A Daring Courtship

by Valerie King

  “I shall hold you to that, sir,” she responded uneasily.

  “Come, the fireworks await us.”

  The ploy was sufficient to keep the hostile gentlemen at bay. A large crowd had quickly gathered in a semicircle before the fireworks, and Sir Roger maneuvered their relative positions several times to keep an adequate distance from Mr. Calvert and Mr. Rockingham. Madeline entered into the spirit of the game and for the next hour, as they moved swiftly from one small vignette of entertainment to the next then finally back to the well-lit tent, Sir Roger was able to avoid a confrontation.

  Eventually, he was separated from Madeline, as such large events were wont to separate any two persons. He let her go, doubting he would be in such intimate company with her again. Indeed, besides going down a country dance with her, then being whisked away to the house for a game of billiards with Squire Crawley and Lord Hambledon, he did not see her again the remainder of the evening.

  So it was late that night, or rather in the early hours of the morning, he found himself back in his drawing room alone. Lord Anthony had retired for the night, expressing a profound unwillingness to confront Churchill when he had had so many iced cups of champagne. He sat therefore alone, swirling a snifter of brandy and pondering all that had happened. The kiss beneath the oak tree had been profound and revealing, at least for him. He had come to recognize the truth as well as the depths of his feelings for Madeline Piper. However, he was left with an equally profound uneasiness, wondering about her true sentiments or certainly whether she had softened at all in her dislike of anyone not of English descent.

  The brandy swirled and swirled. His thoughts bent round and round the puzzle of who Madeline really was. He could form no conclusion, save one. He would tell her soon that she no longer needed to labor to get the invitations to Lady Cottingford’s ball. That at least he owed her for all her efforts.

  The night had been wondrous indeed. He had enjoyed himself prodigiously, and not just because of Madeline. The game of billiards with Lord Hambledon and the squire had been precisely what he enjoyed. There was always a political flavor to any gathering of gentlemen that soon sparked a spirited debate. Just such a discussion had ensued and any number of rousing sentiments were brought forth that only served to enhance the competitive nature of the game.

  Yes, he had enjoyed the evening from beginning to end. He had been able to spend a great deal of time with Madeline, to dance with her, even to kiss her, which always pleased him. This was a critical truth. He enjoyed her company, he delighted in her kisses, and he loved her. Yes, he loved her more than he could possibly express. He understood now that he had always loved her, from that first meeting so long ago, and that he always would.

  How happy his mother would have been had she witnessed all that had transpired, even that he had tumbled in love with an Englishwoman.

  He sat forward suddenly, a frown pinching his brow. He understood something in that moment which he had not before, that his mother would not have given a fig for any of it save that he was happy. These were his objectives and the things that brought joy to his life, not anything that she did have, in themselves, applauded. Perhaps he had begun the whole venture of forcing his way into Chilchester society in order to somehow make reparations for his mother’s sufferings. But in truth, she had not suffered. She had never once evinced the smallest regret at her decisions or even in being ostracized. Sadness, yes, but only a little. Regret, no. Rather, he was the one who had suffered.

  He tossed off the remainder of his brandy, chuckling softly at how greatly he had deluded himself. No, he had entered Chilchester society for one reason only, to make up for the sufferings of his youth.

  Even as the awareness came to him, another truth surfaced: however much he loved Madeline, and however much he enjoyed being part of Chilchester society, he could not enter into a marriage with her unless she reciprocated his feelings completely. That was the legacy of his mother’s life. She had loved his father truly, and theirs had been a happy union. He wanted no less for himself and his children.

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  Madeline awoke on Monday morning with a start. She sat straight up in bed, a certain terrible realization striking her—she had forgotten entirely to make certain that Sir Roger was introduced to Lady Cottingford at Lady Hambledon’s fete. How could she have been so stupid, so thoughtless, so forgetful? But even as these thoughts pierced her head, another one, much more delightful in nature, flowed over her, the very same thought which had dominated her mind all through Sunday, that Sir Roger had kissed her again and this time she vowed she had been transported to the heavens. She was not certain she had as yet returned.

  Surely after that kiss Sir Roger no longer cared about invitations to the harvest ball. Surely he had been as passionately moved and changed as she had. Surely.

  She nibbled playfully at her fingernails, smiling all the while. She had never been so happy, never in her entire existence. Only when was she to see Sir Roger again? When would he kiss her again, and would he hold her to getting the invitations?

  Well, there was only one thing to be done. She must ride over to Pelworthy and ask him herself. With this thought taking command so readily of all other thoughts, she leaped from her cozy, warm bed and immediately began dressing for the day.

  By the time she had descended the stairs, the hour was sufficiently advanced so that she felt it would not be at all improper to call upon her neighbor immediately. She might have done so, even without the benefit of breakfast, but her father called to her just as she was leaving the front door.

  “Madeline, will you delay for a moment? There is something of great import I would say to you.”

  She thought nothing could be more important of the moment than that she see Sir Roger right away, but she could hardly say as much to her father. “Of course,” she responded, closing the door. “What is it? Your color seems rather high. Are you well?”

  “Indeed, yes,” he said. “Come into my office where we might speak privately.”

