by Kelly Boyce
Lady Susan snarled at Miss Elmsley like a viscous dog and only Mrs. Lindwell’s question to Madalene stopped what might have become an unpleasant scene. Why it looked as if Lady Susan meant to leap at Miss Elmsley!
“You are a seamstress?” Mrs. Lindwell’s tone made it clear the very thought she had allowed someone of such low stature into her home left her horrified.
Miss Elmsley answered for her, likely thinking she was doing her a good turn, but Madalene knew better. “No, she is housekeeper to Mr. Bowen and Lady Rebecca. But her skill with a needle is simply divine. Quite a talent in my estimation. Why, I can’t even master a simple needlepoint.”
Lady Susan forgot Miss Elmsley and turned swiftly toward Mrs. Lindwell. “Are you trying to ruin any remote chance your family has of being accepted by society? Is it not unfortunate enough that you have decorated your home like some gauche circus and prance your very loose familial association with my parents about like a banner? Now you are inviting servants to attend your parties? What will others think when they learn of this? I knew Mother was foolish in insisting I attend this debacle.”
Mrs. Lindwell sputtered, though Madalene was quite certain her reaction was less from outrage than from the fear Lady Susan was correct in her assumptions, and would be only too pleased to deliver the information to her other guests with all due haste.
“I-I did not invite this woman!” Mrs. Lindwell pointed an accusing finger at Madalene. “Lady Dalridge brought her and as a revered lady of society I assumed—”
“Lady Dalridge is a doddering old fool—”
“She is not!” Madalene spoke up in defense of the still unconscious viscountess, taking umbrage to Lady Susan’s unkind and untrue words. The other woman looked down her nose at her then continued speaking as if she wasn’t there.
“If you cannot even tell the difference between a peer and a servant, what hope is there for you or your family? Why, I am embarrassed to be seen to know you and I am certain everyone else will feel the same way when they hear about this.”
“Mother—” Constance sat on the bed, sinking into the feathered mattress, wringing her hands much as her mother did.
Mrs. Lindwell waved her daughter off and turned to Madalene. “You must leave immediately.”
“I beg your pardon? I cannot leave Lady Dalridge.”
“You can and you will.” Mrs. Lindwell had apparently, at some point in the past few minutes, discovered a backbone. Much to Madalene’s dismay. “I cannot be seen to have you here. It is highly irregular. I do not know what Lady Dalridge was thinking, bringing you into our home as a guest. I can only assume that whatever illness felled her at our party must have addled her mind when she extended an invitation to the likes of you.
“Perhaps what felled her was the stifling heat in the ballroom and the lack of opened doors to alleviate such,” Madalene countered. Heavens, she needed to calm down. Getting her dander up was not going to help matters. She took a deep breath. “Forgive me, I do not mean to speak out of turn, it is just that I do not wish to leave until I know Lady Dalridge is well.”
Temperance approached her mother, her slight figure gliding across the room with a confident stride. “Mama, surely there can be no harm in that. Allow her to wait below stairs if you must, but—”
But Mrs. Lindwell refused to be swayed. “No. You must leave. I cannot take the chance that her presence here will reflect badly on you or Constance. It is a tenuous rope we walk on and I will not have it severed by a lowly servant.”
Miss Elmsley gasped. “You can’t simply banish her or send her out on the street unprotected!”
“And why not,” Lady Susan said, a thin smile stretched across her face. “Is that not where she belongs? It isn’t as if she needs worry about her reputation. She’s a servant.”
“Come,” Temperance turned her back on the others and reached a hand out to Madalene. Unsure of what else she could do, her role in this room made painfully clear, she took it and allowed the woman to lead her out of the room. She cast a quick glance back.
“I will ensure she is well cared for,” Miss Elmsley said, giving her a firm nod and taking Madalene’s place at Lady Dalridge’s side. It was the most serious she had ever seen the lively young woman, but the encouragement did nothing to settle her nerves over what would come of Lady Dalridge, or herself.
