“What a crush!” Pink with excitement, Lady Gertrude peered about the crowd with her lorgnette. “Lord and Lady Picard always have everyone to their ball, absolutely everyone! Some people complain they have pretensions, with the way their footman announces everyone as if this were a royal reception. They have a ballroom that covers almost their entire ground floor, but pretensions are acceptable in people who have five large estates.” With a shake of the finger at Remington, she added, “But I’m giving you a crass view of the English, Mr. Knight. Social acceptance does not depend on having wealth.”
“Of course not, ma’am,” he said to the petite lady on his left arm, while he thought, But it helps.
A cacophony of voices and music spilled through the arch that led to the ballroom as the duchess, Lady Gertrude, and Mr. Knight inched forward in the line to be introduced. Around them, the other guests pressed close, jockeying for position, everyone wanting to be first into the ballroom. They stared at the trio and whispered behind raised fans and gloved hands.
“Look, Madeline,” Lady Gertrude said, “everyone’s gaping at you!”
“I know.” The future duchess stared straight ahead, her shoulders stiff, her back straight.
Never had Remington seen a woman less comfortable with her own distinction. Never had he enjoyed the success of his own plan quite so much. The ton adored only one thing more than a romance, and that was a scandal. He had—and would—give them both. “Maybe it’s because of your hair,” he murmured.
Madeline shot him a glare.
“Everyone’s absolutely avid to discover all about you and dear Mr. Knight.” Lady Gertrude peered around him at her niece. “Dear girl, you’ll be the belle of the ball!”
“That’s putting a good face on it,” Madeline said. She seemed very aware that people strained to hear their conversation.
With a suave assurance he thought would put her at her ease, he said, “I’m sure my fiancée is the belle of any ball she ever attends.”
She barely glanced at him. Barely seemed to hear him. If he didn’t know better, he would say she had stage fright.
He wasn’t used to having a woman, any woman, ignore him, and now, tonight, she had done more than that. She had defied him, and now she tried to pretend he wasn’t here, at her side, as her fiancé.
In a deep voice, he called her name. “Madeline.” Still she ignored him. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and, at the last minute, he turned it and kissed her wrist.
That got her attention. She looked at him, her eyes as wide and startled as those of a doe who had never seen a human before.
All around them, the tittle-tattle of gossip grew louder.
“Mr. Knight!” Lady Gertrude used her most disapproving tone. She didn’t care whether she was overheard. “You will not do such a thing again. That is quite improper.”
“Until we are wed,” he answered. He didn’t care, either.
“Ever,” Lady Gertrude said with crushing certainty. Then she amended, “In public.”
Madeline said nothing but ducked her head and blushed, and he would have sworn he saw the glitter of tears on her lashes.
For a moment, just a moment, he felt guilty. Damn her. Most women of his experience used weeping like a weapon, to get their own way. His duchess seemed embarrassed by her tears and wanted no one to see. Not him. Not anyone else in the crowd.
He had investigated this woman thoroughly before he’d made his bid to win her hand, and everyone had told him she was at ease in society, bold and open, very aware of her importance but not snobbish with it. Why had the years abroad changed her so much? Or was this a game to win sympathy for her plight?
“La! There’s Lord Betterworth, and that’s not his wife.” Lady Gertrude fluttered her fingers in greeting. “Mr. Knight, can you behave yourself long enough for me to go talk to Mrs. Ashton? She always knows the newest on-dit, and she can bring me up to date on everything.”
“I’ll be the perfect English gentleman.” Bloodless and boring.
“You don’t mind, do you, dear niece?”
Clearly, Madeline didn’t want her to go. But Lady Gertrude’s eyes were shining, and he watched as his duchess lost the battle between desire and kindheartedness. “Do go, ma’am. Since I’ve been out of the country, I’m quite ignorant too, and will need to be caught up on every matter.”
“I’ll be back in time to be announced. Hold my place, Mr. Knight!”
“Don’t be late.” He utilized his command voice.
Lady Gertrude started to toss off a giddy reply. Then she saw he was serious and, recalled to her duty, said, “Of course I’ll be here. I haven’t forgotten that I’m the chaperon.” She almost skipped, so anxious was she to be away.
Quietly, Madeline said, “There’s no need for you to be mean to her. She intends no harm.”
Her reproof surprised him. “I’m not being mean to her. I hired her. I’m paying her well to make sure your reputation doesn’t suffer from our premarital association. I was reminding her of her duties. Furthermore, I believe you’re more comfortable with me when she’s close.” He heard Madeline’s quick intake of breath. “Aren’t you?”
Turning her head away, she didn’t answer.
He found himself distracted by the wisps of dark hair that caressed the pale skin at the back of her neck. Perhaps he could learn to live with this new cut…well, he had no choice, did he? At least until her hair grew back.
