by Valerie King
Madeline did not think she would ever forget the stern, angry expression on her face and how she commenced a tirade that had left Madeline shaken and embarrassed.
“You are a young lady fully grown, or very nearly,” her mother had said. “You should have left off these ridiculous jaunts of yours any number of years ago. I must forbid you from returning to Pelworthy. Do you not see that the entire neighborhood knows of your activities and that you are quite sullying the reputation of our family? The Pipers will never be invited to Lady Cottingford’s harvest ball if you continue in this fashion. Really, Madeline, I must forbid it entirely.”
Madeline stood on the turret now, a westerly breeze flowing over her heated skin and cooling her in the nicest manner. She had found herself unable to be entirely obedient to her mother and returned to the castle as often as she could without being caught, usually when her mother would leave Fairlight for a sennight’s time.
Now, however, with her entire world having been turned upside down because of her father’s gambling debts, she no longer thought she need have so many scruples. Besides, she was feeling wondrously victorious in having gotten the required invitation from Mrs. Rockingham. She picked up an imaginary long bow, plucked an arrow from a quiver that would have reached well past her waist, took careful aim, and fired at a shrub near one of the elms by Halland Creek. A man fell, a general cry went up, and the entire host of soldiers retreated in haste as far as the coast some eleven miles distant.
What would her mother say now? she wondered.
She leaned against the cool stone of the turret wall, still facing Chilchester Valley. Something was changing within her, something wonderful, she suspected, though she could not at present comprehend what it was precisely. She felt as though her soul was a caged bird, watching and waiting as a previously locked door began to open slowly. A feeling very much like hope began to rise up within her, but hope for what? In the most desperate sense, she should have felt quite the opposite, since she was all but consigned to the exigencies of a marriage of convenience. Yet she could not be entirely cast in despair. Something, indeed, was changing within her.
These thoughts, so contrary in nature, made not the smallest bit of sense to her, and yet she did not care. She smiled, deeply content as clouds scudded in small puffs across the sky. The blue of the sky beyond was as deep as the ocean was wide, with a delightful wind picking up strength and buffeting her bonnet and gown. She wondered if she had somehow gone mad, if all the pressures of the past several days had suddenly descended on her and bereft her of all ability to reason. She laughed aloud, and her laughter rippled over the turreted wall and down into the thickets, streams, and pasturelands below.
She realized she was happy and that, perhaps, for the first time in a very long time.
~ ~ ~
Sir Roger heard a woman’s laughter and glanced about him in some surprise. The gentle ripples had seemed almost ghostlike in quality as the sounds bounced from the curtain wall to the gatehouse to the keep which he was approaching from the northwest. A stand of shrubs and trees which had grown up quite prettily at the base of the keep prevented him from seeing who or what was the author of such melodious amusement. The thought that the castle was haunted entered his head not for the first time.
As he drew past the thicket, however, he looked up into the turret and saw the top of a bonnet. He moved backward several feet so as not to be quite so near the keep and he recognized not a ghost, but Madeline. He could not restrain his smiles. So she had come to Pelworthy, she had chosen to climb to the top of the turret before seeking him out, and she was even now standing and viewing the valley below without seeming to care who saw her or heard her.
This was most promising, he thought. Madeline was breaking the rules of propriety, then laughing in the face of them. Most promising, indeed.
He rounded the base of the keep, that he might have a better view of her face. When he reached the easternmost facet of the turret, he could see her profile clearly. She was smiling as he believed he had never seen her smile before, secret ruminations visible in the expression of her exquisite face. He watched her closely and realized she seemed triumphant, certainly exhilarated.
He pressed a hand to his chest. These were the depths of her which she kept hidden from even her friends, perhaps even from herself. This was what he had seen in her so many months ago, what he suspected resided within her soul but which was kept locked away. If only he could coax this part of her forward so that her prim demeanor might be replaced entirely by so much fire and determination. Such a woman would command all of London, if she wished for it.
