The Redemption of Madeline Munrove

by Mary Campisi

  Weston may well have been talking to a chair, for Ethan merely snatched a sugar cookie from the tray and nibbled. “Delicious,” he said, his gaze darting suspiciously close to Annabelle’s lips. When half of the cookie was gone, he addressed Regina, Sarah, and Annabelle. “I have come to speak with Lady Madeline and her brother. If you will give us but a few moments?”

  The women rose and grudgingly departed, but not before Annabelle cast him a scathing look that said she knew his kind and would rather squash him than remain in the same room with such a despicable bug.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Weston demanded. “Tell me, did you touch any of these women?”

  “No.”

  “What about Fontaine? Did he touch any of them?”

  Ethan’s jaw twitched again. “Leave it, Munrove.”

  Weston cursed. “He did, didn’t he? I’ll bet he dallied with the one who has the babe in her belly. No harm can come of that.”

  “Weston!” Madeline could not believe her brother had actually uttered such dreadful words.

  “You have not seen the world, Maddie. It is a cruel and dangerous place filled with all manner of debauchery.”

  Ethan tapped his chin and said, “Lying. Stealing. Cheating at cards. You know all about that, don’t you, Munrove?”

  Weston’s face turned purple. “Why you arrogant popinjay! Fontaine isn’t here to fight your battles and I’ll wager with that pretty face and those soft hands, you’ve not engaged in many fights.”

  Ethan smiled. “You are correct. I do not engage in fisticuffs.”

  “I knew that.”

  The smile spread. “I am however, quite adept in the use of weapons. Pistols, knives, bows. Even rope.” Before Weston could respond, Ethan Montague withdrew a small knife from his pocket and hurled it at Weston, skimming the air near his right ear. The knife landed in a portrait of Grandfather August Munrove located beside the fireplace.

  Weston screeched and ran toward the door, rubbing his ear as though he’d actually been hit. “Are you crazy?”

  Ethan walked to the portrait and calmly removed the knife. “Douglas Fontaine is my friend. I’ll not see him cheated or maligned.” He tapped the knife against his open palm. “You will cease treating your sister as hired help. And you will regard the women in this house with respect. Should I receive word that you are not complying with these demands, I will return.” He took a step toward Weston, tapping the knife against his palm. “And I will not miss next time. Do we understand one another?” Weston’s head bobbed furiously as he grabbed for the knob and quit the room. Ethan deposited the knife in his jacket pocket and brushed his hands. “He’ll bother you no more.”

  What had just happened? Who was this man standing before her dressed in such finery, sporting a knife in his jacket pocket? He had the skill of a trained marksman and she did not doubt he possessed equal talent in their use. “Weston is my brother. I won’t have him harmed.”

  “There will be no need for harm. Your brother is a weak man who preys on the less fortunate. Now he will know what it is like to become the hunted.”

  “But—”

  “I did not come to discuss your brother.” He reached in his other pocket and removed an envelope. “This is for you.”

  Was it from Douglas? Had he written begging her forgiveness? And if he had, what then? Her stomach flip-flopped as she opened the envelope and removed its contents. But it was not a letter at all.

  “Lingionine is yours now.” When she continued to stare at the deed, Ethan Montague added, “A gift from Douglas.”

  Fresh pain seeped into her heart. He had gifted her Lingionine. Why, Douglas? Why would you do that? She did not realize she had voiced the question until Ethan answered with a question of his own.

  “Is it not obvious, Madeline?”

  No, it was not. Had he acted out of guilt? Remorse? Or was it something else…something more?

  Ethan placed a folded piece of paper in front of her. “Perhaps this will help clarify matters.”

  She opened the paper to discover a sketch of a rather large barn. “What is this?”

  “That,” Ethan said pointing to the drawing, “is what Douglas held in his hand that day and which you thought was the deed.”

  She glanced at the drawing once again. Such detail, such elaborateness, the likes of which she had never seen. “But why would he not simply come forth and show me?”

