37

 

Madeline gathered the remaining pieces, pushing them into a circle. She wasn’t in the mood for puzzles.

Justain massaged his neck. “The study smells of mustard liniment. When you were sick in Much Wenlock, your room smelled of this same treatment.”

“I wish it was sandalwood. That’s how I want to remember Father.”

“The duke’s death shouldn’t take us away.” He raised his hand to her face and caressed her cheek. “Let me support you.”

Madeline gritted her teeth. “Another command, my lord?”

His forehead crinkled. “If that’s what it takes, so be it. I order you to talk to me.”

Madeline moved backwards. “My father told me of my obligations to you. Not one was to be a maudlin, weepy child.” She traipsed toward the door. The train of her black dress slapped the floor.

He intercepted her. “I know you’re angry.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I won’t cry to you or anyone about things I cannot change.”

“Lass, I’m not asking you to cry. Hit at me. Strike at me, but show me more than this veil you call a smile.”

“Why? I’m not so green to think that kisses in the dark mean anything. This is a compromised marriage. We’re not of one accord.”

He blasted air out his mouth. “Things are different.”

The light streaming through the windows made her squint and obscured her view of his eyes. “Different? If only I had gone to Father.” She leaned her head on a bookshelf. The tart perfume of ink brought her comfort.

“You regret kissing me?” He tugged a loose strand of hair as if to draw her back to him. “You’ve done nothing scandalous.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps, I should be scandalous instead of the one always left behind.”

“Everything will be fine. Come to me, Madeline.” He stroked her arm.

She shook free. Nothing she counted upon lasted. Hadn’t Justain proved that?

“You’re hurting, Madeline, and it’s keeping you from admitting the growth of your feelings. It’s not selfish to have one moment of pleasure in this gilded mausoleum.”

Wetness streaked her cheeks. Why was he doing this when she’d hurt that much more when he again stomped on her heart? “I won’t do this now, assess my feelings. Leave me be.”

He bit his lip as if she’d slapped him. “I’m saying this all wrong.”

“In your own way, you’re trying to be helpful, but I’m fine.” She swatted away a renegade tear. “Please find Mer—”

“I don’t ack-acknowledge my feelings, and I’m even worse at showing them.” He took his handkerchief and trailed the droplets. “When I said I needed you, I meant it.”

“I’m not pathetic, Justain. I’m not crumbling. My thoughts are ordered. There’s no need to reassure.”

“This is beyond obligation, more than friendship. I care, Madeline. I ache because I know you’re in pain.” Justain moved to her and swaddled her in his large open arms. “The duke, more than anything, wanted me to make you happy. Let me hon-honour that request.”

Did he stutter the truth? Madeline slumped against him. She couldn’t fight both Justain and the loss of the only man who ever loved her.

Justain held her as if she were fragile, like fine porcelain.

She wasn’t unbreakable marble. The dam holding the swollen river of her grief burst free, and Madeline wept aloud.

 

****

 

Justain wished he could hold his wife a little longer, but Meriwether entered the room.

“Lady Madeline, Vicar Williams is here. He’s waiting for you on the patio.” The valet’s countenance dimmed as he gazed about the room. “Years of special confidences. Now no more.”

Justain stood straight. “Should we move the minister to a drawing room, Madeline?”

“The patio?” Her gaze floated toward the grand window. “No. I will meet him there.” She retrieved the flowers.

Justain touched her hand. “I know you won’t let me orchestrate this for you, but may I be at your side?”

“If you wish. Thank you for the acacias.” Madeline left the room.

“They’re mimosa,” he corrected. His attempts at helping seemed temporary. Blast it.

He caught up to her as she entered the patio and pulled out a chair for her.

She pulled a folded bit of paper from her pocket. Smoothing the tear-stained paper, she laid it flat on the table. His poor girl. How could he be of help? His wife leaned close to Vicar Williams and pointed to her list of instructions.

Justain always regarded her as intelligent, but now he saw her as a dutiful taskmaster. She’d handle the duties of Trenchard well, even giving his dictatorial butler a run for it. He was proud of his wife.

The grandfatherly man wrote in his book. “You intend to be there? Lady Madeline, that’s not proper.”

“It’s Lady Devonshire, now.” She refolded the paper. “I will be there.”