  Madeline became curious. Her parent seemed quite agitated yet at the same time rather elevated in spirits. “What is it, Papa?” she asked.

  “Do sit down.”

  When he gestured to the wing chair by the fireplace, she took up her place thinking he would do the same. Instead, he began pacing back and forth, so much so that she became alarmed. “Papa,” she said. “Whatever is the matter?”

  Suddenly, her father stopped and turned to face her. With his hands flung outward in a helpless gesture, he said, “It was all a hum.”

  Madeline frowned slightly, then laughed. “What was a hum? Of what are you speaking, Father?”

  “Of Brighton. It was all a hum.”

  “What?” she asked again, chuckling. “That you did not go? Are you saying you did not go to Brighton a month past?”

  “No, I did go to Brighton, but I . . . oh, dear. . . how shall I say this?”

  Madeline was on her feet instantly. “Papa. You cannot possibly have wagered more, lost more, than even Sir Roger’s entire fortune?”

  At that, he began to laugh and could not stop. “No . . . no,” he said between chuckles. “It is nothing of the sort. It is the . . . the opposite. Do you not see?”

  Madeline shook her head and frowned a little more. “No, Papa, I do not see.”

  “I never lost even a farthing in Brighton. Not even a tuppence. Actually, I believe I was about fifty pounds the richer for that journey.” He wiped his eyes and took up the seat Madeline had just vacated.

  Madeline stared down at him, trying to make sense of what he had just said to her. “You won money while gaming in Brighton?” she asked. “You . . . you did not lose at all?”

  “Precisely,” he put away his kerchief and looked up at her in a speculative manner.

  “You . . . you lied to me?” she asked, a slow indignation beginning to spread through her veins. He nodded.

  “About your losses, all your losses, all your
supposed losses?”

  He nodded again, this time more deeply.

  “The Piper family is not in dun territory?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Madeline was overcome by two pressing sentiments at precisely the same moment and of equal intensity. The relief she felt was so profound that she felt giddy. Yet the anger, the sense of having been duped and betrayed, nearly exploded through the top of her head. For the longest moment, she did not know which of the two would come to dominate her mind. In the end, her anger at her parent was decidedly more profound. “How could you have done this horrible thing to me?”

  Though he opened his mouth to speak, to explain his reasons, she lifted an imperious hand. “Do not say a word, for I should not believe a thing you told me in this moment. Oh, Papa, how could you have done anything so wicked, so vile?” The tirade which flowed from her mind, her heart, her mouth waxed long. Her trip to Pelworthy was entirely forgotten. All that she could see was her wholly unrepentant parent leaning back in his favorite chair, completely unmoved no matter how precisely or logically she pointed out his horrid perfidy. She grew hoarse before ever she completed her thoughts on the subject.

  Exhausted at last, she sat on the edge of his desk shaking her head in complete bewilderment. “Why?” she whispered, her throat raw. “Why ever would you do such a thing to me?” Tears filled her eyes.

  At that, her father looked down, his expression grim. When at last he appeared to have sorted his thoughts to his satisfaction, he met her gaze anew. “One day last May, you and I and your sisters were having tea at The Bear in Chilchester. You probably do not recall the occasion, for I am certain in your mind it was minuscule. Regardless, it became fixed in my head. I could not shake what I saw that day as though it took roots in my brain and grew into a huge, thorny shrub.”

  Madeline could make no sense of this. “Of what are you speaking, Papa?” She wondered briefly if he had gone mad.

  Mr. Piper gave himself a shake. “I saw you,” he said. “Looking at Sir Roger in such a way. He appeared in the doorway with Lord Anthony and stared at you. I wondered if you were meeting him by design and turned toward you, meaning to pose the question, but there was such a look on your face, my dear, that must have given all heaven pause in that moment.”

  Madeline frowned. She had no particular recollection of the event. “Papa, are you certain you were looking at me? Not one of my sisters or some other lady present?”

  He smiled, and that so warmly, that she began to believe him, a circumstance that caused her heart to beat unevenly. “No, my dear, I was not mistaken in that. You appeared as smitten as if Cupid himself had struck you with one of his arrows.”

  “And upon this, a moment’s admiration, perhaps—if I was admiring Sir Roger in that moment—you chose to play this trick on me?”

  Again he shook his head. “No, that was but the first time I realized you fancied him. After that, I watched you closely whenever the man appeared unexpectedly, and even arranged a few forays into town when I had heard he would be there. God knows there was enough gossip about Sir Roger to have plotted his every move since his arrival in February. The look on your face was always the same. You have had a tendre for him these many months and more.”

  “Why did you not come to me with your suspicions? I could have told you it was no such thing. I was probably merely appreciating how handsome he is. Everyone acknowledges he is a fine-looking man, despite his unfortunate birth.”

  “There,” he said, rising abruptly from his chair. “That is the reason I did not tell you. I meant to force your hand to a purpose. I knew your stubbornness in holding to your mother’s ridiculous strictures on the subject of birth and breeding, and I wanted you to have a chance to follow your heart instead of your head.”

