“And…” Her aunt’s feeble smile wobbled. “It doesn’t do to be always harping on about things of no interest to anyone. I suppose itisimpolite, only my emotions get the better of me and I forget myself.”
“I suspect they all would have listened longer if they’d sooner been able to forget you were a country parson’s daughter!”
Her aunt looked up, a splash of colour in her cheeks at the reminder of this very old embarrassment.
“I’m sorry.” Madelaine hurried forward and knelt down, clasping her aunt’s hands in hers. “I’m only so frustrated that you, with your loving heart, only ever wanting to do such good, aren’t esteemed as you should be. And it is worse that the people judging are so…so…”Infuriating, abominable, despicable, confusing.“So very unworthy themselves. It is all back-to-front, and it drives me to agonies of frustration.”
“Don’t despair, my love.” Her aunt freed a hand from between Madelaine’s and smoothed it over her hair. “I sometimes feel that same frustration too, or a shade of it, but I remind myself how lucky I am. An independent widow, with more than enough means to support myself in every comfort I need, and the freedom to help all those causes I care most about. It matters not what balls I do and don’t get invited to, not when I remember all the people I’ve helped. We are doing good, however small it sometimes seems.” She sighed, then stroked Madelaine’s hair again, a brighter note springing into her voice. “And now you are finding this new way of approaching things with Lord Cotereigh’s help! Perhaps thereisa way to do it all and court society too and thereby make an even greater impact than we ever thought possible. Just think what you might achieve with his help! We have much to be thankful for.”
Madelaine forced herself to nod and smile. She got back to her feet.
“You are right, as always. I am emotional of late, it seems.”
Her aunt’s smile was soft with sympathy. “It’s April, dear. You know you have reason to be kind to yourself.”
Madelaine jerked another nod, having to turn away. Yes, April! Always such a difficult time. And for almost a full dayand night, her mind had been preoccupied with another man entirely.
Guilt, sharp and sickly, flooded her to the bone. Lord Cotereigh wasn’t worth thinking of. He was an annoying fly. An alarming, large, dark horsefly, the kind that took great painful bites.
“I will remember what you said, Aunt, about us being able to do it all. And I will make a good start on it—I have at least two hours in which to catch up with our correspondence before I must dress for this ball.”
“Well…yes. But don’t exhaust yourself, my dear. And here…” She hurried after Madelaine to the door and passed her the jewellery box. “Don’t forget these!”
Madelaine took the jewels to her room, very much wishing she could.
She’d been to balls before, of course. A long time ago, when she was young, she’d attended local assemblies on several occasions, and three times she’d been invited to private balls held by the principal families in her father’s parish.
She’d been married by then, or knew without a doubt she soon would be, and so she’d been free to look around and enjoy the occasion without any of a young lady’s usual fretting about partners and appearances.
Now too she supposed she didn’t have to care about such things. Lord Cotereigh had seen to her appearance, and he’d so very conveniently secured himself for a partner. How she would spend the evening outside the bounds of their single set, she didn’t know, but she was determined to put all her childish, petty moods of yesterday behind her.
Tonight she would conduct herself calmly, rationally, and with the sole aim of extracting as much benefit from this forced attendance as was within her power.
There was little to be nervous about, she told herself firmly, straightening the velvet cloak around her shoulders as Lady Frances’s carriage rolled to a stop outside her aunt’s house. She bid a smiling farewell, set a needless hand to check the position of a sapphire-tipped hairpin, and hurried down the stairs.
What did she care, really, for Lady Frances’s opinion? The woman had driven past a dying child, would drive past more, every day of every year she lived. God would judge her, if he ever cared to, it mattered not to Madelaine. Lady Frances was only a woman, just like a hundred others.
But her stomach clenched as she mounted the carriage step, and heat prickled her neck as she met the woman’s eyes. She was accompanied by her mother tonight, or so Madelaine presumed the politely smiling but otherwise silent lady to be. Lady Frances smiled too, both amusement and speculative curiosity in her greeting gaze.
“I hope you are feeling better, Mrs Ardingly,” was her opening gambit.
Ah, so that was the story agreed upon, in conference with Lord Cotereigh no doubt. She’d leapt from the carriage because she was sick. And how helpful to explain why she’d run to the privacy of an alley.
“Quite better, thank you.”
“I regret we could not stop and wait for you. The time of my next engagement was pressing, but I knew Lord Cotereigh had gone to your aid.”
“Yes. I was most grateful. As I am to you, for your kind attention tonight.”
Lady Frances smiled, gave a nod, and that was the end of the matter. Her next comments were on Madelaine’s gown,her jewels, and her cloak, and after that, she remembered to introduce her mother.
Madelaine had dimly suspected that her youthful attendance at Sussex assemblies wouldn’t have quite prepared her for the lavish pomp and glamour of a ball of the type Lord Cotereigh might deign to attend. But she hadn’t anticipated quite how short her imagination had fallen.
Their carriage was thirty minutes in the queue. When they finally stepped out, liveried footmen at hand, it was to join a slow queue of people climbing up a long sweep of torchlit steps.
A bright carpet had been laid on them. More footmen, powdered and wigged, lined the way. There were vases overfilled with exotic flowers, and the grand doorway was festooned with more so the night air was perfumed with strange, tropical scents. Two violinists played a duet from a balcony above the door, serenading the queueing guests. More footmen stood either side of the door, bowing people into an enormous hallway, all cream and gilt, with mirrored surfaces everywhere to catch every spark of light from the twin cascades of mammoth chandeliers.
Madelaine kept her mouth closed, reminding herself not to gawk. She shuffled along behind Lady Frances and her mother, inching closer to where the host and hostess stood.
