“I did, but when I saw you and the duke had things well in hand, I kept in the shadows and met a few of the servants in the aftermath. They love to gossip, especially when they recognize a kindred spirit. Now we must get you changed. The hem of your dress is in tatters and the rest wrinkled. You must always look your best. It is not uncommon for a lady to change her gown three or four times during the day.”
Her mother used the bell cord on the wall to ring for assistance.
“I worry about this plan of ours,” Madeline said. “How did you talk me into this scheme? It was doomed from the beginning. We will never pull this off. Besides, I do not want to marry.”
“Of course you want to marry. What a silly comment. That is the reason we have come to this dreary country.”
“Marriage is little more than servitude. I want my independence. I want to own my own business.”
Roseline’s cheroot went out and she relit it. There was a sprinkling of gray in her hair that instead of tarnishing the red tresses gave them silver highlights that caught the candlelight. “Fancy words, said by women of means, or women with little sense on how the world turns. You want a business like mine, then?” The question was asked in an even tone. “All glitter on the outside, and tarnish and broken promises on the inside?”
“No,” Madeline said and looked away toward the embers of coal burning in the fireplace box. “I have other ideas. I want to open an art gallery.”
Her mother settled herself beside a table at the open window and took a drag on her cheroot, nodding slowly. “A grand idea. I approve, but for the lofty goal, connections are more valuable than a rich purse. A titled husband will help in this regard. More reason to continue our plan. And, must I remind you, we didn’t have a choice. The judge launched a spirited campaign against me. The charges, although false, will take time and money to dispute. We also have that professor to contend with, who threatened to reveal you as the daughter of the owner of a brothel. He and the judge will be dealt with, but it will take time.” She took another puff from her cheroot, leaned back in the chair, and glanced toward the window.
“I wish you would not smoke.”
“Leave me to my small vices. The doctor said it would improve my health.”
“There is nothing wrong with your health. I do, however, doubt your judgment if you think I can draw the attention of a nobleman who will ask me to marry him. A small waist I can manage. Keeping my opinions to myself will take more concentration.”
Her mother flicked ash from the cheroot into an empty teacup. “I understand all too well. You are your mother’s daughter. But please do your best.”
“Even so, why would one of the titled men here choose a nobody like me over ladies with breeding who can trace their ancestors back into the golden age of the Tudors and beyond?”
Her mother took a long pull on her cheroot, then exhaled, enveloping where she sat in a cloud of cobweb-thin smoke. “Trust me. The size of a lady’s purse will catch more attention in these times than her pedigree.”
“Mother, before we left Boston, you were the owner of one of the most successful brothels in the city. Regardless of your wealth, I doubt these high-born nobles would approve of how you earned your money.”
“It isourmoney, dearest, not just mine alone. You might not have been one of my working girls, but you had skill with numbers and kept my ledgers in order. And your skill with a pistol kept the men in line and respectful before we hired Liam. These noble families, with their lazy, do-nothing sons and daughters who believe working is beneath them, have run out of money to support their estates and expensive habits. They look to the wealthy heirs and heiresses of England’s former colonies for husbands and wives for their children, and we will oblige them. We are here to secure you a marriage and a title.”
Madeline cringed. “Must you put it that way?”
“I want you to have a better life than I had.”
There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a woman servant’s request for permission to enter.
Roseline stabbed out her cheroot. “Perfect timing. The woman will be here to help you change your dress.”
Madeline closed her eyes in frustration. “Why is it that I must keep reminding everyone of this simple reality—The. Duke. Is. Asleep. He won’t know I’m there. And if he does wake up, he was shot and will be so groggy he won’t notice what I’m wearing or how I look.”
Her mother gave a soft, husky laugh. “He is a man, and I’ve seen how he looks at you. Believe me, daughter, the duke will notice.”
Chapter Ten
A short time later, Winfield knocked on Madeline’s bedroom door. When she opened it, he had remarked on the beauty of her long-sleeved sunflower-yellow dress as being just the thing to brighten the duke’s spirits. She convinced her mother to join her to help change the duke’s bandages, since Her mother had more experience tending wounds than Madeline did.
As they arrived in the duke’s rooms, Winfield assured them the duke was wearing breeches and a shirt. For some reason, those details were important. Her mother, however, insisted it was impossible to tend to the duke’s bullet wound if he were wearing a shirt. Winfield had gone pale but agreed.
With the Duke’s bullet wound cleaned, and new bandages applied, Madeline pulled a wooden chair beside the bed. Cleaning the wound had revealed the bleeding was stopped and there was no evidence of infecting, relieving some of Madeline’s concerns. Winfield, a man of his word, had employed Mrs. Kenworthy as chaperone, in the eventuality that Madeline’s mother might leave Madeline alone with the duke.
A round and cheerful middle-aged woman, her salt-and-pepper hair tucked snugly inside her cap, Mrs. Kenworthy had brought her needlework and the promise to help where needed. At the moment, after draining her tea, she had fallen asleep on a leather-bound chair and was snoring as loud as thunder clouds.
Madeline double-checked that the pistol was secure in the bedside table’s drawer. Satisfied, she sat in the chair near the bed. She wasn’t expecting trouble, but the whole matter of Devonshire shooting the duke had left her unsettled. There was something in Devonshire’s eyes that reminded her of a caged animal.
“I do not intend to leave the duke and am not tired. I believe I will stay here for a while longer. I discovered a book on the shelf and plan to read to him.”
Roseline folded the unused linens and set them aside at the foot of the bed. “You have grown quite attached to this the duke in a short time. You’ve always been one to bring home strays, but be warned, this is different. You must not become attached. This is a man, and many fall in and out of love with no more regret than the women here have for a discarded dress or bonnet. This is no ordinary man. His position and power make him dangerous to a woman’s gentle heart.”
