Regency Wagers (14 page)

‘I will escort Miss England,’ Ned said, bowing to her and holding out his arm. Serena felt a pang of jealousy. The young
woman took the offered arm and waited until Serena, escorted by Devlin, walked ahead of her.

Devlin gave Serena a brotherly squeeze. ‘Tell me, Serena, what is this about?’

She blinked. ‘What is what about?’

He frowned at her. ‘You know very well. This invitation.’

She bit her lip. ‘We…that is, Ned… We wished to see you.’

He tossed her a sceptical glance. ‘Fustian,’ he whispered. ‘Why did you invite Maddy?’

‘So you would come?’ Her answer came out like a question.

They entered the formal dining room with its crystal chandelier glittering from the candle flames. Serena wished they had set up a small table in one of the more cosy parlours, but Ned had wanted Miss England to see the opulence of the house. It was odd, though, that the young woman seemed to accept the frescoed ceiling, long mahogany table, and multipiece silver service as a matter of course. Serena had instructed the servants to set the table so that they sat at one end. Ned at the head, of course, and she to his right. To his left sat Devlin and Miss England.

Serena watched the young woman throughout dinner. Miss England never hesitated over her choice of cutlery, and she seemed completely at ease with having servants present the food. The conversation was confined to topics of general interest, upon which Miss England conversed easily, but Serena noticed that she never spoke unless she was addressed first.

Serena also watched Devlin. He checked Miss England often, concern or pride alternating in his face. She looked at Ned, whose expression never changed. Serena was struck with a pang of envy so strong she feared she might burst into tears right over the chocolate truffle.

When the port appeared, Serena was relieved to leave the dining room to the men and return to the parlour with Miss England.

Miss England selected a single chair, waiting politely for Serena to sit first. A small fire had been lit in the fireplace to ward off the chill of the damp spring night, its hiss and sputter loud in the silence between the two women.

‘Would you like tea?’ Serena asked finally.

‘No, thank you, ma’am.’ The young woman remained composed, her hands folded in her lap.

‘I do wish you would call me Serena.’

Miss England glanced at her in surprise. ‘I would not presume.’

‘But you are Devlin’s friend, and he is so dear to us.’ Serena fingered the lace trim on her dress.

Madeleine’s nerves were beginning to fray. She had managed the role of guest long enough. ‘I am not Devlin’s friend.’

This pretence seemed even more dishonest than those she was forced to enact for Farley. It was shameful for her to even set foot in this house, more flush with money than Farley could have wrested out of her in one hundred years. She wished she could excuse herself and run.

Instead she regarded the Marchioness. What could have induced this high-born, titled lady to entertain her? To ask for the intimacy of first names? There was no sense in it.

The beautiful blonde woman in her pale blue dress edged in delicate lace looked even more uncomfortable than Madeleine. Madeleine suspected the Marquess was behind this visit, and his wife compelled to go along. But why?

It certainly did not help matters that the Marchioness looked as if she might cry at any moment. ‘I apologise, ma’am. I did not mean for my words to distress you.’

The Marchioness smiled faintly, blinking. ‘Do not concern yourself about me. I fear I am proving a poor hostess.’

Madeleine blinked in surprise. ‘Why should you be a good hostess? You ought not be compelled to entertain me at all.’

Her hostess looked up. ‘Compelled? I assure you I was not compelled. It was my idea to invite you to dinner.’

‘Why?’ It was presumptuous of her to ask, but the word simply burst out of her.

Distress again pinched her ladyship’s brow, and she gave Madeleine a pleading look. Madeleine felt a different kind of shame for distressing such a lady. Lady Heronvale had truly laboured to be kind. There had not been a moment when she had shown even a hint of the disapproval Madeleine deserved.

Madeleine glanced around the room, her eyes lighting on the figurines on the mantelpiece. ‘They are Meissen, are they not?’ she said, trying to find something comfortable to talk about.

‘What?’ The Marchioness still looked distressed.

‘The figures on the mantel. They are Meissen.’

‘Why, yes they, are.’ Her ladyship’s eyes widened with surprise.

Madeleine smiled. ‘They are lovely.’

After nearly half an hour of more awkward conversation, Ned and Devlin entered the parlour. The brothers looked congenial. Madeleine did not know if this boded good or ill. In any event, what more pain could the Marquess inflict than making Devlin leave her? Devlin would leave her no matter what. The Marquess could not, after all, know her identity.

Ned surveyed the parlour and elected to stand near the mantel, upon which he leaned casually. The leg nearest the fire felt too much heat, but he ignored the discomfort. He had a good view, a position of power.