Temperance slipped her arm through Madalene’s and leaned in close, keeping her voice low. “Forgive my mother. She has it in her head that we must marry a titled gentleman and is willing to take Lady Susan’s counsel over everyone else’s. She fears one word from her will ruin any chance we have.”
Madalene remained unmoved. “Forgive me if your mother’s fears are not high on my list of concerns at the moment, Miss Lindwell, as I must find my way back to Ridgemont House to tell Lady Henrietta what has transpired.”
“And I will see that you get there safely. I am not about to send you out into the streets like Lady Susan suggested. I saw you speaking to Major Gibbons earlier, were you not?”
“Y-yes, what does that matter?”
Temperance smiled, the expression giving her face an almost serene appearance. “It matters because Major Gibbons came with his sister, Mrs. Clara Chambers. Mrs. Chambers was widowed several years ago and now lives with her brother. She can provide you with a proper chaperone and Major Gibbons can ensure you arrive at Ridgemont House safely.” She came to a stop at the top of the stairs and pointed toward a bench against the far wall beneath a painting depicting a scene of an entwined couple lacking a proper amount of clothing. Madalene was embarrassed to stare at it for too long. “Wait here. I will fetch them both.”
Madalene did as Temperance instructed and waited on the bench as the minutes ticked past one by one on the large clock tucked into a corner on the opposite side of the hallway. Where had Lord Hawksmoor gone? Or Major Gibbons, for that matter?
She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. This night had not turned out at all as she had expected. When she had agreed to allow Lady Dalridge to drag her to this party—not that she had been given much of a choice in the matter—her biggest fear had been not fitting in, or making a gaffe in etiquette. She had never imagined poor Lady Dalridge would faint dead away and she would be sent off into the night with a man she had only just met to deliver the news to Lady Henrietta whom she had only a brief acquaintance with. The safe, orderly life she had built at Northill seemed a million miles away at the moment.
“Madalene!”
She looked toward the stairs to see Lord Hawksmoor climbing them two at a time. “Oh, you’re here!” Relief trickled through her.
“Where else would I be?” He crouched in front of her and took her hands in his, the inappropriate gesture somehow the most comforting thing she had experienced all evening. Still, she could not afford for Miss Lindwell to return and see them exchanging such a familiar touch. She was on shaky ground as it was. With great reluctance, she pulled her hands away.
Lord Hawksmoor stood, though she recognized the hint of hurt in his eyes where the candlelight flickered over his sharp features. She offered him a smile of apology but could not hold his gaze.
“I have arranged a carriage to take you back to Lord Ridgemont’s,” he said, a hint of formality entering his tone. “It is outside awaiting us. It would likely be best to leave Lady Dalridge here until the doctor can ensure it is safe to move her. I will check back on her once I have delivered you safely home.”
“Miss Cosgrove already has an escort home.”
Madalene turned toward the familiar voice and found Major Gibbons standing at the top of the step with Temperance and another woman she assumed was his sister, Mrs. Chambers. She stood and glanced between Lord Hawksmoor and the others. She did not have the energy to put up with another battle this night.
“I am perfectly capable of escorting Miss Cosgrove home, thank you, Major. Your assistance is neither required nor wanted,” Lord Hawksmoor stated, his demeanor a far cry from th
e one he had greeted her with only a moment earlier.
“Not without ruining her reputation, you can’t,” the major answered. “Or do you have someone who can offer a proper chaperone as I can? Miss Cosgrove, may I present my sister, Mrs. Chambers.”
Madalene forced a smile. “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Chambers. I appreciate your willingness to help.”
Lord Hawksmoor held his hands fisted at his sides. Something about the gesture called back to her, tiptoeing through her memories. She had seen it before whenever he exchanged words with his brother. Phillip had repeatedly gone out of his way to antagonize his younger brother and though Lord Hawksmoor had always managed to hold in his anger, the telltale sign of it had been displayed in the way he would clench his fists. Until the day he lost his temper.
