He cleared his throat, Madelaine fighting back a very unaccustomed flush. But why had he looked at her so strangely?
“My aunt has gone out, Lord Cotereigh, but perhaps I can be of assistance?”
His fleeting expression suggested he found this very doubtful. “I thank you.” He turned back to the door. “But I think it best if I call some other time.”
But would he? There was something awkward in his manner, as though he regretted having come at all. And whyhadhe come? It had to be about their cause, surely?
He’d been there at Mrs Fishbourne’s saloon party; he—she cringed inwardly at the memory—he’d heard that laughter. Perhaps, sitting there, coolly watching the whole, he’d been curious enough to enquire what it was about.
That dreamy-eyed boy, Alastair Beckford, the Marquis of Pembroke’s young brother, had been at his table. Andhismother was in her aunt’sPossiblecolumn. Might Mr Beckford have been an advocate? It surely wouldn’t have been either of the others. Sir Nathan Handley cared for nothing but hunting and gaming. And as for Lord Cotereigh’s uncle, Major Tait, he’d probably sooner flay a child than save one.
No, there were very few of Lord Cotereigh’s associates who might have convinced him to come. It was beyond strange that he was here himself. Whatever his reason, she was certain it was an impulse visit, probably never to be repeated—his stiff, awkward manner convinced her of that. And now he was glancing at the door, about to escape…
She couldn’t let him. His support…his support would be miraculous. Where the Viscount Cotereigh led, all society followed—or the highest, proudest,richestparts of it. And however unlikely it was that he might actually choose to lead themhere, it wasn’t a chance she could let slip through her fingers.
“Of course, you are welcome to repeat your visit at any time.” She smiled lightly, hoping she kept the desperation from her voice. “But please, try me, and see if I might not do. My aunt andI are equal partners in our work. At the very least, let me take a message from you.”
The viscount paused, his gaze glancing off her.
“It is…kind of you, but not right that I take up so much of your time. Alone.”
“Oh, I see.” That final word, pronounced with such censorious significance, almost made her smile. He felt it improper to be alone with her, did he? And so it might be, if she were a young, unmarried, greenish girl.
She made her smile very polite and proper. “You needn’t worry, Lord Cotereigh. I am forever receiving visitors by myself. Either I or my aunt, or both of us, are so frequently out and about, that dear Godfrey has long taken to taking visitors to whomever is at home—beggars not being choosers and all that. Indeed, to most callers, we’re entirely indistinguishable. As I said, my aunt and I are equal partners in this enterprise of ours—well, in the months I come to stay with her in town, at least. And at all other times, we correspond so frequently that I’m kept up to date with the whole.”
Lord Cotereigh smiled. Or certainly, his lips moved in a smile-ish manner. It was even more polite and proper than her own.
“I don’t doubt your qualifications, Miss Clements, but nevertheless, I feel it prudent to call another day.”
The name froze her. He was almost at the door before she shook herself. She smiled, though a shiver still crept down her spine, bone by bone.
“It is Ardingly, my lord. Mrs Ardingly. Not Miss Clements.”
For the third time he looked startled—a wider crack in the ice this time, wide enough to let the faintest blush tinge his cheekbones. The sound of her maiden name, and the cold ghost of death it brought with it, was almost worth it, just for that.
It would be amusing to shock this man, to make the cool and perfect Lord Cotereigh stumble. She suppressed a smile atthe thought—unbecoming to a parson’s daughter—as a small, mischievous part of her flickered briefly into life.
Thatalmost seemed a ghost too. But that spark of mischief had once soared free and far, a songlark trilling in the endless marsh skies as she ran barefoot over sheep-grazed grass down to the waiting sea…
It seemed the past was heavy today.
“Forgive me.” His eyes flicked over her then away. “I was told your family name was Clements. I did not realise you had married.”
See, my lord?She suppressed another smile.No need to fret over my maidenly virtue.
“Well, now we are properly introduced, we may as well be comfortable. Come to the sitting room, and I will call for some tea.”
She walked past him, leading the way before he could protest. This was a trick she’d learnt from her aunt—be bustling and always talking, and you could browbeat anyone too well-mannered to interrupt. Her aunt did it unintentionally. Madelaine deployed it at will.
It would be just as well to move rooms anyway. Lord Cotereigh had already been giving the study a doubting look. It was crowded with books and pamphlets, the walls near-papered with the work of caricaturists, the vulgar prints either appropriately bolstering or just outright amusing. Not a single one of them was favourable to the Regent.
In the sitting room—smaller but brighter, and at the front of the house, with two windows letting in the fresh yellow-blue sunshine and only faintly muffling the cheerful rattle of wheels and hooves on cobbles—Madelaine took a seat on the sofa, surreptitiously tucking a copy of Cobbett’sPolitical Registerbehind a cushion.
Lord Cotereigh glanced at his chair before sitting down, as though to make sure it was clean. His coattails were flicked back—no creases allowed there—and his legs, correctly muscled and tightly clad in pale cloth to reveal the fact, were arranged before him in masculine elegance. There was a distinct gleam to his Hessian’s, though thankfully only the smallest of tassels. Lord Cotereigh would probably cross the road rather than be caught in proximity to a fop.
Keeping these irreverent musings from her expression, she folded her hands on her lap and waited politely for him to begin. He seemed like the sort of man who preferred to be in control of things, and now that she’d impelled him into this room, it was prudent to let him take the reins again. When to talk and when to listen was a lesson she’d tried several times to give her aunt, without much success.
Lord Cotereigh was giving the room a surveying glance. No doubt it met with his approval about as little as the study. Her aunt had married a very rich man, but despite being left childless, she’d found calls enough on her purse. Supporting the education of Madelaine’s six brothers might have been strain enough, even without the unceasing philanthropy. She liked to buy things too, but they were normally old and broken things no one else wanted, or poorly embroidered cushions made by widows with no other means of income. Products of the workhouse, wooden dolls carved by one-legged sailors.