  Ethan shook his head and said, “Douglas has great difficulty understanding and expressing his emotions. Once you rejected him, he would have swallowed the drawing whole before admitting such a weakness for you.”

  “I am his weakness?” He had confessed something of the sort once and it had unsettled him. A sudden giddiness invaded her, swirling from her belly to her heart and finally, her head.

  “You are his greatest weakness and that gives you immense power over him, a situation I am sure he does not relish or care to acknowledge. I retrieved the sketch from the rubbish bin and deduced he had planned to gift you with a new and much improved Lingionine.”

  Madeline bit her lip to stifle a cry. What had she done? “I have misjudged him. Horribly.”

  “There is still time.” Ethan retrieved yet another letter from his jacket pocket and set it on the table before her. “On my honor, this is the last letter.”

  “The seal is broken.”

  Ethan coughed and turned a dull red, “Yes, well, I had to be certain the old boy was on the right path. He’s not much for deducing emotions.”

  “And how did he do?”

  Ethan smiled. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”

  My dearest Madeline:

  I have many regrets, the greatest that I did not realize until it was too late how much I loved you, how much I will always love you.

  I cannot repair the damage I have caused, but perhaps the knowledge your home will not be taken from you will assuage the pain. I have deposited a sum with my solicitor for repairs to Lingionine. Regards to Gregory, Regina, Sarah, and Lady Annabelle.

  Yours,

  Douglas

  Chapter 24

  No.”

  “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. I tell you, this could be the one.”

  Douglas was in no mood for Ethan’s antics. The man grew enamored of anything that wore a frock and knowing Ethan, there was a side deal or two in it for him. “What are you scheming now? You’ve been gone two days, enough time to get into trouble and try to drag me along with you.”

  Ethan tapped his chin and countered with, “This woman is perfect for you.”

  Madeline had been perfect for him. “Not interested.” Douglas retrieved the book he’d been reading and sat down.

  “Didn’t you promise your mother you would marry an Englishwoman?”

  Douglas sighed. “Actually there was a bit of a caveat to her wishes. She said I should marry an Englishwoman, but I had to love her.” There. He had finally spilled the truth of his mother’s words.

  Ethan looked aghast. “She said that? Does your father know? And why the blazes did you never tell me?”

  “At the time, I didn’t believe love existed. Therefore, I treated the request as an equation and subtracted the nonessential aspect which was the ‘must love her’ part and turned it into ‘marry an Englishwoman.’” He pretended great interest in a button on his shirt. “Now I understand there really are two parts to the equation and no way to solve it.”

  “This backward mathematics and romanticism is giving me a headache.” Ethan stood and said, “Five minutes in the room with her. That’s all I ask.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “I know.” Ethan motioned toward the door. “The room is ready. She’s waiting behind the screen so you won’t see her and draw conclusions without poking around in her brain first.”

  The man was not going to leave him alone. Douglas tossed his book aside and stood. “I really do not want to do this.”

  “I know,” Ethan said again like a damnable
parrot.

  “Five minutes. No more.”

  “Right. I’ll ask the questions, you just listen.”

  Douglas followed him to the adjoining room which was identical to his with the exception of a large silk screen—Ethan’s idea—behind which the prospective bride sat. He was in no mood for politeness or good manners and did not care if the woman could discuss shipbuilding or new ways to enhance his tobacco crops. He did not care because she was not Madeline.

  “Douglas? Are you ready?”

  The sooner he engaged in this nonsense, the sooner he could leave. Ethan believed Madeline replaceable? Of course, the fool would subscribe to such a notion—he had never been in love. He signed and said, “Proceed.”

  Ethan cleared his throat and began, “Thank you, mystery woman, for agreeing to meet with Mr. Fontaine. I will ask you a series of questions and you shall answer them as honestly as possible.” Ethan scowled at Douglas who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression he hoped indicated just how much he did not want to be here. “A moment please. Mr. Fontaine, do make yourself comfortable.”

