21

 

Justain hated the silent treatment. Give him the threat of bullets, the sound of cannons, but not total isolation. He’d become accustomed to the winsome understanding in Madeline’s voice. It was mean of her to deprive him of it.

She rested on the dark leather seats bundled in a bewitching fuchsia gown. The pelisse hugged her neck with violet frill. She looked like a flower. The woman should scream at him for yesterday’s argument. He deserved it. Then this silence would be over. They’d get back to the comfortable path they’d been forging.

But Madeline uttered not a peep, not a jot.

He’d practiced an apology and searched for an opportunity, but Madeline didn’t join him for breakfast. She barely murmured good morning when he came to fetch her for the journey. Justain fumbled with his cuff. A fresh entry in his ledger smudged the linen. Could things get worse? To be presented with spots on his clothes and blemishes to his character.

He attempted to stuff the book back into his satchel. It caught on something. Justain rooted in the bag and found the tattered collection of poems.

Madeline was done with it and him, too. She had to have given it to Mr. Winton last night. “We’re getting close to Avington Manor.”

She nodded.

He turned to the window. Fortified walls of stone and mortar hung overhead. How much rock had he dropped upon his marriage? Justain reached for her hand and pried it from her folded arms. “You’re not wearing your ring?”

“I’ll put it back on at Hampshire.”

“Please put it back on now, Madeline.”

She dug into her reticule and unpacked her band. After a quick tugging off of her butter-coloured glove, Madeline slid the ring onto her slim finger.

“Good.” He rubbed his chin. “We’re not going to meet your father without a civil word between us?”

She leaned against the seat. “Couples at cross purposes are the monastery’s forte.”

He adjusted his cravat. “We shouldn’t quarrel in front of the duke. He mustn’t think you’re unhappy.”

Madeline looked away. “Father’s perceptive.”

“Will you let me apologize?”

“For speaking the truth?” She shook her head. “Avington is large. We won’t have to see much of each other. Then let’s leave in a week.”

“One fight and you give up. I’m disappointed. What of all that talk of us being on one accord? One disagreement throws your knight from his horse.”

“Still a knight, just not my knight.” She sat up straight and pushed an errant tendril under her floppy bonnet. Why didn’t her grand aunt burn the thing? Yet, the hat had survived near trampling at Tilford, the Severn Gorge, and being crushed at a picnic. More things needed to be as resilient.

“The Duke and Duchess of Hampshire are a curious lot.” Her sweet voice held an edge. “Sometimes they stand upon formality. Sometimes not. One never knows what will happen.”

Justain wanted to reach for her hand but didn’t think it wise. “Let me tell you another story to make amends.”

If Madeline’s eyes were daggers, she’d be a widow.

“I suppose you won’t show me your hall of Hampshire sculptures.”

Her lovely jade eyes clouded, and she looked away.

He balled up his leather evening gloves. “Pray let’s start over.”

She gazed at her dainty slippers. “Why? Are you afraid to disappoint my father?”

Now that strike hit close to home. “I like to pass tests. That’s what my father impressed upon me.” Justain swallowed a deep breath. “What will it take to restore your opinion?”

She stuck her chin in the air. “To get this visit over as soon as possible.”

Justain peered through the window. “The leaves are starting to turn. I hope the good folks of this county take the time to admire the colours. The hillside’s striated in three shades of red. This is stunning country, not the moors of Devon, but beautiful.”

“Why are you tormenting me with a place I’ll never see?” She released a heavy sigh. “The tree roots cling to different sections of the steep ridge adding to the variety. Watch the sunset.” She pointed to the clouds. “Sometimes the sky tries to match the hues of autumn.”

Perhaps as the sun came closer to earth, it’d thaw the frost between them. “Magnificent,” he said. It was simply beautiful. “God’s paintbrush, I think you called it.”

“Father and I used to watch the sunset from his study. We’re arriving late.” Her voice softened, and she smoothed her skirt over her knees. “He’ll be in bed.”

“He’s going to be fine.” He covered her hands with his. Justain made his hold light to allow Madeline the opportunity to snatch her fingers away.

She didn’t. “Father’s rugged but overly dramatic. It’s a cold or a ragged nerve.” She eased to the window. “This was the first time he’s been able to spare me to leave Avington.”

“Pray, let us start over. I don’t want to…Madeline.”

She stared out the window.

“Madeline?”

“Yes.” Her eyes blinked as if awakening from a daydream. Probably designing how the duke should torture him.

“I’ve called to you twice. Are you ignoring me?”

“It’s not possible to ignore you.” She sat up straight.

