Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

“ M adeline?” the Duke of Huntingdon’s called rather tersely for the fourth or fifth time that morning.

The house party was now only two days away, and a flurry of letters from guests last night and this morning had announced or amended arrival and departure times at Huntingdon Manor. One guest needed to be collected from a neighboring town while another would arrive too late for dinner and a third would be leaving a day early. All must be accommodated for the sake of hospitality.

In the library, Madeline had just finished an updated plan to present to Lonsley, the housekeeper, and the stables for the first day of the party, ensuring that all arrivals would be suitably received and fed, regardless of the hour. With a sigh, she downed her quill, wondering whether Charles had received yet another missive that meant starting all over again.

“There you are,” he said, striding over to the desk with yet another letter.

“Precisely where I have been all morning,” Madeline answered pointedly, reaching out for the paper at the exact moment Charles extended his hand towards her.

When their fingers brushed against one another, Madeline felt the contact almost as a sharp ache although the discomfort came from the brevity of the touch more than the contact itself. If Charles had taken her hand for longer and kissed it, as he had done in the drawing room that day, she knew it would cause pleasure, but this brief, unsatisfying graze was only painful.

She pulled her hand back quickly although unable to entirely stifle the small automatic sound from her lips.

“Are you well? I didn’t mean to…” Charles began, but Madeline swiftly interrupted him by reading the opening of the letter — the peculiar effect of the Duke’s presence temporarily dispelled by exciting news.

Even if the letter had been a land agent’s note on dairy herd grazing, she would have made it something interesting and worthy of focused comment at that moment.

“Letitia and Benedict are arriving tomorrow. How wonderful! I do hope they like their room, the musicians for the ball, and the toasts we’ve lined up for the celebration dinner…”

The Duke followed her lead, seemingly equally willing to ignore their accidental touch.

“I’m sure they’ll love everything. If there’s one thing the Marquess and Marchioness of Radcliffe have in common, it’s a capacity for enjoying life to the full.”

“True,” Madeline agreed with a smile, already looking forward to seeing her lively and free-minded sibling again. “Well, in that case, I will only hope they have a safe journey and are not delayed on the roads.”

“They’re traveling in their own carriage and overnighting at Benedict’s London house tonight. I foresee little chance of delay. You will be pleased to see your sister again, I think.”

“Very much,” Madeline said with feeling, laying down the letter on the library desk and then tapping it thoughtfully. “I will notify Lonsley and the other staff. It could be helpful for us to have our guests of honor here so early, couldn’t it? Our receiving and hosting duties will be lightened a little if they can field some guests too.”

“Although Benedict’s ideas on appropriate welcoming remarks, or any other remarks, can leave a little to be desired,” Charles reminded her with a grin. “We should take care how much responsibility we place on his shoulders. Unless his new wife has reshaped his judgement.”

“That seems unlikely since another thing the Marchioness of Radcliffe shares with her husband is a dubious sense of humor,” Madeline returned with a small laugh. “Do you not remember how hard Letitia laughed at Benedict’s ribaldry after our wedding? I felt I would fall through the seat of the carriage.”

“I don’t recall. I suppose I was rather distracted with Cecilia’s Switzerland trip at the time. What did poor old Benedict say? He’s always putting his foot in things.”

The Duke looked blank, and Madeline reddened, immediately regretting having dredged up this moment of embarrassment, especially if it meant she had to explain it.

“He said…Oh, he made some joke about you going away, Charles.”

Madeline stood and went to the window, trying to control her expression and focus on the various domestic arrangements she must check before her sister and new brother-in-law arrived.

“That could have been worse,” her husband shrugged. “In his youth, Benedict was quite capable of making bordello jokes to a group of elderly maiden aunts. Funny, of course, but could have been scandalous if any of them were under fifty…”

“Well, whatever he said to us outside the church, I didn’t find it very funny at the time,” said Madeline. “Letitia, however, was splitting her sides. Let’s not give them free rein on any toasts or after dinner remarks, however much we love them.”

“Agreed,” Charles nodded.

He seemed about to retreat back to his study, but before reaching the door, he stopped and chuckled softly to himself.

“Now it comes back to me. Benedict joked that I might be leaving you alone after the wedding but that I could return to find you in company. That was it, wasn’t it? As a joke, it was a little funny, you must admit.”

“It was hardly appropriate,” said Madeline stiffly, “in any sense. We don’t need to discuss it further, Charles.”

