by Olivia Drake
Several people clustered near a marble fireplace where flames danced on the hearth to ward off the chill of the early spring afternoon. A silver tea service rested upon a trolley, and a slender brunette lady stood with the pot in hand, filling a cup. Nearby, a middle-aged gentleman and an elderly woman sat in a pair of thronelike chairs.
Their attention was trained on the butler.
Shawshank bowed, then started to walk away. He stopped upon seeing Maddy and Nathan coming toward the group. “Lord Rowley!” The hapless butler glanced back at the seated gentleman. “Pardon me, your lordship. I did ask him to wait downstairs.”
As one, the three aristocrats turned to stare at the newcomers. The younger woman frowned—no, they all frowned.
No one uttered a word of greeting. Nor did anyone smile or exclaim joyfully or open their arms to welcome Nathan home.
The older man set aside his teacup and rose from his chair. His build somewhat burly, his thinning auburn hair sprinkled with gray, he wore a tailored black suit with a crisp white cravat. His lips were compressed, his eyes dark brown, his cheeks pitted with a few pockmarks. He exuded the hostile contempt that one might direct at a bill collector—not a long-lost son and heir.
He must be Nathan’s father, the Earl of Gilmore.
Maddy’s stomach clenched. As Shawshank exited the drawing room, she wanted to go with the butler. But she’d committed herself to this ruse in exchange for a lavish stipend and a place in society. There was no turning back now.
Arm in arm, Nathan strolled with Maddy to join the gathering. He bowed to the two ladies in turn, then gave a sardonic nod to the earl.
“Hullo, Father. I trust you’ve told Shawshank to kill the fatted calf in honor of the prodigal son’s return.”
Gilmore’s nostrils flared. He stood rigidly still, his fingers clenched into fists at his sides. “You would dare to make jests after vanishing for an entire decade. Where the deuce have you been these past ten years?”
“Traveling through the Far East. And you may congratulate me. I’ve become quite the wealthy businessman.”
“An Atwood, in trade?” the senior woman said with disapproval. The gnarled claws of one hand wrapped around the gold knob of a cane; she had hazel eyes that squinted from a mass of wrinkles on her face. “I cannot believe even you would stoop so low, Nathan.”
He favored her with a cool smile. “Ah, but it’s true, Grandmamma. I deal in tea, silk, spices, whatever goods can be used to turn a profit. I’ve been selling briskly to European markets, and I’m looking to expand into England.”
“Well! We will speak of this matter later.” Looking none too pleased by his success, his grandmother turned her sour attention to Maddy. She lifted the quizzing glass pinned to her bodice and held the gold-rimmed lens to one eye. “But first, who is this tawdry creature?”
“That’s no way to describe the newest member of our family.” Nathan slipped his arm around Maddy’s waist, drawing her close to his side in the manner of a love-struck bridegroom. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Madelyn. As of today, she is Lady Rowley.”
An audible gasp swept the gathering. The earl’s face turned ghastly pale, making his pockmarks more prominent. The dowager clutched a lace handkerchief to her mouth, while the pretty brunette lady wilted onto the nearest chair in a rustle of dove-gray silk.
Maddy recognized her cue.
She rushed straight to the Earl of Gilmore and threw her arms around him, planting a loud smack on his pitted cheek. He smelled of starch and expensive cologne. “’Tis a pleasure to meet such a grand personage as yourself, milord.” She affected a girlish giggle. “But I needn’t address you as ‘milord,’ eh? After all, you’re my father now, too, and ’twould be only right and proper for me to call you ‘Papa.’”
A thunderous flush replaced the whiteness of shock on his proud features. But before he could condemn her brazen behavior, Maddy turned her back on him and swooped toward the seated dowager.
The landscape of wrinkles on the woman’s face was truly remarkable. Maddy would have liked to have used them as a model when she’d disguised herself as a crone. “And you must be dear old Granny,” she said, projecting her voice as if on stage. “Why, I’ve never had a real grandmother before. I can’t wait for us to become better acquainted. Just think of all the cozy chats we can have.”
As Maddy leaned down to hug the woman, Lady Gilmore recoiled, thrusting up her cane as a shield. “Keep your distance, girl! You’re far too impertinent!”
