Madeline paused by the fire to stare into the flames. “You should have seen him. He looked out of my reach. I could never compete with someone like Lady Montgomery.”
Her mother rose to join her by the fire. “It is for the best, then.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Nothing is easy, but neither is it impossible. I have it on good authority that the duke hired a dance instructor for the ball that will take place at Lord Dumont’s estate. There will be many eligible, titled gentlemen in attendance.”
“Lady Montgomery and the duke are not in love.”
“True. But these people are not like us. Love is not their main concern. Women might dream about finding a love match, or at the least learn to care for their husbands. Most are forced to reconcile to an amiable existence, content with children and a secure future. Their main concern is duty. Now you must hurry. The dance instructor is scheduled to arrive within the hour.”
“I do not know why learning to dance is so important.”
“The art of the dance in England is another form of sexual foreplay. Flirting is acceptable—in fact, it is encouraged. An innocent brush of the skin takes on new meaning. A look or a smile holds longing and romantic possibilities. It is not uncommon for a man to make an offer of marriage to a woman simply because he enjoyed dancing with her.”
“A lifetime together because your partner danced well. That is frightening.”
“Or very romantic,” her mother said.
Chapter Sixteen
Waiting for the dance master to arrive, Madeline warmed her hands by the fire in what she had learned had been the great hall in the castle before it had been repurposed as the assembly room, where people gathered for balls, to see and be seen. The high ceilings, with carved wood beams and hunting murals, retained the look and feel of medieval times. Floor-to-ceiling windows and doors led to terraces, while sterling silver chandeliers, polished to a high gloss, dropped down on golden cords.
She loved it all.
Her favorite stories, as a child, had been about knights and their ladies, romantic tales of true love, dragons, and good conquering evil. That was one of the reasons she had warmed to England. She loved the history of the place and that this castle was hundreds of years old. She had spent half a day exploring the hallways and rooms, viewing portraits that spanned generations. She wondered about the sober-looking people and what their lives must have been like. Had they married for love? Had their lives been adventurous or dull? She made up stories about them and longed to ask Robert the history of his ancestors.
Madeline also wanted to ask the duke if he felt the same sense of awe that she did, or did he take it all for granted? But that was foolish, and her mother was right. Madeline shouldn’t spend more time with him. She should find ways to avoid him. She should explore the gardens and woods on her own. She didn’t mind the weather. Truth be told, she enjoyed the cooler climate and how the snow transformed the trees into a magical forest. The only negative she had was that they needed more Christmas decorations, but she did not know how to approach the subject without sounding as though she were being critical.
Her mother had insisted that she change into another new dress, arguing that the right gown might make a man fall in love faster. The one her mother had chosen was a lighter green than Madeline usually wore, and the neckline deeper. Her mother said it brought out the color of Madeline’s eyes. Madeline believed her mother had officially lost her mind. But, to be honest, she felt like a fairy princess in the gown, with its beaded bodice and Belgian lace trimming at the sleeves and hemline.
Madeline nodded as people drifted into the room. She had started to recognize the guests and their moods—or peculiarities as her mother called them. Mrs. Carmicle and her daughter, Veronica, were the first to arrive, and when Veronica was nervous, she fidgeted with the hem on her sleeve. They came from Texas oil money and were friendly and open. The next duo was Mrs. Abernathy, a banking widow, and her daughter Sarah. They kept to themselves, but Madeline noticed that Sarah paid particular attention to the duke’s brother, William.
The flood gates seemed to open and three more sets of mothers with their well-dressed daughters arrived, followed by a half dozen English-born bachelors.
Madeline liked everyone she had met very much. Her mother had given Madeline the names of the numerous guests staying in the castle, as well as their backgrounds and, in some cases, scandals. What passed as a scandal amused Madeline. One young lady’s scandal resulted when she forgot to wear gloves to a ball, and another when a lady refused to dance when asked. Madeline commented to her mother that the scandals were silly but in awe of her mother that she had gained so much information in a short period of time.
Her mother countered that if there was a juicy scandal waiting for discovery, her mother would find it. People with wealth considered their servants invisible and of little consequence. As a result, they spoke openly around them. Servants loved to gossip, and Madeline’s mother was friendly and easy to talk to, a perfect combination.
Madeline heard the chattering sound of voices as a group of three young women entered the room. These were dark-haired beauties, wearing the latest fashion, each in a slightly different color, and matching pearl necklaces. From her mother’s description, these were the MacAfee sisters, whose father was a wealthy land baron. Their father had been accused of cheating on his partner, but the charges had never been proven. The sisters were here to marry a man with a title, with the belief that an English title would repair their family’s tarnished reputation.
More entered. There was a tall, slender woman with chestnut brown hair, accompanied by her small elderly mother. Her father, an import-export merchant, was too busy to make the journey to England. Another woman, similarly companioned, could boast a father who owned a large fabric distribution business in South Carolina. A dog yipped, and Madeline knew the cute animal belonged to the Texas heiress whose family was in the oil business. Men also started to arrive. They were of various sizes, shapes, and ages. According to her mother, they were here to find a rich American wife.
Madeline had remarked to her mother that she had not expected so much competition. Her mother dismissed Madeline’s concerns, spinning a classic saying to illustrate her point. “Cream rises,” she had said. “And you are the cream, my child.”
Madeline drew back from the fire, at odds with where to stand as she viewed the crowd, searching for the duke. As of yet, he had not arrived. He had mentioned he would attend. Had he forgotten? Or had he been pulled away on a business matter—or worse, changed his mind? Or perhaps he was with Lady Montgomery… This last thought dampened her mood. She must remember they were only friends, and that was all they would ever be.
She refocused.
Despite her mother’s encouraging words, Madeline was at a disadvantage. English men expected a prospective bride to be proficient at certain things. They cared less for the mind and more for appearances. At the top of the list was the ability to dance, and Madeline lacked that skill.
On the journey by ship from New York to England, her mother’s intention had been to hire a dance instructor. Unfortunately, there was only one lesson. The winter storms and bouts of seasickness kept people inside their cabins.
Their dance instructor on the ship had spent the first lesson going over proper ballroom etiquette. He stressed that a lady could not refuse to dance with a gentleman unless already engaged for that dance. A lady had to wait for a gentleman to ask her to dance. If a lady did not know the gentleman, she would have to wait for an introduction before accepting his invitation to dance. The list went on, with stricter rules for the gentlemen. Their instructor ended with the promise that in subsequent lessons he would teach English country dances, waltzes, quadrilles, and the traditional end of the night dance: the Boulanger.
But that never happened. The ocean had been too stormy and rocky, rendering most of the people, including the dance instructor, too seasick to consider anything except keeping to their beds.
The duchess entered the assembly room with an entourage in tow—a portly man with red cheeks and hair that stood up on his head like winter wheat, and whose waistcoat looked so tight the buttons threatened to pop, and his opposite, a reed-thin man with pinched lips and thinning hair.