She stepped forward, hoping to avoid an unfortunate incident. “It is fine, Lord Hawksmoor. I appreciate your desire to help, but Major Gibbons is correct. If I wish to arrive home with my reputation intact I cannot do so by riding without a proper chaperone.”
Lord Hawksmoor’s hands continued to work, as if he wished to hit something. Or someone. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, his anger vanished and an impenetrable veneer slid over his features.
“Very well,” he said, then turned away from the trio to address her. “I will wait here until the doctor determines if Lady Dalridge may leave. I shall call on you and the family tomorrow to see how she fares, if it is not an imposition.”
“Not at all. I’m sure she would appreciate that.” Though she had no idea whether Lady Dalridge would welcome his visit or not. She had not seemed pleased that he had asked Madalene to dance this evening, but nor had she rejected his request.
“Come then, Miss Cosgrove,” Mrs. Chambers said. “Miss Lindwell has indicated we should leave with all due haste, though I have not inquired upon the why of it.”
She may not have inquired, but the look she rested upon Madalene made it clear she was not at all pleased with the situation. Likely it had been Major Gibbons who had insisted they aid her in arriving home safely and with all due haste to impart the unfortunate news to Lady Henrietta. It was a thoughtful gesture. One she would be sure to thank him for.
“Thank you for your kindness, this night, Lord Hawksmoor. I do hope you are able to uncover the whereabouts of your books,” she said, though she could not shake the fear the journals would unleash more unwanted memories. Life with his family had not been easy. He’d been treated with cold disdain or ignored completely. It had taken its toll and she loathed the idea that his memories would awaken the hurt his family had caused him. She despised even more the thought that those memories would harden his heart and bury the man she cared for, instigating the return of The Hawk.
Lord Hawksmoor gave a slight nod of his head but said nothing more and as Madalene traveled down the stairs behind Mrs. Chambers, she could not help but feel as if she was walking in the wrong direction.
Chapter Twelve
“I do not see the point in laying about when I am perfectly fine,” Lady Dalridge announced when Lord Ridgemont arrived home from his travels to hear the news his great-aunt had fainted at the Lindwells fete and spent the night at their home before being returned to her own. An experience, she indicated, that was far worse than fainting dead away in front of half of society.
“Aunt, I think it best if you listen to Dr. Mulcair’s advice. He is after all—”
“An old fuss pot.” Lady Dalridge settled herself even farther into her chair in the small salon kept for family. “I fainted because the Lindwells did not have the proper sense to properly ventilate their home in accordance with the amount of people filling it until it became so stifling the only way to escape was to faint! Miss Cosgrove will verify such.”
“Oh,” Madalene had not expected to be drawn into the conversation as she sat at the small writing desk, sending a note to the employment agency that she would be available to interview potential candidates the following day. “Yes, it was quite stifling.”
“See. Now stop worrying. I may be old but I’m hardly at Death’s door yet.”
Lord Ridgemont let out a loud breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. The poor man had come home after several weeks away visiting an old friend to be faced with a stranger in his home, an upset younger sister, and an irate great-aunt. It was a wonder the man didn’t turn around and make all haste back to Lord Rothbury’s remote estate and stay there for the duration.
“Very well then, but I want you to rest. Do not overtax yourself with visitors.” He turned to Madalene then, drawing her back into the conversation though she was not sure she had any place in it. She was not a member of the family, or even a close acquaintance. Lady Glenmor had deposited her here at Lady Dalridge’s request, an attempt, Madalene believed, for the older woman to make amends for the treatment the new countess had received during her stay only a couple of months prior.
“Miss Cosgrove, perhaps you and my sister might manage the visitors inquiring after my great-aunt’s health? I would do it myself but I have spent the last two days traveling and I’m afraid if I do not find my bed soon, I may meet a similar fate as my aunt did last night. I’m certain the ton does not need more fodder for their grist mill where my family is concerned.”
He wanted her to receive visitors on his family’s behalf? If he hoped to squelch any gossip, putting her front and center in such a way was not the best plan of attack. “With all due respect, my lord, I am not sure that is a good idea. It was revealed during Lady Dalridge’s, uh, temporary incapacitation that I was a servant—”
“You are the granddaughter of a baronet,” Lady Dalridge interrupted.
