Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

A fter her temper had cooled, Madeline rather regretted the way she and Charles had left their conversation about the guest rooms for the party. Their argument had solved nothing. She had promised the housekeeper a finalized plan by the next day and knew she would have to pick it up the discussion again with a calmer head.

He might have been rather blind and pig-headed over that business contact of his, but maybe her husband had also made a valid point that his investments were for the good of the estate and family, rather than purely his own enrichment.

In their terse confrontation, Madeline had assumed the worst, but on cooler reflection, she had to admit that nothing else she’d seen indicated that the Duke of Huntingdon was either a gambler or a man bent on personal wealth for its own sake. Whatever wrong-headed propositions he might make, his motivations were unlikely to be immoral or cruel.

“Is Duke Charles still in the library, Lonsley?” she asked the butler as she descended the stairs and saw him crossing the hallway.

“No, Your Grace. The Duke went out in his carriage about an hour ago. I believe he will be with his agents for the rest of the afternoon.”

Madeline sighed again and returned upstairs. Any attempt at a truce and further negotiation on the rooms would have to be postponed.

“So, as we’ve now discussed, the Huntingdon Manor estate continues to produce returns above average in terms of rents, agriculture, arboriculture, and other activities,” said Mr. Greene, the senior partner at the Duke of Huntingdon’s local agent. “It’s the envy of the county.”

He patted the carefully copied sheaf of quarterly papers on his desk with satisfaction on his round, white-haired face and then passed the bundle to Charles.

“With my judgment and your excellent management, how could it be otherwise?” Charles said with a measured smile intended to communicate both humor and appreciation. “Oh, will you please make the transfer we discussed earlier to my bank in London? I want to be in a position to move fast once I am ready to make my Holland investment.”

Now, Mr. Greene coughed, and a slight shadow appeared on his face. He was an old-fashioned gentleman from an old-fashioned firm of agents that had served Charles’s father and grandfather well before him. Talk of newfangled, international investments clearly did not fit his view of how the Huntingdon estate should be run.

“Are you absolutely certain that this is the best course of action for your funds, Your Grace? I implore you to think very carefully before you commit to such a venture and thoroughly investigate the bona fides of anyone else involved. Do you know the Earl of Oakley well? I have never heard you mention the name before.”

For a moment, indignation rose in the Duke’s throat. How dare this man question his plans for his own money? As a young man, he would certainly have torn a strip off the agent and likely regretted it later. Now, on reflection, he simply smiled again and nodded his head.

“I employ you for your care and caution, Mr. Greene. I can hardly complain when you encourage these virtues, can I? However, sometimes a man must take measured risks for a greater good, and that is what I intend to do here. The decision is mine, and the risk is mine. You have given your view, and I have listened. Let us say no more of the matter.”

Mr. Greene sighed and nodded as Charles stood and slipped the paperwork into a leather bag at his side.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” the old man acceded. “Well, business now aside, you must be glad to be home with your wife at last after so long in Switzerland. Her Grace must have missed you greatly although I have to say she was a boon to us and your estate staff in your absence, regardless of her feelings.”

Charles froze. He had managed to put Madeline entirely from his mind for the past few hours, but now, his agent had again applied a match to the combustible material of his imagination.

“Missed me? Why do you say that?” he reacted tersely and saw the white-haired agent rather taken aback by his unexpected reaction.

“Well, Mrs. Greene wouldn’t bear my absence for a month, never mind a year,” Greene said, regarding his employer strangely. “It’s hard enough when I must spend a few days in London for business. When she was as young as Her Grace, it was impossible. For both of us, frankly. The children occupied her when they came along, but they’re all grown now, of course.”

Charles realized that he couldn’t imagine such a thing — a woman wanting his presence so much that she missed his absence after a month, a week or even a few days?! He certainly couldn’t imagine Madeline missing him in such a way.

When Charles had been away, he’d largely assumed that his absence would be a favor to Madeline. Since his return, he’d discovered that it had been an inconvenience to her, but he believed this to be more of a logistical than emotional issue.

“I congratulate you on the affection of a loving wife and the happiness of a successful marriage,” said the Duke before realizing that this comment sounded almost sarcastic. “No, I really do, Mr. Greene. The Duchess and I are only now beginning to know one another, you understand. I do not feel myself qualified yet to speak as one married man to another.”

The senior agent took no umbrage and walked the Duke to the front door of the offices with good humor in his expression.

“Of course, of course, Your Grace. I did not mean to pry or speak in such familiar terms. You must excuse an old man’s indiscretion and take no offense.”

“No offense is taken,” Charles assured him.

“Then, may I wish both of you well in your marriage now that it has finally begun,” said Mr. Greene as he bade him farewell, and Charles shook the old man’s hand.

In the coach on the return to Huntingdon Manor, the Duke’s daydreams took a new turn. Given Cecilia’s reversion to old habits, he had idly considered the possibility of returning her to Switzerland for at least a short period before dismissing the idea on the grounds that it was not good to indulge his sister’s social avoidance any longer.

