The Advent of Lady Madeline

by Pamela Sherwood

  Hugo blinked, taken aback by the faint but unmistakable bitterness in the younger man’s tone. And by the tug of pity he experienced for him—and more acutely, for his new fiancée.

  “You never objected to the match before,” Lady Madeline reminded her brother.

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have done any good if I had. Those whom Whitborough and Langdale hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  “If you’d formed an attachment to someone just as suitable—”

  “Why the devil must I form any sort of ‘attachment’ at all?” Denforth demanded peevishly, a scowl marring his handsome face. “A woman may be on the shelf at twenty-three, but it’s just the start of life for a man!”

  “Thank you so much for the reminder,” his sister said dryly.

  “Just because Father married young, why should the rest of us?” Denforth went on, as though she hadn’t spoken. “You’re taking your time about it, aren’t you?”

  Lady Madeline stiffened, but held on to her composure—with an iron grip, Hugo suspected. “I have my reasons.”

  “You always do. Enjoy the party.” Denforth toasted them with his glass. “Someone should, at any rate,” he added, not quite under his breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear a deck of cards calling my name.”

  Ignoring his sister’s disapproving stare, he tossed back his drink and strolled away.

  “Your brother doesn’t seem exactly overjoyed by his new status,” Hugo remarked.

  “He’ll come to terms with it—eventually. And she’ll be good for him,” Lady Madeline insisted. “Even if he can’t see it yet. Margaret has a sound head on her shoulders. A lot of common sense. If anyone can steady Hal—”

  It seemed a heavy burden to settle upon the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old girl, Hugo reflected. Not to mention that Denforth seemed disinclined to pay his new fiancée much heed, whereas Lady Margaret clearly worshipped him. Silently, he wished the betrothed couple good luck—he had the feeling they were going to need it.

  Lady Madeline shook her head as though trying to dislodge unpleasant thoughts. “Shall we go on, Lord Saxby? The conservatory’s not far from here.”

  They proceeded along the passage, rounded a corner, then she opened a many-paned glass door and they stepped into spring. Or so it felt to Hugo, as he breathed in mild, soft air scented with jasmine, citrus, and countless other, less identifiable fragrances.

  “This is Maman’s favorite place in winter. And one of mine, as well,” Lady Madeline told him.

  “I can see why.” Looking around, Hugo spied a few lanterns bobbing gently overhead, illuminating the shrubs, flowers, and paved walkways. After the crowded, noisy ballroom, the conservatory was a haven of soft shadows and cloistered quiet. Arm in arm, they strolled along the nearest path, content merely to be in each other’s company.

  Then an eerie wail shattered the silence, building to a crescendo fit to raise the hair on the back of one’s neck. Lady Madeline flinched and drew just a little closer to Hugo.

  “The isle is full of noises.” The quotation from The Tempest popped into his head; he saw her lips twitch in appreciation. But before she could respond, another human voice succeeded the cacophony.

  “Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams / I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright.” Shakespeare again, recited with effortless ease, though with a somewhat pixilated air.

  Hugo darted a questioning glance at Lady Madeline who had relaxed visibly, though her brows were knit in a faint, puzzled frown. She motioned to Hugo, and they ventured towards the voice, which had come from just ahead of them on the path.

  Lord Gervase was sitting on a stone bench, his head tipped up towards the night sky and the winter moon casting its pale radiance through the glass panels. A black cat—the most likely source of that unearthly cry—occupied the other end of the bench, its head also canted skyward.

  As Hugo and Lady Madeline approached, the cat hissed, leapt down from the bench, and vanished into the shrubbery. Lord Gervase only turned his head, waggled his fingers in a brief wave, before shifting his gaze back to the moon and continuing his recital, “For by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams—”

  Lady Madeline’s eyes widened as she spotted the glass and half-empty decanter on the bench beside her brother. “Gervase, you’re—you’re drunk!”