He climbed the grassy hill then entered the turret, mounting the steps two at a time. He arrived at the top to be greeted by green eyes that flashed fire and a smile that had come from ages past. He understood in a trice what had happened.
“You got the invitation.”
“I did,” she responded proudly.
He held her gaze for a long moment and could not seem to stop smiling. Finally, he ventured, “How the deuce did you achieve so impossible a task?” he asked, not holding back even a mite of his present admiration for her.
Her smile broadened until she was actually grinning. She seemed in this moment to be ten years younger, and he could not keep from advancing on her quickly and catching her elbow in his hand. He gave it a squeeze. “Do you also perform miracles?” he inquired. “Although I believe in achieving this you already have. Tell me, Miss Piper, how did you do it?”
She appeared to give his question serious consideration. “I am not certain if I should tell you, for you seem to actually approve of me in this moment and I fear dimming your present enthusiasm by revealing the truth.”
He chuckled. “I cannot imagine anything you might have to say at present that would cause me to think less of you.”
“Not even blackmail?” she asked, with a toss of her head.
“Blackmail,” he said. “Good God. What form of blackmail? What did you know of Mrs. Rockingham or any part of her family that would permit use of such a terrible weapon?”
At that, she grew even more serious. “I do not think I should tell you,” she responded. “Perhaps once we are wed. For the present, I prefer to be quiet on the subject.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Blackmail and discretion, a very intriguing combination. Very well, I shall not press you.”
“Thank you,” she responded succinctly. She then withdrew the invitation bearing the Rockingham seal from the pocket of her gown and gave it to him.
He took it in hand, shaking his head all the while. “My God,” he murmured.
She then looked about her. “You must forgive Mrs. Rockingham, you know, Sir Roger.”
“And why is that?”
“Her family was once in possession of most of this land, including the castle, a gift from Henry VIII to one of her forebears. A few decades later, a most imprudent Rockingham opposed Charles II’s return to the throne.”
Sir Roger let his gaze sweep over the valley. “Then I understand her animosity toward me quite to perfection.”
“Indeed, if you mean to keep your word to Mrs. Crawley and permit her to make the preparations for the Christmas ball then you ought, perhaps, to extend some corresponding honor to Mrs. Rockingham. She will have difficulty explaining your presence at Dallings otherwise.”
He smiled at her anew “You, my dear, are quite wasted in this hinterland. Your abilities suggest Mayfair, the courts of Europe, perhaps a diplomatic post. You seem to have been designed for managing quarrelsome parties.”
At that, she sighed. “Only promise me to behave properly tomorrow and I shall be content.”
“I shall do so most happily, barring any more unfortunate insults against either my parents or my lineage.”
“Then I shall trust that once you are seen to be beneath Mrs. Rockingham’s societal mantle, no one shall dare.”
***
Chapter Eight
&n
bsp; On the following day, Madeline moved onto the stone terrace of Mrs. Rockingham’s house and placed her gloved fingertips on the balustrade. The afternoon was delightfully warm, a perfect temperature for the numerous events scattered over two rolling acres of lawn, trees, and shrubs. From east to west, her gaze took in a variety of games and entertainments. Whatever else Mrs. Rockingham might be, she was devoted to the children of the neighborhood and made every party at her home a pleasure for everyone.
Her summer picnics were no less engaging or elaborate. Tents were set up in imitation of the sorts of delights to be found at fairs, like ring tosses and marksmanship with bow and arrow. A small theater troupe was performing puppetry for a group of enthralled children. A very large oak toward the back of the property had been slung with several swings so that the squeals of delighted guests, both young and old, could be heard wafting across the green. In the center of the lawn was a small lake sufficiently deep and broad to allow for two or three small craft which anyone could commandeer or enjoy being piloted by several servants who kept the lake’s edge guarded from the unwary. Finally, to the far right, Mrs. Rockingham’s intricate maze bobbed with heads bent on discovering the solution to the backs and forths of the ancient design, all hoping to reach the center, in which stood a crumbling tower of Roman origin.
