Lucien Tregellas (3 page)

‘I would not care if he were the King himself!' Madeline drew herself up, anger and outrage welling in her breast.

Mrs Langley sucked in her cheeks and affected an expression of mortification. ‘Please afford me some little measure of respect. I'm only your mother, after all, trying my best to catch a good husband for a troublesome daughter who refuses the best of her mother's advice.'

Madeline knew what was coming next. She had heard its like a thousand times. It was pointless to interrupt. She allowed her mother to continue her diatribe.

‘You care nothing for your poor mama's nerves or the shame of her having a stubborn plain daughter upon her hands for evermore.' Fortunately a sofa was close enough for Mrs Langley to collapse on to. ‘Whatever will your papa say when we are left with you as an old spinster?' She dabbed a tiny piece of lacy material to the corner of her eye. ‘I've tried so hard, but it seems that my best just is not good enough.' Her voice cracked with heavy emotion.

‘Mama…' Madeline moved to kneel at her mother's side. ‘You know that isn't true.'

‘And now she has taken against Lord Farquharson, with whom I have tried so hard to secure her interest.' Her mother gave a sob.

‘Forgive me,' said Madeline almost wearily. ‘I do not mean to disappoint you. I know you wish to make a good match for me.'

Mrs Langley sniffed into her handkerchief before stroking a hand over Madeline's head. ‘Not only a good match, but the best. Can't you see, Madeline, that I only want what's best for you, so that I can rest easy in my old age, knowing that you're happy.'

‘I know, Mama. I'm sorry.'

Her mother's hand moved in soothing reassuring strokes. ‘It is not your fault that you have the looks of the Langleys and are not half so handsome as Angelina.' The stroking intensified.

Madeline knew full well what a disappointment she was to her mother. She also knew that it was unlikely she would ever fulfil her mother's ambition of making a favourable marriage match.

‘That is why I have sought to encourage Lord Farquharson.'

Madeline stiffened.

Mrs Langley felt the subtle change beneath her fingers. ‘Oh, don't be like that, Madeline.' She removed her hand from Madeline's hair. ‘He's a baron. He has a fine house here in London and a country seat in Kent. Were you to marry him, you would want for nothing. He would take care of your every need.'

Madeline looked with growing disbelief at her mother.

‘My daughter would be Lady Farquharson.
Lady
Farquharson! Imagine the faces of my sewing group's ladies if I could tell them that. No more embarrassment. No more making excuses for you.'

‘Mama,' said Madeline, ‘it is not marriage that Lord Farquharson has in mind for me.'

Mrs Langley laughed. ‘Tush! Don't be so silly, girl. If we but handle him properly, I'm sure that we can catch him for you.'

Madeline placed her hands over her mother's. ‘Mama, I do not wish to catch him,' she said as gently as she could.

Amelia Langley's eyes widened in exasperation. She snatched her hands from beneath her daughter's and narrowed her lips. ‘But you'll have him all the same. Such stuff and nonsense as I've ever heard. Madeline Langley turning her nose up at a baron! I'll bring Lord Farquharson to make you an offer if it's the last thing I do, so help me God. And you, miss, will do as you are told for once in your life!'

T
he ballroom was ablaze with candlelight from three massive crystal-dropped chandeliers and innumerable wall sconces. The wooden floorboards had been scraped and polished until they gleamed, and the tables and chairs set around the periphery of the room were in the austere neo-classical style of Mr Sheraton. The hostess, Lady Gilmour, was holding court in a corner close to the band and its delightful music. Despite the heat, the French doors and windows that lined the south side of the room remained closed. It was, after all, still only February and the year had been uncommonly cold. Indeed, frost was thick upon the ground and the night air held an icy chill. With the Season not yet started, London was still quiet, but Lady Gilmour had managed to gather the best of London's present high society into her townhouse. Everybody who was anybody was there, squashed into the noisy bustle of the ballroom, and spilling out into the hallway and up the sweep of the staircase.

Mrs Langley was in her element as Lord Farquharson had managed to obtain an invitation for her entire family. She was making the most of the evening and taking every opportunity to inveigle as many introductions as possible. Mr Langley, having found an old friend, had slipped discreetly away, leaving his wife to her best devices.

‘Lady Gilmour,' gushed Mrs Langley, ‘how delightful to meet you. May I introduce my younger daughter, Angelina? This is her first Season and we have such high hopes for her. And this is my elder daughter, Madeline. She is such a dear girl,' said Mrs Langley. ‘She has engaged the interest of a certain highly regarded gentleman. I cannot say more at the minute other than…' Mrs Langley leaned towards Lady Gilmour in a conspiratorial fashion and lowered her voice to a stage whisper ‘…we are expectant of receiving an offer in the very near future.'