This week they had successfully jogged along in largely disagreement-free cooperation, setting everything in order for the party while keeping a sufficiently polite personal distance to avoid those peculiar emotional confrontations that stirred and confused Madeline so greatly.

She had been foolish enough to open the door on the subject of their marriage again, and the vast unknown loomed over her as did both the mingled threat and promise of what would happen between them after the house party was over.

“Don’t we?” queried Charles unexpectedly with a small frown. “It occurs to me that perhaps we do. Was it only Benedict’s joke you consider inappropriate? Or the idea of bearing my child? If the latter, then we must certainly discuss it at some point soon since that is likely to be a natural consequence of physical congress.”

“I know that,” snapped Madeline. “I may have never lain with a man, but I am not some ignorant little girl, Your Grace. I have been breeding horses since I was in the schoolroom.”

Her face suddenly felt very hot and the beating of her heart too strong for her ribcage to bear. Why could Charles not just go away? Why must he look at her like that with those deep green eyes? Why was he standing next to her, so tall and broad-shouldered, his strong body somehow radiating both excitement and the promise of comfort?

“Do you want to bear my child, Madeline?” he asked curiously, and her stomach clenched.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “How could I know? Is it something you want?”

Charles didn’t answer, his eyes taking on that abstract look that meant his mind had wandered although whether to related or unrelated topics, Madeline never knew.

“The idea of bearing a child is like a faraway destination,” she tried to explain. “As a married woman, and in light of your future intentions towards me, I’m apparently bound to visit that place, but I have no idea when or how I will feel about it when the time comes.”

“I do not want you to be frightened,” her husband said, and his voice was sincere. “As you say, it is a place that married women are bound to visit, both by duty and desire, if their husbands fulfill their marital responsibilities.”

“I think some fear is inevitable,” replied Madeline, swallowing with the effort of keeping her voice level. “This is the road we have both chosen. I don’t know how it looks to you, but for me, it is dark and uncertain at times. It leads to unknown consequences, children amongst them. There is nothing you could do to make that road less frightening, is there?”

“I might light the lamps so that you can see the way ahead,” he suggested and cupped her face in his hand. “I might warm your body and keep you company.”

“Charles!” she exclaimed, instinctively leaning into his hand and then stepping briskly away. “I can’t think about this right now. It is too much.”

“No,” he agreed, blinking and seeming to wake and return to his usual state of mind. “You are right. I should go.”

Madeline watched him walk away and close the library door behind him, fanning her face with her handkerchief. She reflected that Charles Wraith had the ability to do something that no amount of riding, hiking, or other outdoor pursuits could manage: with a mere touch or statement, he could render her hot, trembling, and breathless.

“How are you feeling today, Cecilia?” Charles asked after knocking on the door of his sister’s private sitting room upstairs, pleased to see it ajar rather than firmly closed. “I was not at breakfast, but Madeline tells me you went riding by yourself.”

“Well, with a groom,” answered Cecilia, smiling. “And only around the lake, but, yes, I rode out without company today. Madeline was busy dealing with the correspondence for the party, but she said there was no reason for me not to get some fresh air without her. She was right. I feel better for my exercise.”

“Madeline is usually right,” Charles observed with a laugh, setting himself down in a comfortable seat close to Cecilia’s rocking chair.

“She is right whether you like it or not,” Cecilia teased him. “You were too used to having things your own way around here, and now, your wife has rearranged everything.”

“Maybe I do like it, young Cecilia,” laughed Charles. “Sometimes. When she remembers that I am her husband and the Duke of Huntingdon and bothers to inform me of her plans…”

Cecilia laughed too, and Charles noted the encouraging pink bloom in her cheeks and a hint of sparkle in her green eyes. She was still too thin for his liking, but she had come downstairs at mealtimes more frequently this week and without the usual psychological tug-of-war.

The Duke knew he had to lay this improvement at his wife’s door although he could not say quite how she had accomplished matters. He only hoped Cecilia’s progress would continue, especially with the party now at hand.

“Benedict and Letitia will be arriving tomorrow. He wrote this morning. I thought you would want to know.”

Cecilia had known Benedict since childhood, and Charles was sure that, without the house party, his old friend’s presence would not have discomposed his sister. Still, he was relieved when she smiled and clapped her hands happily.

“Dear old Benedict! I will be glad to see him and have the chance to congratulate him on his marriage. I do hope they’re happy together.”

“They seem to be,” Charles assured her. “From Benedict’s account of their honeymoon in his letters to me and Letitia’s to Madeline, I can say that they seem to have done nothing but enjoy themselves since their wedding day. They’re well suited, I believe.”

