by R. G. Winter
Their mouths met again. Outside the rain continued to beat down, harder and faster.
How shall we ever leave this place?”
His eyes stayed on hers. His finger traced her nipples, lifting them into tighter, higher peaks. “I truly don’t know. I only know that we must. I thought to shed all of it, but I suppose one cannot do that. It’s a wonderful dream, and the freedom—oh the freedom of the time we spent here—but we shall make our own freedom too.”
Her fingers brushed his dark hair back from his high brow. “We shall always have this between us. This place and our memories of it.”
“Yes,” his mouth opened in a yawn. “You could always serve me ale, my saucy little wench.”
She sputtered laughter. “Oh and you can always take me on a ship!”
His chest lifted and dropped with the force of his sigh. “I wish we could run away, further away. I want to be able to. Only—only there is that part of me that knows that many are dependent upon me. The tenants of my estate and the lives of those in employ of the house itself. It’s a duty I can no longer shirk.”
“No,” her hand stilled. “No, you cannot.”
Neither could she. She wanted Jonathan, even if it meant having to wear the clothes she’d always hated and living the life she had run away from. She had run right into the arms of the one man who’d put her back into that life she had disavowed. Oddly enough, she was not unhappy about that.
He kissed her neck softly, sending a little squiggle of sensation arrowing through her body. “Then it’s settled. We’ll wed at my estate and you can write your parents and tell them we are wed.”
She laughed. “I suppose all they could say was that, at least, I married well!”
CHAPTER THREE
Jonathan’s estate sat in the lush countryside, situated among green, rolling hills and a past small and charming villages.
The houses of the village that they were passing now sat near the shining ribbon of the river, and most of them were made from quarried stone. Children played in the mild sunshine, and gardens had green in their beds. It was a bucolic picture, one that made Madelaine smile.
She rode in the carriage along with Jonathan, although both of them would far rather have ridden. They had ridden, in fact, much of the way, but now that they were coming to the estate they were playing at politeness and manners, sitting in the rattling carriage and talking softly as they looked out the windows at the scenery.
“It’s quite lovely. Almost like home.”
Jonathan smiled. “Yes, I had forgotten how lovely it really is. I would like to take you on a honeymoon—somewhere exciting and abroad but I fear that will have to wait until things are sorted.”
Travel!
Her heart leaped in her chest. “I shall remind you that you have promised me that very thing.”
His eyes danced, “I doubt you will have to remind me often. I love to travel and I feel as if you understand and share that love.”
“Oh, do you?” her grin was impish. She patted her hair to make sure it had not escaped the restrained style she had placed it in and said, “I do. I look forward to traveling with you.”
His smile grew wider. “We must hasten to set things right so we can flee then.”
Her laughter was rich and filled with happiness. The carriage rolled on. Madelaine looked down at her gown. It had been hurriedly pieced together, and she had written to her mother, asking her to send her wardrobe immediately.
That had been risky, but necessary. They could always claim that much of her luggage had been lost, leaving her woefully under clothed, but she had to have those gowns and day dresses she had left behind—and quickly. It would take far too much time to have an entire new wardrobe made and, as much as she hated to admit it, she had to have the clothing of a lady now.
Oddly, she found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she once had. True, she had always enjoyed the clothes—just not the terrible misery of actually getting into them—and she wondered if perhaps her willingness to wear them now was due to the fact that she knew Jonathan would think her beautiful in those clothes.
Her mood lifted and fell constantly lately—and she knew part of that was due to her wishing that they actually had been able to run away somewhere, some exotic foreign land perhaps. The other part was due to her happiness that, finally, she could see her parents again.
And Victoria, and Winston.
She had missed her family.
She had not wanted to. She had known that night as she set out upon her adventure that they would consider her gone. Young women who ran off and let themselves be spoiled could hardly go back after that. Not in most cases anyway but she was hardly most cases.
She’d landed a lord, after all, and her marriage to him would give her back her respectability. Not that she cared about that much.
Winston would have come to see her anyway, of that she was sure but like any young woman she missed her family, and missed them all. There had been times, if she were to be honest, that she often thought that perhaps the worst part about what she had done had been losing them.
She had not minded working hard. She had loved freedom. She had missed her family and sometimes regretted that her actions had caused such a huge gulf between them.
Well, never mind.
Jonathan looked out the window. “There it is. Oak Hall.”
Madelaine looked to where he pointed. The house was magnificent, a tall and wide Georgian mansion with a stone roof and long graceful lines comprised of red brick and white marble accents.
Jonathan’s hand met hers. They’d arrived!
CHAPTER FOUR
Jonathan peered out the window, a frown on his face. “Whose carriage is that?”
Madelaine’s mouth dropped open. She recognized the handsome conveyance but it was too late to tell the driver to move along, they had already halted before she could even think.
“It’s my father’s.”
