The duke opened the carriage door and held out his hand. “The footmen are in short supply,” he said while holding Madeline’s gaze. “Might I be of assistance to you ladies?”
Elizabeth smothered a smile, speaking in a hushed tone. “I have never seen the duke this smitten before. It helps me believe in love again.” With those parting words, she moved from her seat across from Madeline and reached for the duke’s hand as he helped her from the carriage. Once settled on the ground, she turned toward Madeline with a wink. “I am off to choose a room and then join the others in the main room of the inn. I am famished. Madeline, it has been a pleasure.” She inclined her head toward the duke. “Your Grace,” she said, in parting.
The duke nodded farewell to Elizabeth and lifted his hand toward Madeline. “Would you do me the honor?”
In the torch lights of the inn, she noticed for the first time the state of his attire. His clothes were splattered with mud, his sleeve and jacket torn, and he had removed or lost his cravat. But his lack of attention to his appearance was not what concerned her. When he had raced to stop the carriage, and in the moments following, she had not noticed the state of his attire. She had not noticed blood on his clothes, but that did not mean he might not have sustained injuries.
“Were you injured when you stopped the carriage? If I had known, I would have tended your wounds.”
“A few cuts and scrapes. If I had sustained serious injury, I would have happily welcomed your attention. These injuries were the result of my encounter with Devonshire, however. My cousin had more men with him than expected. He escaped, and we feared he might have headed in this direction. The attack on your carriage might have been related to Devonshire, but we cannot be sure. We sent soldiers in search of him. I regret we did not arrive before he killed poor Mr. Tinker. He was a good man and must have been forced to work for Devonshire.”
The duke’s comment confirmed what Madeline had thought about the driver. “You knew the driver’s name,” she said.
“I make it a point of knowing everyone in my employ, especially those who watch over those in my care.” He paused. “You have not taken my hand.”
So preoccupied with worry, she had forgotten she was still perched on the bench seat in the carriage. She glanced at his bare hand. He had also misplaced his gloves, and his knuckles were bloodied and bruised. “You fought with Devonshire.”
“He and others.”
She lifted her gaze. “How do the other men look?”
He laughed, a full-throated laugh that sounded like a blessed release. “Arrested and in a sorry state. Only Devonshire and a handful of his men escaped. Most women would comment on my inappropriate attire, not wonder at the state of the men I fought.”
“I am not most women.”
“Of that I am very aware. You still haven’t taken my hand.”
She cocked her head, reliving the feel of his arms and his kisses. The warmth of his embrace chased away fear and doubt and the near-death experience of her runaway carriage. She felt safe and secure with him and confident that he felt as deeply for her as she did for him. But then the doubts rolled back into her thoughts to torment her.
Were these doubts normal for a woman in love? Her mother had been betrayed by the man she loved, and had said she had been young and foolish and was certain Madeline would not make the same mistake. But the image of her mother as a single mother, alone with a child to raise, had been forever imprinted on her thoughts. She must not make the same mistake her mother had. She must guard her heart and her virtue with equal ferocity.
Was the reason he had not offered marriage because he considered her a plaything, a distraction? Was he like the others of his class, wanting both money and a title, and a woman he could control?
“May I be of assistance,” the duke said, again offering his hand to help her from the carriage.
She nodded and fumbled to retrieve her sketches that had gotten scattered over the bench seat inside the carriage. A few of them fluttered to the ground as she stepped down.
The duke bent to pick them up. “These sketches are of the driver, Mr. Tinker. The ones of him before he was killed are a very good likeness. Those of him when he was shot, however, are a most inappropriate subject for a lady to draw.”
She bristled, feeling the skin on the back of her neck prickle. She remembered the argument she had had with him at Conclarton Castle over a woman’s right to paint the subjects she desired without a man’s censure, and her blood heated. “And what would be deemed an acceptable subject for a woman? Your Grace.” She said the last words with clenched teeth.
His eyebrows knitted together. “You must admit that women, by nature, are gentle creatures, and it is a man’s charge to protect them from the cruelties life offers. It was unfortunate you were forced to witness Mr. Tinker’s murder. But by painting his demise, you dwell on matters that can only cause you pain, and women are unsuited to deal with such things.”
“What I admit is that I was mistaken about you.” She snatched the sketches he had retrieved from the ground and marched toward the inn’s entrance. Standing at the entrance was Lord Dumont, with a broad grin.
“Well, done,” he said to Madeline as she approached. He offered her his arm. “You have done the impossible and rendered the duke speechless.”
“That man vexes me like no other I have ever met.”
“Robert is one of a kind and has that effect,” Lord Dumont said as they entered the inn. “We are in luck. The Earl of Greyson has arrived and has saved us a table.”
Madeline took in the Earl of Greyson. Her mother would describe him as fashionable and well mannered. He stood as though at attention, waiting for her and Lord Dumont to join him. She did not know what his game was, but courting her was not the goal. She suspected that, like so many of the other men vying for her attention, it was the size of her dowry which drew pretty words and false smiles, not an affection for her. She was so very weary of this game. Once she married, she would be subject to her husband’s whims, in return for security. Was security worth her freedom to choose her own path?
She had a possible glimpse of how that would look when the duke had expressed his disapproval of her sketches, and she did not like it one bit.
Music laced with the clatter of utensils and plates. The hum of conversation joined the smells of rich beef soups and baking bread. She inhaled, using the sight of a crowded inn with the inviting aromas to calm her breathing. Speaking with the duke was frustrating.
Lord Dumont patted the hand she had draped over his arm. “We must not lose sight of our goal to find you a husband. Two candidates, Lord Walford and Lord Kenmare, confided their interest in you and plan to join us at the Frost Fair. The duke’s younger brother, William, has also joined us at the inn.”