He had been pleased to be able to converse with his brother in an amicable way, though he sensed Devlin’s wariness. He glanced at his wife and perceived her discomfort, as well. Miss England was more of a puzzle. She seemed serene, poised, untouched by the tensions crackling throughout the room.

Ned rubbed the elegant carving of the mantel with his thumb. The time had come. He met his wife’s eye. She inhaled sharply. He would bring Serena her heart’s desire.

He looked down on the young woman who should never have been invited to his wife’s home. ‘Miss England,’ he began in a mild voice, hoping it sounded friendly.

She lifted her gaze to him, the impassive expression still in her eyes.

‘What think you of our house here in town?’

A flicker of surprise showed in her face, but she quickly changed her expression to one he could not read. Mocking? Melancholic? ‘It is a magnificent home, my lord. Very fine.’

He smiled. ‘I am pleased that you think so.’

She returned his smile. ‘I did not realise you sought my good opinion.’

That statement must be sarcasm, but he could not tell for certain. He ignored it, clearing his throat. ‘This house pales in comparison to Heronvale. Heronvale is a piece of heaven.’ Ned glanced at Devlin. ‘It was a marvellous place to be reared, was it not, Devlin?’

Devlin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He lounged in a chair, but one leg crossed over the other swung with nervous energy. ‘It had fine stables.’

Ned laughed, hoping to dispel his brother’s tension. ‘My brother saw little of Heronvale except on the back of a horse. Did you know that, Miss England?’

The smile was fixed on her face. ‘Indeed.’

This woman gave up little of her feelings, Ned thought.

‘Miss England is an accomplished horsewoman,’ Devlin said.

‘Is that so?’ Ned remembered the child’s excitement seeing the horses of his curricle. He had assumed her passion for horses had come from her father. ‘You and my brother have that in common, then.’

Miss England shrugged her reply.

This was like fencing with an opponent reluctant to reveal his skill. Perhaps he should begin the attack.

He strolled over to a decanter of claret, lifting it to offer
its contents to the others. Devlin shook his head and Serena mumbled ‘No, thank you.’

‘I should like some,’ Miss England said, and Ned had the foolish impression that they had each chosen their weapons. He handed her a glass and poured one for himself. He took a sip.

First lunge. ‘Did you know my brother is a wealthy man, Miss England?’

Her glass pressed against her lips and her taste of the wine was long and delicate. ‘Is one wealthy who has no money to spend?’ Parry.

Riposte. ‘You know, then, that Devlin must marry?’

Her brows lifted. ‘For his wealth, he must marry, unless you declare otherwise.’ Well parried. Too well parried.

‘He must marry. His heritage demands it. Do you understand?’

She stared at him, bringing her glass to her lips again.

Ned abandoned the fencing and indulged in a rare display of anger. ‘His behaviour with you has been irresponsible. Unbecoming in a gentleman—’

Devlin rose from his chair. ‘Enough, Ned. These are words to be spoken to me in private. I will not have you do so in front of Madeleine.’

Ned took a step toward his brother. ‘You took a mistress when you knew full well you could not keep her in clothes or jewels—’

‘She does not want—’

Ned closed the distance on his brother. ‘You involved a child, Devlin. A child. How irresponsible is that?’

Serena gasped.

‘You know nothing of this matter, Ned. I have said I will find a wife, what more do you want? I’ll accept my bloody heritage and be damned, but you owe Madeleine an apology.’ Devlin’s eyes blazed with anger. ‘She has done nothing to deserve these words of yours.’

‘She has borne a child, has she not?’ Ned paced back to
the mantel. Devlin stood his ground. Turning to face them again, Ned saw the alarm in Serena’s face. Miss England looked on, alert.

‘The home you have contrived is no place for a child,’ he said. ‘The little girl needs comfort and education and a solid moral foundation. You cannot give that to her, Devlin.’

‘I can and will take care of the child. Why do you think I agreed to marry? You’ve left me no other way to take care of them, have you? Well, brother, you may bet on it that Madeleine and Linette will be well cared for.’ Devlin’s fists were clenched and his body poised for a fight. ‘By me.’

Ned paced the floor. ‘You cannot provide her a good home. What will the child learn of life in a household like that, with you arriving at odd hours to warm her mother’s bed?’

‘Damn you, Ned. You have stepped too far over the line.’ Devlin’s face became a rigid, angry mask. Ned thought this might be how he appeared galloping toward a company of bayonet-wielding Frenchmen.

