Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" H ow marvelous it will be to have Huntingdon Manor opened up at last after a whole long year!" trilled Lady Terrell. "I do hope we will be hearing the patter of tiny feet at last now that the Duke is returning…"

"What?!" Madeline spluttered, this being the very last greeting she had expected from her mother today.

"I was delighted to receive the Duke's letter to us," Lady Terrell continued without any indication that she had noticed Madeline's dismay. "I'm already planning my dresses. I've been working on one new creation with Madame DuPont. It combines the trains that were fashionable when I was young with a more modern neckline and skirt shape at the front, all in rose pink and lemon…"

It took all of Madeline's effort not to visibly wince at the idea of her mother in such a monstrosity of an outfit that was bound to capture the eyes and pens of the ton's most ardent and vitriolic gossip columnists.

The thought of the week of festivities at Huntingdon Manor was no more palatable. Despite being Duchess of Huntingdon, she had still only seen that property largely covered in dust sheets although she knew its stable and her own suite well enough from her solitary visits.

She had ostensibly called at her parents' London home for tea that day. In reality, she had come to rail about her own letter from her so-called husband, Charles Wraith, Duke of Huntingdon. Learning that her parents had received a similar letter in tandem with hers was infuriating.

Madeline had had to read the missive twice this morning to make sure she had correctly understood its incredible contents. There had been no mistake on her first reading: the Duke was finally returning from Switzerland and planning a full week's house party at Huntingdon Manor with all attendant events, spectacles, and a surprising array of guests…

"It seems the Duke wrote to all of us with his news at the same time," Madeline commented with pursed lips. "What interesting ideas he has around priorities in his acquaintances and communications…"

Her parents both smiled at this disapproving statement, and Lord Terrell wagged a finger at her from his place in one of the comfortable chairs by the window.

"Now, now, Madeline. There is no need for such vexation. I am sure you are very much first in your husband's thoughts. The post is slow from the continent, and your letter might well have been dispatched before ours, might it not? When you see him again, I'm sure the Duke's feelings for you will be perfectly clear once more."

Madeline snorted at the various ridiculous notions her father seemed to hold, particularly the idea that Charles's personal affections meant anything to her in the unlikely event that they actually existed. The real issue was one of simple respect and courtesy.

Her mother broke in on her thoughts with a cautionary smile.

"Do control your temper, Madeline dear, especially with the Duke. He does not have a reputation for patience or calm, does he? You don't want to get into a row with your husband on his very first days at home. Be quiet and serene in your dealings, and your influence will be better felt."

"They do not call him ‘the Duke of Wrath' for nothing," added her father in agreement with his wife. "I haven't seen his temper myself, but I've heard such stories. They said the very stones of Huntingdon Manor used to shake sometimes with the arguments when he lived there with his parents."

Rolling her eyes, Madeline reflected that the ton loved to give people amusing nicknames, deserved or not. It made caricatures of its principal characters every year, exaggerating and playing on one prominent feature only. Every young man was bound to argue with his parents at some point, and she'd be surprised if Charles Wraith had done worse than any of his peers.

"I feel like calling him something far worse than that," said Madeline with another snort. "The front of that man! I'm his wife. If he wishes to host major events at Huntingdon Manor, he should have discussed this with me first before anyone else."

Madeline was the Duchess of Huntingdon and considered that she had played her part well for the past year while Charles Wraith was swanning around Swiss mountain resorts and dancing attendance on his younger sister whether she wanted it or not.

This last thought amused Madeline, despite her general irritation. It would be very funny if Lady Cecilia were wishing her over-attentive brother away while he was constantly trying so hard to take care of her. However, in their continued absence, she still had no way of assessing what her sister-in-law felt or even her true state of health.

"I will write to your sister this evening, Madeline," Lady Terrell said. "Your husband said he'd already had word from Benedict about when he and Letitia would be back in London after their Scottish honeymoon tour. I do want to know what clothes she will take to Huntingdon Manor. The three of us should coordinate…"

Madeline suppressed another shudder at the idea of her and Letitia being trussed up in outfits as absurd as their mother's.

"I will leave that to you and Letitia," she said politely. "As hostess of our very first functions at Huntingdon Manor, my own wardrobe must principally reflect my status and duty as Duchess of Huntingdon. I would not wish to restrict either of you in your choice of outfitting."

"You're right. Very wise, my dear," said her mother, unoffended. "You've always gone your own way in dress, and a little severity suits you although I do like the way your choices have… softened a little in this past year. Is that the influence of your little French maid?"

"Perhaps," Madeline said, waving away the question with a gesture of mild irritation.

She did not really want to talk about clothes or maids. She wanted only to complain about Charles Wraith's utter neglect of his position and dereliction of his duties, but it was already clear that her parents were not the right audience. Madeline wished Letitia were here rather than off enjoying herself with her beloved Benedict. Her younger sister agreed entirely with Madeline's judgment of Charles's faults.