The carriage stopped. They’d arrived at the St. James’s estate.

Justain popped on his top hat and jumped out of the carriage. He hoped to catch the last measure of sun to warm his cold feet. Madeline wasn’t going to be charitable. Justain would be on his own to impress the duke.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since his foul eruption. It seemed like days. Not having Madeline’s jade eyes smiling at him took a toll on Justain, more than he wanted to admit.

Three marble statues stood atop the opulent entrance overseeing their arrival. “The beasts don’t seem happy.”

A sense of foreboding pricked his gut. Meeting his father in-law, the grand Duke of Hampshire, made him nervous, not the fear he’d ruined something special. Justain turned the ring of his lineage to point to the darkening sky and declared to himself, “The Earl of Devon will win over his father-in-law and wife.”

He yanked on his blasted leather gloves then reached back into the cabin. “Shall we, my dear?” Justain hefted Madeline from the seat. “It would’ve been good for your parents to see us arrive in my original Berlin. It would’ve made a good show.”

“Father has three coaches, plus a barouche. Well, he had three. You weren’t able to find our carriage while I convalesced at Much Wenlock?”

“No. I’m sure something as opulent as a chestnut coach will turn up. My people haven’t stopped looking.” He carried her up the wide stone stairs of the large white portico, the façade of the house. “I’m giving you notice, Lady Devonshire. I intend to restore your good opinion.”

She pulled close to his ear. “Welcome to Avington Manor, the ancestral home of the St. James family.” The words tingled against his lobe.

Changing a woman’s mind should’ve been his profession. Justain would restore the peace of their garden picnic. The lush grounds and the sunsets of Avington Manor were meant for romance. Their romance.

A groomsman brought her stave as Justain lowered Madeline to the pristine marble floor. The cranberry veining of the tiles highlighted cream washed walls.

Powdered-haired servants in sapphire coats and stockings descended upon them demanding their outerwear. Justain complied and seized the opportunity to remove Madeline’s gloves. He held her warm palm against his.

He looked up to the ceiling.

Muses must’ve painted it. It bore an angelic theme. Golden trim and filigree abounded. It was magnificent, making Trenchard Park seem small. “This is quite a house, Madeline.”

She nodded. Her cheeks held a tiny bloom of colour.

A smile blossomed in his spirit, and he laced his fingers with hers. She wasn’t immune to him.

A fair-haired woman descended the carpeted stairs in a long, flouncing, black dress with shiny jewelled buttons.

As he waited to be announced, Madeline slogged forward. “Step-mother, how’s Father?”

The stylish but austere figure didn’t answer and continued winding down the rust padded treads. The woman’s gold tresses were pulled back tightly in a chignon, the same style as Madeline’s before her aunt’s tweaks. The style wasn’t becoming on her.

“Step-mother, is Father better?”

The woman stopped on the landing. “Wretched girl, he’s sleeping. You’ll be able to see him in the morning. I don’t wish him disturbed right now.”

“Duchess, we’ve ridden a long way.” Justain caught Madeline’s arm. “It will ease my wife’s mind to see her father.”

The lady stumbled as if shocked by his words. She straightened and redoubled her efforts to descend. “Wife? And who might you be?”

“I am the Earl of Devon, Madeline’s husband.” Justain’s gait was slow and deliberate, so the duchess could sense his nobility. He bowed as she came close. The woman inspected him with her nose upturned. Another overly important mama of the ton.

“You’ve married? Eloped without telling anyone?”

Justain blocked the duchess’s advance toward Madeline. He wouldn’t let the woman harass his wife, no matter who she was. “We wed with the duke’s permission.”

Suddenly, the duchess’s facial expressions honeyed. A smile graced her face.

“Darling girl, I was taken aback by the news. Your father and his mysterious stationery…he told me of your accident.”

“That’s because I wanted you to be surprised.” A haggard voice bellowed over the crowd. An old man supported by an older gentleman entered the fray.

“Father!” Madeline limped to the duke and hugged his neck.

Charles St. James, a tall, stout man with a full head of grey hair bundled Madeline in his embrace. “My Maddie is home.”

“I’ve missed you, Father.”

With his arms still about her, the duke pivoted to an idle servant. “Fetch me a seat!”

Two panicky groomsmen returned, bearing a gilded chair. They situated it in the middle of the hall. The servants must’ve studied the stone busts appointing the entrances to each hall, for they showed no emotion to this distasteful scene.

“Meriwether, help me sit.” The duke’s weak voice still caused everyone to jump to attention. At full strength, the man must be impervious.

