“I know you do,” she said in agonized tones. “I know you love me, Papa, just as I love you. But you’re asking too much. You’re asking me to give up my future. If I leave the man I love, I shall never be happy!”
“The man you love?” Thomas repeated, sounding amazed. “What can you know of love in the fraction of time you’ve known Ethan Ambrose? And where is the loyalty of a lifetime as my daughter?”
“She’s my daughter, too,” Antonia said quietly. No one seemed to notice except Ethan, who pressed his lips into a smile as he met her troubled eyes.
Madeleine said entreatingly, “I can’t fight my feelings, Papa. The last thing I ever intend is to hurt you, but I cannot obey you in this!”
Thomas’s body grew rigid, and he appeared so angry that for a moment words escaped him; but at last he said, “If you insist on staying, I’ll disown you. There will be no inheritance.” Even while Antonia moaned softly at his side, he swerved on Ethan. “Do you hear me, Ambrose? There’ll be nothing to improve your estate. That was the point of the marriage, I believe; your great vision, you said—unless that was a lie, too, and you intended to throw it all away on one vice after another. I mean to cut her off without her dowry, without even an allowance. Marry my daughter, and you’ll be as penniless as before; no, moreso, for you’ll have another mouth to feed!”
In the silence that followed this speech, the room seemed to resonate with currents of wrath; yet Ethan felt himself grow remarkably calm. He stared downward into Madeleine’s eyes and returned her timorous look with his most reassuring one. God bless her, she trembled on his arm thinking he would cut her loose at her father’s decree. Did she have so little confidence in herself, then? Did she think he only pretended to love her to obtain gold?
He turned his smile upon Thomas, a thing that did little to calm the older man by the look of him. “The best thing for Madeleine’s sake is for me to say that I think too highly of her to ask her to make such a sacrifice.”
“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “That would be the very best thing.”
“But, as you’ve suggested before, I’m not much of a gentleman; I’m too selfish. If Madeleine is willing to have me among the rubble and disorder of this old house; if she’s ready to settle for only one or two new gowns a year and a filling but inelegant cuisine, then she will make me the happiest man alive.”
The smile that consumed his beloved’s face almost made the pain disappear, the inevitable pain that came with the death of his strongest dream: to fulfill his brother’s vision. Lucan. I’m sorry. Forgive me.
Some dreams were more important than others.
“Ethan,” Scott said, rising hastily and coming to stand by the viscount, “perhaps you should consider before making your decision.” His concerned gaze moved back and forth between them. “Don’t misunderstand me, Miss Murrow, I mean you both the best, but we’ve made a commitment to the estate—”
“Any commitment to the estate is for me to make,” said Ethan, having had enough of Scott’s nagging reminders about his responsibilities.
“But Lucan wished—”
“I know what Lucan wished!” Ethan lashed, feeling his soul ripping apart. “He would wish me to be happy,” he added in a softer voice.
Brandt, his face ashen, held Ethan’s gaze for a long moment, then crumbled. He perched on the edge of the chair as if his legs had lost their strength, and his breaths came hard and fast, like a man nearing the end of a race.
The viscount could almost find it in his heart to feel sorry for him if he weren’t irritated beyond measure at his impertinence. He did not need to be reminded what Lucan desired.
“Very well, then,” Thomas said, sounding old. “Let us go, Antonia. We’ve lost one daughter; now, it seems, we’re to lose another.” He moved forward, pulling his wife with him. She accompanied him slowly for several steps, then stopped abruptly. Groaning faintly, she sank against him. “Antonia?” he cried in alarm.
She turned a hollow, bewildered expression to him and whispered, “I ... feel ... odd ...”
Ethan watched in horror as her eyes rolled backward and her face fell slack. Repeating Antonia’s name desperately, Thomas lifted her, and amid the tearing cries of Madeleine and the concerned confusion of Ethan and Scott, he carried her upstairs.