  She’d shown disapproval rather than surprise over Denforth imbibing. But the shock in her voice now was palpable, as if the Apocalypse were imminent. Hugo felt nearly as taken aback: of all the Lyons brothers, he’d have reckoned Lord Gervase the least likely to indulge in this sort of excess.

  The younger man’s eyes glittered in the shadows, almost feverishly bright. “Very astute of you, sister mine. Today it is our pleasure to be drunk, / And this our queen shall be as drunk as we.”

  “But why?” Lady Madeline sounded genuinely perplexed.

  Lord Gervase spread his hands wide in an expansive gesture. “Is not tonight a joyous occasion? A ducal engagement: the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of Whitborough! Wait,” he paused, frowning, “that doesn’t rhyme, does it? Or scan. Oh, well—one can’t have everything. As I have cause to know.” Picking up his glass, he squinted at the contents. “Well, here’s my comfort!”

  “Ger, hadn’t you better stop? You’ll have an awful head in the morning.”

  He gave her a brilliant, wavering smile, but continued to hold his glass aloft. “I propose a toast. All for love, and a little for the bottle.”

  Light footsteps pattered behind them, they turned to see Lady Elaine approaching, her pretty face creased with concern. “Ah, there you are, Ger! I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable…” Lord Gervase turned his overbright gaze on her now. “Comfort me with apples, stay me with flagons. For I am sick of love.”

  “I think you’ve had enough flagons for the night. Why don’t we go upstairs now? You’ll be the better for some sleep.” Lady Elaine spoke gently, but firmly, sounding for all the world as though she were the elder of the two. In her ivory gown, bleached by the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal, an angel sent down from heaven to minister to fools and drunkards.

  Their eyes locked, and to Hugo’s astonishment, Lord Gervase was the first to look away, setting his glass down on the bench with exaggerated care before taking Lady Elaine’s outstretched hand. Once on his feet, he swayed and she moved closer to steady him.

  Lord Gervase closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “I prithee, do not spin me round and round. My stomach is not constant.”

  Hugo and Lady Madeline both took a precautionary step back.

  “No one is spinning you, Ger,” Lady Elaine said patiently. “Here, lean on me, and we’ll make it to your chamber just fine.”

  “Better you than me,” Hugo heard Lady Madeline murmur under her breath.

  Lord Gervase cracked his eyes open. “I should—summon a footman to help,” he said, sounding a fraction more coherent. “An’ you should go back to the ballroom, Lainey.”

  She shook her head, guiding him a few steps along the path. “That would take too long.”

  “Don’t—want to disgrace myself on your gown…”

  “I have other gowns. I have only one favorite brother.”

  Lord Gervase absorbed this for a moment. “I didn’t know I was anyone’s favorite.”

  The words sounded unbearably stark. Hugo heard Lady Madeline catch her breath, but Lady Elaine never missed a beat.

  “Well, now you know,” she said hardily, shooting her sister and Hugo a warning glance. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, after all.”

  A corner of Lord Gervase’s mouth crooked up, but he seemed reassured by Lady Elaine’s remark and said nothing more as she led him from the conservatory.

  Hugo stared after them, bemused. The three things that had struck him most about Lord Gervase were his intelligence, his independence, and his detachment. And now the mask had slipped—at
least, with regard to the last. Sliding his gaze over to Lady Madeline, he saw that she looked as bewildered as he felt. Bewildered and troubled, her eyes so dark a green they appeared almost black in the dimly-lit conservatory.

  “Lord Gervase doesn’t seem the sort to drink to excess,” he ventured at last.

  Lady Madeline bit her lip. “He’s not. I don’t know what’s got into him tonight.”

  “Apart from the brandy, you mean?”

  His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat; the distress on her face only deepened. “What he said, about not being anyone’s favorite. I never knew that…” Her voice trailed off helplessly.

  “That he saw things that way?”

  “That he minded.” She paused, then said in a voice consciously devoid of emotion, “Hal has been the apple of my father’s eye, practically from the moment he was born.”

  “It’s not uncommon for the title holder to prefer the heir. Not fair, but not uncommon.”

