Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

LONDON, ENGLAND, A.D. 1811

" P ercy has returned to London," Cecil's voice broke into Madeleine's internal revery.

Madeleine turned her head away from the carriage window, her brother's random topic of conversation distracting her from the pleasant view of the flowering meadows.

"What was that?" she asked, sure that she had not heard him properly.

They were on their way to the Gillett family's London townhouse for Madeleine's second season. She had barely managed to escape being married off during her first one. She hoped that she would be able to do the same again this year. If she had her own way, she would never wed, but her father had quite different ideas on the matter.

Cecil gave her an annoyed look but repeated his words.

"I said that Percy has returned from his trip abroad and will be in attendance at the ball this evening."

Madeleine's heart fluttered, and she frowned visibly at its unwarranted reaction.

"Do not look so downtrodden," Cecil insisted. His tone indicated that he was still annoyed at her for her daydreaming. "Anyway, he is not back to see you, Bacon Face. I was just filling the silence with conversation."

Madeleine narrowed her eyes at her older brother, and before he could protect himself, she shot out her hand and hit him with her beaded silk bag.

"Stop that," Cecil argued, shooing away her bag, but he was smiling again.

"Do not call me names, and I will not strike you," she replied matter-of-factly.

Cecil threw her an annoyed look but didn't say a word as a small, affectionate smile crept across his face.

Madeleine had not seen Percival Hardy, her brother's best friend and her greatest childhood annoyance, in years.

The last time had been a trip to Bath to visit the Duke of Greyhall before his passing when he had taken the waters for his failing health. Then, Percy had greeted her with a begrudged, "Hello, Monkey"—his annoying pet name for her—before completely dismissing her existence and going off with Cecil. It was better than Bacon Face, but she still detested it.

"And how is the Arthurian Knight?" she inquired, making her own jest towards Percival's name.

In truth, though, very much like knighted hero in the epic poem, Cecil's Percival had lost a great deal. First his mother. Now his father. And she imagined he'd lost quite a few other things during the time in between.

Cecil lost his brotherly smile as his brow furrowed in concern for his friend.

"I do not know. His letters were few during his time on the continent. I am hoping to speak with him this evening."

Madeleine nodded. She did not speak further on the subject but left her brother with his thoughts as she returned to her own. She needed to formulate a plan to avoid encountering certain, persistent young men. Her last season had been an exercise in acrobatically agile avoidance.

As if he could read her thoughts, her brother turned his attention back to her. "Are you prepared for the season to come? It will not be as easy for you to do as you wish now that our father has become aware of your methods of avoidance in the field of courtship. You were only able to get away with it last season because he was consumed with the duties of parliament."

Madeleine shook her head. "He is more determined than ever to marry me off to the highest level of nobility that he can manage. I love Father, and he undoubtedly loves me, but he is a nobleman who believes in social climbing by marrying his daughters off to the best advantage."

"Most noblemen do," Cecil pointed out. "Perhaps father will be able to do the same for you as our sister, Emily. She has been married two years now to a wealthy viscount who has made her incredibly happy."

"Emily is indeed fortunate that the Viscount turned out to be a good man," Madeleine agreed with a sigh. "And I am happy that she is happy, but not many women are so blessed. There are a great many disappointments when it comes to marriage within the ton."

Though her comment came off as snide, she meant in sincerely. Too many women she'd learned to love as friends were now grown and married to strangers they feared or loathed, simply for their title and upward movement in society. The fact that Emily and her Viscount had fallen in love had been a true and surprising blessing.

Their carriage pulled up in front of the Gillett family's townhouse, putting an abrupt end to the conversation. A footman opened the door to assist Madeleine from the step down to the street. Madeleine let out a sigh of resignation and emerged from the carriage confines with determination.

"Welcome home, My Lady," the footman murmured respectfully then escorted her to her brother's side. "My Lord," he bowed his head then carried in the luggage.

"My Lord; My Lady," the butler greeted them at the door, bowing his head in respect. "The Earl and Countess have already arrived and are resting before the ball this evening."

"Thank you, Mr. Greeves," Madeleine responded with a smile. She was fond of the elderly servant and was genuinely happy to see him. They had left the family steward, Mr. James Stuart, a lively Scotsman of robust energy, in charge of their country estate in Oxfordshire while they were in town for the season. Gerald Greeves, as butler, and his wife, Eithne, as head housekeeper, oversaw the townhouse whether the family was in residence or not.

"Your dress has arrived from the modiste for this evening's ball, My Lady, and has been laid out in your room for your approval. Your lady's maid awaits you there."