“I’m Madeline’s husband, Lord Devonshire.” Justain leaned over the man. “She is determined to do this.”

The vicar shook his head. “I see.”

“It’s a church service.” Justain gazed at Madeline. “You couldn’t stop any of the women in this family from doing as they pleased.”

“Well, it’s settled. Thank you, Reverend. Father’s service is set.” Her voice crumbled.

The grandfatherly man closed his book. “I’ll lead the funeral, starting at nine o’clock in the morning.”

She didn’t respond.

Justain laid his hand on her shoulder. “That’ll be fine.”

“Good, my lord. I must run along to prepare St. Mary’s for the service. The chapel will do right by the duke.”

Justain shook the vicar’s hand and escorted him from the patio. He saw the man off from the portico at the front of the house then followed the tiles back to the patio.

Madeline’s chair sat empty. She’d vanished.

He pounded the table. The mahogany wobbled. Where did she go? He thought he had made an impression upon her in the study, but now she left to be alone again. “Why is it so difficult for her to depend upon me?”

“Perhaps, she doesn’t know how, not having an older cousin to lean upon.”

Justain pivoted to see Devlin Delveaux standing at the threshold, Meriwether beside him.

The valet swung the reverend’s sack. “I’ll prepare a room for you.”

“By the garlands on the doors, I take it I’ve arrived too late.” Devlin removed his dark-grey cape and claimed a seat at the table. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Which? My wife’s or mine?” Justain gripped his stomach.

“You don’t have ailments similar to Richard’s. There are no tumours in your gut?”

“What? No, I didn’t eat breakfast.”

Devlin reared back in his chair and sighed as if relieved. His fingers combed through his salt-and-pepper hair. “If I know my cousin, there’s not a problem you can’t fix or a female you can’t charm.”

Justain sighed. “You remember when Mother died. I’ve been thinking about her lately.”

Devlin lost his grin. “I do. And I think about my parents upon occasion.”

“It feels like all hope is stripped away.” Justain slouched in his chair.

“You became close to the duke?” Devlin leaned forward. “I thought that your letter—”

“Mother never got the chance to be proud of me.”

Devlin shook his head. “Aunt Beatrice liked you in your regimentals.”

The bells of St. Mary’s tolled again. No soul in Hampshire could miss the death wail. Justain slapped the table. “Devlin, Madeline’s withdrawn, scurried off.”

The reverend propped his boot up and retied his laces. “Her father died. It’ll take some time for her to come to terms with her grief.”

“She’s pushing me away.” He yanked his cravat free.

Devlin chuckled. “She’s mirroring you, Justain. She’s picked up your bad habits. You shouldn’t expect her to give of herself, to be vulnerable to your whims, when you offer her nothing in return. The law of the harvest, cousin. You’re reaping what you’ve sown.”

Justain slumped against the table. “This is all a ploy to get me twisted up. I didn’t see that. I’m growing soft.”

“No.” His cousin shook his head. “Give her time, and she’ll trust you. That’s what you want from her?”

“Devlin, I should go find her, and let her know that you’re here.”

He caught Justain’s shoulder and stopped him from fleeing. “What do you want from Madeline? You’ve been trying to convince yourself that she’d be better off in Innesfrey and she hasn’t worked her way into your heart. Thou dost protest too much.”

“What do you know of matters of the heart? No one but God has touched yours.”

His cousin’s indigo eyes glazed over. “I’m flesh and blood, Justain. I’ve loved deeper than you’ve ever known.”

Justain dropped back in his seat. Dubious claim, but Devlin never lied. “I love my horse, Athena, too. That doesn’t count.”

“No, Justain. A woman whose beauty still haunts my dreams when my mind is undisciplined.”

It was true. “Who? Do I know her?”

Devlin picked a stray piece of lint from his cape. “Her name’s unimportant. Our union would’ve brought unhappiness to our families, hurt those closest to me.” Solemn, soulful, like the moaning of St. Mary’s, Devlin’s voice sounded heavy as if he felt the pain anew. “I’d rather be miserable than to bring you or the rest of my kin sorrow.”

“She was of common birth. I would not have cared. The old man would’ve allowed you anything.”

