By Love Undone

by Suzanne Enoch

  The marquis motioned for a cup of tea. “Nothing at all. I’ve merely decided to stay here for a few weeks.”

  His Grace lowered his brow. “Why?”

  “He’s keeping his word, as he was raised to do.” The duchess glided into the room to sit opposite her husband. “He can’t very well have Miss Willits at Whiting House. She needs a chaperon. And that would be me.”

  “Absolute nonsense. She’s ruined already.”

  Well, that was enough of that. “I did not—”

  “Perhaps so,” the marquis said mildly, glancing warningly at Maddie, “but I will proceed, with or without your assistance.”

  “Without, I assure you.” The duke pushed away from the table and stood. “At the first sign of trouble, it will be without your mother’s assistance as well. And I don’t want the girl getting in my way. With you here, Quinlan, it’s too damned crowded already.”

  You could fit the entire Fifth Regiment in this house and still have room for a cannon. Seething, Maddie smiled brightly. “I will avoid you at every opportunity, Your Grace. You may be assured of that.”

  Lord Highbarrow paused on his way out the door. “Absolute nonsense,” he repeated, and continued on his way.

  “Please try to avoid antagonizing him,” Quin asked, looking at Maddie.

  “He antagonizes me,” she protested.

  “Still, it would be much easier if he was on our side, don’t you think?”

  “Why should he be, my lord? There is nothing in this to benefit him. Restoring me to society gains him absolutely nothing.”

  “Let’s not begin this argument again, Maddie,” Quin grumbled.

  “I agree,” the duchess contributed unexpectedly. “Lewis is not known for his patience. We must begin plans for your return to society without delay.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Nothing formal to start with, of course,” she mused, eyeing Maddie with an uncomfortable intensity. “You should first be seen with me, so your coincidental connection to Quin doesn’t become the gossips’ primary focus.”

  “I have no connection with Quin—Lord Warefield,” Maddie countered, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “Shopping, I think,” the duchess continued, as though she hadn’t heard Maddie’s protest. “Very good. Yes. Bond Street, tomorrow morning.”

  “But…I don’t need anything.” A wave of anguished nervousness suddenly made her fingers shake. People would see her. People who knew her.

  “‘Need’ is not the reason one goes shopping on Bond Street. Being seen is the point of shopping on Bond Street. And so you shall be.”

  “But—”

  “My mother is correct,” Quin cut in. “This has to begin somewhere.” He reached for a slice of fresh bread. “Besides, everyone will be addressing their conversation to Her Grace, with this being her first time out in public since her return to London. I doubt you’ll have to say a word.” He glanced up at her, his green eyes dancing. “That may be the most difficult thing for you.”

  “Oh, ha, ha,” Maddie smirked, nevertheless bolstered by his comments. He was undoubtedly correct, after all, for he knew much more about snobbery and etiquette than she ever cared to learn. “And what important task will be occupying your day then, my lord?”

  “I have to see that Whiting House is opened.”

  “My,” she said, opening her eyes wide in awe. “Really?”

  He sternly pointed a finger at her. “Yes, it means I shall stand about all day ordering servants hither and thither. No doubt I shall be quite exhausted by evening.”

  Lady Highbarrow cleared her throat delicately. “Not so exhausted that you can’t attend dinner with us at Lady Finch’s, I hope.”

  The duchess eyed her son, then flicked her gaze back over to Maddie, who quickly wiped the look of horror from her face. “Oh, my. Dinner?”

  “I wrote Evelyn last week and asked her to put together an intimate gathering for a few select friends.”

  “Well, thank you, Mother,” Quin said, his tone surprised. A moment later he kicked Maddie under the table.

  She jumped. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace,” she echoed, and kicked him back.

  The Duke of Highbarrow skipped dinner that night, and instead went off to White’s to smoke cigars and play cards. Actually, he could probably stand to miss a few dinners, for recently he’d become rather gouty, which left him even more ill-tempered than usual.