Maddy strove for a bewildered look. “Have I done something wrong, milady? Pardon me, but it’s just that I’m so excited to become one of the Quality. Who would’ve thought a poor girl from Covent Garden would be married to an earl’s heir? And to become the granddaughter of a countess!” Cocking her head, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Or perhaps I am your step-granddaughter. I fear I don’t know what the nobs would call our connection. Do you?”
“Deplorable, that’s what,” Lady Gilmore hissed. Her poisonous gaze shifted from Maddy to Nathan and then to her son, the earl. Gilmore looked furious enough to spit nails.
Maddy wasn’t finished. She whirled toward the younger lady in the next chair. But the chirpy greeting died on her lips as she realized the gray silk of the woman’s gown indicated half-mourning. According to Nathan, his elder brother had died a little more than a year ago, and Maddy felt reluctant to play the strident harpy with his widow.
Nevertheless, she pasted on a bright smile. “And you, milady, who might you be? Perhaps you’re my husband’s sister, Emily? Or his sister-in-law, the one he said he’s never met?”
“She’s David’s widow, I presume,” Nathan said. He came forward to soberly kiss the woman’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Sophia. May I present Lady Rowley to you? Pray accept our deepest condolences on your bereavement.”
Lady Sophia yanked back her hand. She jutted out her small chin, and her china-blue eyes stared resentfully from a peaches-and-cream complexion. “I’m still Lady Rowley. And how dare you introduce me to this … this trollop!”
The room fell silent except for the crackle of the fire. Trollop. The ugly slur hung in the air.
“Now, now,” Nathan chided, “that’s no way to speak of my dear wife.” Saying nothing more in Maddy’s defense, he stepped back to stand by the fireplace, resting his elbow on the marble chimneypiece, a faint smirk on his handsome features.
The rat was enjoying this.
Maddy fought to maintain a frivolous smile. She resented the injustice of being called a trollop, though the malice of these aristocrats came as no surprise. She was behaving badly; that was the whole point of the charade, to make them despise her. Any vitriol they spewed only meant that her acting had been a success.
“But I am Lady Rowley,” she said in feigned bewilderment. “Yet you say you are Lady Rowley, as well. How very peculiar! Will there be two of us with the same name, then?”
“Yes, Sophia retains her title,” Lady Gilmore confirmed in a clipped tone. “She is well deserving of it.”
Implying, of course, that Nathan’s bride was not worthy.
Maddy let the nasty insinuation sail right over her head. She might as well play the chatterbox that Nathan said the earl abhorred.
She clapped her hands. “Oh, splendid! We’ll be just like twins, then! I’ve always wanted a sister.” She beamed at an appalled Lady Sophia, then rattled on. “Perhaps we can visit the shops together, milady. I love to try on hats and gloves and other pretty things, don’t you? Do you like my gown, by the by? It’s very elegant, isn’t it?”
She twirled around the tea trolley so that the crimson skirt billowed out in an indecorous manner.
Lady Sophia’s gaze raked over the tight-fitting gown with its indecently low neckline. “I doubt you know the meaning of the word ‘elegant’.”
“Well, Nathan thinks it’s beautiful. He picked it out especially for me. Didn’t you, darling?” Since the ruse was his inventio
n, Maddy deemed it time to direct the attention back to him. Her hips swaying, she sauntered over to him by the fireplace. “He has excellent taste. Only look at how handsome he is in his wedding clothes.”
Nathan’s mouth tilted in a slight smile that showed a hint of dimples. “The sentiment is mutual, for no other woman has such beautiful assets as you, my sweet.”
Assets. She didn’t need for him to glance at her bosom for her to remember their earlier conversation. A hot blush penetrated the deepest part of her body. Other men had looked lustfully at her, but none of them had ever made her so flustered. Her involuntary reaction was only made worse by the fact that his family was present, watching them. When she would have turned away, Nathan caught her waist in a firm grip. He glanced over her head at his father. “I’m sure you can tell that Madelyn was very popular with the gentlemen,” he said. “More than a dozen vied to have her all to themselves.”