"It is good of the Duke to do such a thing for Letitia and Benedict, isn't it?" chimed in Lord Terrell before Madeline could say anything more. "Opening up his house for a party to welcome them home from their honeymoon, I mean. The Duke may have been friends with Benedict since their school days, but he hardly knows Letitia."

"He must at least know she can't stand him," said Madeline acerbically. "It's all very odd if you ask me."

Her father put down his book on ancient Greek sculptors and came to sit beside Madeline on the sofa.

"Come now, Duke Charles and Letitia can't have spoken in person more than three times in their lives!" protested Lord Terrell. "Can't stand him, indeed…"

"I've barely spoken to Charles more than three times myself," Madeline muttered under her breath.

"The Duke was still away for Letitia's wedding," her father continued without hearing Madeline's aside to herself. "They've had no opportunity for quarrels. What could she possibly know of him, beyond rumors and gossip, that you have not told her yourself?"

Madeline now raised her voice to answer her father clearly.

"As an affectionate sister, I believe Letitia has resented the fact that the Duke has barely written to me since he left the country. It has been most inconvenient at times. I've had to make all kinds of decisions about the London house and staff at various properties that may not please him on return. He will only have himself to blame for that, if so."

"Oh well, some men aren't very good with letters, you know," Lady Terrell shrugged off her daughter's words and went back to sketching a dress. "You and your sister shouldn't condemn someone merely for that. Young people can be so judgmental. The Duke must trust your decisions if he leaves you to make them so freely. Think of that as a compliment."

"I'm not condemning the Duke. I'm simply saying that it's rude not to respond to personal letters," said Madeline matter-of-factly. "Frankly, I also think that it's particularly rude not to consult your wife before sending out invitations to all and sundry for a house party!"

"Come, come," stepped in Lord Terrell, patting her shoulder. "Your duke hasn't sent out invitations. He has only written to your mother and me and to Benedict and Letitia to ensure we were all free on the dates he proposes. That's hardly issuing invitations as I understand it."

"My duke?!" Madeline laughed dismissively at this turn of phrase. "Ha!"

"You are married to him, dear," observed her mother with her usual maddening smile. "He can't be anyone else's duke, can he? Now, let's ring for tea and cake before we talk any more. Cook has made lemon and poppy seed cake this week — your father's favorite."

"I am indeed married to him," agreed Madeline — taking some of her parents' points on board — but still cross at the slight of not having been the very first person consulted on her husband's plans for this party. "Although it would be easy to forget sometimes."

"Anyone would think you regretted your marriage, the way you carry on sometimes," tutted her mother with an amused expression. "Life as the Duchess of Huntingdon looks fine enough from where I'm standing. Running your own home, free rein at such a good stable, no drunkenness, bad behavior, or gambling to contend with like some poor ladies of the ton. I thought your marriage rather suited you."

"It does suit me in many ways, Mother," Madeline admitted with a sigh. "But my situation is also frustrating at times. And inconvenient, too. You must see that."

"Ah, you're still sore at being excluded from Lady Bentham's set, aren't you?" Lady Terrell observed with an understanding nod.

Madeline was the only duchess in London that Season who had not been invited to the regular dinner parties hosted by the acclaimed beauty, Lady Bentham and her circle of good friends.

While this minor social slight was unimportant in itself, Lord Bentham's stable was second to none, and Madeline had her eye on one of his studs for the Huntingdon mares. In her husband's absence, Madeline could scarcely approach the Earl of Bentham directly on such matters and had relied on building a friendly relationship with Lady Bentham in order to drop a discreet word in her husband's ear.

"Lady Bentham is an utter donkey!" Madeline exclaimed but then sighed and nodded. "You're not entirely wrong. I've learned in the past year that almost no one wants a lone, unescorted duchess for their dinner parties or more intimate events. It isn't only Lady Bentham and her friends."

"People do like an even number of ladies and gentlemen around the table," agreed Lady Terrell. "Inviting couples is the easiest way to make up the bulk of a party, and the remainder are generally chosen for matchmaking purposes."

"And as a married woman, I'm no use for that side of the table either," sighed Madeline again. "While I can't deny the highest in the ton invite me to major balls and musicals along with others of my rank, I definitely receive fewer invitations overall than before my marriage."

"Quality over quantity in all things, my dear," advised her father. "Where would I be if I bought every statue my dealers offered to me? Our houses and gardens would be full to overflowing, wouldn't they?"

Madeline looked incredulously at her father. Both Terrell Park, their country estate, and their London house were indeed overflowing with statues, largely sculptures of very naked ancient Greek or Romans.

The Bishop of Bath and Wells had once been scandalized during a spring picnic on coming across the circle of well-built male athletes lining the west side of the top field at Terrell Park. Lady Terrell had innocently and cheerfully countered the bishop's indignation by pointing out that there was a gathering of female nudes in the rose garden if those were more to his taste.