He took a seat, stretched out his long legs. “She’d never be happy as a vicar’s wife, so I let her go.” His indigo gaze rose to meet Justain’s. Pain burned in those orbs. “The thorn in my flesh runs deep, but I live to be Providence’s servant. And your keeper.”

Devlin was Justian’s blood-brother in so many ways, but how could this unflappable tower of strength carry a flaw?

“I’m always too caught up in my sphere to notice anything else. Devlin, I know dozens of lasses who would do anything to gain your attention.”

“They aren’t the memory of a summer storm in Trenchard’s heather.” He leaned back in his chair. “Delveaux men are as the vole. Either we mate for life like the country vole, or we’re never satisfied and keep looking for endless comfort similar to the town variety.”

“A vole? Devlin, I’d never guess you’d be a rat for love.”

St. Mary’s bell tolled again. Devlin looked toward the church. “It was the right thing to do to free her from an unfulfilling promise.”

Justain twisted his signet band. “I should let Madeline go?”

“Devonshire, you need your countess as much as she needs you. Sacrifice your healthy pride and offer to share your life. Allow yourself to be happy.” He yawned. “You’re a country vole, too.”

Justain stood. “I need to go find her. Meriwether should have your room prepared. Rest up from your latest camp meeting. Please conjure up some Bible verse to give her solace.”

“While I’m at it I should get one for you!” Devlin shouted as if to make sure Justain heard him.

Country vole? Devlin’s words haunted him. The old man was a town rat, as was Richard. Wasn’t Justain one as well, switching his fancy from woman to woman, from Caroline and now to Madeline?

 

****

 

The sun began to set before Madeline headed into her bedchamber. She eased the door open and slipped inside.

Justain sat by the fireplace with his feet up and his muscled arms folded. His cravat was undone, his sleeves wrinkled and rolled up to his elbows. “Decided to make an appearance before dark?”

“I thought you’d still be out riding.” She closed the door, sat on the end of the bed, and readied herself for a lecture.

“Did you lose all track of time? I’ve looked everywhere. I even had some of the groomsmen leave their posts to search for you.”

She took her shoes off and lined them near the footboard. “I’m sorry. I assumed you wouldn’t release the hounds until it was pitch black outside.”

“This isn’t funny. Do you want me alarmed? Does it bring you satisfaction of some sort?” His boots stomped the floor as he paced in front of her.

“It brings me no comfort. I needed to do something before tomorrow.” Madeline stared at the fireplace and watched the flames dance and shed embers.

“What did you have to do that I couldn’t help you complete? You’re still recovering, Madeline. There are villains who may want to hurt the wife of an earl or the daughter of a duke.”

“I won’t disappear on you again, and I’ll take more notice to insure that you know of my whereabouts.” Her voice pitched as she struggled not to be baited.

“I’m not trying to scold you. I want you to understand my concern is genuine. I’m waving a white flag and surrendering. You’re not making this easy.”

“I do understand, but how do I make you comprehend my feelings without alienating you?” She gazed in his eyes. “You’ve told me how you hate Devlin’s pestering about faith.”

“I don’t hate it. It makes me uncomfortable because of the life I’ve led.” His sky-blue eyes darted. The fork in the conversation must’ve surprised him.

“I don’t know how to make you happy.” She turned back to the fire.

He leaned forward. “I overheard your last conversation with your father. I didn’t mean to, but no one could have done a better job at trying to get him to make peace. Not even Reverend Delveaux, with his many gifts.”

She rubbed her leg.

“Devlin arrived today. I should get him to talk with you. The reverend’s good at empathy.”

Madeline swallowed hard. “You really don’t understand how I feel. What if I had that conversation with Father the night we arrived? What if I talked about faith the day I left? I’ll never know what might’ve happened.”

“Some things even the great Madeline cannot change. Why do you try to take upon the weight of the world? You did your best.”

“If I keep quiet, and I let another person I care about lose the opportunity for true peace…I won’t bear it.”

“Madeline, I want you to be free to talk with me about anything, even if it is spiritual in nature. If you’re going to let it eat at you, forget the consequences. Proclaim your faith.”

“This won’t work.” She lowered her head and tugged at the fringes of the rug with her feet. The truth overwhelmed her; he’d never see her point of view. “As soon as this is over, let’s make haste to Innesfrey. I’ll make no more complaints.”