Madelaine seldom thought of the appearance of her aunt’s house. This room, like all the others, was merely a place to do things. To talk, to decide, to prepare. But she supposed it was shabby indeed compared to anywhere Lord Cotereigh might normally be found.
His inspection done, the viscount returned his gaze to her face, but it promptly slid away and focused instead on some point just over her shoulder. She was fairly sure there was a stuffedwildcat on the sideboard there, grotesque and half-hairless, but seemingly preferable to herself.
“I believe you were at Mrs Fishbourne’s saloon yesterday,” he began.
“I was, yes. With my aunt.”
That topic apparently exhausted, he spotted a minute imperfection on his pantaloon knee and removed it, saying as though it had nothing to do with anything, “I was told about this chimney sweep campaign of yours—abolishing the use of climbing boys. I’d like to get involved.”
Madelaine took a moment, disappointment mingling with hilarity. She suppressed both. “It is indeed a very worthy cause, Lord Cotereigh. But not, I’m afraid to say, one my aunt or I are currently focused on.”
His dark eyes snapped up, displeasure making his face cooler than ever. “No?”
“There is already a wonderful society hard at work on that issue. The SSNCB—Society for Superseding the Necessity of Climbing Boys, perhaps you have heard of it? My aunt and I are subscribers, and I’m sure they’d be delighted to have your support too. I’m more than happy to put you in touch with some members of their board—perhaps you know some already? Lord Grosvenor? Sir Banbury? His Grace, the Duke of Northumberland?”
Lord Cotereigh’s eyes only narrowed slightly. “Then whatisyour society’s aim?”
“Well… I’m afraid there is no society as such, just yet. We are in the early stages of recruiting its governing board—we need gentlemen to do so, of course, being unable to take such positions ourselves.”
“But it is not about climbing boys?”
“No. We seek instead to improve the lot ofallchildren—all children everywhere, my lord, irrespective of employment orclass.” She put the full weight of her conviction into her voice. “Our goal is to end the use of corporal punishment. We want to make sure no child is ever beaten again.”
Lord Cotereigh looked at her a moment longer. And then burst out laughing.
Heat swamped her, a bucket of coals on her head. This was worse than Mrs Fishbourne’s, where she’d been half expecting the laughter even as her aunt launched into her usual effusive appeal, words and arguments garbled by the strength of her feelings. Now it was Madelaine being laughed at, alone, and byhim. Tipping the immovable Lord Cotereigh into hilarity felt rather like being crushed by a mountain.
“Forgive me.” He momentarily pressed a fist to his mouth, as though ironing out a crease. “But you cannot be serious?”
She tried to meet his glinting gaze, chin held high even as damp humiliation glowed under the layers of her clothing, a red brand on her throat. “I am being entirely serious, my lord. I wish for a world in which no child need ever fear cane, birch, ferula, whip, or even hand.”
“And I suppose you’re aware of the sayingspare the rod, spoil the child?”
“I am. And I find it barbaric.”
“It is in the Bible.”
“As a parson’s daughter, believe me that I know the Bible well.”
He pressed his lips together as though he couldn’t quite believe she wasstillbeing stubborn. Surely the mockery in his eyes ought to have cowed her by now?
“Then you are perhaps less well acquainted with the education of boys. If you’d ever spent time at Eton, Harrow, or a dozen other similar places, you would know the necessity of strict discipline.”
“I have six younger brothers. I know what boys can be.”
“It is impolite to correct a lady, accept my apology in advance,” he said, with no trace of apology at all, “but if I can save you further embarrassment—”
Embarrassment?Her heat turned to cold anger as Lord Cotereigh continued.
“The behaviour of your brothers at home can hardly be compared to that of boys, in very large groups, away from home. At Harrow they have smashed coaches to pieces, at Westminster they have beaten nearly to death innocent passersby. Perhaps you have not heard of the riots at Eton? The boys there were completely out of hand—and these are the young men who will one day soon enter positions of great responsibility in society. Would you have them wild and dissolute, sneering at all responsibility, thinking themselves above the law? Above common decency?”
“Violence,” she said steadily, “begets violence.”
Lord Cotereigh raised a derisive eyebrow.
“My second eldest brother,” she continued in that same steady way, “showing great academic promise,wassent to Eton, my lord. And returned home that first holiday a pale shadow of himself. He’d been flogged so roughly the weals still hadn’t faded three months later. His only crime was to stand up for a smaller boy.”
“You are a loving sister, I see, and your feminine sympathy does you great credit. I can hardly criticise that, Mrs Ardingly, but the disciplining of boys is a matter for their fathers, for their teachers—for the men whose responsibility it is to shape them into men in turn, fit for the rigours of the world.”
