The best woman. The best aunt. Lord Pemberthy’s wife was an angel, and yet society turned its nose up, Lord Cotereigh curled his lip…
“You surely realise the type of wife I require.”
How had she ever thought she could love him? How had she ever thought he could take Alfred’s place in her heart?
When they finally got home, her aunt very anxiously put her to bed, fetching her a hot brick, lemonade, broth, drops. The moment she regretfully left, Madelaine got out of bed.
She pulled off her nightslip, wetted her washcloth, and scrubbed every place that Lord Cotereigh had touched. She rubbed her mouth until her lips were sore; she wiped her arms, her breasts, her waist. She cleaned the memory of him from between her thighs.
What a fool, mistaking base, carnal lust for something precious. He kissed like sin because hewassin.
He was the very devil.
She crawled back into bed, damp and shivering and feeling no cleaner than before.
The next day was busy. It was good to be busy. The committee would have its first meeting in the afternoon. Madelaine would ensure she was out of the house, just in case he had decided to be infuriating and hadn’t yet resigned his position. But in the meantime, there were papers to prepare. And there were also a great many things to pack up and send out.
Her aunt wasn’t there to help her with that, which was just as well because then Madelaine would have had to make explanations she didn’t currently know how to make.
She had arrived downstairs that morning, still pale but apparently otherwise well, and persuaded her aunt to go and visit Tom.
His daily reading lesson had been arranged for this morning, the committee meeting occupying the afternoon.Yes, yes,she’d reassured her aunt, she was quite well but perhaps a little too tired to make the journey to Lord Cotereigh’s house that morning. She might rest instead and work on all this paperwork.
Her aunt, thank goodness, had agreed that seemed sensible. And had then left forhishouse.
How on earth was she to extricate her life entirely from his? That she never wished to see him again—that she could not bear it—she was wholly certain. But the last month had cast lines between them, two boats lashed together, no matter how ill-matched.
There was the committee, there was Tom, there was even his father, Lord Arnon, whom her aunt, in her usual way, had decided to make a cause of.
The two of them played cards, often with Tom but sometimes without, and bickered amiably about politics, disagreeing on absolutely everything and seeming to find it amusing.
Her aunt’s life had been considerably brightened by the association with Lord Cotereigh and his household. She doted on Tom, swelled with quiet pride every time she talked of the committee, and, though she didn’t quite admit it, was very pleased to now be recognised by many of the people and old friends who had once seen fit to abandon her.
Madelaine might dislike such superficial and mercurial affection, but that her aunt was happier than she’d been since her husband died, she could not deny.
So she would keep secret the son’s wrongdoing. She would keep secret her own sore heart. The answer was obvious: it was time to return to Sussex.
She normally did anyway, a month or so from now. It wasn’t such an early departure from town. Her brothers and her mother wrote often, not directly begging her to return, but making it very clear such a thing would be welcome. She could easily persuade her aunt that the demands of her youngest brothers and nieces and nephews were urgent. After all, they’d already more than accomplished the goals they’d set themselves for this year.
Thanks to Lord Cotereigh.
She set her jaw, willing her hand not to shake on the note she was writing. It would be cool, calm, and dispassionate. He, of all people, would appreciate that! Almost she paused to nibble the end of her pen, but ink spots came to mind and she pressed her lips together once more.
It was only a short note. There wasn’t much to say. She added it to the last bundle she’d tied up in string and paper and called for Godfrey.
“Please arrange a porter to take these bundles to Lord Cotereigh’s house. This note is for him. They must not arrive before two.”
Her aunt would have left by then.
Indeed, her aunt returned not long after the porter had collected the items, humming to herself as she entered the sitting room.
“Was Tom well?” Madelaine asked. “And Lord Arnon?”
“Yes!” Her aunt sat down with a bounce that forced anoofof air from the sofa cushions. She grinned. “He’s a little rogue!”
Madelaine passed her aunt some tea, amazed to find she could smile so normally. “Tom? Or Lord Arnon?”
Her aunt laughed. “Oh, both!”