Chapter 15
During the next hour, the house flew into an uproar. Ethan sent Scott to bring the physician; Zinnia and Betsy flurried about burning feathers, fetching basins of both hot and cold water, hunting towels, and shouting orders at each other until Madeleine’s father barked that they should leave them in peace. As they departed, both appearing highly offended, Madeleine pulled a chair to one side of Antonia’s bed and rested her fingertips upon her mother’s shoulder. Thomas, clutching his wife’s fragile hands in his, sat on the opposite side. The door to the chamber stood open; beyond it in the hall, Ethan paced back and forth looking lost. Madeleine drew strength from simply knowing he was there and concerned.
Antonia lay motionless, her chest barely moving as she breathed. Madeleine had never seen her lose consciousness completely, not even during her worst times of illness. She fought to keep her composure for her father’s sake and her own. Should she let her emotions run free, she feared a complete loss of control. If this was the end the doctor had forecast, she didn’t know how she could bear it. Quietly, she lowered her head to the sheets, cradled her head in her arms, and began to pray silently.
Hardly had she began her petition when Antonia stirred, blinked slowly, and turned her head from side to side to see both of her companions. A weak smile curved her lips, causing hope to blossom in Madeleine. When she met her father’s eyes, she saw an equal eagerness in his expression.
“What happened?” Antonia asked feebly.
Thomas leaned over and kissed her hands, then her forehead. “You passed out, beloved. Don’t talk, now; conserve your strength. The physician is coming; he’ll know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, dearest,” Antonia whispered. “I’m sure I’ll be better soon.”
“Of course you will,” Thomas said, tears glittering in his eyes. “Of course you will.”
Madeleine felt water springing to her own eyes. How like her mother to be concerned for their feelings, even in the midst of her suffering. She would never be the woman Antonia was, never. With the thought came a sob that she could not restrain, and her mother immediately turned to her, freeing one of her hands to search for Madeleine’s. As the women laced their fingers together, Antonia once again looked at her husband.
“Darling.” Her words were so faint, Thomas had to lean forward to hear. “Please allow me a moment alone with my daughter.”
Thomas’s stark, bleak gaze flew to Madeleine’s. Did he suspect, as she did, that these might be the last words she would exchange with her mother on this side of the veil? He shook his head as if in denial.
“You mustn’t strain yourself,” he said.
“I won’t.” Her mother’s voice sounded much stronger for an instant, and Madeleine cut her a surprised glance. But as quickly, the older lady’s tone modulated to its former faded graciousness. “Just for a moment, dear.”
Thomas nodded reluctantly. “Just for a moment, then.” He moved to the door, saw Ethan, halted for an instant, then shouldered past him.
Antonia’s voice lifted slightly. “Close the door, please.”
Thomas leaned back into the room. “What, my dear?”
“Close the door,” Madeleine and her mother said simultaneously, and it would have been hard to judge which voice rang the louder. This time, the young lady’s wide eyes fastened on her elder.
As the door clicked shut, Antonia gave her daughter a very slow and mischievous wink.
* * *
After leaving Antonia’s room a few moments later, Madeleine found her father waiting some distance down the hall from Ethan, as if he could not forget his hostility even in a moment like this. Recalling the gravity of her mother’s situation, she cast her e
yes downward as she approached Thomas and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
“Mother wants to spend some time alone with you,” she said glumly. “I think I’ll go downstairs for a few moments ... try to force a little nourishment if I can.”
If her father did but know it, she was ravenous enough to devour the tapestries from the walls.
“Yes, my child. You do that.” After nodding and pressing her into a quick embrace, Thomas hurried into Antonia’s room. Madeleine felt a prickling of guilt at her father’s worry, but the sight of Ethan’s bereft face forged steel into her spine.
“Do you think we are so late for luncheon that Cook has despaired of us and thrown everything out?” she asked as she joined him.
Appearing slightly taken aback, Ethan said, “I’m certain there’s something.” Seeing she intended to keep on walking past him, he moved forward, too. “It’s good you’re trying to keep up your strength; that’s the best attitude.”
