‘No. I’ve been watching you. Was it something Clarissa said?’ he asked.
‘Yes . . . I mean no,’ said Madeline.
‘Yes, you mean no?’ asked Philip with a lift of one eyebrow.
‘I think we should return to our guests,’ said Madeline.
‘Not until you’ve told me what’s wrong,’ he said.
‘It’s nothing. It’s just that . . . ’ The words were unwise, but they had slipped out.
‘It’s just that . . . ?’ he prompted her.
‘Nothing.’ She made to move past him but he would not let her go.
‘If it’s nothing, you won’t object to telling me,’ he said, with a hint of steel in his voice.
She knew she should say nothing; she should laugh it off. But her emotions were still churning and, unwisely, she said abruptly, ‘Why are you going to marry Letitia?’
He looked at her appraisingly. Then, seeming to sense some of her feelings, he said, ‘We can’t talk here.’ He led her out of the barn, across the courtyard and in at a side door of the Manor house, taking her through into a small room where they could talk undisturbed. ‘Now,’ he said, closing the door behind them. ‘I think you’d better tell me why you care about my reasons for marrying Letitia.’
There was an alert look in his eye and his whole body was tense. He looked like a bird of prey about to swoop, thought Madeline with a shiver. But it was too late for her to keep silent now.
‘Why are you not going to marry one of the young ladies from round about?’ she asked. ‘Why are you going to marry someone so cold and cynical?’
‘I wasn’t aware it was any of your business,’ he remarked.
She had the feeling that for some reason he was deliberately taunting her, though why that should be she did not know.
Before she could reply he went on, ‘I will answer your question nevertheless. The reason why I won’t marry any of the young ladies from round about is that they would bore me out of my mind. They can talk of nothing but fashions and fripperies. Their ideas are bounded by thoughts of the latest novels, and the latest styles in dress.’
‘I thought you liked talking about those things,’ she said with a flush, remembering the times she had spoken to him about her new gowns, or about the novel she was reading.
‘I do. But not to the exclusion of all else.’
‘And will Letitia’s conversation, then, be so different?’ she asked with an attempt at coolness, though her pulse was starting to quicken.
He shrugged. ‘Probably not. But she will know better than to bore me with it.’
‘And is that all you ask from a wife? That she doesn’t bore you?’ demanded Madeline.
‘That depends.’
‘On?’ she asked.
‘On what sort of wife you are thinking of.’
His eyes drilled into hers, and she dropped them, unable to meet his gaze. ‘I . . . I am thinking of a proper wife.’
‘Very well.’ He turned up her chin so that she was looking at him, and she felt a quiver go through her at his touch. ‘From a proper wife I would want friendship and companionship. I would want someone I could share my hopes and dreams with. And a helpmeet, someone who would help me turn those dreams into reality. I would want someone who, besides sharing my interests, had interests of her own, and who would let me help her in her endeavours.
‘I would want someone who was concerned about the tenants and labourers on the estate, and who could talk to them without insulting them or patronising them. And then I would want someone with a strong and courageous character, who would not have a fit of the vapours every time there was a problem in life, but would find a way to solve it.
‘But as well as being strong and courageous she would also have to be soft and vulnerable - I have no taste for harridans! She would have to let me look after her and protect her and make her life easier for her. She would have to rouse in me the desire to make love to her, not just once but over and over again. She would have to be someone I would want to have children with, not just as heirs, but as living, breathing little people of flesh and blood. And she would have to be someone I could imagine spending the rest of my life with and enjoying every minute of it.’
His voice dropped. ‘Do you know anyone like that, Madeline?’
She gulped. Her pulse was racing and she felt suddenly weak.
‘Because if you do, then I won’t marry Letitia. I won’t need to.’ His voice was husky. ‘So tell me, Madeline, do you know anyone like that?’
His head was bending towards hers. She could feel the whisper of his breath warm on her cheek. She could smell the fresh, clean scent of him, and beneath it a deeply masculine aroma that made her pulses leap. And then he kissed her.
Madeline was lost in a sea of exhilarating sensations as he pulled her closer to him. It felt right for her to be in his arms. It felt right for him to be kissing her, and for her to be kissing him in response. It felt right for him to be crushing her body to hers. And all of a sudden she knew why.
It was because she loved him.
When had it started? she wondered, thinking of the feelings she had for him. Since the moment he had rescued her from her uncle, she realised. And ever since then it had been quietly growing, her friendship and trust and affection for him, her respect and her desire, until those feelings had all merged into one and been transformed into something far more profound; until they had been transformed into love.
And then she could think no more, but gave herself willingly to the delicious sensations that were coursing through her body. As his hands began to caress her she found her sensations intensifying, so that by the time he swept her off her feet and carried her up to the bedroom she was so weak she could not even undress. But his impassioned words and burning kisses told her that he wanted nothing better than to do it himself.
Philip’s lovemaking was the most breathtaking, exhilarating experience, the most wonderful and all-consuming thing she had ever known. And when at last, their passion spent, he cradled her in his arms, Madeline gave a deep sigh of contentment. Nestling into his arms she felt a sense of happiness and fulfilment she had never even dreamed existed
I have been married to Philip for almost six months, she thought as a pleasurable drowsiness overtook her, but this . . . this has been my wedding night.
