“But why were you secure in Devonshire’s affections to the degree that he might bring you into his confidence?”
“He is a man deep in debt, and when your brother died, he visited me with both an offer to console me and an offer of marriage. I wanted neither and, in a panic, I told him the story I had told the queen regarding your brother’s dying wish that I marry you. I believe that is the reason your cousin tried to kill you. You must believe me that I did not know it was you who burst into your father’s rooms that day. In fact, I had gone to your father’s rooms to find a book your mother had mentioned she believed she had misplaced. Devonshire surprised me. I was trying to fight him off when you appeared.”
“If Devonshire discovered your treachery, he would not seek your ruin but would want you killed also. You risk much, and I apologize for misjudging you.”
“Women are always underestimated. I know that I ask much of you to continue this ruse. I have seen how you look at Miss Mercer.”
“We are friends.” He winced at the word choice he had used, realizing he wished it was not so. He took a calming breath. “I do this for the memory of my brother and father. I would be honored to help you bring Devonshire to justice.”
“You must promise me that you will tell no one about our arrangement. I do not want to place more people in danger.”
“You have my word as a gentleman. The world will believe we are engaged to be married. When Devonshire is behind bars, you are free to break off our engagement. If I can do anything to help you find a suitable husband, please let me know.”
“Her Majesty promised to grant me a man of my choosing when this is concluded, but I have no intention of accepting her gift. She would essentially be forcing a man to marry me against his will. That is the sort of experience women feel when they are placed on the marriage market each season. It is dreadful and demeaning. We are judged by our appearance and the size of our dowry. I will marry for love or not at all. Besides, I have little interest in remaining in England. I will travel to the Americas. If Miss Mercer and her mother are an example of the people who live there, I know I will love it very much.”
Robert unlocked a drawer to his desk and withdrew a velvet-covered box with a gold clasp. He opened the box and presented it to Lady Montgomery. “This ring belonged to my grandmother, and my father requested that I give it to the bride of my choosing. If we are to convince thetonthat we are indeed an engaged couple, your wearing of this ring will go far in proving our intent.”
She gazed toward the box, shaking her head. “I cannot accept it. It is too precious a gift and holds great meaning, as it will be passed down to each generation. It is a ring you will hand down to one of your sons and he to his sons. You must give it to the woman you intend to marry and who will bear your children.” She slipped a gold chain from around her neck and removed a ring with a cabochon ruby. “This belonged to my mother and has brought me luck,” she said slipping it on her finger. “We will tell everyone that it was a gift from you to me.”
There was a knock on the door.
Robert stepped from around the desk and reached for Lady Montgomery’s hand. “That will be Winfield, inquiring, no doubt, about castle business or the ball Lord Dumont and his wife have planned. We will attend and show thetonthat we are pleased with our arrangement.
“Then the masquerade begins,” she said.
“Indeed. Enter, Winfield.”
Chapter Eighteen
Preparation for the night of the ball at Lord Dumont’s estate had been a whirlwind. Madeline entered the ballroom as the orchestra began to play. Her mother had surprised her with a gown fit for a princess, in ice-blue silk with seed pearls and crystal beads. In comparison, all the ladies in the ballroom were dressed like jewels in a crown, and their escorts were in formal attire.
Ready for the dancing to begin, the men and women faced each other in the same manner as they had under the tutelage of the music instructor, polite smiles frozen in place and the hum of conversation blending with the notes of music. The dance commenced, each step perfection.
At the bottom of the staircase, a woman in a rose-pink gown approached Madeline with a man she recognized as Lord Dumont. His jacket matched the woman’s gown.
“You must be Lady Madeline,” the woman said. “This handsome man is my husband, Lord Dumont, the Duke of Conclarton’s friend. Please call me Molly. I detest titles. I am told you need a husband.”
“Wife,” Lord Dumont said, frowning. “Why would you be so bold? You just met Miss Mercer!”
“Because it is the truth.”
“But perhaps she already has a suitor.”
Molly threaded her arm through Madeline’s. “Do you? Have a suitor, that is?”
“Sadly, no.”
Molly patted Madeline’s arm and gave a satisfied glance toward her husband. “As usual, dear husband, I am right. Madeline, why don’t you and I have a chat, and you can tell me the type of man you would like, and I will find him for you.”
“Molly,” Lord Dumont said. “Choosing a husband is not like choosing a dress for a ball.”
“I beg to differ. In all the ways that matter, it is the same. You need to find a husband that fits. He must complement you. If a man, like a dress, is too rigid, you will not be able to breathe and will feel unable to move freely. And so it goes. Off with you, husband.”
He gave a slight bow. “I will take my leave, my love.”
The moment Lord Dumont had left, Molly drew Madeline into an alcove. “You are the woman who saved the duke’s life. Am I correct?”
“I am given too much credit. His Grace had things well in hand.”