Madeline, who had been smiling politely at Lady Gilmour, cringed and turned a fiery shade of red. ‘Mama—'

‘Tush, child. I'm sure that Lady Gilmour can be trusted with our little secret.' Mrs Langley trod indelicately on Madeline's slipper. Her smile could not have grown any larger when Lady Gilmour offered to introduce Angelina to a small group of other débutantes. Looking fresh and pretty in a ribboned white creation that had cost her poor papa a considerable sum he could not afford, Angelina followed in Lady Gilmour's wake.

‘Keep up, Madeline,' whispered Mrs Langley as Madeline trailed at the rear. ‘What a perfect opportunity for Angelina.'

 

Less than fifteen minutes later, Angelina's dance card for the evening was filled. A crowd of eager gentlemen stood ready to sweep the divine Miss Angelina off her feet. Mrs Langley's head swam dizzy with excitement, so much so that she clear forgot all about her plans for Madeline and Lord Farquharson. ‘Oh, I do wish your father was here to see this. Where is Mr Langley?'

‘He's talking to Mr Scott,' answered Madeline, happy that her father had managed to escape.

‘Typical!' snorted Mrs Langley. ‘Angelina is proving to be a success beyond our wildest dreams and her father's too busy with his own interests to even notice.' Mrs Langley shook her head sadly, but her spirits could not remain depressed for long, especially when Angelina took to the floor with Lord Richardson, who was the second son of an earl. ‘La, is she not the most beautiful child on the floor?' demanded Mrs Langley, clutching at Madeline's hand.

‘Yes, Mama,' agreed Madeline with a soft smile. ‘She is indeed beautiful.'

‘And elegant,' added Mrs Langley.

‘Elegant, too,' said Madeline.

‘And graceful.'

‘Yes.'

Mrs Langley looked fit to burst with pride. ‘That's my baby out there, my beautiful baby. Oh, how it brings it all back. I was just the same when I was eighteen.'

Mrs Langley and Madeline were so taken up with Angelina's progress around the dance floor that they did not notice the arrival of Lord Farquharson.

‘Mrs Langley, Miss Langley,' he said, lingering a little too long over Madeline's hand. ‘I hope I'm not too late to claim a few dances from the delightful Miss Langley.'

Madeline's lips tightened. ‘I'm afraid I'm not dancing tonight, my lord. I twisted my ankle earlier in the day.'

Mrs Langley drew her a scowl before announcing, ‘I'm sure that your ankle is much repaired, Madeline. And a dance with Lord Farquharson shall not tax you too much.'

‘But—' started Madeline.

‘Madeline.' Her mother threw her the ‘wait until I get you home' look.

Grudgingly Madeline held the card out to Lord Farquharson, who smiled and tutted and lingered over the empty spaces beside each dance name.

‘Can it be that Miss Langley has kept her dance card free for my sake? Is it too much for my heart to hope?'

Mrs Langley cooed her appreciation of the sugary compliment.

Madeline examined a scuff on the floor and waited until he pressed the card back into her hand. It was now warm and slightly damp to the touch. She held it gingerly by the edge and scanned to see which dances he had selected. A lively Scotch reel and, heaven help her, the waltz!

Lord Farquharson's slim white fingers took hold of one of her hands. ‘Just in the nick of time,' he said as the band struck up. ‘I believe this is my dance, Miss Langley.' And with that he whisked her out to join the lines of bodies upon the floor.

The dance had a nightmarish quality about it. Not only was Madeline thrust into the limelight, a place in which she was never happy, but she had Lord Farquharson squeezing her hand, whispering in her ear and peering down the bodice of her dress for the entirety of the time. She was perforce obliged to smile politely and skip daintily about, as if she were enjoying the occasion immensely. It seemed to Madeline that a piece of music had never lasted so long. She progressed down the set, birling in the arms of every man in turn, each one granting her but a brief respite from Farquharson's company, for no sooner had she thought it than the dance had led her to meet in the middle of the set with Lord Farquharson once more. At long last the music ceased, and Lord Farquharson returned her to her mother. His eyes glittered with something that Madeline did not understand.

‘She has the grace of a swan,' he said to Mrs Langley.

Mrs Langley, who had seen Madeline tread on Lord Farquharson's toes no less than four times, miss several steps, and drop her handkerchief halfway through, marvelled that a gentleman could be so forgiving of her elder daughter's failings. ‘Dear Lord Farquharson, you are so kind to Madeline.'

They smiled at one another.

Madeline looked away and counted to ten—slowly.

 

Mrs Langley raved about Angelina's growing posse of admirers. Was the young man with blond hair merely a baronet? Angelina could do so much better. Let them move here to better see Angelina's progress around the floor. And they simply must gain an introduction to a patroness of Almack's. Mrs Langley could not survive without securing tickets for one of the assembly room's famous balls. It would be quite the best place to catch a husband for Angelina. And so the time passed. Madeline did not mind. She preferred her place in the background, quietly observing what was going on around her. Nodding her head and smiling politely, but never really engaging. At least there was no Lord Farquharson forcing his attention upon her. Even so, he managed to catch her eye across the room on several occasions as if to remind her of what lay ahead: the waltz. Madeline's throat grew dry and tight at the very thought. She could see him watching her through the crowd, licking his lips, smiling that smile that made her blood run cold.