  Quin would have liked to visit one of his clubs as well, but Maddie, of course, couldn’t go anywhere, which also trapped his mother inside. So instead, the three of them played whist for several hours. Maddie had a natural cutthroat instinct for cards, which wasn’t surprising in the least. The real surprise of the evening was the duchess smiling—not once, but twice—at things Maddie said.

  In the morning, Quin rode off to Whiting House as he’d said he would. Once there, he instructed Baker, his butler, to open the house, with the explanation that he would be staying there from time to time, and would undoubtedly make use of it later in the Season. That accomplished, he swung back up on Aristotle and turned east for Bond Street.

  His mother had been correct; if Maddie’s purportedly wronged and injured character was to be redeemed, it would never do for him—or any man—to be seen with her on her first day back among the London ton. But nothing said he couldn’t hang about in the shadows and make certain everything went well.

  He left Aristotle and ten pence in the care of a young street urchin, and strolled up the crowded street in search of a new walking cane, which seemed the most logical thing for him to be looking for. It took nearly half an hour of aimless wandering before he spied the two women. The duchess emerged from a store, followed in succession by Maddie, four clerks carrying boxes, and Lady DeReese and Mrs. Oster. Quin dodged behind a parked barouche and peered over the top at them.

  As he’d suspected, Maddie seemed to be of little interest to the two ladies in comparison with the esteemed Duchess of Highbarrow. Miss Willits stood a little to one side, clearly trying to look interested in the conversation, though just as clearly not. With her auburn hair glinting red in the sunlight, and her yellow silk gown showing off her lithe, slender figure, she was easily the most attractive lady on the street, if not in all of London.

  He couldn’t believe her parents would attempt to lock such a sprite away, much less consider sending her to a convent! What a wasted life that would have been for such a vibrant creature. Nor did he think she could have been completely happy at Langley. As much as Uncle Malcolm thought of her and she of him, he would never have been able to convince her to leave if she hadn’t somehow truly wished it.

  “Warefield!”

  Quin started and looked up the street. “Danson,” he replied, nodding. “Didn’t know you were in London, yet.”

  “Yes, well my creditors think I’m still in Cornwall,” Thomas Danson answered, clasping Quin’s hand. “It’s a bit early in the Season for you as well, isn’t it?”

  Quin shrugged, hoping the ladies across the busy lane hadn’t noticed him or heard the conversation. “A bit. Had some business to attend to.”

  Danson turned away to toy with his dark hair in the reflection of the bakery window. “I say, why don’t you buy me some luncheon at the Navy Club?”

  With difficulty Quin kept from looking in Maddie’s direction. “Why not?” he said, hoping his reluctance didn’t show in his voice. He linked his arm through Thomas’s, keeping his companion between him and the ladies. He was far too old to be acting like a schoolboy, and far too close to being engaged to be mooning after Maddie Willits. That was what had gotten him into such trouble in the first place.

  “When is Eloise due back in town?” Danson asked.

  Quin risked one glance at Maddie, to find her staring at him, barely contained fury in her gray eyes. Quickly he looked away again, cursing to himself. “Tomorrow, I should think,” he answered, wondering how in the world he was going to explain himself this time.

  Maddie would accuse him
of spying, and she would be right. And he couldn’t very well say that he’d only been gawking at her, not spying, because then she would accuse him of finding her attractive again. Next she would throw his near-engagement to Eloise back in his face as a coup de grâce. “Eloise said her father intended to be here by the twelfth.”

  “Have you made your declaration official yet?” Danson chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you have. Hasn’t been a full-page announcement in the London Times yet.”

  “Please, nothing so tasteless as that. Half a page, at most.”

  Belatedly it occurred to him that he owed someone else an explanation for his rather ramshackle behavior. Eloise Stokesley probably wouldn’t mind a stray kiss with a pretty, ruined girl in Somerset. Not nearly so much, anyway, as she would mind whatever madness had prompted him to take it upon himself to reintroduce Madeleine Willits into society. And he wasn’t certain he could explain it adequately anyway.

  Quin sighed. As much damned trouble as Maddie was causing him, he supposed he shouldn’t be enjoying the entire debacle nearly as much as he was.