A trickle of ice replaced the flush of heat. Did he really intend to tell his family about the auction? Of course he did, for he knew they would scorn her all the more.
“Please, darling, you’ll embarrass me,” she murmured.
He looked down at her. To the others it must seem a tender glance, yet she saw the glitter of anticipation in his eyes. “There’s no need to be shy about our whirlwind romance, my love,” Nathan said before returning his gaze to the earl. “You see, I’m extremely fortunate to have won Madelyn’s hand. She had quite a harem of enthusiastic suitors.”
“Not so very many,” Maddy demurred. “And perhaps now isn’t the time to relate all the details. We should let your family finish their tea.” She pried his hands off her waist. “Do be a dear and escort me on a tour of the house. I can’t wait to have a peek into all the fancy rooms. Why, there must be dozens of them!”
But Nathan wasn’t listening. Nor was Gilmore.
The earl flicked her a look so icy she felt chilled to the bone. “Where did you find her?” he asked. “In a brothel?”
Nathan chuckled. “Hardly. You might know her as Madelyn Swann, celebrated star of the Neptune Theater in Covent Garden. Perhaps you’ve seen her plays?”
Lady Sophia huffed out an indignant breath. The dowager fanned her wrinkled face with a handkerchief, muttering, “Good heavens!”
As the two women stared at her, Maddy held her head high. She very much doubted either of them had ever had to labor for a living. What were their accomplishments, to think themselves her better?
“An actress.” Gilmore spat the word as if naming a particularly distasteful type of vermin. “Well, I wouldn’t know of her. I haven’t attended the theater in quite a long while. We’ve been in mourning this past year, in case you don’t recall.”
She saw Nathan’s jaw tighten at the reference to his brother’s death. “Then you can’t have heard about the auction,” he said.
“Auction?”
“Nathan, darling, I really do wish to tour the house—”
As Maddy tried again to intervene, he pressed his forefinger to her lips while keeping his determined gaze fixed on his father. “Recently, Madelyn solicited bids from a select group of gentlemen. Her purpose was to sell her services to the highest bidder. Luckily, I was the only one who offered her marriage instead of carte blanche.”
Lady Sophia uttered a squeak of horror. Lady Gilmore stared, slack-jawed. Lord Gilmore’s face turned red with fury.
“You purchased this … this female?” he sputtered. “Then you dared to grant her the honor of my name?”
“Not yours, Father. Mine. I’m an Atwood, too, pray recall. Your son and heir.”
His father took a step toward him. “What, is this some sort of twisted plot of revenge? To wed the most unsuitable tart you could find and make our family a laughingstock?” He stabbed his forefinger in his son’s direction. “I won’t have it!”
“You must have it. The deed is done. We’ve spoken our vows in church.” Clearly relishing his father’s rage, Nathan slid his arm around Maddy’s waist again. “And I’d call my wife eminently suitable. After all, she’s a very attractive woman and this family could use some fresh blood in its pedigree. She’ll make a fine countess someday.”
The earl turned to scowl at Maddy, and she felt his wrath like a physical force. His face flushed, he glared daggers at her, as did the dowager in the chair behind him.
Maddy held her chin high and forced herself to preen at Nathan’s praise like the silly twit she was supposed to be playing. The truth was out now and there was no refuting it. She had sold herself to the highest bidder—and if these aristocrats despised her for that, then so be it.
All of a sudden, Lady Sophia loosed a choked sob. “He doesn’t care that David’s dead. Nor does she! Look at them, they’re both glad!” She lurched up from her chair. “Oh, I cannot bear this a moment longer!” Tears spilling down her cheeks, she clutched her skirts and fled the drawing room.
Maddy’s bravado abruptly deflated. In spite of the woman’s earlier venom, she felt a twist of sympathy for Lady Sophia, who had lost her husband and all her prospects with him. At one time, Lady Sophia had anticipated becoming the Countess of Gilmore. How horrifying it must be for her to watch another woman usurp her place—and a lowly, loudmouthed actress at that.
It was only a role, Maddy reminded herself. She had to think of herself as a character in a dramatic production. Yet on stage, even when she’d played a villainess like Lady Macbeth, she wasn’t hurting real people. If she made someone weep, those were merely crocodile tears, not evidence of true, heartfelt pain.
