“If he was, he didn’t reveal it,” Maddie said, although she had noticed his gaze flicker over her. What did he think of her? That she was shameless? She sighed. It hardly mattered in the scheme of things. She wished she could turn her mind to something else other than Lord Montford. But there was something in his manner which invited confidences. Charm, she supposed. All rakes seemed blessed with it, apparently. How easy it would be to cast herself upon his broad chest and tell him all.
“He wouldn’t mention it. ’E’s a gentleman, after all,” Jane said with a gusty sigh.
“Mm.” Maddie bent to put on her house slippers. She had no intention of leaning on anyone and bemoaning the sad state of her life. She would sort it out herself.
Her nights were filled with dreams, some she hoped for and some she feared might become an unhappy reality.
Chapter Three
Afootman announcedMr. Wakeham and his niece, Lady Madeline Howard, punctually at eight o’clock. Diane, Hart’s widowed sister, regal in a lavender gown trimmed with satin at the sleeves and hem, her dark hair smoothly dressed, waited with him to receive them in the hall. Diane had arrived to stay that morning. She instructed the cook how best to prepare the tasty hors d’oeuvres, and set the maids polishing the drawing room furniture, beating the rugs, and cleaning out the grate and still looked as fresh as a daisy when they led their guests into the spotless, refurbished drawing room scented with vases of spring flowers from the overgrown gardens.
Madeline looked different tonight. A lovely English rose in a delicate white gown, which should have been demure, yet wasn’t because of the way she moved, that slight swing of the hips, and the enticing glimpse of her full breasts in the scoop-necked gown.
Hart tried to banish such thoughts and stepped forward with a smile to welcome them.
His first impression of Arthur Wakeham was unfavorable. There was something cold and calculating about his expression as his gaze took in the room. A thin man, he had a perpetually pinched expression, as if he found socializing a trial. And it quickly became evident that he did. Hart felt a rush of sympathy for Madeline. Living with Wakeham would not be a bed of roses.
Directly after the introductions, Diane took Madeline upstairs on some pretext to tidy her hair, because the night was uncommonly windy, or some such excuse ladies used when they wished to talk unhindered by gentlemen. He’d give a pony to hear what they talked about and hoped Diane would tell him later.
Left alone, Hart attempted conversation, which Wakeham merely answered in monosyllables. “A glass of wine while we wait for the ladies, sir?” Hart said at last.
Wakeham paused from his study of the gracious room to settle small hazel eyes on him. “Red. Thank you.”
Wakeham continued to study the room as if judging Hart’s wealth. He revealed a lack of interest in any subject Hart raised, beyond the work to be done to the boundaries. It only made Hart dislike the fellow more.
Hart directed Wakeham to a chair and went to the drinks table. As he handed the glass of claret to Wakeham, the ladies returned, and Hart busied himself pouring glasses of ratafia.
The footman brought in plates of appetizers for their guests and set them on the table.
When Hart sat, the conversation began with the usual topic: the weather, blustery for this time of year but not much rain.
“Did you ride today, Lady Madeline?” Hart asked her when the discussion petered out. She sat primly, a slight distance from her uncle, on the opposite sofa to him and Diane. He had not seen her during his brief ride before luncheon, and later was shut up in his study, achieving little, while his indomitable sister turned the house upside-down.
“I rode quite early,” Madeline said. “Your sheep are safely on the Montford side of the fence. It has been repaired.”
“Good thing,” Wakeham commented. The man was exceedingly dour. Hart could see he didn’t want to be here. “What about the rest of the fences? One of these days, your bull will get in with my cows.”
Hart smiled. “Rest assured, sir, I shall not charge you for any births that might arise.”
Wakeham nodded, his mouth a thin disapproving line.
Diane coughed and held a gloved hand to her mouth.
He looked at his sister warily, but biting her lip, she contained herself. Madeline’s large brown eyes were alight with laughter. Surprised, he smiled at her, as if they were coconspirators. He saw no fondness in his uncle toward her, and none for Wakeham from Madeline. Did she dislike her uncle as much as he did? If that was so, he hoped she would go soon to London to enjoy the Season and find a husband. Although the thought of her marrying didn’t appeal to him as much as he expected it to.
“Would you care for an hors d’oeuvre, sir?” The footman held the plate before Wakeham. Diane leaned forward. “The biscuits are cucumber and cream cheese, but I prefer the toast triangles with smoked salmon and egg. Delicious with the dill.”
Wakeham eyed them as if they might poison him. He gestured to the footman to move away. “I don’t eat after dinner. Disturbs a man’s digestion.”
Madeline took one topped with smoked salmon and bit into it with even white teeth. “What a shame, Uncle,” she said when she’d eaten a piece. “These are delicious. I agree the dill is a perfect addition.”
“Cook is quite capable. Although his menu is rather uninspiring,” Diane said. “I imagine that was the way it had to be. Papa insisted on simple dishes. He suffered dreadful indigestion.”
Hart addressed Wakeham as he nursed his half glass of wine. “Perhaps we should address those problems before we begin our card game?”
“Indeed, there are several areas along the boundary your father left neglected,” Wakeham said ungraciously.
“Shall we seat ourselves at the other end of the room? Will you forgive us for a few minutes, ladies?”
