Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

“ C harles decorated this room,” Cecilia announced once the maid had deposited the tea tray and left again. “Does that surprise you?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Madeline, walking around the drawing room with new eyes. “I had not conceived of him taking an interest in interior decoration. I must say, this layout is easy on the eye and very…restful.”

The room was light, airy, and modern, scattered with mirrors, small marble figurines of draped nymphs, shepherds in niches, and vases of fresh flowers on the tables and mantelpiece. The curtains were of plain light-blue silk and the only two paintings were both of a smiling lady of the previous century playing a harp on one wall and a harpsichord on another. She looked a little like Cecilia.

“He did it for me,” added her sister-in-law. “The old drawing room was dark and awful… I couldn’t… make myself go in there. When Charles came home from Europe, he tore down the old curtains and shelves and made a bonfire of the lot on the upper lawn with all the old velvet chaise-longues and cabinets too. The servants thought he’d taken leave of his senses.”

This part of the story was far easier to imagine. But why such a dramatic gesture? For Cecilia’s sake, clearly, but without any fuller understanding, Madeline guessed.

Cecilia now exhaled and leaned back into the sofa, closing her eyes. The morning’s walk had taxed her limited strength.

“You did not have breakfast this morning, I believe,” Madeline observed with kindness and practicality, passing a small plate of walnut cake to her sister-in-law. “Do eat a little. Solid food calms the nerves, you know. It’s very hard to be truly nervous or unhappy with a good meal inside you. Dear me, do I sound like a physician or someone’s mother?”

Cecilia laughed but opened her eyes and accepted the cake.

“You don’t sound like my mother. She always told me that ladies should eat like little birds in order to avoid getting too fat. She used to make me leave half of everything on my plate from when I was thirteen years of age.”

“Young people don’t generally get fat as long as they’re active,” Madeline said, stoutly dismissing such a silly idea. “And some older people are meant to be a little fat. It’s nature’s way. You should eat three good meals a day, Cecilia, if you want to be healthy. I’m sure any reputable medical man would agree with me.”

“It is good cake,” her sister-in-law observed, taking a bite after these encouraging words.

Madeline herself took a small piece of cake to keep Cecilia company although she wasn’t yet hungry after breakfast. She always ate well. The walk that morning might have been a physical challenge to the two other women, but she could have walked twice as far and fast without real effort.

Hoping that they would remain undisturbed for a while, Madeline considered how she might get Cecilia back onto the topic of the Wraith family. She knew she must choose her words carefully. The clues uncovered so far implied that whatever had caused Cecilia’s troubles was closely linked to her mother, but if Madeline asked too direct or painful a question, she knew the younger woman could close down again.

Madeline decided to open obliquely with an enquiry about Charles which would satisfy her own curiosity and hopefully open the door safely to opportunities for further family questions.

“Why does the ton call Charles ‘the Duke of Wrath?’” Madeline asked wonderingly. “I have been longing to ask you that. He does have a temper, but so do many others — often far worse men than your brother. Burning old furniture on one’s lawn is eccentric, for example, but of no account in wider society. Marking him for such distinction seems unfair.”

“Yes, Charles has always had a temper, but his intentions are good,” said Cecilia, smiling fondly. “He has never been wicked or cruel. You know that too, don’t you?”

Madeline nodded, and Cecilia continued, “Once society has given someone such a name, it’s hard to shake it off. I worried once that such a reputation could drive away friends or damage his marriage prospects. Neither of those things has come to pass, fortunately. Only those who don’t know Charles are truly afraid of his temper, and he doesn’t seem to care about it.”

Again, Madeline indicated her agreement with a nod.

“Still, it would be easier to have proper conversations with him if Charles didn’t explode over minor disagreements, wouldn’t it?” she added with a smile.

“You should have heard him when he was young and rowed with Mother and Father. It was enough to wake the dead,” Cecilia commented, shaking her head ruefully. “I had to put my fingers in my ears sometimes with all three of them shouting at the top of their voices.”

“So, he has always roared like a lion, has he?” asked Madeline, thinking of her maid’s earlier comment.

Cecilia giggled at this choice of wording.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. Charles roars like a lion, and it’s so loud sometimes that he can’t hear anyone else. Sometimes, I don’t think he even notices when I’m speaking, never mind what I say.”

“Like this?” Madeline said and imitated an animal roar that was somehow also like the voice of Charles Wraith.

“Yes!” said Cecilia, laughing so hard now that she had to put down her plate and cup. “That is exactly how Charles sounded when he came upstairs to tell me how upset he was that I did not wish to dine with him last night.”