He was trying so valiantly to justify her lack of sensitivity that she caught her tongue between her teeth in perverse delight. “Well, surely no one expects me to become a skeleton simply because my mother fainted and took to her bed,” she said in exaggerated, argumentative tones. His eyes widened. “Oh, Ethan,” she laughed, and, taking pity on him as they approached the dining room, related what her mother had said to her.
“I love your father more than life itself,” Antonia had explained, “and I would not distress him for the world. But truly, he can be stubborn at times. I would never dream of using illness as a tool in this way if he were not about to make the largest mistake of his life—cutting you off indeed, and without so much as asking my opinion! I have bought you time, my dear child—time in which to find Dorrie’s mother if you can. At the very least, my collapse will give your father a period in which to cool his temper and hopefully come to his senses. You’ll have to be a good actress, mind, and so will I; for I’ve never felt so well, not in years!”
And they had laughed together, stifling giggles worthy of the silliest schoolgirls.
“How you relieve me,” Ethan said as he seated her in the chair beside his at the head of the table in the dining room. “For a moment I thought I’d given my heart to a dragon.”
“Perhaps I am a dragon.” Feeling inexpressibly light since the events of the past hour had not resulted in a tragedy of one kind or another, she slanted a flirtatious look at him through her lashes. “Perhaps I only pretend to be a reasonably nice person in order to trap you, but once you are in my lair ...”
To her shivering delight, his eyes began to radiate their seductive power, and she felt her knees go weak. Stealthily, he came to stand behind her chair, then slid his fingers down her arms, stooping to bring his cheek alongside hers as he whispered in her ear, “Once I am in your lair ... what? Will you breathe fire and consume me, dangerous lady?”
She could feel his breaths upon her skin, and her own rate of breathing increased to match his. She leaned back her head and closed her eyes, her lips parting with the sheer pleasure of simple sensations, yet not so simple: the smooth touch of his hands tracing fire through her veins, the spicy scent of his cologne. Moving slowly, he circled the chair and slid his hands to her waist, a slow, leisurely slide that caused her heart to flutter like a mad hummingbird. When his lips closed over hers, she circled his neck with her arms, trailing her fingers through his beautiful golden hair.
“Well, very pretty this is,” Betsy said as she barreled through the pantry door carrying a porcelain soup tureen. “Someone’s mother is lying deathly sick upstairs, but downstairs, a couple of someones are playing like two o’erheated cats in a haystack. It’s good I don’t look to me betters for me morals or I’d be in a dandy fix, wouldn’t I now?”
Ethan, sending Madeleine a wicked look that held no shame in it that she could see, retreated to his chair. For her part, she found herself unable to meet Betsy’s eyes.
The viscount unfolded his napkin with a flourish. “You’d do well to spend less time counseling others on how to behave and more on serving luncheon, Betsy. Miss Murrow is in uncommonly fine appetite today, isn’t that so, Madeleine?”
As she could make no answer to this without laughing, Madeleine kept her stare centered on the tablecloth.
“Hmph.” Betsy’s gaze seared through Madeleine’s eyelids as she clattered soup bowls to the table, then ladled messy scoops of vichyssoise into them.
“One more, Betsy,” said Scott as he rounded the entranceway and took the chair opposite Madeleine. After the maid served him and left, Brandt leaned toward them pointedly. “I must counsel you to keep your voices down. I’ve been in the library and heard more than I intended”—at this, Madeleine’s cheeks brightened to crimson—"about your mother’s act, I mean,” he added charitably, making her feel worse, since it had to mean he heard everything. “While I’m happy she’s well and is willing to do this for you, I believe her charade will only be effective if it remains a secret.”
Regarding him with detached interest, Ethan took a cautious sip of his soup, then swallowed. “You surprise me, Scott. Less than an hour ago you were advising me to proceed with caution in my pursuit of Madeleine. Have you changed your mind?”