“Remington!” Clark battled his way to his side. “A pleasure to see you so soon.”
“Good to see you, too.” Remington turned to Madeline. “May I introduce her ladyship, the marchioness of Sherbourne, the future duchess of Magnus and my future wife? Your Grace, this is Mr. Clark Oxnard, president of Whittington Bank, and a man I’m proud to call my friend.”
Madeline stared at Clark in what looked like frozen dismay.
But Clark bowed and chuckled. “My lady, if I may say so, I had heard you look like your cousin, Miss Eleanor de Lacy, and you do. You do, indeed. I was acquainted with that young lady years ago before she left Blinkingshire, and if I didn’t know better, I would say you are her twin.”
Madeline bobbed a curtsy that looked as if she’d lost her balance. “Not twins. No, we’re not.”
“Of course not,” Clark said comfortably. “This fiancé of yours has asked me to be his best man at your wedding. I can’t tell you how honored I am.” He placed his hand on Remington’s arm. “One of the best chaps a man ever knew. You’re a lucky young woman. Of course, he’s one lucky man, too.”
“That I am,” Remington said.
“I’ll be at the church, prepared for every eventuality.” Clark nodded meaningfully at Remington.
At that reassurance, Remington experienced an upwelling of camaraderie unlike any he’d ever experienced. “Clark—thank you. You restore my faith in mankind.”
“Not at all.” Clark grinned. “I daren’t lose the bank’s most profitable client.”
Remington chuckled.
Madeline stared at the two men as if they were speaking a foreign language. She said nothing. No small talk. No courtesies. If Madeline was going to act like this to all of Remington’s associates, he would have a long discussion with her about the proper courtesies.
Clark seemed not to see anything wrong. “I’d best get back. Mrs. Oxnard is a tiny thing, and the crowd will shove her all over if I’m not with her. If we never see each other again tonight, I’ll see you at the wedding ceremony. A pleasure, Your Grace.”
“A pleasure, sir,” she echoed, and stared after him as if the back of him fascinated her.
Remington spoke softly into her ear. “Is it so dreadful to be seen on my arm?”
“What?” She glanced up at him and blinked at him in seeming amazement. At his question. At seeing him so close.
“You barely glanced at Clark, and you haven’t looked me in the eye since we arrived.” She was looking at him now. She was seeing him, for her lips opened slightly, and her lashes fluttered as she tried to maintain eye contact.
“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“I most certainly am not!”
“I’m properly dressed and, except for the occasional kiss on your wrist, fairly well behaved, so perhaps you’re worried that your reputation as an aristocrat will fail beneath the strain of your association with me.”
“The consequence of the duchess of Magnus is so great, even arriving at a ball on your arm, Mr. Knight, cannot damage it.” She smiled as she made the claim, as if she were amused by her own temerity. Under the influence of that merriment, her skin glowed, her eyes lit up, and her delightful dimples quivered in her cheeks.
With a start, he thought, She’s charming. He had expected to be challenged by this woman, not captivated. She surprised him, and surprise made him vaguely uneasy. Yet she was only a woman, and a woman whose father cared so little for her that he was willing to gamble her life away. Remington needed to remember that. He had the matter well in hand.
Touching his white gloved finger under her chin, he lifted her face to his. “You smile too seldom. I wonder why.”
Her amusement failed her. She wiped her hand down her skirt, as if, beneath her glove, her palm was sweaty. “I don’t enjoy balls.”
“You’re nervous.”
“It’s not every day I’m notorious.”
He knew better than that. He had heard the truth of the scandal that had driven her from England. “I would have thought you were used to it. You caused quite a lot of gossip when you ended your last engagement.”
Madeline blanched. She’d made a scene when she’d broken her betrothal to the earl of Campion, and now she knew that he was aware of her past. She recovered her composure and snapped, “When my past becomes your business, sir, I will let you know.”
“You’re going to be my wife.” He smiled down at her, playing to the crowd and at the same time letting her see his false affection. “Your past is now my business.”
“Marriage, they tell me, is a mutual exchange. I’ll tell you my secrets when you tell me yours.” She smiled at him with the same false affection he showed her, and with a gesture at the milling throng, invited, “Do go ahead. This is the appropriate place.”
“So the dormouse does roar, after all.” They moved to the front of the line. “You needn’t worry you’ll see Campion here. He’s out of town.”
She sounded excessively fervent as she said, “Good. I don’t want to see him.”
“Even if you did, it wouldn’t matter.” They stood at the top of a stairway that descended into the immense ballroom. Below them, black marble pillars rose to the blue-and-gilt ceiling. Windows rose, tall and narrow. The room was so packed that people could scarcely walk. Certainly no one danced to the music of the small orchestra that played in the corner, trying furtively to cover the babble with music.
The stage had been set. The play was afoot. Everything was going as planned.