Jeremy swept his hair from his forehead. “I have heard enough regarding Lady Montgomery to last a fortnight. Miss Mercer is what interests me. She sounds as though she is intelligent and brave. I like her.”
“And kind. But we both know emotions have no place in choosing a bride. At least for my brother and me.”
“You found Lady Montgomery in the arms of Devonshire. It is possible their relationship has been going on for some time and that it was consummated. Could you live with not knowing whether or not the child she carried was yours or if it belonged to someone she had a brush with once?”
“Bollocks. You come straight to the point of it.”
“Tell me you haven’t thought the exact same thing?”
“That is all I can think about.”
Chapter Thirteen
A week had passed since she had seen the duke, and Madeline longed to check on his progress. From her mother’s sources, she had learned that the duke’s wound had reopened after his confrontation with Scully. The duchess assured Madeline that all was well, as she had procured a doctor from the nearby village. She had turned away the physician Devonshire had procured, saying she wanted someone she trusted to care for her son.
After Lord Dumont’s visit, the doctor had declared that the duke was no longer to have visitors. The doctor had said it would over tax His Grace. Madeline had been denied access with the excuse that it would cause him too much excitement. There had also been a comment about it being improper. She had begun to hate that word.
Poppycock!
The distraction would do the duke some good, she reasoned, but this time her comments were ignored. She couldn’t imagine how an active man was tolerating inactivity. He must be going mad. What she was most worried about, however, was the attempt made on his life. Unlike the incident where the duke’s cousin had shot him, the man named Scully’s attempt had been deliberate. Scully had been dismissed for stealing, and the authorities declared the two cases unrelated. They advised the Conclarton family to treat it as such. Apparently, they had, and they went on as though the world had turned right side up again.
Madeline had not grown up as a member of the crème de la crème of English society, and therefore she did not understand their penchant to accept an explanation if it meant they could continue their lives unencumbered by worry. She could not reconcile the author’s account of why Scully had attacked the duke. If the man had been dismissed, how had he been able to gain access to the upstairs rooms of the castle? Had there been a lack of security, as the authorities suggested, or had Scully had help?
Madeline sat at a small table beside the window and sipped her cold tea and broke off a corner of a stale biscuit. She grimaced, setting the biscuit aside, and tried to rid her mind of these questions and concerns.
She had wanted black coffee, eggs, and slabs of bacon, ham, and a steak; rare. The look on the cook’s face when she requested the meal, combined with the duchess’s lecture that it was not proper for a lady to partake of such a robust meal, caused Madeline to rescind her order. As a result, she was hungry, which added to her irritation. If she was correct and Scully had not acted alone, that meant the duke was still in danger.
A winter sun peeked out from behind the clouds and filtered through the windows, capturing Madeline’s attention. Its light transformed the pale pink and yellow, creating new shades and shadows. She usually didn’t draw indoor scenes, but there was something about the play of light on the room that intrigued her.
She retrieved her drawing pencils and sketchbook from the chair and arranged them on the table and began to sketch. Her mother had suggested she learn needlework, as all the fashionable young ladies of thetonwere proficient in the artform. Madeline gave her mother a polite “no” in response.
The duke’s twin sisters, in matching blue dresses and blonde ringlets, chased each other into the sitting room. Their faces and mannerisms were so identical it was difficult to tell them apart. Following close behind was a woman around Madeline’s age, wearing a high-waisted butter-yellow dress with puffed short sleeves.
“Sophia. Lydia. Please slow down. Your mother does not approve of you running through the house in such an unladylike manner. The two of you are making cakes of yourselves. In a few short years you will be of eligible age for your first season. Gentlemen of thetonwant a suitable bride, not a chit.”
“La, Miss O’Brian,” Sophia, the taller of the twins said. “Lydia and I have not decided if we will marry if it means we would be separated from each other.”
Miss O’Brian let out what sounded like a longsuffering sigh. “Yes, you have made that comment frequently, but I assure you, when you are older you will change your mind. It is every woman’s dream to have her own family.”
Lydia jutted out her chin. “We will not. We have made a blood oath.” She thrust out her hand, proudly displaying a small cut in the center of her hand. When she did so, Sophia held out her hand as well, showing a similar scar.
“Oh, my!” Miss O’Brian said. “What will your mother say, and where did you get such a notion? Blood oaths? I have never heard of such a thing.”
“We read about blood oaths in one of father’s history books of the Anglo-Saxons,” Sophia said.
Sophia’s comment silenced the governess, as Madeline suspected it was meant to do. How could a mere governess criticize the girls for reading a book in the old duke’s library? Madeline admired the twin’s ingenuity, smothering a smile.
The governess cleared her throat. “We will discuss the matter at another time. For now, let us resume our geography lessons.” She nodded for the twins to follow her to a table near the fireplace.
“May I join you?” A blond gentleman wearing a dark blue waistcoat with gilt buttons and light-colored breeches, bowed his greeting. The man was Lord William Oswyn, the duke’s younger brother. She had met him at dinner last night and they had gotten on amiably. He wanted to know all about the wilds of America and if she had ever seen a buffalo or witnessed a gunfight. She had said yes to both questions and then had to describe both events in great detail.
She nodded her consent and motioned toward the chair opposite hers. “Have you heard how your brother fares?”
“He is well. His fever has not recurred. But the doctor feared it might and wants him confined to his room for another day. On a related topic, the authorities assured me that Scully was acting on his own. A grudge against the family, or some such.”
Madeline doubted that seriously.
She went through the motions of adding sugar to her tea to keep busy, lest she say something out of order. The family clearly wanted the matter settled and forgotten.