  “And my mother dotes on Reg,” she continued with the same chill precision. “Neither of my parents troubles to disguise their partiality, or to curb the rivalry that stems from it. Just one of the many reasons the Lyons family falls woefully short of perfection.”

  “Most families do,” he pointed out. “I can’t think of a single one that measures up to such a standard, including my own.”

  “Understanding that in one’s head and accepting it in one’s heart are two different things—especially when you’re a child.” Her lips formed a bittersweet smile. “When I was growing up, I thought my family was special. Extraordinary.”

  He reached for her hand; even through her glove, it felt cold in his. “They are. Even on short acquaintance I can see that.”

  She lowered her gaze, stared at the ground. “And my father… he was my idol. Then just before I came out, I learned he had a mistress. And that Maman knew.”

  Hugo winced. Between Branscombe and Charley, he’d picked up more than a few choice details about the Whitboroughs’ oft-tempestuous marriage, but he could only imagine what it must have been like to live in such an atmosphere. And for a girl who’d adored her father… “I’m sorry. That would be a damnable time to make such a discovery. Not that there’s a good time for it,” he added hastily.

  “I brazened it out my entire first Season. Pretended that all was well, and that our family was happy, united, and whole. My performance as Lady Capulet was nothing compared to my portrayal of a devoted daughter.” Her haunted eyes lifted to his. “But inside…”

  “You must have been deeply hurt. And angry.”

  Lady Madeline nodded tightly. “I couldn’t believe he’d betray Maman—that he’d betray all of us. I couldn’t understand why we weren’t enough for him. Why he’d risk our family, everything we had, for her.” She paused, swallowing hard. “She died last winter, of some ailment of the lung. Then he and Maman reconciled this past spring—and I’ve found that every bit as hard to accept as his original betrayal.”

  Forgive those who trespass against us. So much easier said than done, Hugo thought.

  Pain shimmered in her eyes as words continued to tumble out of her. “If I could just forgive him, as my mother seems to have done—or hate him completely, it would be so much easier! As it is, I can hardly bear to be in his presence anymore. Every time I see him, I remember that year, and how much it hurt…”

  The desolation in her eyes, in her voice, moved him more than tears. “Oh, my dear.”

  It felt like the most natural thing in the world, then, to put his arm around her as he might have around one of his sisters. She turned blindly in his embrace, almost burrowing against him, seeking warmth, comfort… and something more, as her cheek brushed against his, and the world contracted to shared breaths, shared heartbeats, and the scent of roses and neroli.

  Desire crashed over Hugo like a wave, sweeping him from his moorings. Drawing her closer, he sought the lips hovering so close to his own. Sought and claimed them, tenderly at first, then with a mounting hunger that she matched, kissing him as eagerly as he was kissing her, winding her arms about his neck in a fierce embrace. His free hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the silk of her hair. Never before have I kissed a woman in a moonlit conservatory…

  They finally pulled away, breathless and shaken. In the moonlight, Lady Madeline’s eyes were now the color of storm-tossed seas, brilliant and turbulent at once.

  “You kiss by the book.” Her voice was husky, edged with wondering laughter as she fingered her slightly swollen lips.

  O trespass sweetly urged! Dazed, Hugo put up a hand, brushed a straying dark curl back from her brow. “Lady Madeline—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize, Lord Saxby,” she broke in, her eyes still luminous. “This has been far and away the high point of my evening.”

  He found himself smiling, ridiculously pleased by her assertion. “Thank you for the compliment. But I think… we should go back to the ballroom now.”

  “Must we?”

  Wistfulness colored her tone, and Hugo fought the urge to pull her into his arms again and let the rest of the world go hang. Mastering that urge, he inquired gently, “Doesn’t Falstaff say something about discretion being the better part of valor?”

  She sighed, conceding his point. “Best not to risk a scandal, I suppose.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Hugo offered his arm. “But just so you know,” he added, “this has been the high point of my evening as well.”

  Her answering smile outshone the stars.

