Madeline followed her friend into the park. There were neat, gravel-laid trails meandering all over the grass, and hard-packed dirt tracks that led through trees and foliage. Ladies andgentlemen wandered around in the distance, in twos and threes, craning their necks to see who might be promenading early.
“I don’t much like coming into the Park during the fashionable hours,” Madeline confessed. “It’s too busy, and everybody is looking at me.”
“I hate to tell you, but you’re a duchess now,” Charlotte sighed. “You’ll be looked at very often for the rest of your life. Best to get used to it.”
Madeline didn’t bother arguing. It seemed best to conserve her energy. They toiled up a long slope, which crested at the top of a low hill overlooking the rest of the park. Colorful gowns made their slow way along the paths below, some in twos, others escorted by gentlemen. A gaggle of girls, debutantes, shuffled along, deep in conversation, giggling between themselves and flanked by a tired-looking chaperone.
A sense of unease landed on Madeline’s shoulders. She rolled them, trying to shake off the discomfort. Almost at once, she understood where the feeling had come from.
Almost everybody close enough to glimpse her and Charlotte was gawking at them. One dandy raised a quizzing glass. Madeline felt her cheeks redden and glanced away.
“They’re all looking at me,” she whispered. “Charlotte, I can’t stand it. Let’s go home.”
Before Charlotte could respond, an unfamiliar voice broke into their conversation.
“Ah, Your Grace. What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”
They flinched, spinning around. A tall, curvaceous woman stood there, looking down at them both. She was exceptionally beautiful, with features that would not have been out of place on a Grecian statue, and a mane of red hair barely contained by a simple knot at the back of her head. She stared at Madeline, a faint frown between her brows, as if she were trying to work her out.
I have seen her before,Madeline thought, faintly confused.Where have I seen her before?
Charlotte gave a squawk. “I know you! You are Miss Bolt! I saw you perform at the theater last year.”
The woman inclined her head, and at that moment Madeline knew where she’d seen her. This was the woman who had sat beside Tristan at the poetry night.
“Yes, Miss Bolt,” Madeline managed. “I saw you atLa Vestal. You were very good.”
“Yes,” Miss Bolt answered simply. “I was. Forgive my speaking to you without an introduction, but you must know that people in my circle do not bother with such formalities. It slows things down, you know.”
“I’m sure,” Madeline echoed. She felt the urge to stand on her tiptoes, although that would still not put her on Miss Bolt’s eyeline. Not even close.
“I came to speak to you because I simply had to offer my congratulations,” Miss Bolt continued, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “You are a duchess now, and you caught a man deemed uncatchable.”
Madeline blushed. “I did notcatchhim.”
“I was acquainted with your husband, you know,” Miss Bolt added after a moment. “He has many unusual hobbies that society is unaware of. A love of poetry, for example.”
The hair on the back of Madeline’s neck began to prickle. She was aware of Charlotte stiffening beside her. Swallowing, Madeline glanced at her friend.
“Charlotte, would you give Miss Bolt and me a moment?”
Charlotte did not seem pleased, but she gave a brusque nod and stamped off to a respectable distance, her arms folded tight. Madeline turned back to Miss Bolt, who was smiling faintly.
“They say you are a dull little wallflower, Your Grace,” Miss Bolt remarked. “But I suspect you have hidden depths. Areyoufond of poetry?”
Madeline reminded herself that Miss Bolt could not possibly recognize her from that poetry night, as they had all been masked. To be sure, Madeline’s mask was only a domino, and perhaps she had caught a glimpse… no, that couldn’t be true.
She lifted her chin.
“As much as anyone is. What do you want, Miss Bolt?”
The taller woman looked distinctly amused at this. “You can be sharp when you want to, can’t you? If the circumstances were different, perhaps you and I might have been friends.”
“And what are these circumstances of which you speak? I shall assume you were once an intimate acquaintance of my husband’s.”
Miss Bolt glanced away, pursing her lips. “There is no need to be vulgar. I suspect our friendship is at an end.”
Madeline swallowed hard, trying to analyze Miss Bolt’s expression. Was she disappointed? Hurt? Had she been in love with Tristan?