  Damn him. He was going to drag this out. Douglas sank into a chair and stared at the screen.

  “Do you believe in love?”

  What the hell? “That was not one of my questions.”

  Before Ethan could respond, the woman spoke. “I once thought love merely a state fabricated by poets in order to compose sonnets. Or as explanation for behaviors that had no explanation.” She paused and her voice dipped, “Now I know love does exist. I have seen it. I have felt it.”

  That voice. It sounded like Madeline’s. Is that why Ethan had insisted he speak with her? Because he wished to foist an imposter on Douglas? Had he hired one of his actress ladyloves to change her voice just so? A slow anger burned through him as he contemplated his friend’s actions. The man deserved three bloody noses for taunting him with a Madeline sound-alike. And if she had black hair and blue eyes, there would be a blackened eye as well.

  “And forgiveness?” Ethan asked. “Do you believe in that?”

  “Yes,” the woman said in the softest of voices. “I do.”

  Love? Forgiveness? Next Ethan would be asking if she believed women should marry men who deceived them with hidden identities. He had heard enough. Douglas bound from his chair and stalked toward the screen. “Enough of this.”

  Ethan blocked him before he could push the screen aside and confront the Madeline sound-alike. “Have a care for the lady. You’re being insufferably rude.”

  “Because I am not interested in your antics.” He gestured toward the screen and muttered, “Or hers. How much did you pay her to make her voice sound like that?”

  The damnable man feigned ignorance. “Like what?”

  Ethan wanted him to say her name? Fine. And if it bruised the tender sensibilities of the woman behind the screen, so be it. She would learn not to engage in dealings with a scoundrel like Ethan. “Like Madeline,” he bit out. “Remember her? Spirited. Intelligent. Honorable.”

  “Beautiful, too. Don’t forget that tidbit.”

  Ethan’s words only further annoyed Douglas. He glared at him and said, “Enough. There is no one like Madeline and I will not engage a moment longer in this disgusting play-acting.” He turned and headed for the door, anxious to retreat to the solace of his room and the safety of his books. Amazing Ethan wasn’t pecking after him with pleas to give the woman behind the screen another chance.

  “Douglas?”

  The voice reached him as he grasped the knob of the door. She was indeed quite the actress. How had Ethan found her? Moreover, how had he instructed her to transform her speech until she sounded exactly like Madeline? Ethan possessed many talents but unfortunately, most of them were ill-spent.

  “Douglas?”

  She was but a few paces behind him and blast if she did not smell like hyacinth. Well done, Ethan! The man had the most incredible ability to discern tiny details such as the lilt in a woman’s voice and the scent of her skin. Would she resemble Madeline too? Knowing his friend, she just might. But she was not Madeline. No one could be Madeline, but—he sighed and turned—“Madeline?”

  She stood before him, eyes puffy, nose swollen, lips trembling. She had never looked more beautiful.

  “Douglas,” she whispered. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  He gathered her into his arms and swiped at her tears. “It is I who must beg forgiveness. Given the opportunity, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

  She placed the softest of kisses on his lips. “I love you, Douglas Fontaine.”

  Finally, she spoke his true name with words of love. “Marry me. As soon as possible.”

  She traced his lips with her fingers and smiled. “I will.”

  “Excuse me.” Ethan cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat. “Now that my work is done, I believe I shall endeavor to find a bit of entertainment this evening. Should I assume we’ll not be sailing until after the wedding?”

  Douglas looked at Madeline who nodded. “That would be a correct assumption,” he said. “Thank you, Ethan.”

  His friend shrugged. “As an old man once told me, a king might own the castle but he needs the queen to run it.” He grinned and raised a hand in farewell. “I shall see you later.”

  When the door clicked his departure, Douglas swept Madeline up and carried her to the bed. He laid her gently on the counterpane and brushed his lips over hers. “I have missed you.”