“You should rest, dear. Make your valet take you back to bed.” Madeline’s step-mother grimaced at the sick man. Her lips twisted in open disgust. No, she was worse than matrons of Devonshire. Those women twittered behind his mother’s back, not out in the open. The duchess smoothed her puffy sleeves. “I’ll greet Madeline and this ne’er-do-well.”

“You won’t be pawning off a St. James to one of your measly relations.” The duke sneered at his wife in victory. “She has married the Earl of Dorset.”

“Earl of Devon.” Justain extended his hand to the man.

The duke hunched his shoulders and drew back with a smirk. “One backward county is as good as another.”

Justain retrieved his ignored palm. He wanted to fan air about his neck to relieve the heat rising from his collar but lowered his arms to his sides.

“I’ve just been informed of Madeline’s elopement. I suppose it makes no difference that I’m the last to know. I have missed the opportunity to be of counsel to her in this important decision.”

“Yes, Lady Hampshire, I’ll be the only one foolish enough to listen to you about marriage.” He laughed and smiled at his daughter. “Don’t we look the pair? You on a crutch, me as weak as a newborn kitten.” He glanced at Justain. “Devonshire, you’ve kept her safe.” His hazel eyes blazed with a fiery intensity. Wasn’t he grateful?

“She’s my wife. I’ll always keep her safe.” He secured Madeline’s crutch then gripped her fingers.

“No one cares how improper it is to be greeting people in the hall.” The duchess’s nose and cheeks brightened to beet red. “What are the servants to think?”

“That’s your remedy for everything.” Lord St. James shivered. “It’s time for my medicine, Meriwether.”

The valet nodded to a hesitant maid lurking in the hall.

“Dana, embrace our new son-in-law. He wrote me of his besotted love for my Maddie. I couldn’t refuse.”

How should he react? Justain sought Madeline’s gaze, hoping for a signal. She didn’t notice him. She viewed the floor tiles as if she were hoping for a crack to open and swallow everyone whole. At this moment, he wished the same.

 

****

 

Madeline pushed into the shadow of the duke. As her father continued his diatribe, she raised her gaze to the mahogany stairs and waited to see if anyone else would descend and join the chaos.

“You coward! Didn’t dare to ask my opinion?” her step-mother wailed.

“Why? To wallow as the hog in the mud of your voice?” Father’s baritone words sounded tired. He seemed weaker than she’d ever known.

Their backbiting could awaken the dead, but no one sank upon the carpeted stairway. Madeline started to exhale, but she caught sight of Justain.

His brow creased. His jaw drew tight, and he gripped his wrists behind his back. They looked raw, as if Justain wrenched them for restraint. Her anger at her husband dissipated.

“My duke, you will now go to bed. You’ll never get well if you continue to be boorish.” Step-mother’s nostrils flared. “I will stop interceding for you and leave you distressed.”

“No, your leaving wouldn’t distress me.” Father’s eyes smiled. “I should obey now before she explodes, or worse, calls the vicar down on me. Come along, Meriwether.” He shuffled from the foyer with the valet’s support.

“Meriwether has probably readied Madeline’s room. He knows everything the duke is up to.” Step-mother adjusted her heavy bracelets. “Hobble and show your besotted freebooter where it is.”

When Step-mother insinuated that Justain was a pirate, he winced before recovering his face of stone.

“Step-mother, please don’t disrespect my husband.”

Justain squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “In a few days, my wife’s lady’s maid, Anne, will be arriving. She’ll need quarters. Also, we are travelling with my steward and a groom.”

“Overrun my house with visitors…With Mr. Kent still up north and my son away, I suppose we’ll feed the lot of you.”

Madeline rubbed her ear. She had heard correctly. Mr. Kent wasn’t here. She’d be able to sleep without fear.

“I may have some use for this Anne in the short run with Mrs. Wilkins no longer with us.” Step-mother patted a dry eye. “Sorry for your loss, Madeline. I know you two were uncommonly close. I’ll inform Meriwether.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” What was worse false sympathy or open mocking?

“I have to commend you, Madeline. Whoever would’ve thought a colourless girl could land something this interesting.” She circled Justain. “I mean, he does not look penniless or easily tricked. I suppose he finds your fortune too great to miss. Goodnight.” With the barb hurled, she whipped out of the room.

Justain’s chiselled chin dropped. His hand checked his cravat as if he needed to make sure his face wasn’t on the tile.

“My room is up the stairs and to the right, but I’ll request a guestroom.”

“Don’t utter another word.” He thrust Madeline into his arms.

She gripped his neck, and her stave crashed onto the floor.

Justain charged the burnt red path, marching to her bedchamber.