7

 

The light glowed brighter and brighter.

A heart shaped face hovered above Madeline. “Sweetheart.” A long wispy lock of dark hair fell forward as the ghost whispered.

Mama had come to her.

“There’s much I have to tell you, Mama.” Her own voice sounded like a homeless kitten, yelping in the woods.

The ruby lips hovered above. “Wake up, dear. I’ve come to see about you.”

She touched Mama’s face and wiped a droplet from her silver eyes. Silver eyes?

Madeline propped up on the pillow. She mopped her own tears, for Mama’s emerald eyes could only be seen in paintings or waning dreams. “Aunt?”

“Yes, child. They tell me you haven’t had your wits for days.” The dear woman draped in dark blue lounged at her bedside. Aunt Tiffany, Lady Cecil Glaston, had come.

She cradled Madeline’s hand as she had many years ago, lightly tracing lines upon each finger. Then it gave comfort, helping Madeline grieve Mama’s passing.

“You look like my dear sister. Angelique was beautiful and taken too soon.” Aunt wiped her face. “I’ve missed you. Child, you must stop crying. It’ll make me start up again.”

Madeline rubbed away her own tears. “I’ll try.”

“I owe you an apology. After the duke stained Angelique’s memory by marrying a harpy, I swore never to darken Avington Manor’s marble floors again.” She drew her lips into a sulk. “I didn’t think the goat would refuse to send you to me.”

“The one time Father agrees, this happens.” Madeline pointed to her heavily bandaged leg. “And my poor Mrs. Wilkins.”

Someone pounded on the door. Aunt snapped up and smoothed her imperial gown, looking every bit the grand patroness of Cheshire. “Come in,” she said. Her voice sounded so poised.

Lord Devonshire appeared at the threshold. Serenity and strength rested upon his proud shoulders as he bowed to Aunt Tiffany. The earl slipped to her bedside and kissed Madeline’s palm. “You smell less like liniment today, more like strawberries. Must be getting better.”

She treasured his humour and tried to counter. “The apothecary makes the best perfumes. This one is ode to fever.”

Lord Devonshire chuckled, and he turned a serious expression to Aunt Tiffany. “Lady Glaston, will you be dining with me this evening? We’ve much to discuss. I must satisfy the duke’s demands of me.”

Aunt squinted her eyes as she examined him. “You sound as if you are readying to leave, young man.”

“On the contrary, Lady Glaston. I’m readying for the hunt. My men will be here tomorrow. I’ll find the men responsible for injuring our fair Mad…Miss St. James.”

Aunt smiled, but those lips didn’t express approval. “Yes, we will dine at sunset, my lord.”

The earl bowed, winked at Madeline, and left the room.

“So many rumours have come to me.” She marched to the door and locked it. Then she approached and pushed up Madeline’s sleeves. “Madeline, tell me the whole of it. Start with how you got strange marks, and is the earl who you are so cozy with responsible? Have you disgraced yourself?”

“Mr. Kent attacked me in the garden at Avington, the night before I was to leave to see you. He hurt me, not Lord Devonshire.”

“That lousy nephew of your step-mother dare put his hands upon you? I’ll have my man servant shoot him. No, your father has already done the deed.”

Madeline shook her head. “He hasn’t. Father doesn’t know. He’d never let me leave Avington if he knew. You can’t tell Father. Please say nothing of it.”

The woman’s face flushed purple. “I’ll shoot him.”

Madeline clutched at her heart. She felt faint. “Please keep my confidence, Aunt.”

“I make no promises.” Aunt softened her tone. “Now tell me about the earl. What happened?”

“Lord Devonshire saved my life,” she said in proud tones. “He’s very gentlemanly.”

Aunt drew a hand to her mouth to cover a smile.

“I wish he hadn’t. I’d be with Mama and Mrs. Wilkins, not waiting to see what else will be taken from me.”

Aunt Tiffany took her in her arms. She blew kisses on her forehead and mussed her curls. “I’ll make everything right for you.”

 

****

 

Justain waited in the private stateroom of the Gaskell Inn. A mousy woman, Lady Glaston’s companion told him Glaston would be late, but an hour late? Justain’s stomach bore a low rumble. What could be amiss now?

Another one of the informant’s notes arrived today. He ripped the red-inked parchment to shreds. Nothing could make him desert his obligations here.

Maybe Lady Glaston would take her niece to Cheshire tomorrow. Then he’d be free again to hunt Barrow. Perhaps he shouldn’t have burnt the paper.