  Maddie stood as close to the Duchess of Highbarrow as she could without tromping on the older woman’s gown, and looked about Lady Finch’s drawing room. Her Grace had declared their shopping expedition a success, leaving Maddie no excuses or protests to avoid the evening’s dinner soiree.

  Actually, walking about and shopping had been easy compared with tonight. She’d never been privileged to travel in such high circles. Tonight she would be expected to behave like a meek, demure young lady who would never have done such a thing as allow a gentleman to kiss her or fondle her front in public. And yet, she’d made that same mistake twice, now. Maddie smiled politely as Lady Finch nodded at her.

  The first time truly hadn’t been her fault, for she’d been caught by surprise by that snake Spenser. Slimy, wet, and cold—her first thought, before she realized she’d just been ruined, had been that she’d rather be kissed by a fish.

  It was the second kiss that was becoming more troublesome by the moment, particularly as Quin refused to abandon her. She’d known that morning exactly what was going to happen—blast it all, she’d even encouraged it, wanted it, and relished it.

  Maddie glanced across the room. Tall and handsome, Quinlan stood chatting with a few friends. He looked completely at ease, completely in his element, charming and witty and not a bit self-conscious. She hadn’t been so close to hating him since he’d first appeared at Langley.

  All afternoon she’d been looking for a chance to confront him on following her about like a spy. But all afternoon, obviously knowing he was in for a severe tongue lashing, he’d avoided her. And she couldn’t very well have brought it up during the coach ride to Lady Finch’s—not with the duchess there, reciting what she should and shouldn’t do during the soiree.

  Staring at Quin was one of the things she’d been directly told to avoid, but she was completely unable to resist several scowls and a glower. Shouting and hitting would have been much more satisfying. Almost as satisfying as kissing him again.

  “Come, my dear,” the duchess said, in the warm tone she seemed able to adopt the instant they were in public. “I wish to sit by the fire, where it’s warmer.”

  She offered her arm, and Maddie hurriedly took it. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Even before they’d settled themselves in, they were surrounded by a dozen other ladies, all inquiring after Lady Highbarrow’s health, and that of her husband and two sons. No one inquired about Malcolm Bancroft’s health, or about Maddie’s, but at least it meant she didn’t have to answer any questions. Instead, Maddie smiled and nodded agreement to the duchess’s conversation at all the proper times, and offered no independent opinion or commentary—much as some of the ladies’ silly gossip deserved it.

  The duchess had warned her that while everyone would be looking at her and judging her comportment, no one was likely to speak to her at her first formal gathering. According to Her Grace, no one would approach her until she’d been deemed harmless. Maddie thought it more likely that no one wanted to be the first to acknowledge her.

  “Mother, Miss Willits, may I fetch you a glass of Madeira?” Quin asked, stopping before them.

  “Yes, thank you,” the duchess answered, and nudged Maddie in the ribs.

  “If you please, my lord,” she blurted, glancing up at him and then away.

  He vanished, then reappeared shortly with their drinks. As he handed Maddie hers, he leaned closer. “How are you doing?”

  “I very much wish to spit at you, but I’m attempting to behave,” she whispered back. “Go away.”

  He bowed, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Quin, go away,” the duchess repeated, glaring at him imperiously.

  “I am, I am,” he chuckled and wandered off.

  “Miss Willits?”

  Startled, Maddie looked up at the small, white-haired lady standing beside the fireplace. “Yes?” she said hesitantly, uncertain whether she should be ready to fight or to flee.

  “Anne,” the duchess said warmly, as she turned to look as well. “I didn’t expect you in London yet.”

  “Neither did I.” The lady smiled. “Ashton insisted.”

  “Anne, may I present Miss Willits? Maddie, Lady Ashton.”

  Then Maddie remembered her. “You were at the Tewksbury ball,” she stated.

  “Yes, I—”

  “You called Spenser a drunken lout.”

  Lady Ashton nodded. “I should have said it louder. Would you and Her Grace join me for tea on Thursday?”