Now, in his fantasy when this idea occurred to him again, Madeline was there too, one of her hands on his arm as she said only two words: “Don’t go.”

The Duke of Huntingdon shook his head firmly as he descended the coach steps outside Huntingdon Manor, as if he could dislodge such images and dreams physically from his head. This would not do at all.

“I wanted to apologize, Charles,” said Madeline steadfastly, determined to say her piece before she lost either her courage or her patience.

Watching from an upper window, she had seen the coach return and given her husband a few minutes to settle himself before asking Lonsley for his whereabouts and making her way to the Duke’s study.

Now, Charles Wraith’s green eyes only stared at her blankly over the desk. No, not blankly. That was the wrong word. His gaze was deeply abstracted rather than blank, as though he were looking at her but seeing something of which she wasn’t aware. Still, he didn’t speak, and she had no idea what was going through his mind.

“I understand that you have business interests which are also important to the estate and your family,” Madeline plunged on. “I need you to understand that my actions and words are equally motivated by strong principles. I want to help you, and I want the best for Cecilia. Do you accept my apology?”

When he continued to gaze at her rather than respond, Madeline braced herself for a negative response, further accusations, or even an outburst of temper. She was trembling slightly although not from any physical fear of her husband. It was still her firm belief that the “Duke of Wrath” label was only the usual invention of the ton.

But why then was she shivering like this in his presence? As Charles stood and came round from his desk to stand before her, Madeline’s heart beat erratically.

“Do you accept my apology?” she asked again, keeping her hands behind her back so that he could not see their unsteadiness.

“Apology? You have no need to apologize Madeline, unless I do too. We misunderstood one another earlier today, and we are both adult enough to admit that. I hope we can learn to avoid such clashes in time. I believe that you had Cecilia’s interests in mind as did I.”

Slowly she nodded. The Duke’s words were carefully spoken and tightly controlled as though he were struggling to speak them for some reason. There were things in this man’s head that he did not know how to communicate, but his semi-apology was a good enough start.

“When I came in for breakfast and saw you and Cecilia laughing and talking together…” Charles added, clearly having more to say, “I… Do you know how long it is since I saw my sister laugh?”

“How long?”

“Years. Too many years. Not since I went abroad when Cecilia was eighteen. It was wonderful to see and hear it again. I realize that I must thank you for that.”

“You do not need to thank me,” she said quickly, unsure where this line of thinking could lead. “I intend to do my duty here as Duchess of Huntingdon as Cecilia’s sister as well as your wife.”

“Your duty?” he questioned and unexpectedly brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face, making Madeline inhale sharply. “I did not think life here was so burdensome for you as that. You laugh and smile too, sometimes, at least with Cecilia.”

“Duty need not also be a burden,” Madeline breathed, her eyes fixed on his.

“No, it need not,” Charles agreed, and once more, he was somehow close enough that she could sense his breath on her skin.

Good God, was he going to kiss her? His hand was at her hair again, running that stray lock through his fingers as though fascinated by the color and texture of its chestnut strands.

Then Madeline heard familiar voices in the hallway nearby, not having fully closed the door when she entered the study.

“In the study you say, Mr. Lonsley? Merci! I must consult Her Grace on her dress for dinner this evening…”

At the sound of the bright young maid’s voice approaching, Madeline and Charles almost physically jumped apart. By the time that Gabrielle knocked lightly on the door and entered the room at Charles’ gruff invitation, they were virtually on opposite sides of the room.

“I do not wish to disturb Your Graces, but I must ask…”

“You are disturbing nothing, Mademoiselle D’Orsay,” Charles said quickly. “We have finished our discussion here, I believe. It remains only for me to tell Duchess Madeline that I approve entirely of her arrangements for bedrooms for the house party, and I leave any remaining decisions in her hands.”

With a brisk bow to his wife, Charles Wraith left the room, leaving both women looking after him with curiosity, a distinct blush on Madeline’s face and a questioning expression on that of her maid.

“What?” blurted the Duke of Huntingdon sharply, slapping the linen napkin back onto the table in annoyance at what he had just heard.

“Lady Cecilia has sent word that she is indisposed this evening and prays that you will eat dinner without her.”

Lonsley repeated himself slowly and clearly, his expression grave but unflinching in the face of Duke Charles’s reaction. He had likely expected such a response from his master, Madeline guessed. She looked briefly across to the empty chair at the third table setting and then back to her husband. He did not meet her eye.

“Damn it all!” exclaimed Charles, shoving back his chair and rising from it so forcefully that it rocked and almost fell. “This is intolerable. I must go upstairs and speak to Cecilia myself…”

The young maid who had just entered the room with a tureen of soup looked distinctly shaken by the Duke’s display of temper. Lonsley stepped forward to take the dish from her trembling arms. Madeline noted that an angry, blustering man who produced such an effect on a maid was highly unlikely to entice a withdrawn, and possibly unwell, younger sister from her room.

