It was easy enough to put thoughts of Tristan aside while she breakfasted diligently. Every now and then, flashes popped into her mind of his hands sliding over her waist, her ribcage, her breasts. She couldfeelhis fingers still, warm and gentle and thrilling. None of his touches had beenenoughin a way she could not quite explain. She suspected that he knew as much, which was infuriating.
But I did the right thing,she reminded herself.I know that I did. For Adam’s sake, as well as my own.
What a pitiful thing it would be to be a woman who is madly in love with her husband, a fellow who could not care less about her.
That was the painful truth of it all, wasn’t it? She might fall in love with Tristan, but he would not fall in love with her. After all, he had grown bored with lovelier women than herself.Miss Juliana Bolt was his latest victim, although Madeline was privately relieved not to see the woman very frequently at the moment.
I’m sure he would grow fond of me. But I am not sure thatfondnessis enough. After all, Papais fond of me. Dorothea is fond of me, as is Charlotte.
This is something other than fondness.
Yes, shehaddone the right thing in putting a stop to things with Tristan last night. She could not have said with any certainty where it might all have ended, but she was fairly certain that it would not have ended with a chaste peck on the cheek and a withdrawal to their separate beds.
Of course, she was now wondering where Tristan had gone so early in the morning. What if her refusal of him had sent him skittering back to an old mistress, or perhaps in search of a new one? If he had gone back to Juliana Bolt, the woman’s triumph would have been difficult to stomach. She would, after all, have won, and a duke was a fine prize.
She swallowed thickly, taking a large mouthful of bacon.
“Youarehungry,” Dorothea remarked with approval. “I do like to see a young woman with an appetite. I don’t much like this modern fashion of ladies barely eating. Between their tight-laced corsets and the fashion for willowy beauties, ladies scarcely dared eat at all.”
“Not I,” Charlotte mumbled, helping herself to some scrambled eggs.
“My husband was fond of thin women. At least he wanted hiswifeto be thin,” Dorothea corrected. “I believe that his mistresses were often full-figured women.”
Madeline choked. “Mistresses?”
Dorothea smiled wryly at her. “You must have known of my late husband’s reputation. They say that half of the bastards in England are his, and a third of the Scottish ones.”
She swallowed. “And didn’t you mind?”
Dorothea regarded her for a long moment. “What do you think, Madeline?”
There was silence after that. Madeline felt almost ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That was a foolish thing to ask. It’s just that you seem so confident and unconcerned.”
“I am neither of those things. At least, Iwas notthose things. It upset me very much, but I quickly learned not to broach the subject or act as if I cared. It would do me no good, and he would never give up a plaything until he was ready.”
Madeline shuddered. “What a vile man.”
“Yes,” Dorothea agreed equably. “He was a vile man. But he is long dead. Anthony and Tristan, my two precious boys, are nothing like him, thank God.” She paused, meeting Madeline’s eyes. “Despite Tristan’s rather shocking reputation, he isnotlike his father. He would rather die than be like him. Tristan will not shame you in society, I can say that with confidence.”
“Not publicly, at least,” Madeline muttered, a little more sourly than she intended. She could not, of course, publicly explain to Tristan’s mother that she was not going to be a proper wife to him, and that it was all arranged that Tristan would amuse himself wherever and with whomever he liked, so long as he did not embarrass his wife. She suspected that she had already said too much, and blushed under Dorothea’s steady gaze.
“You need a change of scenery, I think,” Dorothea said suddenly, brushing her palms together briskly.
And a change of subject,Madeline thought. She was entirely sure that Tristan had gone off to seek solace in the arms of a lady-friend, and she was equally sure that it was directly as a result of her denying him.
She was a little worried about how despondent and angry this made her feel.
Dorothea reached for the pile of invitations sitting on a silver platter and sifted through them.
“You need some amusement tonight,” she murmured. “Darling Adam is quite recovered, and Joan will be able to care for him.Now, let me see what we have. A soiree at Lady Judith Woole’s? No, I think not. Herintimategatherings always include half of London, and I don’t think you’re in the mood for a crush. Not Sir William’s dinner party. The man chooses the oddest guests, and the conversation always lags. No, no, no… Ah! James has invited us to the opera! James is Tristan’s cousin, you know. James requires better friends, I think. How do you feel about the opera?”
Madeline gave a faint smile. “It sounds wonderful, Dorothea.”
Whatever takes my mind off the fact that my husband is probably in the arms of a beautiful opera singer at this very moment.
“The abbess is extremely keen that the girls get just as sharp an education as the boys, you see,” Sister Abigail explained, leading Tristan through the narrow hallways of St. Naomi’s Orphanage. The large, sprawling stone building was always cold, but it was also one of the few orphanages where the children were appropriately clothed against the weather and where they had sufficiently warm blankets on their beds.