  “We’d be delighted,” the duchess answered.

  “Oh, yes,” Maddie seconded, smiling. Perhaps Quin was right, after all—some warmth and decency did survive in London.

  Finally the duchess declared that they might depart, and Maddie practically bolted for the door and the coach. Quin joined them a moment later.

  “That went quite well, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning back in the seat opposite her.

  “The soiree isn’t what counts,” Maddie said succinctly, gazing out the window until they passed Curzon Street—where Willits House stood. The conversation inside the coach suddenly became much more interesting.

  “It’s not? Then what, pray tell, were we doing there? And why did I spend twenty minutes conversing with that rattlebrain Lord Avery?”

  She eyed him, amused by his pretend exasperation—though of course she’d never let him know it. “It’s what everyone will say about me now that we’re gone that counts. People rarely insult you to your face, as you have just demonstrated regarding Lord Avery.”

  “Now, Maddie—”

  “She’s correct, Quin,” the duchess interrupted. “And you weren’t helping things, hovering about like a footman.”

  “I was not hovering,” he protested indignantly. “I was being a dutiful son and host.”

  “Well, do it less obtrusively next time, won’t you, dear?”

  Quin folded his arms. “I’ll certainly try. Do I still accompany you to the opera tomorrow, or have you managed to recruit Father?”

  “The opera?” Maddie gasped, her heart pounding in dismay. “Oh, no. Not yet.”

  “Yes, you will escort us,” the duchess answered, ignoring their guest’s protest. Unexpectedly, she reached over and took Maddie’s hand. “Whatever they may mutter among themselves, they would do it whether you were there or not. Whatever they would say to you in my presence, they had best be polite about it.”

  “If I’m accepted only in your company, Your Grace, there seems little point in any of this,” Maddie said shakily, thankful nevertheless for the duchess’s unexpected support. Everyone went to the opera at the beginning of the Season, with no grand balls or soirees organized yet. Everyone who was in town would be there, not just the select acquaintances of the duchess.

  “It’s a beginning, Maddie,” Quin said. “One step at a time.”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Lord Warefield
. You’re not the one on the edge of the abyss.”

  “Neither are you.”

  “And what am I to do if I come across Charles Dunfrey?” She swallowed. “Or my parents?”

  “Your parents are not in town yet,” Quin answered calmly. “I already inquired. As for Dunfrey, my friend Danson tells me he sold his box last Season. I very much doubt he’ll be at the opera tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, but what about—”

  “Maddie,” he interrupted. “Don’t worry. I will keep my word to you. Whatever else happens, you’ll end the Season well.”

  The duchess looked from one to the other, and settled back in her seat. Quin had told her the two of them fought every time they saw each other. To her, it didn’t look nearly as much like fighting as it did flirting. And she wondered what would happen when they realized that as well.

  The duke claimed a meeting, while the duchess and Maddie, not quite so unwilling as yesterday, undertook another preliminary shopping excursion. If Napoleon had planned his campaign as well as the Duchess of Highbarrow had planned Maddie’s, he wouldn’t be rotting on Saint Helena.

  Quin, grateful for a few hours’ reprieve, spent most of the morning pacing about the Bancroft library. Eloise would be in London by the afternoon, and what he hadn’t been able to disclose in his correspondence he felt even less able to tell her in person—at least without making it sound as though he had some ulterior motive for bringing Maddie Willits to London. Which he didn’t, of course.

  “Like hell I don’t,” he muttered aloud, dropping the book he carried onto a chair. “Well, Eloise,” he began, “I felt sorry for the girl, stuck rusticating in Somerset with my stodgy old uncle.” He paused by the library window, then shook his head and began circling the room again, feeling rather like a bird searching for a safe roost before two very lovely nightingales could peck his eyes out.

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “You see, my dear, Uncle Malcolm pleaded with me to assist Miss Willits, and sickly as he was, I could hardly refuse.” Quin rubbed at his temples. “Ahem.” He dropped into a chair. “Good God, I’m a dreadful liar.”