“Shall I come, too?” Madeline suggested as blandly as she could, not wishing to pour fuel onto this particular fire.

“No,” Charles said politely but firmly, holding up his hand and with annoyance at Cecilia evident in his voice. “You will remain here, Duchess Madeline. At least one of us can enjoy the meal that our dedicated staff have skillfully prepared for our enjoyment with the finest ingredients from the estate. The whole household should not be thrown into disarray because Cecilia cannot pull herself together.”

“Charles,” she began to challenge him, but he was already halfway out of the room, maybe deliberately ignoring her.

“Serve Duchess Madeline some soup,” the Duke ordered Lonsley. “And the rest of the meal. Do not wait for my return.”

Madeline sighed deeply and shook her head as Charles’s brisk footsteps passed across the hallway and towards the stairs. Dinner had promised to be an awkward meal from the first, both of them still conscious of whatever had — or hadn’t — happened between them in the study an hour earlier.

While awaiting Cecilia’s arrival, they had sat largely in silence for ten minutes, making small talk about the weather. When Lonsley had first announced her sister-in-law’s absence, Madeline’s heart had fallen at the prospect of getting through an entire meal with such limited conversational fare.

Was Charles glad, on some level, to have an excuse to flee?

“White wine, Your Grace?” asked Lonsley, having ladled the mushroom soup into her bowl and returned the tureen to the maid.

“No, thank you. Not this evening,” Madeline responded, pushing away her wine glass, and picking up her spoon. “Only water.”

She saw no reason to prolong this solitary meal any longer than necessary. Even if Charles reappeared, the atmosphere seemed unlikely to improve based on the current evidence. The Duke had barely looked at her tonight, seeming to deliberately turn away every time his eyes even accidentally strayed towards her.

So much for all Gabrielle’s efforts with cream silk and pearls this evening. On first entering the dining room, Madeline had felt intensely self-conscious about the way the strings of shimmering spheres hung, nestling on the shelf of her half-bared bosom. However, it seemed her modesty was as wasted as Gabrielle’s artistic talents.

The Duke of Huntingdon’s gaze had been anywhere except on his wife. For some reason, this fact preyed on her mind and refused to be dismissed for the irrelevance it should have been.

After dinner, Madeline rose directly and announced that she would retire early. Walking slowly up the stairs, she took her time to examine some of the artworks hanging on the walls or sitting in niches, remarking to herself how different they could look in candlelight compared to daylight.

On the first landing, a flash of movement caught her eye, and she found herself looking at her own reflection in the long mirror that hung on one wall. Gabrielle was right. She did look well tonight in this cream, silk evening dress, its cut and drapery setting off her statuesque figure perfectly. The flickering of the candles lent her the same warmth and softness as the artworks.

Madeline felt another indignant stab that Charles had not even noticed her gown and then a surge of confusion in trying to reconcile this oversight with his strange display in the study earlier. The recollection of how his hand had felt in her hair made her shiver.

She was only distracted from these disturbing sensations by her renewed awareness of the low neckline in the looking glass. Her breasts appeared even more naked now than they had when Gabrielle had first dressed her. Walking around and sitting at the table this past hour must have disarranged the fabric.

“Far too low,” she murmured to herself in dismay, unsuccessfully trying to draw up the material or to cover herself with her jewelry. “Really…”

Her maid had assured her that the strings of pearls would provide additional coverage, but they certainly did not. In Madeline’s view, they rather drew attention to the flesh they adorned. She hoped the Duke had not ignored her because he considered her appearance indecent.

At this moment, the sound of a sharply indrawn breath nearby made her jump. She turned towards the sound in time to see Charles making for the staircase, his face fixed and unreadable, apparently not having noticed her standing there at all. Madeline said nothing, allowing him to proceed back downstairs before she returned to her own rooms where Gabrielle was waiting.

“How was dinner, Your Grace? Did the Duke appreciate his wife’s fine toilette ?”

Madeline shook her head with a bemused smile.

“I don’t believe he looked me in the eye once all evening, Gabrielle,” she answered. “I am sorry to disappoint you. Either he considered my outfit inappropriate or didn’t notice me at all. I can’t say which.”

Gabrielle respectfully tutted and shook her head at the mention of the word “inappropriate”, assuring Madeline that other ladies of the ton wore far more revealing dresses without attracting condemnation or censure.

“Looking into the eyes is not everything, Your Grace,” further observed her maid. “Perhaps the Duke looked at you while your own eyes were somewhere else. He was discreet, I would think. How could he not look at you? I cannot believe such a thing.”

“Oh, you poor romantic child!” Madeline laughed wearily, taking a seat at the dressing table and sweeping her hair aside so that Gabrielle could unclasp the pearls. “You may believe that if you wish, but I think the Duke of Huntingdon’s attention is entirely focused somewhere other than me.”

“We shall see about that,” returned Gabrielle with a small upward tilt of her chin that made her dimpling smile look as though she were accepting a challenge.