‘Ned?’ Serena’s fingers crushed the fabric of her dress.

He glanced from Serena to Miss England, her hands folded demurely and her gazed fixed on them. Damn his brother for compromising that young woman.

And damn himself for being glad of it.

He would not back away now, not when he had come so far. He slowed his breaths and moderated his voice. ‘I do apologise. I did not intend to ring a peal over your head.’

Devlin’s hands curved into fists.

‘Serena and I wish to help. It is why we invited you here.’

Miss England raised her head.

‘We believe it would be advantageous to everyone, if you agree with our proposition.’

Devlin still glowered, but showed a hint of curiosity, as well.

Ned went on. ‘We wish to adopt the child and raise her as our own…’

‘G
ood God, Ned.’ Devlin turned away from his brother and drew a tense hand through his hair. Ned wanted the child? ‘What right have you to propose such a thing?’

He heard the Marquess take a deep breath. ‘I am head of the family, you might recall.’

‘What the deuce has that to do with it?’ Devlin swung back to him.

Ned made no effort to respond, simply staring back.

Devlin’s mind reeled with his brother’s words. Ned thought he had seduced Madeleine. Thought she pined for dresses and jewels. Thought he could take Linette from her.

‘Serena and I realise—’ Ned’s voice was steady and reasonable ‘—that there may be talk about our raising your child, but we are prepared—’

‘
My
child?’

‘Linette.’ Ned went on. ‘Such talk would disappear as soon as something more interesting came along. So I would not—’

‘My child?’ Devlin repeated, raising his voice.

‘Of course,’ Ned glanced at him and continued talking. ‘It would be no time…’

Devlin stared at his brother, impeccably dressed in white breeches and superbly cut black coat. His hair, flecked with grey, remained neat and orderly. Did his ever-perfect brother
think he’d seduced Madeleine, got her with child, then abandoned her to go off to war? Only a cad would do such a thing.

Devlin longed to explain to Ned he was not that sort of man. Explain that Madeleine had been Farley’s prize. That the child might be anybody’s. Serena might blush, but how scandalised could she be? An occasional tumble with such a woman was expected of young men. His brother might lift a disapproving eyebrow, but he could not damn Devlin’s character. Yes, all that was needed to clear his name was to expose Madeleine’s life under Farley and shame her in front of Ned and Serena.

Devlin tried to keep his voice steady. ‘What causes you to think the child mine?’

Ned gave him a look of exasperation. ‘She looks like you.’

‘She looks like Maddy.’ A vision of Linette flashed through Devlin’s mind. Her curly dark hair always falling from its ribbon. The clear blue innocence of her eyes. The pouty mouth when she did not get her way. So much like Madeleine. From his first glimpse of the child, his heart had reached out to the little girl. She was Madeleine as a child.

‘She is the image of you at that age,’ Ned countered. ‘If you do not believe me, come to Heronvale and check the family portrait in the music room. She is even named for you. She was obviously conceived during your leave from Spain. The timing is correct. How you supported them in your absence is a mystery, but there is no mystery about the fact that she is your child.’

‘My child.’ Stunned, Devlin made his own calculation. His one brief encounter with Madaleine. The child’s age. He’d never considered.

Madeleine stared down at her lap, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her hands. The Marquess’s words echoed as if emerging from a distant cave. Saying he wanted to take Linette. Saying Linette was Devlin’s child.

She stood and spoke with cold rage. ‘
My
child.’

These men were no different than Farley and the ones he had sent to her bed. They all wielded power over her. The power to control her life, to violate her body…and to steal from her all that was dear. This rich Marquess controlled with his title and money. What chance had she against such weapons? Even Devlin, for all his pretty words, held her life and her daughter’s in his hands. He could crush them both in an eye blink. He could cast them into the street. Abandon them to his brother.

Send them back to Farley.

Madeleine’s body trembled. Panic mixed with rage. Three sets of eyes stared at her. The Marquess’s with a look of impatience. His wife’s with tears rolling down her cheeks. And Devlin’s with confusion and surprise.

Madeleine held herself erect, lifting her chin high. These people would not see she feared their power. Indeed, she would not fear it. She would defy it. No one would take Linette from her. No one.

She let a faint smile cross her face and spoke again, her voice mild. ‘Linette is my child.’

And, as they stood poised to hear more, she bolted. She ran out the mahogany parlour door, down the white marble stairs and through the hall, glittering with gilt. She heard Devlin shout her name. Heard the Marchioness wail, and the Marquess call for someone to stop her.