  “I tried so very hard not to miss you, but when Ethan told me the truth, the aching grew tenfold. Come to me, Douglas.” She flung her hands about his neck and pulled him to her. The fabric of her gown and his breeches proved thin barriers for his desire and her determination. “Take away the ache,” she whispered, pressing him between her legs.

  “I am ever your servant.” He worked a hand up her thigh, enjoying the exquisiteness of her bare skin. She would indeed make a model wife, offering up a veritable feast for his mouth, and hands, and—

  “Hurry.” Madeline bunched her gown about her waist and slid her hands between their bodies. “You may engage in a leisurely stroll about the premises once you have completed a quick jaunt in the garden.”

  “What?”

  Only Madeline would heave a sigh of annoyance when in bed with him. “Mr. Ogleby’s Position suggests likening certain positions and the duration of such to landscape.”

  “Ah.” Strolls? Jaunts? Landscape?

  “Just so.” She awaited his response and when he remained silent, which a person might do if he had no idea what the other was about, she supplied an explanation. “I need you. Now. Most urgently.” That, he understood, especially when those nimble fingers unfastened his breeches and circled his shaft. “Leisurely strolls come later. For now—” she guided him to the opening of her pantaloons “—a quick jaunt is required.”

  Understanding surged through him and he dove into her. Once. Twice. Three times, amidst Madeline’s sighs of delight. “Have you and Mr. Ogleby spent much time together in my absence?”

  Her lips twitched. “Mayhap we have spent a few moments in reflection.”

  “Reflection?” He withdrew almost completely and held still until she squirmed against him. “I shall give you something to reflect upon that will no longer necessitate Mr. Ogleby or his positions.”

  Her smile spread. “Indeed?”

  “You may depend upon it.” He held her gaze and entered her swiftly. Powerfully. Completely.

  “Oh, Douglas. I fear I shall never get enough of you.”

  “That, my sweet, is my very deepest desire.” He thrust into her with long, steady strokes until she moaned his name and raked her fingers along his back, begging for an end to this delicious torment. Douglas complied with his future wife’s request and employed the use of his hands, his tongue—and that other part of his body she’d grown fascinated with—to get the job done. When their releases came in a burst of heat and passion, his heart filled with su
ch love for Madeline he did not know where he ended and she began. Finally, he understood how two became one. Finally, he understood true love.

  Epilogue

  Douglas?” Madeline whispered. “Are you awake?” When he did not respond, she lifted her head from his chest and said a bit louder, “Douglas?” He made a sound that could be construed as a grunt of acknowledgement or a prelude to a snore. Oh bother, tiptoeing around in the bedroom did not get the job done. “Are you awake?”

  One eye popped open, followed by a second. “If your purpose was to waken me, you have succeeded.”

  She leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek. “My purpose was to deduce your state of sleep…or lack thereof.”

  His brows pinched together and he said in a voice laced with equal bits amusement and curiosity, “Tell me, my sweet, will I never have a sound rest again without interruption?”

  “That depends.” She splayed her fingers in the dark hairs of his chest and said, “There may be nights when I require a quick jaunt.”

  His lips remained unsmiling but laughter danced in his eyes. “Ah. What if I should desire a leisurely stroll?”

  “Then we shall negotiate.”

  “You’re serious.”

  She met his gaze, head on. “Absolutely.” Oh, but she did love a cerebral challenge. How could she have thought all men dimwitted and unremarkable? How could she have once thought this man to be so?

  He toyed with a lock of hair, tracing it along her bare shoulder until she shivered. “I am a harsh negotiator,” he warned. “And I do not like to lose.”

  “Then we are well matched and shall both be winners, since I might often desire a quick jaunt in the morning and a leisurely stroll in the evening.”

  He smiled.

  “Every day. Out of doors as well.” When the smile spread, she added, “On a picnic blanket in the far fields.”

  “I shall endeavor not to disappoint.” He pulled her on top of him and kissed her.

  “Douglas?”

  “Hmmm?”

  She must get this one last thought out, then all would indeed be well, but when he trailed his tongue along her neck just so, it was difficult to think at all.