The words had hardly left her mouth when the door to the carriage she rode in opened to reveal her father. As usual he was handsomely attired. His face wore a stern and unforgiving expression. Had he come to see her properly married then?
That hope died at his brusque words. “Madelaine, please go to our carriage.”
“Father…”
He leaned into the carriage. His face hardened. “I shall not brook any argument from you Miss. You scared the wits from your mother and me. The inconvenience you have caused us is unsupportable!”
Jonathan leaned forward, “Sir, I intend to marry…”
“You’ll do no such thing! Further you shall not cause a scene either! If you try I shall…I shall run you through!”
Jonathan stiffened. Madelaine’s heart dropped to her belly. Jonathan would kill her father in a duel, there was no doubt of it! She could not allow that to happen!
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Father…”
“No, get out and into our carriage quickly before every servant sees you have been alone in this one with him. We’ve pit it about that you were visiting friends in the country—and as this rascal has a sister-in-law and she, along with her husband, both who seem far more high-minded than either of you I might add—have agreed to claim that you but visited her no harm is yet done.”
Oh there was plenty of harm done! Madelaine stared at Jonathan. His face wore a thunderous expression. His voice was harsh as he made to move past her. “I will not have her snatched away so easily.”
“I’m her father and must agree to the marriage you propose sir. I do not. Now be a gentleman now if never again.”
There was something in her father’s voice that Madelaine had never heard before, at least not directed toward herself.
Anger.
She opened her mouth to protest but as she did the carriage door opened again and the footman helped her mother alight.
One look at her mother’s pale and strained face was all it took to break her heart—and nerve.
Jonathan said, “I
care little for being a gentleman.”
His brother and wife came out. Madelaine was certain every servant in the household was nearby, eavesdropping. Soon they were all aligned outside the carriage and their voices, while low and pleading for reason, battered her ears and heart.
Jonathan gripped her hand. She gripped his tightly.
Jonathan looked at his brother. “No doubt you had some hand in this.”
His brother shook his fair head. “No, I only discovered this part of the whole situation when Lord de Winter wrote me. Use your head Jonathan. We must present a united front in this. If you truly care for each other do not ruin each other in this way.”
The words cut through everything else.
Jonathan placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Into her ear he whispered, “I will not give up but you must go now. We will find a way.”
Madelaine wanted to kick, to scream, and fight. She knew if she did the servants would have much to say, and it was no longer just her reputation at stake.
It was Jonathan’s. While neither of them might care for such a thing their families did—and their reputations would suffer as well.
Tears blurred her vision. She nodded and allowed her father to help her alight.
She was hustled into the carriage, the curtains were drawn and they trotted away quickly. Madelaine leaned back against the seat, her hand going to the curtains. She wanted one last look at him. Her mother’s sharp admonition stilled her hand.
It had all happened so fast!
How had it all happened so quickly?
Lady de Winter spoke. “I am happy to tell you that nobody knows what happened. We managed to save face for the duke.”
Save face for the duke?
Was that really what Mama was the happiest about? “What do you mean?”
Lady de Winter straightened her gown and opened her fan, stirring the air slightly. “We told everyone that the duke had sudden and urgent business and the wedding had to be postponed. Naturally we had to account for your absence so we said you had gone to visit friends. That you pined for him so that you were utterly unable to be happy unless you were distracted.”
They’d allowed everyone to think he’d jilted her then? Of course they had. There had been no doubt that was the only thing that they would have thought of. How best to save face for Reginald. Her mood, already hovering near crushing disappointment, lowered even further.
“Mama…Father…please. It is not too late to turn around. I truly love…”
Her mother snapped the fan shut with a hard and final click. “You have been far too impetuous as it is.” The sharpness of her voice made Madelaine jerk. “This is not to be borne Madelaine! We are your parents, and we want only what is best for you.”
‘Then turn this carriage around!”
Her father faced her. “Absolutely not! If you do not marry the duke he looks a fool.”
“He is a fool!” her hands lifted and dropped. Her breath lifted her chest high and dropped it again so great was her agitation. “You must see that!”
“Hold your tongue.” Lady de Winter’s fan snapped back open. Her eyes, shining with unshed tears peered over the tops of the staves and the thin lace stretched between them. “Have you no idea of what you have almost caused with your actions? Of the worry and fear…we had no idea of we had lost you to some horrors past imagining!”
Contrition set in. “Mama I never meant to make you worry! I only wanted to be free…”
The fan snapped closed again. Lady de Winter’s face was stony. “Free? You are free! You are young and beautiful and free to marry the man who has asked for your hand! You are free to run your household as you like! You are free to decide who shall and shall not attend the balls and dinner parties you shall give!”
That wasn’t freedom. It was imprisonment!
There was no use in saying so, and Madelaine knew it. Her mother was a hidebound by her beliefs as she was that corset of hers.
“So what happens now?”
Her father’s fingers tapped along his upper thigh. “Naturally we said that Reginald’s business had concluded some time back. He could not hide away forever. He was a frequent visitor at the house. We have not told anyone that you returned but neither did we say you were still gone.