Quite suddenly Madeline knew that she could not do it; she could not let him rest his hands upon her and draw her close, pretending to be the perfect gentleman when all along he was just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to strike. And strike he would, like the snake in the grass that he was. She shuddered. No matter what Mama thought, Lord Farquharson was not honourable. He would ruin her and there would be no offer of marriage. He did not want her as a wife any more than Madeline wanted him as a husband. What his lordship wanted was something quite different. Madeline drew a deep breath and determined that, come hell or high water, she would keep herself safe from Lord Farquharson's attentions. Mrs Langley scarcely noticed when Madeline whispered that she was going to find her papa.

Mr Langley was not anywhere in the grand ballroom. Nor could he be found in the magnificence of Lady Gilmour's entrance hall. Madeline followed the stairs up, searching through the crowd for a sight of her father. It seemed he was not there either. She spent a little time within the ladies' retiring room, just because she was passing that way, and enquired of several ladies within if they had seen a gentleman by the name of Mr Langley. But the ladies looked at her as if she had just come up from the country and said that they knew no Mr Langley. So that was that.

She left and was about to make her way back downstairs when a hand closed tight around her wrist and pulled her to the side.

‘Miss Langley, what a pleasant surprise to find you up here.' Lord Farquharson pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. ‘But then perhaps you were looking for me.' He stepped closer and did not release his grip on her wrist.

Madeline knew that the people surrounding them afforded her protection from the worst of Lord Farquharson's intent. But she also knew that she could not risk drawing attention to herself or her situation lest they think the worst. ‘No,' she said, and tried surreptitiously to disengage herself.

But Lord Farquharson had a grip like an iron vice, and tightened it accordingly. ‘Tut, tut, why don't I believe you?' he laughed.

‘I'm looking for my papa. Have you seen him?' Madeline hoped that Lord Farquharson did not know just how much he frightened her.

The sly grey eyes watched her. ‘I do believe that I saw him not two minutes since, Miss Langley. But it was in the strangest of places.' Lord Farquharson's face frowned with perplexity.

In the strangest of places. Yes, that sounded most like where Madeline's papa would be found. Papa hated large social occasions and would frequently wander off to hide in the most obscure of locations. ‘Where did you see him, my lord?'

Lord Farquharson's grip loosened a little. ‘On the servants' stairwell at the other side of that door.' He gestured to an unobtrusive doorway at the other end of the landing. ‘He seemed to be wandering upstairs, although I cannot imagine why he should be heading in such a direction.'

Madeline could. Anywhere away from the hubbub of activity. Papa would not notice more than that. ‘Thank you, Lord Farquharson.' She looked pointedly at where he still held her.

‘You've not forgotten my waltz?'

How could she? ‘No, my lord, I've not forgotten.'

‘Good,' he said, and released her.

Lord Farquharson fluttered a few fingers in her direction, then turned and walked briskly down the main staircase.

Madeline waited until she could see that he had gone before heading towards the servants' stairwell.

 

‘Papa?' she called softly as she wound her way up the narrow staircase. The stone stairs felt cold through her slippers. ‘Papa?' she said again, but only silence sounded. The walls on either side had not been whitewashed in some time and, as there was no banister, bore the marks of numerous hands throughout the years. A draught wafted around her ankles and the band's music dimmed to a faint lilt in the background.

The stairwell delivered her to the rear of the upper floor. She stepped out, scanning the empty landing. Several portraits of Lord Gilmour's horses peered down at her from the walls. Where could Papa be? A number of doors opened off the landing, to bedchambers, or so Madeline supposed. She stopped outside the first, listening for any noise that might indicate her father's presence. Nothing. Her knuckles raised and knocked softly against the oaken structure.

‘Papa,' she whispered, ‘are you in there?'

Madeline waited. No reply came. The handle turned easily beneath her fingers. Slowly she pushed the door open and peeked inside. It was a bedchamber, decorated almost exclusively in blue and white. A large four-poster bed stood immediately opposite the door. Mr Langley was clearly not there. Madeline silently retreated, pulling the door to close behind her. Quite suddenly the door was wrenched from her grasp, and Madeline found herself pulled unceremoniously back into the bedchamber. The door clicked shut behind her. Madeline looked up into the eyes of Lord Farquharson.

‘My dear Madeline, we meet again,' he said.

Madeline kicked out at him and grabbed for the door handle. But Lord Farquharson was too quick. He embraced her in a bear hug, lifting her clear of the door.

‘Now, now, Madeline, why are you always in such a hurry to get away?'

‘You tricked me!' she exclaimed. ‘You never even saw my father, did you?' How could she have been so stupid?

Lord Farquharson's shoulders shrugged beneath the chocolate brown superfine of his coat. ‘You've found me out,' he said and pulled her closer.

She could feel the hardness of his stomach, and something else, too, pressing against her. ‘Release me!'