33

 

Every noise stilled. Even the horses stopped. “Well, Justain?” His childhood friend rarely called him by his Christian name. The situation must warrant it. Jonathan stepped back and leaned against the pen. “What has upset you this day?”

Justain tried to relax his stance, but every muscle coiled tight. “A week ago, the duke propositioned me to secure Madeline’s happiness with more money than I’ve been able to generate in a year.”

“Yes, I see the evilness of their hand.”

“Here.” He tossed Jonathan the parchment list of sins. “They had me investigated. They’re trying to manipulate me. It’s been her game all along.”

“Just one page?” Jonathan crumpled up the note. “Did my lady admit to this?”

“Didn’t have to. She’s been acting, plying me with sentiment to get her way.” Making him want her love. How could he be so stupid falling for her deceit? He took a deep breath. “She’ll be in Innesfrey where I know I’ll keep her safe. Nothing will change my mind on that.”

Jonathan rubbed his forehead. “You don’t see that Lady Devonshire is genuine in her concern for you?”

“I let my guard down, and they attacked my flank. It may not have been Madeline’s notion, but she’ll side with the duke and use her charms to trap me into her way of thinking.”

“Sir.”

“I’m sick of the whole manipulative lot.”

The colour in Jonathan’s face drained. “My lord, please.”

“No, I’m not going to let you convince me differently. I hate them all. When will I be freed from here?”

“Sir, stop!”

The air filled with the light scent of strawberries. Justain winced and turned.

Madeline leaned against the stable door. The silver St. James crest flashed from her new cane.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her voice was low, and she fanned a letter. “A courier dispatched this from Reverend Delveaux. I thought you’d want it right away.” Her cheeks burned scarlet. She must’ve heard every bitter word. “I’ll put it here.” She placed it on the rail and pivoted away.

“Madeline, let me help you back to the house.” Justain dashed to her.

She shook her head. “I’ll make it on my own. By myself.” She tramped out of the stable.

“Blast it.” He marched back to his steward, grabbing at a stabbing pain in his neck. “Why didn’t you warn me, Jonathan?”

“I tried.” He shook his head. “Well, you won’t have any problems settling her in Innesfrey now.”

“This is no time to joke. If I follow her, what should I say?”

“You’ve succeeded in convincing my lady you’re a blackguard. But, sir, that’s what you wanted.”

Justain stiffened his shoulders. “What are you saying?”

“With everyone but Miss Lavis, the minute you find a flaw, you dismiss them. You treat them untoward.”

“Call me a perfectionist. Since I’ve restored the family holdings, everyone pretends to want my favour. No one’s been genuine; only my childhood mates, you, Devlin, and Miss Lavis are consistent.”

“Why do you want to suspect malevolence on Lady Devonshire’s part? She might be innocent of her father’s plans.”

“You want me to believe that as her father lies dying she thinks of bringing me comfort. No, it’s been a careful orchestration to soften me on Innesfrey.”

“If you don’t see her Christian walk, you need to spend more time with Reverend Delveaux. You’ve married a woman who’s not ashamed to live as Christ. You’re fortunate.”

He scowled. “Fortunate, Jonathan? I don’t see that.”

“You’re on the path to be one of the most successful earls of Devon, yet you revert to trying to earn acceptance from others. Look at the energy you expend to perfect your life for those who are unworthy. You shouldn’t live as this. You deserve better.”

“That’s not what this paper says.”

Jonathan lit a match and burned the paper. “If you don’t forgive yourself, there’s no hope for you.” He saddled Derbudon.

“If it’s no act…” He rubbed his ear and remembered Madeline’s many words of encouragement. “How do I keep her good opinion? She hasn’t asked for baubles. She’s not obsessed with receiving compliments.” He opened his palm, remembering the peace he drew the last time he held Madeline’s hand. The ache in his gut moved a little higher, right to his heart. “I’m a fool.”

“Give me your boots. I’ll put a polish on these while you ride.” Jonathan pointed for a swap. “She’s your wife. Make amends before the sun sets.”

“I don’t know what to tell her.” Justain pulled them off and tugged on his high boots. “But haven’t I always loved Caroline? There’s not room in my heart for two.”

