“May God have mercy.”
Twenty-Three
Madelaine didn’t know howshe made her way back to her aunt’s side. It was all a blur.
Her bravado disappeared the moment she walked out of that dark room. And it had been nothing but bravado back there, the courage to speak, to remain another moment in his presence. All she had wanted was to give way and sink to the hard floor and cry like she’d hardly cried in nine years. But she couldn’t yet.
Her pale face was helpful though. As was the trembling in her voice, in her every limb, as she convinced her worried aunt she was ill. “A terrible headache, so sudden, but I’m sure it’s nothing rest won’t cure.”
“Oh, my dear, my dear…” Her poor aunt bundled her out of the ballroom, away from the glittering heart of her success.
Madelaine stumbled out through the doors. The cold air hit her, making her shudder, and then she bent double, stomach cramping. Her body had decided Lord Cotereigh was poison. She didn’t disagree.
“The carriage, the carriage…oh, wherever is it…?” Her aunt held her arm, both of them shivering now in their thin cloaks after the heat inside.
God, yes, it could take an hour or more for the carriage to be found and the horses made ready.
Madelaine closed her eyes against her despair. Waiting here on the steps suddenly felt like the straw that would break her. What if he came after her? He might. What if she heard his voice behind her…
“Mrs Ardingly. Lady Pemberthy.”
She tensed, almost ill again, but it wasn’t him. It was another man. Their host, the Duke of Cumbria.
“Your Grace,” her aunt answered, speaking for her. “Yes, she’s suddenly unwell… Really? You’re so kind, so very generous…”
He was offering them his own carriage. It was being brought round as they spoke. Yes, he quite agreed, it was a horrendous business getting one’s carriage untangled from the hundred waiting in the streets. No, no need to thank him; thank his wife, it was her suggestion.
A rattle of wheels, and it was there. The duke handed her in himself, then her aunt. Undoubtedly he said something very polite, made a wonderful bow, but Madelaine didn’t see it, murmuring disjointed thanks he could probably hardly hear. It was dark inside, and she sank weakly into a corner, curled up, fighting nausea again as the carriage lurched into rocking motion.
“You poor thing,” her aunt fussed, stroking her hair, patting her hand. “My mother, your grandmother, used to get headaches like this. Terrible, terrible things. I do hope you’re not becoming prey to them.”
She mumbled something then closed her eyes tight, breathing deep. She had to get hold of herself. It was bad enough to cut her aunt’s evening short without worrying the woman further.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. One of these fleeting, horrible things. Talk to me. Take my mind off it.” Eyes shut because it was easier to be strong like that, she squeezed her aunt’s hand, holding it on her lap. “Tell me what I missed of your evening.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need quiet, dear…”
Her aunt chattered away, describing all the people she’d met, all the compliments the ball had received. They were almost overrun with new donors, it seemed, now their cause was a fashionable one.
“And just think, if Lord Cotereigh hadn’t come to visit us that day…”
Madelaine winced, but her aunt continued, no idea of the pain she dealt.
“I heard some interesting news of him tonight. I must apologise if I got your hopes up on the carriage ride over. It was wishful thinking on my part. It seems he has been engaged to Lady Frances for some time. Oralmostengaged. They’ve been forever on the verge of announcing it, it seems. Most people seemed to suspect tonight might be the night.”
Madelaine was almost ill again. Her stomach flipped over, as though this was some great surprise. But why should she be shocked? It all made so much sense. Of course, ofcourseit was Lady Frances, that great friend of his, allied with his wager, so very beautiful and fashionable and popular.
A marquess’s daughter.
Of course. Of course.
Oh God, she was going to be sick, here in the Duke of Cumbria’s carriage. She clapped a hand to her mouth and breathed desperately through her nose.
“Madelaine?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“I should call for the doctor. You seem very bad. And here I am prattling away. Oh dear, oh dear…” Her aunt fussed, pullingher cloak tighter around her shoulders, rummaging under the seats and triumphantly discovering a blanket in the box there. Madelaine could have cried when she tucked it tenderly around her knees.
