Chapter Twenty-Three
Alonzo was frozenin place, shocked and filled with rage—loss and pain.
“Alonzo,” Madeline said. “Say something, anything.”
His hands were fisted at his sides, and he pumped them to find relief from his anger. If Madeline Hershey were a man… oh how he wished for the briefest moment she were.
“Your Grace,” she said haughtily.
He faced her. “Come with me, Madeline.”
She grinned triumphantly, holding out her hand. “Of course.”
He took it and dragged her up the stairs and onto the balcony, then into the crowded ballroom. No one could miss his displeasure, for he could barely breathe evenly, let alone contain his emotions, the desperation of losing his beloved Julia. He stood in the center of the room and looked about for his host. When he found the duke, he called out, “Your Grace, may I have a word?” His powerful voice carried over the music, and the orchestra stopped playing.
“Has something happened, Farrington?” The Duke of Stanhope hurried to his side.
“Yes,” Alonzo said, his grip tightening around Madeline’s fingers. “This woman is an imposter and has caused great harm to one of your invited guests.”
At the accusation, Madeline struggled to be free of him, but he held on tight.
“Oh?” The duke stared at Miss Hershey. “What have you done, madam?”
Mr. Garland rushed over. “Enough, Farrington.”
A collective gasp sounded at the man’s impertinence to a duke.
“I have told you before, Mr. Garland, if you wish to keep company with people above your station, you will learn to speak to them properly,” Alonzo chastised him.
Left with no choice, Mr. Garland bowed. “I apologize, Your Grace. What has my sister done?”
Alonzo thrust the locket at him. “This.”
Mr. Garland stared at the miniature in confusion. “I do not understand, sir. That is my son.”
“Yourson?” Alonzo asked incredulously.
“Yes. Devon. He is back home in America. My French wife died two years ago. He is all I have left.”
Relief swept over Alonzo.
“Let me go, Farrington!” Madeline writhed and kicked at his shins.
“Madam,” the Duke of Stanhope gave her a disapproving look. “You have darkened my doorstep, harassed my guests, and made a spectacle of yourself. I must ask you and your brother to gather your things and leave here immediately. My carriage will take you wherever you need to go.”
“Alonzo,” Madeline screamed. “Why did you betray me?”
“Mr. Garland,” Alonzo spoke quietly. “Please take control of your sister now.” He gently pulled her in his direction, and Garland did just that, dragging her out of the ballroom.
But not before she yelled out, “What about the five thousand pounds I donated to your gallery?”
Stanhope leaned close to Alonzo. “I will gladly give it back.”
“No. I know of a worthy cause that could use a donation like that.”
“Oh?”
“Lady Julia and Lady Willa are organizing a concerto to raise funds for the widows and orphans of the war.”