Madeline made the noise again, and Cecilia clutched her sides. Then the drawing room door opened, and the Duke of Huntingdon’s dark-haired head entered and looked inside, a concerned expression on his face.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “I thought I heard an animal, perhaps a dog of some sort…”

The two women looked at one another and collapsed in laughter to Charles’ evident consternation. He came fully into the room and watched them with a baffled expression until Madeline took hold of herself and straightened her face, wiping away a tear of mirth.

“No, I am sorry if we disturbed you, Charles. I was simply joking with Cecilia, and perhaps I was too loud. There are no animals in here, I assure you, dogs, bears, or even lions…”

This elicited yet another peal of laughter from Cecilia but also a smile from Charles, despite his continued bemusement. Madeline was touched by how much it pleased him to see his younger sister happy.

“You haven’t disturbed me. I’ve only just come back from inspecting the grouse,” he said, shaking his head in response to her apology. “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation.”

At that moment, the Duke looked particularly rugged and handsome, his hair somewhat windswept and his cheeks ruddy from outdoor activity. He made to leave, but Madeline impulsively stopped him.

“Do have tea with us, Charles, now that you’re here. You’ve been out all morning. This walnut cake is very good, and I can ring for more hot water.”

He looked uncertainly between the two women before making up his mind and sitting down beside his sister.

“Yes, it has been a long morning. I think I will take tea. You are feeling better today, Cecilia?” he inquired with solicitous puzzlement as Madeline rang for the tea tray to be refreshed.

“I always feel better around Madeline,” his sister answered and finished her last morsel of cake. “Thank you for marrying so well, brother. Now, I should rest after my walk, or I shall be too tired for luncheon, and my new physician has prescribed at least three good meals each day.”

Kissing him on the cheek, she rose and stretched with a farewell nod to Madeline. The latter found herself blushing slightly as she returned to the sofa, due to the compliments paid to her and finding herself alone again in close proximity with her husband.

“New physician?” Charles queried, an expression of alarm rising in his face as Cecilia left the room. “What is this about a new physician?! I have not authorized any such…”

“Your sister is joking,” Madeline assured him quickly, putting a hand on his arm to stop him rising and pursuing his sister. “We have been joking together. I advised Cecilia on the importance of eating well for general health, and now, in jest, she calls me her new physician.”

The strain flowed away from his brow as quickly as it had originally appeared.

“I see. That is…good. I am thankful. Truly.”

Charles’s voice was sincere, and rather than shaking off her hold on his arm, his own larger hand somehow came to lie on hers, preventing her from withdrawing it. Madeline looked at him with some surprise and then found her face reddening further with the suspicion that Cecilia might have deliberately left them alone together.

She supposed that her sister-in-law and her maid could afford to be such determined but naive matchmakers. They neither understood the basis of this strange marriage nor did they have to live it. For Cecilia and Gabrielle, marriage could only be some idealistic romantic fantasy, but this unpredictable flesh and blood man was Madeline’s reality.

“You do not have to pretend on my account,” she told him quietly, casting down her eyes so as not to be lost in the deep green of the Duke’s gaze.

“Pretend?” he queried with real puzzlement. “I pretend nothing, Madeline. Nor do you. This is a virtue, surely.”

“Then why hold my hand now, Charles? Why look at me like this? Is that not a pretense, the pretense that you want me here at all?”

The words burst from Madeline’s lips, giving vent to all her own confusion and frustration of recent days. She half expected him to stand up and storm away, but he did not. Instead, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, sending a powerful wave of longing through her blood and eliciting a soft gasp from her throat.

“I have already told you that I want you, Madeline. I have told you exactly what I intend to do with you when the time is right. My desire and my intention are unchanged. You simply do not understand them yet. How could you?”

“B-but how…?” Madeline stuttered, her eyes now inexorably drawn back to his. “How… how can you want me when you ignore me as you do, Charles? Last night I might as well not have been there for all the attention you paid. I swear you didn’t look at me once, even before the message arrived from Cecilia.”

“I didn’t look at you?!” exclaimed her husband, his voice now astounded. “Dear God, woman! Can you really have so little idea of the effect you have on me?”

“I cannot read your mind, Charles!” she protested. “I cannot know what you neither tell me nor show me.”

The Duke closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the pressure of his hand increasing for a moment on hers.

“Not yet…” he said under his breath. “Not now.”

Madeline did not know whether he was addressing her or talking to himself, but when he looked at her again, his expression was serious.

“You must trust me, Madeline. When I tell you I want you, believe that, and be ready for what we both know must eventually follow. As for not noticing you…”

He laughed as though this idea was both painful and absurd.

“I notice you constantly, Duchess. Believe that, too. If there were no other pressing matters to attend to, I might gaze for hours at your physical charms. One day I shall…”

The glint in his eye as he spoke these last few words made something flutter and contract inside Madeline. Could it really be true that he found her physical form so fascinating? She had never imagined such a thing.