Chapter Thirteen
Philip woke early the following morning. Madeline was asleep beside him. Her long flaxen hair tumbled over the pillow and her face was serene.
He smiled as he remembered how determined he had initially been not to consummate their marriage. But that determination had gone out of the window when he had realised he loved her.
He knew there were still problems to be faced, but whatever the cause of Madeline’s fear of marriage he was determined to help her overcome it.
Knowing that Jenny would soon be coming into the room he slipped out of bed and quickly dressed, not wanting to embarrass the little maid. Once dressed he went downstairs and was about to supervise the clearing up after the fête when Crump appeared, saying, ‘A messenger has just arrived for you, my lord. He says he has instructions to deliver the message to you and only you. I have put him in the library.’
Philip frowned. A messenger? Who on earth could it be? And who could the message be from? His thoughts went to Jack. If it was a message from Jack it could not have come at a worse time, but he could not turn his back on the friend who had saved his life. ‘Very good, Crump.’
He strode into the library. A man in ragged clothes stood there. Philip summed him up quickly and decided he was honest. ‘Well?’ he asked. He wanted to deal with the unwelcome intrusion as quickly as possible so that he could spend the morning with Madeline.
‘You’re the Earl of Pemberton?’ asked the man warily.
‘I am.’
‘I’ve got a message for you. "Meet me same place soon as you can." That’s the message. ‘e said you’d know what it meant, and ‘oo it was from.’
Philip nodded. So the message was from Jack. And if he was sending a coded message he must still be in danger. Philip thought over the wording of the message. Same place - that was easy: The King’s Head, the hostelry where they had frequently met and caroused in their youth. And as soon as possible.
It went against all his instincts to leave Madeline at such a time but he knew that Jack would not send him such a message unless it was urgent and he could not let his friend down. Besides, the sooner he went the sooner he would be back. Perhaps even before Madeline woke.
He gave the man a sovereign and then rang for Crump. ‘I want a horse waiting for me at the front door in ten minutes,’ he said.
‘Yes, my lord.’
Once Crump had left the room he went over to the desk and pulled a sheet of paper towards him, taking up his quill and writing a note to Madeline, explaining that he had been called away urgently and saying that he would be back as soon as possible. He signed it, Your loving husband, Philip. Then, sanding the note he went out into the hall. Danson, the footman, was standing there and Philip handed him the note, instructing him to see that it was delivered to the Countess as soon as she was awake.
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Danson deferentially.
But when Philip had gone a cunning look crossed Danson’s face. Instead of taking the note to Jenny, so that she could deliver it to her mistress, he went into the servants’ quarters and, making sure he was not observed, he stopped in a narrow passageway.
Although the passageway was narrow it was well lit as a large window was set into the outside wall. Holding the sealed note up to the light he tried to make out the words of the message. The day was bright, and the light, shining through the paper, revealed much of Philip’s bold handwriting.
It did not reveal every word, but Danson could decipher enough of the message to know that Philip had been called away. Thinking quickly, he realised that if Madeline did not receive the note she would not know where the Earl had gone. Or why.
He cudgelled his brains, trying to think of a way in which that piece of information could be used to create trouble between the Earl and the Countess, and in so doing help his mistress: not Madeline, but Letitia Bligh. Not for nothing did Miss Bligh pay him a handsome retainer, and not for nothing had she promised him the position of butler once she was firmly established at the Manor as its Countess.
And then it came to him. An idea so simple and yet so devastating it would end the Earl’s marriage to Madeline for sure.
Crumpling the note in his pocket with a crooked smile he went into the kitchen, where Jenny was just having her breakfast. It was time for his plan to begin.
‘His lordship’s out early this morning,’ he said to Jenny conversationally.
‘Perhaps he has work to do,’ she replied.
‘If you can call it that,’ said Danson suggestively. ‘But I wouldn’t call Miss Bligh work. She looks more like pleasure to me.’
‘Miss Bligh?’
Jenny was trying not to rise to his bait, he could tell, but even so she was alert and curious.
‘That’s where he’s gone. To see Miss Bligh. I heard him giving orders in the stables. Rumour has it he was about to marry her last year, but instead he came home with another wife. You can’t blame him, though, can you? He knew he’d lose the fortune if he married Miss Bligh. The old Earl was crazy if you ask me. Imagine making a will like that. So what could the Earl do?
‘He was in love with Miss Bligh all right, and no wonder, her being so elegant and polished and all - she looks like a countess already, you might say. But marry her and lose the fortune? No. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. So he married someone else instead. But feelings will out. Oh, yes, feelings will always out.
‘What is it they say? All’s fair in love and war? And I reckon that’s about the size of it. He wants Miss Bligh, and one way or another he’s going to have her. Oh. But I shouldn’t be saying this to you,’ he said. ‘I forgot, you came with the mistress, didn’t you? I don’t suppose it’s any joke to you that the master’s saddled up and gone to see Miss Bligh.’
‘No, you shouldn’t be saying this to me,’ snapped Jenny.