The moment Lady Sophia vanished out the door, the earl turned toward the dowager. “You should go after her, Mama. You’ve both suffered a terrible shock.”
Lady Gilmore remained on her gilded throne, sitting stiffly upright with her hands clutching the gold knob of her cane. “Nonsense, Hector. I shall remain right here. I won’t be driven away by a reckless troublemaker like him.”
“That’s no way to speak of the successor to the earldom, Grandmamma,” Nathan mocked. “Madelyn will think us little better than street brawlers.”
Lady Gilmore harrumphed. “You’re hardly one to lecture me on manners, young man! Especially when you bring such a wicked woman into this house.”
“It cannot be good manners to insult the newest member of our family,” he retorted.
Like an angry bull about to charge, Lord Gilmore swung toward Nathan. “Stop this right now. Your grandmother has every right to be distraught. Look at what you’ve done, appearing here without warning after ten years’ absence, stirring up chaos in my household, foisting this … this female on us. You’re a disgrace as always. You haven’t changed a whit.”
“Nor have you, Father.” Nathan strolled to the tea tray and grabbed a slice of cake, wolfing it down with his fingers. “We’re both doomed to relive our past, I fear. Only this time, I’m not a boy to be bullied into obedience.”
Gilmore watched him in obvious disgust. “Sophia’s right, you don’t care a whit about David. You’re pleased he’s dead so that you can claim his rank.”
His jaw tight, Nathan paced to the earl. He stood half a head taller than his father, forcing Gilmore to tilt up his chin. “Leave my brother out of this. You always did try to turn us against each other.”
“Bosh. I expected you to behave like a gentleman, as he did. But you were determined to be the bad seed.”
“The bad seed is now your heir,” Nathan taunted. “And it gives me great satisfaction to know there’s not a damned thing you can do to change that fact!”
The earl’s face turned a deeper crimson. His chest heaved beneath the tailored black coat. “Say what you will to me—but don’t curse in front of your grandmother. She deserves your respect!”
“Sit down at once, Hector, lest you suffer an apoplexy,” urged the dowager. To Nathan, she chided, “His health is not what it was before his illness. You may wish to send him to an early grave, but I most certainly do not!”
His illness? Mad
dy wondered what the woman meant.
Nathan didn’t inquire, so he must have understood the reference. He stood in moody silence as Lord Gilmore sank heavily into the chair beside his mother and groped for his teacup.
Standing at the edge of the gathering, Maddy felt momentarily forgotten. That was fine with her. She would sooner observe the scene from the wings than be drawn back onto the stage of their bitter squabble. The powerful, destructive emotions between father and son both repelled and fascinated her. She’d always liked to observe people in order to glean insights for playing characters onstage. But seldom had she had the opportunity to witness such a clash of wills.
Clearly, the Earl of Gilmore was a haughty, demanding man. But why did he hate Nathan with such ferocity? What lay at the root of their quarrel? Was it just a case of two strong-minded men butting heads? Or was there something more, something deeper? There seemed to be a dark undercurrent between them that defied her observational skills.
And she couldn’t place the entirety of the blame on Gilmore. Nathan appeared to take considerable pleasure in provoking his father.
The earl drained his teacup, his hand shaking slightly. The man truly did look ill, with a grayish tinge to his skin beneath the flush of fury.
Nudged by concern, she went to the trolley and fetched the pot, bringing it to Lord Gilmore and refilling his cup. “There you go, milord.” She judged it best not to call him “Papa” at this particular moment. “Do you wish sugar or cream? Shall I bring you a slice of cake?”
“No,” he snapped, eyeing her irritably. “And you’re not to take on the role of hostess in this house. That is Lady Sophia’s place.”
Maddy affected a bright smile. “But her ladyship ain’t here, milord, and I would very much like to be helpful. Since I’m now a member of your fine family, you see.”
Turning away from his glare, she replenished the dowager’s cup as well. Lady Gilmore peered suspiciously into her tea as if suspecting poison before she raised it to her withered lips and took a tiny sip.