“But not yet,” he repeated, this time speaking directly to Madeline and bringing her hand to his lips once more. “There are other priorities for both of us now. We must accept that. Can you trust me?”

Madeline regarded the Duke in silence for several heartbeats. It was not an easy question under the circumstances.

“I will try,” she finally answered. “If you will try to trust me too.”

When the maid bustled in with a tray containing clean tea cups and hot water, there was neither time nor space for Madeline to pull back from the Duke. Recognizing this, as well as the fact that they were married and had nothing to hide, she quickly found her composure.

“Thank you, Ellen. You can take Lady Cecilia’s cup and plate away. Now, how were the grouse, Charles? You have not told me about your inspection.”

He allowed Madeline to unobtrusively withdraw her hand and composed his own face, hiding away the intensity of emotion that had been visible a few moments earlier.

“Excellent. We should have a good shoot or two for our party. The dogs are in fine fettle, too.”

“I am pleased to hear that. The Marquess of Radcliffe very much enjoys shooting, I believe.”

As Madeline spoke now, she passed Charles a cup of tea and then leaned back in her seat away from him with her own cup as Ellen departed.

“We are learning to be together,” he noted, once they were alone again. “I think we did well.”

“We should really master a show of togetherness before the house party,” Madeline answered, thinking aloud as the thought caused her a new pang of concern. “Host and hostess in agreement and harmony. Do you think we can do that?”

“I’m sure you can do anything you put your mind to, Madeline,” Charles answered. “As can I.”

“Are you quite sure you don’t want me to bring hot water from downstairs, Your Grace?” questioned Soames, the Duke of Huntingdon’s valet as he looked doubtfully at the cold water flowing into the bathtub.

Being both a modernizer and progressive, the Duke had installed running water in Huntingdon Manor and far across the wider estate as soon as he acceded to the title, bringing in the best engineers and finest materials to complete the job.

“I’ve already said so,” noted the Duke with a frown. “There’s no time for a warm bath before luncheon, and I don’,t like unnecessary delays in the household. I am not afraid of a little cold water, Soames.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” said the valet tactfully. “I’ll lay out clean linen and a plain suit.”

Once Soames had passed into the dressing room, Charles stripped off his dusty outdoor clothes. Screwing his shirt and underclothes into a bundle he threw them forcefully into the basket in the corner of the bathroom.

It seemed today that they might actually have a normal meal together in the dining room like any other upper-class household. Somehow, Madeline had arranged this, and Cecilia had not only agreed but had apparently done so happily. It would not do for Charles to be late to the table.

Nor did he wish to slight Madeline. He was increasingly growing to respect her and was also intending to bed her after the house party. The latter plan would not work at all if she grew to resent him. He had already been shocked to be accused of ignoring her. Ignoring her?!

Stepping into the water, Charles snorted at the absurdity of the accusation as well as the discomfort of the cold. He thought of his wife as she had appeared in the dining room last night in that low-cut silken gown, her breasts as visibly rounded and exposed as those on a Grecian statue with the same long, strong limbs too.

The pale cream of last night’s gown was close enough to Madeline’s skin tone that his already feverish imagination had repeatedly presented him with the illusion that she was naked beneath those strings of shifting pearls. It had been a torment to sit with her for those ten minutes and act like a civilized man rather than the lustful animal he felt himself becoming.

In the bathtub now, he scrubbed himself relentlessly with cold, soapy water, refusing to succumb to the lure of this fantasy.

When he had come upon Madeline again, following his frustrating and unproductive interview with Cecilia, it had been even worse than in the dining room. What torture to see her in candlelight before that great mirror on the landing, innocently berating herself for the cut of her gown and uselessly trying to hide away that splendid bosom.

How he had longed to take Madeline in his arms from behind at that moment. To kiss her neck and unfasten that dress entirely, taking the weight of those soft spheres in his hands. She had no idea how close she had come to being swept off her feet, carried to his chambers, and thoroughly ravished in advance of his well-laid plans.

Instead of grasping his struggles, Madeline had decided that Charles was ignoring her! He was going to have to tread a very narrow path between now and when the time came to finally consummate their marriage. He could not afford to get close to Madeline for fear of losing his self-control too early, but nor could he avert his attention from her for fear of alienating her.

This marriage had been intended to give him greater freedom, cutting away societal pressures and expectations at a stroke. How had it simultaneously landed himself in his present trap?

It was a question Charles could not answer and a situation he must presently endure. Toweling himself vigorously failed to cool his blood any more than the cold water had done. Hot and frustrated, he pulled on his dressing gown and went to ready himself for luncheon.