What was keeping Glaston? Justain retied his cravat, but the cotton trifle thinned in his fingers and made him look like a country baron, not a peer to Lady Glaston. From what he remembered, the old man always decried the showy opulence of the House of Glaston, but his father secretly coveted it.

That desire for fine things would be the only thing Justain willingly admitted he shared with the man. He fluffed the cravat as much as possible.

The door pushed open.

He stood as Lady Glaston entered.

The woman wore a cranberry walking gown. Military gold fobs ran from the collar to the floor. Justain didn’t know whether to sit or salute.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I had a late tea with Dr. White. The dear man likes to run on. Please be seated, Lord Devonshire.”

She kept standing as he flopped into his chair. “I should thank you for saving my niece’s life.” Her pert nose pushed higher in the air. “But I won’t. It’s customary for a gentleman to protect someone in his care. Instead, I want to know why you hid her away in this quaint little inn.” Her tone sharpened. “Didn’t have enough romancing her in the Severn Gorge?”

Justain stared at the cold grey eyes. What did Madeline tell her?

She gripped the back of a chair. The jewels upon her fingers knocked against the pine. “What other conclusion can I deduce? You knew who she was and where she was going. Yet, I’m notified by an innkeeper more than two weeks after the date of my niece being shot.”

He balled his fists under the table. “I sent word to her father. I’ve been following his instructions,” Justain retorted.

Her gaze narrowed upon him. “Did you tell him you compromised Madeline?”

He didn’t believe his ears.

Her lips flattened to a thin line. “No, you didn’t. The duke would be here to gut you with his hunting knife, if he knew what you did.”

“I’ve done everything in my power to protect Miss St. James.” Justain pounded the table. “No one knew if she’d ever awaken. I had my family doctor expedited from Devon to see to her care.”

She lifted her chin. “You’d rather her die among strangers.”

Justain shook his head. He wanted to turn over the table. “What you are accusing me of, Madam, is unconscionable.”

She tightened her grip on the wood. The faceted sapphires of her rings glimmered. “You compromised my niece with your private stay in the Gorge, and you sought to hide her from her family. I demand satisfaction. What will you do to make this right?”

“She’d been badly hurt. Marauders were hunting us. If we’d left the mineshaft to maintain your sensibilities, we’d be dead. Is that what you want?”

The matron’s beautiful face twisted, filled with venom. “Death seems to follow you, Devonshire.”

“What?” Justain leaned back in his chair.

“Between the bloodbath in Dorset and the Peninsula war, maybe you like death.” Her sarcastic tone was deafening. “Is it safe for people to be around you? Have you learned to be more careful since you got your brother killed?”

She might as well have kicked him in his stomach. He hadn’t expected the dressing down. “I cannot change the past.”

“Right now Cheshire is all ablaze about a nobleman being caught red-handed in the Gorge. I even laughed at the story at a garden party last week.”

Malicious gossip. Someone’s life reduced to dust.

“It will only be a matter of time,” she continued, “when the story possesses names. It won’t be funny hearing my niece disgraced, run down by the Ton.”

Justain squared his shoulders. “You have a solution. Say it, Madam.”

“Marry my niece!” Lady Glaston commanded.

“That’s your game?” He chuckled. “Did Madeline put you up to this?”

“You know marriage is the only solution.” She released the chair. “That’s why you’ve been secretive.”

“Why sentence Miss St. James to a dangerous existence?” He folded his arms. “As you attest, my life’s not stable.”

“Well, you’ll have to settle down and protect her.” Lady Glaston marched to his side of the table. “And that queer inheritance on the males will be satisfied with your sudden marriage.”

He looked up at the woman in surprise. Lady Glaston should play cards. She’d be a master.

“Yes, I’m familiar with the business. My Cecil and his brother, the Duke of Lancashire, delighted in the odd ritual.”

Justain rubbed his neck. “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll make sure that your name is in tatters. No one in polite society will want anything to do with you. Your family will be held as a blight upon the land. I will—”

He waved his hand. “You’ve made your point.”

“That ring you now bear comes with responsibilities. Madeline is beautiful. She’s fond of you. She’ll be a dutiful wife. She’ll help you navigate the straits of your title. When she’s better, take her to Gretna Green and elope.”

“If I do this I won’t slink away to Gretna Green as if I’ve something to hide. It’ll be with her father’s approval. I’ll write him right away.”

“Then you agree?” The heart-shaped face—so like Madeline’s—glowed with victory.

“It’s up to the Duke of Hampshire.” He arose. Anger boiled in his veins. “Enjoy your dinner, Lady Glaston. My appetite’s gone.”

He left without a bow and shoved the door open. He caught it from slamming behind him, wouldn’t give her that victory, too.