Madeleine nodded in gratitude and ascended the stairs to behold the modiste's latest masterpiece. She found her lady's maid, Lucy Brown, in the midst of drawing Madeleine a bath. "My Lady," Lucy curtsied, then returned to her task. "Your dress for this evening's festivities has arrived, and it is beautiful." She gestured to where the garment had been laid out upon the bed.

"Lucy," Madeleine returned in greeting as she moved to stand before the ball gown.

The dress was indeed lovely. The blue silk was the perfect shade to match Madeleine's eyes and was overlaid with a delicate, white, floral lace. It would accent her new figure beautifully—one she herself had yet to accept. She had lost her childhood frumpy form, her weight melting from her neck and face and settling into her breasts and hips, sparing her waist.

Despite seeing the tempting hourglass figure in the mirror, though, she was, in her mind, still the chubby, clumsy little girl that her brother used to tease. Bacon Face. She blocked out the memory and shook her head to dissolve it.

Madeleine reached out and traced her fingers along the soft, fluttery edges of the white lace flowers, their seed pearl centers glistening in the light streaming in from her bedchamber window. "It is beautiful," she murmured in agreement. "The modiste has outdone herself."

Madeleine moved toward the tub, allowing Lucy to aid her in undressing, before stepping into the warm water. Settling down against the bathing sheet that lined the inside of the tub, she gave a sigh of contentment as the warmth of the water soaked into her skin. Lucy sprinkled dried flower petals of roses and lavender into the water, and the floral scents wafted up to soothe her senses further.

"How was your journey?" Lucy asked as she handed Madeleine a cloth with rose-scented soap lathered upon it.

Madeleine accepted the cloth. "I spent it in thought," she admitted. "Father is more determined than ever to see me married, and I must thwart his efforts."

Lucy nodded her head in understanding. "Did you decide upon a course of action?"

Madeleine shook her head. "Father has taken the choice from me. He has decided that he will determine who is best for me. He believes that he gave me the gift of choice last season and that I squandered it." She sighed in frustration, her bath-born contentment short lived.

Lucy gave her a sympathetic look. "His Lordship chose Lady Emily's husband, and she is now a happy viscountess. Perhaps your father will find you such a fortunate match as well."

Madeleine shook her head. "I do not want a match at all."

"It does not appear that you have a choice, My Lady." Lucy's words rang through the air and laid heavy upon Madeleine's heart and mind. "You cannot defy your father's wishes. It is not the way."

"I will find a way," Madeleine reassured herself as much as her lady's maid. "Just because something has always been done a certain way, does not mean that it is the only right and true way to live one's life."

"As you say, My Lady," Lucy replied, but there was a definite tone of doubt in her voice. Had anyone else heard Madeleine speak in such a way, it would have been viewed as blasphemy. She might even be judged to be unsound of mind. Thankfully, Lucy was discreet and would never betray her mistress' trust.

Finishing her bath, Madeleine stepped out of the tub and allowed Lucy to towel dry her body free of moisture. Then, much to Madeleine's annoyance, they began the tediously intricate preparations of her hair and person for the ball. The blue silk of her dress floated down around her form, settling in lovely fluid lines. Lucy bound Madeleine's dark hair in a series of curls and small braids, weaving her mahogany tresses with flowers and pearls into a cascade of elegance. When Lucy had finished, Madeleine stood and appraised herself in the mirror.

"You are a vision of loveliness, My Lady," Lucy proclaimed enthusiastically, her face glowing with pride.

"It will do. Thank you, Lucy," Madeleine acknowledged with her usual measured response to her own appearance. The elegant woman she saw in the mirror did not match the image of the chubby, awkward girl inside her mind.

A knock on the door announced that it was time to leave. "Madeleine," Cecil's voice filtered through the door.

"Coming," Madeleine called in reply.

Leaving her room, she met the rest of her family at the bottom of the stairs. "You look lovely, my dear," her mother, Aurelia, smiled at her with approval. "Does she not look beautiful, George?" she inquired of the Earl, standing next to her, impatiently waiting for his children to assemble.

Madeleine's father looked her up and down in evaluation. "Indeed," he grunted in approval then offered his arm to his wife. "Shall we?" The Countess took her husband's arm with a smile, and they walked out of the townhouse together.

They make a dashing pair, Madeleine thought to herself as she watched her parents interact with one another. They had been a love match, and it showed in the way that they looked at one another.

Cecil offered Madeleine his arm. "Shall we?" He mimicked their father's straightforward tone, gave Madeleine a wink in jest, then escorted her out of the door to the waiting carriage.

The moment that Madeleine stepped into the ballroom, she could feel eyes immediately turn to gaze upon her. She wanted more than anything to hide and wait for the end of the ball, but she knew that she could not. Etiquette required her to dance with any man who asked her to as long as her dance card was not already full. To her displeasure, the man whom she wished to avoid the most came over to stand directly in front of her.