Her father and her sisters were already mingling with other guests. Charity moved to sit with a group of ladies beneath a protective tent, Prudence to help children in and out of the boats, and Hope to practicing her marksmanship with bow and arrow, a favorite sport of hers. Her father had a tankard of ale in hand and was talking in an animated fashion with Squire Crawley.
For herself, Madeline wished that she might trip lightly down the steps and engage in any of the proffered activities, but she could not. She understood quite to perfection that today’s pleasures were to be replaced by the difficult business of somehow finding just the right moment to introduce Sir Roger to Lady Hambledon.
Beyond this needful objective, she could not allow even the smallest distraction, for if she did not somehow succeed in gaining that lady’s approval as well as an invitation to her fete of Saturday next for Sir Roger, she knew there would be little chance indeed of securing the critical invitation to Lady Cottingford’s harvest ball. She sighed faintly, realizing that her hope for her family’s salvation had been placed on so fragile a sequence of events. Still, there was nothing for it. Sir Roger had demanded the impossible of her, and the impossible she must accomplish. She must do all she could to see that Sir Roger impressed Lady Hambledon favorably. As she glanced about, she wondered if he had as yet arrived, for she did not see him.
As though her concerns had somehow conjured him up, Sir Roger, Lord Anthony, several manservants, and any number of school-age boys emerged from behind the maze in what proved to be a raucous wheelbarrow race. The boys were steered by their ankles, hands to the ground, with a finish line some thirty feet distant. A group of ladies including Cressida and Mary Crawley, as well as young Arabella Spight of just thirteen years, ran behind cheering them on.
Madeline could not help but smile. Who did not love a picnic? And how kind of Sir Roger to take part in the contest. Indeed, knowing how much children enjoyed being noticed by their elders, she felt it was a very great kindness, greater perhaps than he knew. The thought struck her that he would no doubt tend to his own children in this manner, with attentiveness and kindness, and a strange warmth descended on her, one of admiration and appreciation.
She turned to her right, where most of the gentlemen were partaking of Mr. Rockingham’s excellent ale, and noted that his son Harris, John Calvert, and Captain Bladen were grouped together and sneering at Sir Roger. She felt a twinge of anxiety. Of course they disapproved of him, but perhaps their present disgust was a warning that ought to be heeded. Perhaps Sir Roger would have been better served to have remained at a stodgy distance from the general festivities of the day.
A lady drew near her and spoke. “I think it wonderful,” she remarked.
Madeline turned to find Lady Bladen at her elbow. She was the wife of Sir William Bladen of Somerset and her dearest friend. Captain Bladen was her brother-in-law. “Georgiana,” she said. “I did not know you would be here today. How is that possible?”
Georgiana, mother of three young children and the daughter of Lord and Lady Hambledon, kissed her cheek. “How I have missed you,” she said. “Somerset is not so
far when one examines a map, but apparently just far enough that making sufficient journeys to visit all my dear friends has become an impossibility. I was to glad to hear you had arrived. Only tell me how you go on.”
Georgiana had been an excellent friend for years, but had married five years past, berefting Madeline of her daily society. Madeline sighed. “Your expression alone tells me you have been apprised of some of our more interesting events in recent days.”
The smile which suffused her friend’s face was sufficient to comprehend her answer before ever she spoke. Laughter accompanied her words. “How has it come about, my dear simpleton, that you actually brought so much displeasure down upon your own head?”
“You disapprove of my having decided that Sir Roger ought to be included in our society?”
Georgiana drew in a deep breath as her own gaze drifted in the direction of the wheelbarrow races. Randolph Crawley was now assisting in the game, and several more of the neighborhood misses were gathered about clapping their hands and shouting their encouragements. “I cannot say. It is all so odd. Why ever do you think he came to Chilchester in the first place? Having amassed such a fortune as it is purported he possesses, why did he not purchase a dilapidated castle in Scotland? I daresay there are as many of those to the north as there are here in the south.”
