* * *
With work to be done, Maddie was not one to remain long in bed. She was on her feet before the mares had foaled, as shaky as a newborn filly but determined to gain in strength. During her recovery, she had opportunity to think about her attack, one that required Mr. Turner to cease advertising for a new tenant at Albemarle. An independent woman of independent means should reside in an independent domicile, and Maddie wasted no time in arranging for the home to be patched and painted to her specifications. When she returned after the season, she would have a base of operations that was within sight of Farthingmill Abbey. The Admiral would have to come to her door, hat in hand, and beg admittance which she might not grant.
Many in Maddie’s set eased into the season by hosting small parties that served as strategizing sessions for the main event that would commence after the Ascot races. Assuming her role as a married woman, albeit one with an absent husband, she drew up a guest list that required no consultation. The list was replete with those who had the ear of Lord Castlereagh, the King’s secretary of state for war, and the man who had a direct influence on the Admiral’s career. Then there was Cecily’s husband Lord Ridgeley, a member of the King’s household, who was said to have taken great offense at the insult to his brother-in-law, a story that Lady Sunderland was no doubt broadcasting around London.
To preserve her independent status, Maddie used her own funds to rent her stepfather’s townhouse, an action that startled Mr. Turner. Perched in the drawing room, she smiled with delight at the glow of candles that she had paid for, at the crystal that sparkled due to the efforts of her own staff. Knots of intrigue formed over the card tables where her friends chattered and laughed, gossiping over his lordship’s madness in voices loud enough for Maddie to hear. She circulated, as her mother had woven through parties in Charleston, and found Lord Sunderland sulking in a corner. An odd feeling, a tingling sensation, crept up her arms and she adjusted her shawl to cover her shoulders
“Clever of him, to wait until I was on maneuvers and unable to voice a protest,” Sunderland said. “Diabolical.”
“What did I do to earn such punishment?” Maddie asked. The curl of his full lip held her attention, the line of his jaw, the nick where he had cut himself shaving. Through the buzz of conversation, she heard Afi’s stern warning. The room was too warm. Maddie let her shawl drop to her elbows.
The dowager Marchioness Sunderland drifted closer, with Lady Gravier on her heels. “Still so thin, my dear, and pale,” Lady Sunderland said. “Are you well enough to tolerate the demands of such a gathering?”
Maddie twisted her mother’s emerald ring on her finger. The wedding band that Edmund had placed on that same finger had slipped off when she was ill, and had found a new home in the bottom of her jewel case. She had no use for it, indeed, she had no intention of wearing it again. “The company does me much good,” she said. “Every day, my health improves and tonight will speed my recovery. Lord Sunderland and I plan to go riding on Thursday. He believes that the fresh air will restore my color.”
“As will the presence of a dashing gentleman,” Lady Gravier said.
Over supper, Maddie instigated a discussion of fair trade, a debate that made use of her mind. With points and counterpoints flying across the table, she was invigorated with the exercise. Growing more lively as the evening wore on, she found that she very much liked being a hostess, creating an evening that her guests clearly enjoyed. Her invitations would be sought after, her star high in the social sky. Stepping away from such lofty dreams, she turned her attention to Lady St. Vincent, who was bemoaning her husband’s ill health and the political pressures that caused it. It was said that Lord St. Vincent was about to resign his post because his management of the Royal Navy had come under fire from those who had benefitted from previous administrations, and such gossip could prove useful during the ongoing war Maddie waged against tyranny and injustice.
Lord Sunderland detained her in the dining room after the last of the gamblers had finished a light supper. If he sought privacy, he had not counted on the efficiency of the staff that flew into the room and commenced to strip away every last crumb and pip. “It is decided,” he said. Maddie had the impression that she must have been much discussed at the far end of the table. “A dissolution.”
“On what grounds?” she asked.
“We lack sufficient details at this time,” he said. “Barristers must be consulted and specific questions, rather than indirect suppositions, put to them. It can and will be done.”
“Mr. Powell is not at fault. How can I be freed without injury to a most innocent man?”
Sunderland shifted his feet, as if to admit the situation was as impossible as Maddie feared. “Pain has been inflicted on you, and so I am injured, an equally innocent man. No one escapes a battle unscathed. While a remedy is sought, we must exercise patience.”
“How long?” she asked. More words almost slipped out, words of endearment that were not to be uttered where others might hear. “There is talk of a new coalition to take on Bonaparte, a new plan of invasion and a more determined effort made on the Continent. You will go, as I know you must, but for how long must I wait for you?”
“In Scotland, no questions are asked,” he said. His hand brushed hers. Maddie tried to pull away, but could not. “When I can arrange a brief leave from duty, we will run off to Gretna Green. From there, Mrs. Thomas Parker would return to South Carolina, to await her husband.”
The idea was preposterous, and if Sunderland were as poor a tactician in battle, he would not survive the opening volley. It was obvious that the first place anyone would look for her if she disappeared was Charleston, and if she were tracked there, the scandal would be beyond endurance. And then what? They would have to flee to Georgia, never to return, never to see their loved ones again. To exist in the shadows, always in fear of discovery, was no sort of life at all. Yet this was his brilliant plan.
She had guests to see to. Maddie left the dining room with Sunderland trailing in her wake. “What do you know of rice cultivation? Cotton?” she asked. “A gentleman of property does not sit back and do little more than philosophize and go shooting when the mood strikes.”
“Nothing cannot be learned,” he said.
They entered the drawing room and curious eyes bent to them in unison. Let them look, Maddie thought as she composed her features. A genuine smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she pictured the Admiral and his fury when rumors reached him. How he would suffer the well deserved pangs of remorse. In conjunction with her allies, Maddie had been working diligently to quash rumors of her own scandalous conduct, salacious tales that painted a marriage of necessity for a pregnant bride. Let him feel even one quarter of the pain that she endured and it would bring him to his knees.
“While I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” she said.
“Our behalf,” he cut in.
“Your plan is without merit. Think more carefully on it and you see how hazardous and foolhardy it would be.”
“Then I am wrong in believing that a man can remake himself in America, that all that is asked is hard work and effort?” he asked.
“You can remake yourself,” she said. “I am already fully formed.”
“I will not rest until I find a way to reverse the damage done.”
A fire of retribution blazed in his eyes, a burning gaze that melted Maddie’s knees. She had to sit down before she fell.
The Second War of Rebellion Page 40