"Miss Madeleine, you are a vision of elegance," Herbert Mowbray, firstborn son and heir to the Earl of Mowbray, greeted her as he bowed and offered her his hand. "Might I have the pleasure of the first dance?"

Madeleine opened her mouth to claim that someone else, anyone else, had the first dance, but her father intervened. "My daughter would be delighted." The Earl of Stonefield took Madeleine's hand and firmly placed it in Herbert's awaiting hand. Herbert glowed with pleasure at the gesture. Her father might as well have betrothed them to one another right then and there, the way that people were looking at them. Madeleine fought back the acid retort that threatened to erupt from her lips.

Having little choice other than to follow Herbert onto the dance floor or cause a scene, Madeleine took her position across from him and curtsied. They weaved in and out around the other dancers and each other, Herbert smiling widely, and Madeleine attempting to keep a pleasant look upon her face. She thought her fa?ade might break at any moment as he attempted to carry on a disjointed conversation.

"I have missed your company," Mowbray informed her, attempting a charming smile.

Madeleine had nothing to say to that that would not be perceived as rude. She searched her mind for an answer. "We are not often in London. We prefer the country air." It was weak but it was the best that she could do.

"Ah, yes. I, too, enjoy a day in the country. The hunt is most enjoyable. I often hunt with the Marquess of Newburgh. He has excellent birds."

Madeleine had never been allowed to hunt. "Ladies of the ton are not allowed to join in the hunt," she reminded him. "Perhaps someday soon that will change."

Mowbray snorted. "The hunt is no place for a lady of worth. The fairer sex are too delicate a species to endure such wildness."

Madeleine fought the urge to stomp on his foot for his offensive words. "And yet we are not too delicate to bear children."

Mowbray blushed red at her brazen speech. "My word, Lady Madeleine, does your father know of your tongue?"

"He does," she confirmed.

"If you were my daughter, I would put a stop to such talk with all haste."

"It is fortunate, then, that I am not yours."

"Not yet." He gave her a possessive look mixed with desperate longing as his eyes took in her form.

Not ever!

Madeleine was afraid that she might punch him in the face at any moment. Fortunately, her composure held until the end of the dance, but it was a close thing.

The moment that the song concluded, Madeleine quickly disengaged herself from her unwanted dance partner. She searched the ballroom for Cecil and swiftly made her way through the crowd to his side. "Cecil you would not believe what…"

"Yes, yes, all very well and good," Cecil replied hastily, not even hearing Madeleine's words. "You can spare me the details of your blooming romance."

Madeleine's cheeks grew red. Anger coursed through her veins as she looked up at her brother with a withering glare, but she quickly saw that he was not even looking at her. Following his gaze, she spotted a crowd of finely dressed gentlemen and ladies hovering around someone she could not make out.

"He finally arrived," Cecil stated, a smile growing on his face.

Madeleine took a calming breath as she realized that she was a woman apart with her own frustrations.

"He, who, brother?" she asked, rising on her toes in an attempt to see."

"You know who," was all Cecil replied before he took her hand and started walking. "Come along; I'm sure he will want to say hello to you too."

Before she could stop him, Cecil began pulling her along with him, making a beeline for the crowd.

"Brother, I do not care that your nitwit childhood friend is in attendance, I want to talk to you about what Mowbray just said to?—"

"Greyhall!" Cecil called out at the edge of the crowd, once more cutting Madeleine off.

She attempted to pull her hand from his grasp as the crowed turned to look at him with curious eyes and ceased immediately when it parted to reveal Percival Hardy, Duke of Greyhall. In the place of the gangly boy with an overly large Adam's apple and wicked grin stood a devastatingly handsome man wrapped in muscle and a well-tailored black suit. His dark green eyes narrowed in on her and Cecil as he caught sight of them, and a wide, genuine smile showing perfectly straight, white teeth formed on his face.

"Cecil Gillet," Percy replied, his tone full of wonder as the crowd obediently moved away to make room for Percy to walk toward Madeleine and Cecil.

"As I live and breathe, old boy, it is about time we have seen each other again!"

As Cecil and Percy folded into one another in a manly hug slash handshake fashion, Madeleine pulled her gaze away from the now handsome man that used to taunt her and took a look at the crowd. They were all watching her brother and Percy closely, their whispers barely contained at having the latter back in society.

"Look how handsome he's become," she heard one woman whisper.

"Handsome, yes, but have you heard of his fortune?" another whispered.

"Pshhh, who needs looks and fortune when you have the power he does?" a man's voice stated, entering the conversation.