“His mother was English,” Madeline explained with a slight shrug. “I have the sense that he is equally as loyal to her blood as he is to his father’s.”
“He is quite a handsome man. I had just emerged from the drawing room when he and Lord Anthony arrived. I nearly dropped the vase of roses Mrs. Rockingham had asked me to bring to one of the tables out of doors. He robbed me of my breath, though I hope you will say nothing to my husband of it. He would tease me mercilessly otherwise.”
Madeline glanced at Sir William, who had joined her father and Squire Crawley. “He is not so indifferent in looks, either,” Madeline said.
“I am very fortunate,” Georgiana said. There was just such a softness in her expression that led Madeline to believe theirs had not only been a love match but that their marriage was still very much in a place of gentle affection. How she envied her friend in this moment.
She leaned close. “You asked why I had decided to at least attempt to bring Sir Roger into Chilchester society. And I would tell you, my dear friend, if you promise the utmost discretion in what I have to say.”
“Of course,” Georgiana responded promptly, her expression instantly serious.
Madeline then poured forth the story of her father’s gaming debts, of Sir Roger’s proposal of five weeks earlier, and of her present pursuit of his hand in marriage. Georgiana’s concerned frown deepened. “And all because of severe losses incurred in Brighton, you say?”
Madeline nodded. “I can see your disbelief.”
“Yes, I suppose you might, but it springs from a different source than what you are thinking. I learned this morning from John Calvert that your father was purchasing one of his brood mares at quite a tidy sum.”
Madeline was shocked. “Indeed?” she queried. “But that makes no sense. Unless—” Her heart skipped a beat. “Unless he is living upon the expectation of my marriage to Sir Roger.”
“Perhaps he exaggerated his original losses to you. Perhaps they were not so bad as you think.”
“That is impossible. I had suggested Captain Bladen as a better alternative to Sir Roger, but my father insisted that even though the captain has a tidy fortune of his own, it is not sufficient to repair our fortunes.”
Georgiana stared at her a long time and finally queried, “Are you aware of how often you mentioned Sir Roger in your letters from the time he first came to the valley this past winter?”
Madeline did not understand why she had given the subject such an odd turn. “I cannot have done so,” she responded, bemused. “I rarely saw the man.”
Georgiana nodded, then shrugged faintly. “It is all so strange,” she said, casting her gaze once more in the direction of the wheelbarrow races. “I for one never could understand why he was not invited in the first place, particularly when he is fussed over so completely in London.”
Madeline stared at her for a long moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, Harriet was in London this spring and wrote in one of her missives that Sir Roger Mathieson was invited everywhere, that he was quite sought after by the matchmaking mamas.”
“His fortune, of course.”
“There is that,” she drawled, “and he is quite handsome, but Harriet seemed to suggest he was invited because his manners were so engaging.”
Madeline did not know what to think. Of course, she had experienced something of his charm, of the delight of his company, while walking with him along Halland Creek. On the other hand . . . “He wore his kilt to Mrs. Crawley’s soiree. Did he ever do so in London?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Georgiana said, laughing. “He does sound as though he has a great deal of bravado, this man. I would not want to brave Mrs. Crawley’s displeasure in a similar manner. She is still as much a dragon as ever.”
“As many of our hostesses are wont to be.”
“I suppose they are. As for Sir Roger, I will say this much: I like him. I had the chance to converse with him for several minutes. He asked politely and with great interest after my family in Somerset and after the beauties of that county generally. I believe him to be very much the gentleman.”
Madeline felt her heart ease slightly at her friend’s praise. She was herself not so sanguine, since she comprehended well that Sir Roger was out of patience with much of Chilchester society and that he did not always strive to keep his temper in check. She could only hope that the man Georgiana admired would remain civil throughout the afternoon.