“And yet still a servant,” Madalene countered. “If I am seen to be receiving guests on your behalf, I do not think it will help calm any gossip last night’s events have invoked.”
“Nonsense.” Lord Ridgemont cut his hand through the air as if to erase her suggestion. “You have been promoted by Aunt and such carries much cache. While society may think it odd, they will allow it given the source from which it comes.”
“I am quite revered, my dear,” Lady Dalridge said, a wily smile playing about her lips. “You will be fine and Lady Henrietta will not do well on her own. She is still finding her feet where society is concerned and it has been a bit of a slow process thanks to Lord Pengrin’s despicable actions.”
Her gaze traveled to Lord Ridgemont but he did not meet it and tension throbbed quietly in the air.
“It is settled then,” the marquess said. “I thank you, Miss Cosgrove, for your assistance in this matter. It means a great deal to my family.”
His sincerity, and the exhaustion evident in every aspect of him, forced Madalene to smile. As much as she disliked the thought of playing hostess to people who looked down their aristocratic noses at her, she could hardly say no. The Harrows had offered her their home and treated her like a lady during her stay. Helping in this regard was the least she could do to repay their kindness and generosity.
As it turned out, half of those who had stayed in London for the winter arrived at Ridgemont House’s doorstep during proper visiting hours, though despite their fervent assurances that Lady Dalridge would be fit as a fiddle after a day’s rest, doubt lingered in many of their eyes. Though most disconcerting was the treacherous hopefulness in some of the older ladies and the barely disguised disappointment upon hearing she would be around for many years to come.
“Old battleaxes,” Lady Henrietta whispered to Madalene as Ladies Mumford and Thwacker-Downes exited the receiving room. “They cannot wait for Auntie’s demise in the hopes of taking her place, as if either of them has the ability to play the part of society’s Grand Dame.”
“They did seem rather mercenary in their concern. Do you think we have seen the last of the visitors for this day?” A quick glance at the clock revealed it was almost five o’clock.
“I do hope so. All of this smiling and pretending that they’re not staring at me as if I am some kind o
f freak on display has me exhausted. Perhaps I should try falling down in a dead faint to escape it.”
“And leave me to face the throng alone? Don’t you dare.”
Lady Henrietta smiled, this one genuine, and it transformed her face completely, relaxing the tightness around her eyes. The poor thing had not had an easy time of it and Madalene’s heart went out to her. What a horror it must have been to lose her parents in a fire, only to be left with scars down one side of her neck and beyond. Madalene could not say how extensive the scars were, as Lady Henrietta kept herself well covered, even wearing her hair down long and draped over one shoulder in the hopes of hiding the marks on her neck.
“Very well, we shall soldier on. Hopefully—”
Cleveland, the butler, arrived at the door, cutting Lady Henrietta off from whatever she had been about to say. “My lady, there is a Miss Rosalind Caldwell and Lord Hawksmoor requesting to see you. Shall I show them in?”
Madalene’s heart pounded in her chest. Despite the uproar of last night, the moments she had spent waltzing about the ballroom in Lord Hawksmoor’s arms, his claim that he needed her, continued to rise to the forefront of her mind. How she had wished she could have left the Lindwells’ with him, to share a few more private moments in his company. To hear him say those words once again.
“Now there is an interesting combination of visitors,” Lady Henrietta said, her smile growing. “A handsome rake and a lady rebel. Suddenly I feel re-invigorated. Please, see them in, Cleveland.”
Miss Rosalind Caldwell strode into the room, her self-assurance reaching out to fill the room like a trumpet. The woman would never be called demure. Instead, she was a force of nature that, Madalene believed, was not to be trifled with. Oh, to have that kind of confidence. Did she ever doubt the path she had taken, as unorthodox as it was, championing the underdog with such fervor? If Madalene had half of Miss Caldwell’s conviction, she would—