“I don’t think there are two.” Jonathan bit his lip.

Justain climbed aboard Derbudon. “I’ll find my countess when I know what to say.”

 

****

 

Madeline trudged into her favourite hall and collapsed at the base of the Grecian warrior, her substitute for Michelangelo’s David. Hot tears drizzled down her cheeks. She splayed her fingers across the marble-carved sandal. The cold stone should cool the blood pulsing within.

How could Justain suspect her as being part of Father’s conspiracy? Had their time together meant anything?

The venom of his words rang in her ears. She wanted to smash her head against the statue to silence them. Her chest stung, and Madeline struggled for air. “Father of Heaven, why do I always put my trust where it will be broken?”

She brought her palm to her face, dabbed at the streams of tears. “Abba, gird me with strength. I don’t want to hurt like this.”

After Mother died, years of being caught in Father and Step-mother’s battles made it so easy to bottle up her emotions. Not anymore. She wept aloud, emptying her soul upon the unbreakable marble.

 

****

 

The shadows moved. The sun must’ve ascended to its highest point as Madeline lay prostrate at her statue’s feet. She stood, dusted her purple skirts, and trudged to her father’s study. With a deep breath and straightened shoulders, she entered his chambers.

The duke rested, but even asleep, his face looked strained.

Each day as her father declined the headboard grew larger. Madeline scanned the beautiful wall of books near the east window. One of the thick auburn curtains hung open.

He awoke. “I still remember getting you up and watching the sunrise, Maddie.”

“Father, go back to sleep. I came to—”

“Angelique didn’t like that. She’d say, ‘Beloved, our child needs her rest, or she’ll grow up…grow up…’” He covered his mouth as his lungs roared.

“Nervous, lacking your fearless strength.” Madeline could quote their statements of love, but maybe it, too, was transitory. Her heart sank, possibility hit the floor.

Father stopped coughing. “Yes, that’s what she’d say, but often she would join us to watch the great paintbrush of nature illuminate the skies.”

She tried to force a smile. “You opened a window. After Mother…you always had them closed.”

“My sun had gone, and I didn’t want to view an imitation. Today, I had Meriwether tie one curtain back.”

A round of shakes besieged him. Madeline raised a cloth to wipe dribble from his chin.

He took it, patting her hand. “How’s Devonshire treating you? Is he still miffed?”

She looked away. “Fine.”

“Maddie, you were never good at hiding things from me.” He seized a gulp of air. “When a man of Lord Delveaux’s stature is compromised into marriage, there’ll be resentment. I tried to fix it for you.”

She pulled the carved set from the shelf and put it on the blanket. It was pointless to discuss Justain. Father wouldn’t understand this whirlwind swirling in her stomach, the ache in her soul. When was the last time he felt anything but contempt? “I came for chess.”

Madeline filled her lungs with the room’s stagnate air. “Do you want the light or dark pieces?”

“I’ll be the black knights.” He stopped her from spinning the board. “You’re level-headed and reasonable, but inexperienced. I was happy when you kept to your books. We men are peculiar. We make choices at night that have no meaning in the day.”

She steadied her knees and arranged the marble pieces.

“I tried to make him be faithful to you. Women don’t have many options. You’ll keep his house, share his bed for as long as he wishes it, and bear him an heir…while he may never share your fidelity.”

A renegade tear welled in her eyes. Only a miracle could change things, and Madeline wouldn’t be that lucky.

Her father winced. “I’m sorry, Maddie.”

She blinked and patted her ears to unstop them.

“Shouldn’t have intervened.” He shrank back upon his mound of pillows.

Meriwether entered the room. “It’s time for your medicine, your grace.”

“No more of that horrid stuff.”

“Father, please. Your pain eases when you take it.”

“Put it on the table, and both of you out. I need a nap to restore my energy.”

“Very well, sir.” Meriwether placed the tray on the cellaret, then extended his arm to her, and they ambled from the room.

“Lady Madeline, I don’t think he’ll make it beyond this week. You must be prepared.”

She tightened her grip on his elbow. “I know, Meriwether. I heard it in his voice when he spoke to me. Father never apologizes.”