Brandt’s face took on a pinched look. “I’ve been in support of this match from the beginning, as you well know, Ethan.” As he spoke, he stirred his soup with his spoon, keeping his eyes downcast. “I hope Miss Murrow understands why I expressed my concerns for the estate when her father spoke as he did, that what I said has nothing to do with my sentiments for her. Truth, no one could wish for a more charming or lovely viscountess, and she will bring a long-needed feminine presence to Westhall. However, without funds there will be no house, or not much of one—but you know that already. At any rate, when I accidentally overheard your conversation about Mrs. Murrow, my hopes revived. I’d like you both to know I’m at your disposal if there’s anything I can do to help discover Dorrie’s mother.”
Madeleine, who had come quickly to the bottom of her bowl although the soup was wholly lacking in taste, thought the viscount’s half-smile the friendliest look he had given Mr. Brandt in her time here. Ethan thanked him, adding, “If Dorrie’s mother fails to confess but feels pressured to act instead, she’ll likely make her move under the cover of darkness, as she did when she brought her baby in the first place. I plan to keep the child in sight this afternoon, then secretly watch the nursery tonight. Scott, you could patrol the grounds outside in case I miss something. Tell no one of our extra precautions, not even your parents, Madeleine; the fewer people who know, the less the chance of accidentally letting something slip to the wrong ears. The last thing we want to happen is for the mother to be warned off.”
Madeleine and Scott agreed to this scheme, and the meal proceeded with a certain warmth that Madeleine could not help thinking boded well for the future, especially if the steward were to continue residing with them. She didn’t relish the prospect of living with friction, especially between two gentlemen who were supposed to be lifelong friends. It was incomprehensible to her that such discord existed at all. Initially, the blame seemed to lie entirely on Ethan’s side, for he often spoke curtly to Scott. Yet, as she had grown more used to Mr. Brandt, she’d noticed a certain quality of watchfulness and tension interwoven into his demeanor; sometimes it seemed as though he wasn’t entirely present when he gave his polite, measured answers. He gave off vibrations of something; whether disapproval or condescension, she could not tell. She thought it might be this that brought forth Ethan’s ire.
Perhaps she, too, was being unfair to poor Mr. Brandt, she thought as Betsy returned with a platter of rarebit and roasted potatoes that made her mouth water despite the servant’s cross glances. The steward was probably only worried to distraction about his responsibilities.
After luncheon, Madeleine excused herself to sit with her mother awhile; to do otherwise would raise suspicion. As she ascended the stairs, however, she couldn’t help ref
lecting that while Ethan had enlisted Mr. Brandt’s aid in his scheme, he’d given her no assignment. Well, tonight she would help him whether he wished her to or not.
* * *
After a mostly enjoyable afternoon and evening playing guard to Dorrie, Ethan told Mr. Murrow, who left his wife’s side for a few moments to eat a hurried dinner, that he meant to retire early. He did not go to his room at all but climbed to the servants’ quarters, stealthily entering one of the vacant bedrooms and closing the door to a slit. Like the other workers’ chambers, this room was small and contained a single bed, washstand, chiffonnier, and a wooden chair, which he pulled closely to the small opening of the door. From here he could observe the comings and goings in the hall with a modicum of comfort.
To his chagrin, Madeleine was the first person he saw less than a quarter-hour later; she had tiptoed as far as the nursery and was looking uncertainly from one end of the hall to the other. Both exasperated and warmed by her presence, he leaned from his hiding place and motioned her into the bedroom before she brought all the servants running. It was a mistake. Despite his best protests, she refused to leave.
“I dread the look in your papa’s eye if he finds us here,” Ethan said, warning her one last time. “This is a bedroom, in case you haven’t noticed.” He, for one, had; and with her standing near, it was all he could do to keep his mind off the bed. At least she was still dressed in the gown she wore to dinner. Had she slipped into her nightrail ... the thought did not bear dwelling upon.
“He’s with my mother and thinking only of her; but if by accident he happens to discover us, I’ll simply tell him I was wandering and became lost.”
“I had not anticipated a wife who tells lies.”
“Hopefully that will be the first in a long series of surprises. I shouldn’t like to be a boring spouse.”
Her saucy comments and teasing eyes nearly undid him. “Don’t tempt me into forgetting why we’re here. I’ll—”
The Bridegroom and the Baby Page 19