"I agree with you, Father, although I am no expert on statues. I suppose I didn't anticipate that becoming a duchess was going to turn me into some kind of social leper…"

"Ah, refreshments!" said Lady Terrell, interrupting her daughter's complaints as the tea tray arrived. "Doesn't that cake look marvelous? Do pass Cook my compliments, Maisie. How is the food at Huntingdon Manor, Madeline?"

"It has been very good when I visited," Madeline replied, allowing her mother to change the subject. "There's excellent local beef and mutton from the Huntingdon herds of tenant farmers, and the strawberries were beautiful last year. The cook makes wonderful marmalade from the citrus fruits in the orangery, too. There's usually no one there to eat the fruit otherwise…"

"I do love marmalade," said Lord Terrell biting into the lemon and poppy cake with an expression of delight. "I love all things citrus in fact. I look forward to the Huntingdon orangery. We've never had one at Terrell Park. Why is that, I wonder, Theodora?"

As her parents rambled about citrus fruits, Madeline turned her practical mind to the core problem at hand. She conceded that she was put out at Charles planning such a large event without her input. Her character did not allow her to remain pointlessly angry, nor to sulk, so there was only one thing for it. Action.

"I shall write to the Duke when I get home and tell him that I expect to be fully involved in all preparations and invitations for our first house party at Huntingdon Manor. Our first party, not just his," Madeline announced decidedly. "I shall be so gracious that it will make him see his own ill-manners without my pointing them out."

Lord and Lady Terrell exchanged a questioning glance, evidently still judging a confrontation with Charles Wraith to be unwise.

"Do you really think that such a letter will be well received, Madeline?" asked her mother. "Your duke is so… well… When he makes his mind up about something, there's no stopping him, is there? Now he seems set on holding a particular kind of party, just as set as he was on marrying you."

"Your mother is right," added Lord Terrell. "He has a guest list in mind already. Surely, if he required your assistance, he would have asked for it. It is most likely that he will simply want you at his side to support him and his sister during the gathering."

"We shall see about that," said Madeline, not to be dissuaded although part of her knew her parents were right, and her interference might not be welcomed.

No, she would have no truck with this "Duke of Wrath" nonsense. Charles did have his way of looking at things, and like one of the great naval ships, it seemed difficult to change his course once he had the wind in his sails.

Still, this side of his nature was surely all the more reason to approach him quickly before he could advance preparations any further and while there was still time for her to exert her influence and make her position clear.

The Duke of Huntingdon might like to have his own way, but he was not the only one with a strong and independent mind. Madeline was the Duchess of Huntingdon, and she was determined to be treated as such, both by her husband and society at large. It was time to put her foot down.

If the party was truly for Benedict and Letitia, she also had a duty to ensure that it would be to her sister's liking. As her father had hinted, the Duke of Huntingdon knew his wife's sister even less than he knew his wife. How could he possibly hope to throw a successful party in her honor without Madeline's help?

Yes, she would be doing everyone a kindness, if only they all knew it…

Your Grace,

Many thanks for your letter bearing the news I have often hoped for over the last twelve months. It will be a pleasure to welcome you and Lady Cecilia back to England and back to Huntingdon Manor if that is where you intend us to make our home.

At this point, Madeline paused and bit her quill. Did that sound too presumptuous, she wondered? Charles Wraith had made it perfectly clear that he did not intend her to share his bed, but surely, they must at least share a house while they were in the same country. Otherwise, people would talk.

No, her presumption that they should share a home as man and wife was perfectly reasonable and justified, she decided, and moved onto her next paragraphs.

My parents and I were struck by your kindness in offering the Marquess and Marchioness of Radcliffe such a fine welcome home. I shall immediately begin all necessary preparations in London and get quotes for goods and services on your behalf. I shall then proceed to Huntingdon Manor once you send word of your arrival.

I enclose notes on the proposed guest list as well as ideas for menus and entertainments. I am sure you will wish to reflect Letitia's circle of acquaintance and personal preferences as well as her husband's and your own.

I have added several names to your list for my own benefit. You should know that it has not been as easy as I hoped to make my way in society as a lone, married woman, and I am sure you will not begrudge me this small favor after your long, and largely silent, absence.

Invitation cards have been ordered for delivery to Huntingdon Manor, and I will write them as soon as you wish. Do respond with any further thoughts so that I may make the most of my time in London. If I do not hear from you by 5 July, I shall proceed as proposed.

I look forward to your return and hope you will give my love to Cecilia, also now a sister to me and one I hope soon to know better.

Signing off her letter, Madeline folded and sealed it before she could change her mind. She knew what she wanted to say and was sure she had said it. There was no point in re-reading and redrafting to finesse nuances that Charles Wraith was unlikely to notice.

Capturing the Duke of Huntingdon's attention was no easy thing, but she trusted that this letter would finally do it. The Duchess of Huntingdon refused to be ignored any longer.