  The ball was still in full swing when they reentered the salon, with couples prancing across the floor to the strains of a lively polka. Glancing about the room, Hugo spied the Whitboroughs deep in conversation with the Langdales—and Lady Margaret. The girl’s smile was resolute, but Hugo thought he detected a hint of strain about her eyes. Denforth remained conspicuous by his absence.

  “There’s Lainey,” Lady Madeline said suddenly, her hand tightening on Hugo’s arm.

  Following her gaze, he saw that Lady Elaine had indeed re-entered the ballroom. She still wore her ivory gown, which suggested that she’d got Lord Gervase upstairs without mishap.

  Lady Madeline fretted her lower lip. “Lord Saxby, I’d like—to have a private word with my sister, if you don’t mind.”

  About their brother, Hugo suspected. And Lady Elaine would almost certainly reveal more without a stranger present.

  “Why don’t I go to the supper room and bring back some refreshment?” he offered. “A glass of lemonade, perhaps, unless you’d prefer champagne?”

  She flashed him a quick, grateful smile. “Lemonade would be lovely. I think perhaps the wine has flowed a bit too freely tonight.”

  “Good point,” Hugo agreed. “I’ll be back—presently.”

  Entering the supper room, he was surprised to see a familiar figure standing by the punch bowl, ladling out a glass of lemonade.

  “Good evening, Wilf. Fetching refreshment for Miss Christabel, are you?” It certainly hadn’t escaped Hugo’s notice that, ever since the hunt, his brother had spent more time in her company than in Denforth’s.

  His brother flushed, but a decidedly moonstruck smile played about his mouth. “Dancing is thirsty work, she tells me.”

  Picking up a glass, Hugo joined him at the punch bowl. “When a lady dances as well as she does, she certainly won’t lack for partners.”

  Wilf’s eyes lit up. “She is rather marvelous, isn’t she?”

  “Very pretty and every inch a lady,” Hugo agreed, smiling too. “Should I be asking you your intentions towards her?”

  He spoke half in jest—and was astonished to see Wilf’s flush deepen and a speculative gleam kindle in his eyes. Good God, was his baby brother actually contemplating marriage?

  “Hugo,” Wilf began diffidently, “if I were to—pay my addresses to Christabel, do you think Sir George would look kindly on my suit?”

  No question but he was in earnest. And thus deserved a serious
reply.

  “I do not know Sir George Middleton well,” Hugo said, after a moment. “But I think his foremost concern would be how you mean to support a wife and later, a family. What your plans for the future might be, and how you are currently situated.”

  Wilf absorbed this in silence, but he looked thoughtful, rather than discouraged—or fearful, which spoke volumes about the nature of this growing attachment. And certainly Miss Christabel could do much worse than the second son of the Earl of Bevington, Hugo decided. “However, Father and I could provide him with a clearer picture of your prospects, which are not inconsiderable,” he added and saw Wilf’s face brighten. “And Sir George strikes me as a reasonable man. So, if your liking is reciprocated, and if there is no other serious contender in the offing—”

  “There isn’t!” Wilf broke in. “Not yet, at least!”

  “Then I see no reason why he wouldn’t consent to your courtship,” Hugo finished. “Indeed, I think he would be fortunate to have you for a son-in-law.”

  His brother exhaled in obvious relief, his eyes fairly blazing. “Thanks, Hugo! I can’t tell you how much it means to hear that from you!”

  Hugo clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m pleased to see that your choice has lighted on such a worthy young woman. But bear in mind that she is quite young,” he warned. “And so are you, having just attained your majority. If Sir George consents, you still might have to endure a lengthy engagement.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind that!” Wilf declared ebulliently. “I know I have to prove myself to him, first. But I’ll wait as long as I have to—because Christabel is worth it.”

  The conviction in his voice rang like a bell, and Hugo regarded him with something close to awe. Almost overnight, it seemed, his younger brother had become a man. Who’d have imagined that a baronet’s dark-eyed daughter could have wrought such a transformation? At the same time he experienced a twinge of what might have been envy: that Wilf could know this soon, this clearly, that only one woman would do…