He smirked as he saw that Jenny’s happy mood had disappeared. He watched her as she pushed back her stool and threw away the rest of her breakfast.
‘Lost your appetite?’ he asked.
Jenny left the room without replying.
Madeline woke. A smile spread across her face as she remembered the events of the night before. She and Philip . . . it had been so wonderful.
She turned her head, expecting to see Philip beside her, but there was no sign of him. The bed was empty. She felt a moment of intense disappointment before guessing that he must have already risen and gone downstairs to oversee the servants as they cleared away the debris of the Christmas fête. She could tell it was late by the light streaming through the curtains and she realised she must have overslept.
Even so, she allowed herself a few minutes to indulge in the memory of their blissful night together. How wonderful it had been. She had never known marriage could hold such pleasures. She smiled as she thought how lucky she was. She stroked the pillow next to her. There was a hollow in it where Philip’s head had been. The bedclothes still carried the scent of him, warm and masculine. Oh! It was good to be alive!
She threw back the covers and, humming to herself, chose a pale blue kerseymere gown to wear. It was light and bright, and matched her mood perfectly.
A minute later Jenny came into the room with a jug of hot water.
‘Did you enjoy the fête last night?’ asked Madeline, as she washed and then set about dressing, with Jenny’s help.
‘Yes, miss,’ said Jenny.
Jenny seemed surprisingly taciturn.
Madeline said teasingly, ‘You did not take too much punch, I hope?’
‘No, miss.’ Jenny seemed not only taciturn but dour.
Madeline frowned. It was not like Jenny to be surly.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked. ‘Have you been having trouble with the inquisitive footman again? Danson?’
‘No. Nothing’s wrong,’ Jenny said. ‘Which shawl will you wear this morning? It’s a cold day, for all it’s bright.’
Madeline looked at the clear blue sky, with here and there a wisp of white cloud, and said, ‘Yes. I expect you’re right. These bright days are often cold. I think I’ll wear the Cashmere.’
As Jenny seemed to become her usual self, Madeline said no more and put the maid’s initial dourness down to tiredness. Which was not surprising, thought Madeline, as they had all worked very hard to prepare the fête, and had worked even harder to enjoy it.
Once dressed, Madeline went downstairs. She was hoping to see Philip but there was no sign of him and she reasoned he must have breakfasted before her. After finishing her own breakfast she went out to the barn. The servants were clearing up after the fête but none of them had seen Philip. Still, she was not concerned. He had perhaps been called away to the home farm. One of the prize animals, mayhap, had been taken sick.
She missed him and wanted to be with him but knew that he had a lot to do, and it only made her look forward to their next meeting even more. And in the meantime, she had her own activities to occupy her.
Returning to the drawing-room she settled herself down at her escritoire. Taking out a sheet of paper she began to write a letter to Emma, telling the young girl all about the Christmas fête. She had not quite finished when the door opened and Crump appeared.
‘Mr Greer is here to see you, my lady,’ he said.
‘Mr Greer?’ Madeline lay down her quill in surprise. What could the manager of the York properties want with her? she wondered. ‘I think it must be the Earl he wants to see.’
‘No, my lady. He asked to see you particularly,’ said Crump.
Madeline was puzzled. The only way to find out what Mr Greer wanted, however, was to grant him an interview and so she said, ‘Very well, Crump. Show him in.’
/> A minute later Mr Greer entered the room. Madeline felt a return of her earlier feelings, when she had met Mr Greer for the first time. There was something about the little man she found unsettling. She had not taken to him at all. But telling herself she was being unreasonable she offered him a seat and then said, ‘How can I help you, Mr Greer?’
‘Oh, no, my lady, it’s I who am here to help you,’ he said, balancing himself on the edge of a Hepplewhite chair. ‘The Earl asked me to call on you.’
‘You have seen the Earl?’ asked Madeline in surprise. Philip had not spoken of a recent meeting with his property manager.
‘Oh, yes, my lady. I have just left him.’
‘You have seen him this morning?’ asked Madeline in astonishment.
‘Oh yes, my lady, he came over to York first thing. He asked me to give you the keys to the York house. It has been completely redecorated, my lady, and the Earl said that now everything is finished you will want to move in straight away.’
Madeline felt an icy feeling stealing over her heart. Surely it could not be true? Philip could not have left her that very morning and ridden over to York, instructing Mr Greer to give her the keys to the York house, could he? After all they had shared? He did not really mean her to move out of the Manor? Did he?
But why not? Her marriage to him was a temporary arrangement. She had always known it. He had never made any bones about it. He had not deceived her in any way. But after last night —
After last night, what? she demanded of herself. He had taken her to bed, yes, but what did that signify? To her it had signified everything. To him it had signified nothing, she saw that now. He had given into the temptation of the moment and had regretted it. And to put himself beyond the reach of further temptation he had left the Manor, arranging for her to move out immediately. Most probably not intending to return until she had gone.
But such cowardice seemed so unlike Philip.
And then her mother’s warning, a warning that had almost, but not quite, been stilled over the past few months, came back to haunt her. "Never trust a man, Madeline. It only leads to despair".
The Six-Month Marriage Page 17