“So are you and Madeline,” stated Cecilia unexpectedly, making Charles shake his head and turn away to look at some uninteresting spot on the wall.

“Madeline and I are both intelligent adults in a civilized arrangement that should benefit each of us and our families,” he said, cringing slightly at how pompous his words sounded.

“You’re two good-hearted human beings whom I care about greatly,” said Cecilia, neither convinced nor distracted by his previous protestation. “I think you could be very happy together if you both just tried. She is a wonderful woman, and you are a wonderful man. Why can’t you just be…married? Why keep pushing each other away? Indeed, why didn’t you just bring Madeline to Switzerland with us?”

“I am lucky to have a sister who thinks of my happiness,” said Charles, “but there are things you cannot understand yet about men and women. It is all more complicated than you might think. Your health was my priority last year, and it still is. I could not have taken proper care of you while also having a honeymoon, could I?”

“Couldn’t you?” Cecilia questioned him. “I don’t see why not, Charles. It’s not as though men with wives must abandon their relatives, is it? I can see that much at a glance.”

His sister spoke as though the very idea was ridiculous, and for the first time, a shaft of doubt entered his mind.

“Well, look at Benedict and Letitia,” the Duke blustered. “No one heard from them for weeks after their wedding. They were so wrapped up in one another that the rest of us were forgotten.”

“Benedict and Letitia have no dependents. Lord and Lady Terrell are hale and hearty, adding color to the society sheets every year, and the Dowager Marchioness of Radcliffe went off to the Venetian riviera to enjoy herself the day after her son’s wedding. She still shows no sign of wanting to return.”

“Exactly, Benedict and Letitia have no dependents,” he repeated, seizing on this notion. “I have you to think of. I cannot afford to be distracted by…”

“By love?” Cecilia suggested. “Love is no distraction. It’s the most important feeling we have and is not to be quantified and portioned, like…bags of sugar or spices. You would not have to love your sister any less if you were to love a wife too.”

Charles smiled and shook his head, choosing not to argue further. He had not actually been going to talk of love but realized that he could not reveal his real thoughts to his younger sister. How could a young invalid like Cecilia possibly understand the power of lust? She had barely been out in adult society when she was struck down.

“Madeline and I get along well enough,” he tried to assure her with a smile. “I do not think she is unhappy with her lot. You may observe our mutual civility again at luncheon today, I hope.”

“Charles,” Cecilia said, sitting forward on the edge of the rocking chair and planting her feet firmly on the floor, “you assume too much without asking. I know that sometimes you must with me because I have been unwell, and it is hard for me to talk. It is not so with Madeline. If you wish to know anything of her mind, you must speak with her.”

Her face was earnest, and her words heartfelt.

“I should hate it if Madeline ever left us,” Cecilia added and sat back in her chair with a slight shudder. “If you two were properly married, she would never leave, would she?”

“Properly married? Like our parents…”

Charles didn’t know where that thought had come from, but Cecilia looked as horrified as he felt, giving a real shudder now.

“No! Not like that. I would never want that for you, Charles. You distant and locking yourself away with a bitter, unsatisfied wife chasing and haranguing you, and all the unhappiness of the marriage leaching through and tainting the lives of your children… Never!”

Cecilia stopped abruptly, her face changing again as she looked at him as though some new thought was distressing her further.

“Do not overtax yourself, sister,” he admonished her. “Every physician has said you should not get overexcited.”

“It has already started, Charles. You must see it. You’re setting yourself up like Father and trying to set Madeline up like Mother, but you’re both better than that. You must stop now. Promise me you will stop this!”

“Cecilia, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he burst out frustratedly, baffled and ill at ease.

“You need to be a better husband to Madeline. Don’t you see? If you don’t consider your wife more, you’re going to end up like our parents. Please listen to me. At least think about what I’ve said.”

Evidently now temporarily exhausted, the young woman sank back into her chair. Charles nodded slightly, unsure how else to respond. Was this outburst just another symptom of Cecilia’s illness? He did not want to summon the local physician, a stammering and ineffective man who had never been able to do anything useful in the past.

Or did his sister have a genuine point? Could she be right that there could, and should, be a dedicated place in his life for Madeline? Was it true that he was courting disaster by ignoring their mutual personal needs so completely?

“I will rest now,” said the young woman, barely audibly.

As Cecilia rang the little silver bell she kept by her to summon her personal maid, Charles kissed his sister’s cheek and departed silently, his mind in disarray.