“As Season has started in earnest now we have all gone to London, telling people only that you were still visiting your dear friend, who was quite ill.”
“So I’m made to be the saint. The young woman willing to let her own marriage wait in order to be of service to a friend.”
Her lips compressed. Her heart turned to stone, she felt it hardening in her chest.
Lady de Winter fetched up a sigh. “As soon as we got your letter we set the wheels back in motion. The wedding will take place in two weeks. There will be no more delays or hysterics Madelaine. You shall be locked into your room at night…”
Aghast she could only stare, “Surely you jest!”
Her father snapped, “Surely we do not. You have proven to be very untrustworthy.”
She fell back into the seat, all the air leaving her lungs as the implications of their words set in. They would not even consider how she felt about Jonathan! They would never allow her to wed him!
Of course they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. She had hoped that they would see reason and that, after their tempers had cooled, she would be allowed to present her case to them.
She would not be.
They had to think of the duke—and his powerful connections and overflowing coffers—of course. They had to save his dignity, at the expense of her happiness.
She made one last feverish plea. “Papa, mama—please! I can never be happy with him, surely you see that!”
“Happiness is up to the person,” Lady de Winter said. “Not every marriage is happy, no, but most are because the people in them decide to be happy.”
Her heart froze and hardened yet again at the thought of such a thing. “I don’t want to decide to be happy. I want to be happy because I’m happy.”
Neither of her parents answered.
Madelaine turned her head. The coach was dim and still. Sweat broke out on her brow and below her arms. She was stifling and it was a very long journey to London. At least the day. Was she to bear the feel of the stale air and the heat all the way there?
She reached for the curtain. Her father stirred. Her mother placed a hand on his knee. “She can’t very well jump from a moving carriage and it is stifling in here. We are in the country yet, and she can be seen now, if not in town. Not in that dreadful thing.”
Madelaine looked down at her gown. It was worn from washing and fading now but clean. Tears spilled from eyes and left dark splotches on the fabric. She didn’t care. Her father fumbled for a handkerchief and shoved it at her.
She took it and held it tightly in one clenched fist, letting the tears spill and soak her gown. It wasn’t polite to cry so. It wasn’t seemly.
Nothing she did was seemly, however, so why bother starting now?
CHAPTER FIVE
The townhouse in London was buzzing with activity. Season was in swing, and Madelaine knew her appearance was why her parents insisted that’s he wear the cloak her mother had produced and told her to put on. She did, without protest.
Her spirits were beaten down, as little as she liked to admit it.
It had occurred to her, at some point, that perhaps Jonathan had simply decided it was all just too much trouble really. She was betrothed. Practically married even. Perhaps he had seen his old home again and decided that eh truly had missed the society he had left behind and did not wish to re-enter it on such a soured note.
Those thoughts were what truly depressed her as she was ushered upstairs. Her mother ordered warm bath and a tray for her, and that she get a good night’s sleep as the next days would be very busy indeed.
Madelaine had no doubt of that.
After her bath she was tucked into the bed, which was the same one that she had been slee
ping in since she had left the nursery behind. It felt unfamiliar however, too large and cold.
She huddle din it, weeping miserably. She missed funny old Colin and Liam, and Camoinhe. She missed Persephone, and the sounds of the Admiral’s Arms and the ever-present tang of the sea. She missed Jonathan so terribly she thought she would die of it.
The shadows crept across the room and she stared up at them. She had thought herself a prisoner before but now she truly was locked into a room!
They’d likely dose her with laudanum and send her down the aisle with her feet in bondage too. She’d heard of that happening. It was whispered that just last year one young woman had been reluctant to marry her suitor—a powerful and much older man with a taste for foppish clothing and wine—and her parents had been forced to give her a good strong dose of the laudanum. In fact, it was said, they had given her such a dose that she howled laughter all the way down the aisle, said her vows, among other things, and passed out right on the carpet at the front of the church just as her husband had bene about to claim her lips in a kiss.
That would be her. They’d dose her, hand her off, and everyone would pretend she had been the happiest bride to ever walk down the aisle!
**
The next morning she was woken by the maid bringing in a tray holding hot chocolate, a small bowl filled with fruit, a scone and a little pot of lemon curd, and napkin and silverware.
She allowed herself to be dressed after she had eaten then took a seat on the chaise. Boredom quickly set in.
It seemed she was still in disgrace because nobody came. She tried the door a few times, definitely locked.
She opened the window and peered down. The drop was sheer and three-storied. The nearest window to hers was Winston’s, and it could only be reached by clambering out the window, catching hold of his and swinging hard toward that sill.
No escape was possible.
The day passed in a slow and mind-numbing crawl. Madelaine paced to pass the time, attempted to read but couldn’t, ate her small luncheon and allowed the maid to rub copious amounts of a scented lotion that her mother had sent into her face and hands.