  She slipped from the edge of the desk and met his gaze squarely. “By pretending to have lost your fortune in Brighton?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Of all the absurd starts,” she cried.

  He placed a hand on each of her arms. “Only tell me this, Maddy, do you love him? Now that you know him, now that you have been in company with him, are you in love with him as I believe you to be?”

  Madeline meant to respond in the negative, but the words would not pass her throat. Did she love him? Oh, dear God, was that what had been happening to her over the past fortnight?

  “There, you see,” he said, victoriously. “You are in love with him. Of course, if you were not, I should feel obliged to tell you it is not at all the thing to go about kissing a man when you do not love him.”

  “You know of that?”

  “Everyone does, foolish child.” But his expression was soft, even tender.

  “Papa, the truth is I do not know how I feel about Sir Roger. All this time, I had felt it necessary to allow an intimacy or two because we were engaged or very nearly so, and I did enjoy kissing him, but now that I will not have to wed him—”

  He gave her a small shake. “Maddy, do not tell me I have erred. I would have said nothing if I had thought there was still the smallest doubt in your mind about your sentiments toward the man. Tell me you love him.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I do not know that I do, Father.”

  “So formal,” he responded, wincing, his hands dropping back to his sides. “Just like your mother.” He seemed deflated suddenly, like a hot air balloon having drifted back to earth and no longer in need of fire-laden air. “Well, I suppose I can always take comfort in having made a push.”

  “You seem so disappointed,” she said.

  “I am. There is no man I should like to call a son-in-law more than Sir Roger Mathieson. Well, do as you will, Maddy. You always do.” With that, he turned on his heel and was gone.

  Madeline remained in the office for several more minutes, not knowing exactly what to do next. She was experiencing such relief at not being obligated to wed anyone at present that she could scarcely think of Sir Roger at all. At last, however, she came to know one thing for certain: Sir Roger had a right to be informed of her change of circumstances, as well as her father’s chicanery, as soon as possible.

  A half hour later, she stood in his drawing room. Having removed her bonnet, she turned in a large circle to take in the massive stone walls, the fresh flowers, the heavy furniture, which seemed Italian in origin, covered in tapestried fabric. She wondered what the chamber would look like once Mrs. Crawley had adorned the room with decorations for the Christmas ball. She smiled and shook her head in bemusement. How much had changed in little over a fortnight’s time. In one way, she felt as though she had lived an entire lifetime. In another way, she wondered if the past fortnight had even existed at all.

  “Madeline,” Sir Roger called to her, his voice tender.

  She whirled about and her breath caught. He was an extremely handsome man. Undoubtedly that was what her father had seen in her that day in May. She had looked at him, and her breath had caught in her throat because he was so very handsome. Undoubtedly he had mistaken her admiration for true interest.

  “Sir Roger,” she responded, offering him a formal bow, her bonnet still clutched in tight fingers.

  “To what do I owe this visit—though at the moment, I confess I do not care why you have come, only that you have come.” When she took a step backward at his advance, she saw a frown dart through his eyes. “May I order you some tea or ratafia?”

  “I thank you, no. Actually, I have something of a serious nature to tell you, and in truth I do not know how you will feel about it.”

  “I see. Then I beg you will be seated,” he gestured toward the sofa.

  She sat down, finding that her hands were shaking. She kept her bonnet on her lap, or meant to, but in his politeness, he took it from her and placed it on a table by the door.

  When he returned and took up a seat opposite her, he queried in a soft, almost beguiling voice, “Only tell me what has overset you. I do not like to see you so unhappy.”

  Though th
e words first came in a wretchedly halting manner, she told him in full what her father had revealed to her an hour earlier.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sir Roger listened in some bemusement to her revelations. He could not credit that Mr. Piper had gone to such lengths to throw them together. When at last she fell silent, he thought for a moment, then said, “So the entire charade was merely to force you into my society?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “What would have prompted him to do so?”

  He watched her glance about nervously. “He thought I had already formed a tendre for you, even in May.”

  “And had you?” he inquired softly, watching her every gesture with great care.

  She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “Of course not.”

  There it was, he thought unhappily. He understood her. He had from the first. “So what do you intend to do now?”

  He watched a smile suffuse her features, and his heart sank further. “I do not know,” she said. “You cannot imagine the relief I have felt since learning the truth. I never wanted a marriage of convenience, as I am certain you did not either.”

  “You have the right of it.”

  “I suppose, if you are of a mind, you may continue to court me.”

  When she tossed her head, his temper flared. Gaining his feet, he said, “I suppose this means that my having kissed you on Saturday had no particular effect on you. Is that what I am seeing in your countenance, in your present proud demeanor?”

  She appeared startled and very young. “No. . . yes. Oh, I do not know. I do not know what to think.”

  “I believe you have already formed your opinions on the object,” he stated harshly, his feet beginning to march a line in the carpet between them. “You are glad to be out of a bad bargain and may now resume your life, keeping your three beaus in your pocket and casting the past fortnight aside as though it was but a fleeting scourge. I am happy for you, Madeline. Indeed, delighted and thrilled.”

  “Why are you so angry?” she asked. “I would have thought you to have been grateful to be rid of me as well.”