"He is an unofficial member of the King's consort. Rumor has it that he is a dear friend to many Royals across the world. India. Austria. Italy. The man's reach goes as far as the King's!"

Madeleine felt the urge to fade away into the shadows as she heard more and more whispers of Percy's accomplishments. She had no care at all when it came to such things, for all she knew him for was the relentless taunting he used play upon her. She was gathering the courage to begin stepping away when Percy's eyes rather suddenly pulled away from Cecil and landed on her. Like a creature caught in a trap, Madeleine froze, unable to move.

"Percy, you remember my youngest sister, Madeleine," Cecil said, performing the necessary social niceties as he followed Percy's line of sight.

"I do." Percy's smile widened as his dark green eyes flashed with surprised recognition.

Madeleine knew why he was surprised. She had still been quite box-ish the last time that they had seen one another, not yet having grown into herself. "Your Grace," she murmured, dropping into a small curtsy.

"Come now, Monkey, there is no need for formalities. We were children together, were we not?" Percy reminded her, chuckling and dismissing the social niceties with a wave of his hand.

Madeleine blushed in mortification at his use of her nickname in public. Her nerves began to scatter even more as the whispers behind them grew.

"What did he just call her?"

" Her?" another asked, the person's tone full of surprise. "Why would he know her? She's got the form of a spoiled house cat! "

"Ugh, I would be mortified if someone like him called me Monkey. She's clearly no threat. I mean, look at her. Someone that handsome would not want someone so… unseemly."

"Do you not remember me, Madeleine?" Percy asked, seemingly not hearing the whispers around them. His handsome smile only served to heighten her offense.

"Indeed, I do," she replied through her teeth.

"I cherish the memories that I have with your family. Those were enjoyable times."

"Not for everyone," Madeleine muttered under her breath.

"What was that, Monkey?"

Madeleine felt her face flush with anger.

"Are you feeling well? You look quite flushed." He leaned down to examine her face in concern.

"I am well," Madeleine replied, attempting to back away from him without divulging anything further about her thoughts.

Percy studied her face dubiously, as if not believing her. Then his eyes flicked beyond her to the crowd that still loomed close by. Madeleine immediately heard the whispers cease, and she did not need to turn away in order to know that they immediately dispersed upon receiving Percy's look. He was powerful that way. Always had been.

"The room is warm. Shall we find you something to drink?" he offered, his gaze returning to her.

There was a hint of sympathy that took her aback, but without waiting for an answer, he took her elbow in hand and steered her towards the refreshment table.

"I am fully capable of walking on my own without your assistance," she insisted, removing her elbow from his hand, "It is unseemly for you to take such liberties with my person, Your Grace ."

Her eyes flashed fiery disapproval up at him, and it grew even worse as he let out a deep chuckle. She hated how the sound instantly made her flush grow brighter and made her stomach flip beneath the already tight corset. Percival, though, seemed to pick up on this, and his dark green eyes sparked with challenge as he raised a brow at her mocking use of his moniker.

For a moment, they simply stood there, their own versions of their stubbornness sparking against one another like the slated rock Cecil loved to drone on about. And then he smiled. Not the wide smile he'd given her before. No. This smile was… dangerous.

"You are as stubborn and fiery as you always were," he observed with amusement. "You know, in all my travels I have never met anyone else quite like you? You speak your mind with passion. It is an admirable trait. Especially in a lady."

Unable to help herself, Madeleine's brows rose in shock as he turned from her. Did he mean that? Realizing that he had quite literally stopped her in her tracks, she stepped toward him with a start, catching up to him as she kept her question to herself. Surely, he was jesting… surely. Men did not admire such traits. That was well known.

As they moved through the crowd, men and women alike spoke in hushed whispers about the Duke of Greyhall. Percy did not seem to hear them, but Madeleine could make out bits and pieces of their conversations. The two most frequently used words that she overheard from the other women about him were ‘handsome' and ‘cursed'.

Cursed? Madeleine thought to herself. How is he cursed? She studied the man next to her as he handed her a drink. He seems healthy and strong to me.

Once he had provided her with a drink, Percy returned to his conversation with Cecil, who had followed close behind them. Madeleine continued to study the Duke, to see why people thought he might be cursed, but she did not find any evidence. The one thing she did notice, however, was that he was paying entirely too much attention to her brother's every word considering the boring topic that Cecil was rattling on about.

He can hear them, she realized, a bout of anger mixed with sympathy overtaking her. He can hear them gossiping about him, and he's not doing a thing to stop it…

Once again, the word cursed filtered through the din to her ears. A slight tightening of the jaw was the only sign on Percy's face that he knew what was being said about him. He knew, and yet he did nothing.

Is he cursed? Could it be true?