast before you both cut yourselves on your own wit. Madeline and I were just discussing our first horses. Do you remember Lightning?”

“Your black mare?” Charles asked, recalling the horse with an effort. “Yes. Father bought her for you when you were around twelve, didn’t he?”

“Yes. She was so fast but careful too. I never had a single accident with Lightning.”

“What happened to Lightning?” he asked, reaching for coffee and finding that Madeline had already poured him a cup and pushed it within his reach.

Cecilia’s face fell at this question.

“Mother had her shot after my first Season. She said Lightning was getting too old and lame.”

“I’m sorry,” Madeline said in sympathy, patting Cecilia’s arm. “It’s hard to let go of a horse, but sometimes, it’s the kindest thing.”

“Was Mother kind, Charles?” Cecilia asked then, her eyes looking a little wild. “She always said she was, but I thought she had Lightning killed to punish me.”

“No!”

Shocked by this accusation, Charles found himself unable to answer his sister’s question honestly, especially before Madeline. His mouth had barked this one angry word automatically before he could stop himself.

No, their mother had not been kind. God only knew what she had done to the horse. And Charles had still gone abroad and abandoned his young sister to that unkindness, hadn’t he? What kind of man did that make him?

Both women were now looking at him expectantly, Cecilia’s expression nervous and Madeline’s curious.

“I’m sure that’s not completely right, Cecilia,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “You were probably ill and upset about Lightning.”

“Are you really sure that Mother was right? Or that she was kind?” Cecilia persisted, and Charles saw tears springing into her eyes once more. “I’m not sure at all anymore. I’m not sure of anything.”

Jumping up from the table, she ran from the room without remembering to close the door, and they heard the rush of her footsteps all the way up the stairs.

“Cecilia still isn’t well,” Charles said heavily after a few seconds of silence. “As you can see. She did seem to improve in Switzerland, and for a few minutes this morning, she seemed almost herself again. Now, we may be back at square one.”

“What is actually wrong with Cecilia?” Madeline asked him directly, putting down her empty coffee cup. “Neither of you has told me.”

“No one knows,” he shrugged wearily. “I’ve had the best doctors in England examine her and give their views, but not one has come up with a credible diagnosis, never mind a cure. Switzerland seemed to help while we were there, but returning to England may have undone that progress. Unless we emigrate, there is no cure there either.”

Madeline frowned as she folded her napkin and then regarded it thoughtfully, having finished eating.

“Have you ever simply asked Cecilia what the matter is?”

Charles laughed humorlessly at this apparently naive question.

“Cecilia only says that she is tired, that she is unwell, that she wishes to see no one and go nowhere…How can that help?”

“But why does she feel these things? Perhaps her trouble might be of the mind or heart and not of the body.”

“You think my sister is mad?!” he said indignantly. “I assure you, Cecilia is as sane as you or me. I will have no one say otherwise…”

“I agree, Cecilia is perfectly sane. But I do wonder whether the real trouble is something beyond a physical matter, Charles.”

“From your intimate knowledge of Cecilia and years of professional medical experience, I suppose?” he said, the derisive words rushing from his lips before he could stop them.

Charles had tried so hard and for so long to help his sister. For Madeline to waltz in now and think she might solve the problem within minutes was galling, insulting even. He knew he was being unfair, but one way or another, his feelings seemed to gallop ahead of his thoughts each time he was in his wife’s company.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Charles,” Madeline said calmly, tossing the napkin onto the table and rising. “Think about it. I am going to change now.”

She left him sitting alone at the breakfast table, worried for Cecilia, disturbed by new ideas regarding his sister’s troubles, and distracted almost beyond reason by the sight of his wife’s curvaceous body walking away from him in that sleek black riding habit.