No one did. She flung open the front door and ran out into the street. She cared not that she held her skirts high away from her ankles, nor that the silk slippers scuffed roughly against the pavement. She would get to Linette first. She would grab Linette and Sophie and run.

She had only a vague notion of which direction to take, but trusted that her need to protect Linette would lead her home. Shouts sounded from behind her. She dared not look back. She’d always been fleet-footed. None of the lads she’d grown up around could best her in a race and no one would best her now.

‘Maddy!’ It was Devlin’s voice.

She ran faster, past the elegant houses and neatly swept streets, ghostly in the lamplight. Ahead was a jumble of carriages, polished and shining, clogging the street. Elegantly liveried footmen milled about. Candlelight blazed from a house and, as she neared it, Madeleine heard sounds of music and revelry coming from the windows. She also heard Devlin’s shoes pounding behind her. Coachmen and postilions glanced curiously in her direction. There was nothing to do but head straight for them. She plunged into the crowd.

Devlin’s lungs strained and his legs ached as he pushed himself into greater speed. His months of recovery had robbed him of more strength than he had known. Madeleine was in sight. He gained on her slightly when she disappeared into the throng of vehicles and men lounging in front of the elegant town house. A satisfactory crush by the looks of it, but he had been out of society so long he could not even remember whose house it was. He only knew Madeleine would draw attention to herself in her flight. He must catch her before danger befell her. What could she be thinking of running into the night alone and unprotected?

He slowed, trying to get a glimpse of her in the confusion.

‘Lord Devlin?’ A man panted as he came up behind him.

Devlin greeted him with relief. ‘Jem. Help me find her.’

Bless Jem. He asked no questions, but immediately ran to search from the edge of the line of carriages. Devlin headed through the jam where he’d seen Madeleine disappear. The commotion ahead of him told him he was close.

‘Hey, missy, what is your hurry?’ Men’s voices laughed. ‘Stop now, missy.’

Would she appear to be a lady to them? The coachmen and postilions would be whiling away the hours of waiting with a bit of drink. Boredom and drink were dangerous companions. He glimpsed her, seeing only a bit of her gold silk before men closed behind her, calling after her. Were they grabbing
at her? Please no. They would not molest her here in Mayfair. St James’s Street was the danger. Not Mayfair.

She turned, giving Devlin an anguished look. Jem had circled behind her. He caught her in flight.

‘It’s all right, Maddy. Jem is a friend,’ Devlin said to her, as she struggled to get free. ‘You are safe with us.’

‘Let me go,’ she cried. ‘Let me go.’

Jem did let her go, but not until Devlin had her firmly in hand, one arm encircling her waist.

Devlin saw one of the footmen look curiously in their direction. He thought it prudent to avoid further trouble. ‘Come, let us get away.’

Jem led them to the entrance of an alleyway. Madeleine thrashed and kicked as Devlin half-dragged her into the alley. ‘I want to go.’

Devlin kept his arm tight around her waist. ‘Jem, can you send the carriage? I assume you made it ready for us.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He ran off.

Madeleine squirmed and struggled in Devlin’s arms. ‘Let me go,’ she cried feebly. ‘Let me go.’

He leaned her against the cold stone wall and secured her with his body, his arms embracing her. Her struggles quieted, but she trembled against him, her breath ragged.

‘You are safe now, Maddy,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I will not hurt you.’

‘You will let him take Linette,’ she cried.

‘No, I will not,’ he spoke soothingly in her ear.

‘He will make you do it,’ she insisted. ‘Just as he makes you get married.’

The truth in that statement stung. Ned held the power over his fortune, and he needed that fortune to safeguard Madeleine and Linette. Devlin had no means to combat him.

A few weeks ago Devlin would have bet his entire fortune that his brother would never to do anything so dastardly. Now Ned was like a stranger, capable of anything.

Trying to sound confident, he assured her, ‘Ned will not take Linette from you, I promise.’

‘I am sick to death of gentlemen’s promises.’ She spat out the words. ‘Promises mean nothing.’

‘Mine do,’ Devlin insisted, offended and hurt that she would think him like other men, after all they had been through.

She met his eyes, her own a challenge. ‘Do they?’

What was the use? She would not believe him. He cursed Farley and every man who had failed her. He cursed himself. It had not occurred to him to take her away from that life when he first met her. Had he done so, she’d have been spared years of suffering, of rearing her child in such a scandalous place.

Her child. His child, perhaps? Had he left his own flesh and blood to Farley’s evil whims? Perhaps Ned’s ill opinion of him was well deserved.

Her struggles ceased, but though his body was pressed against hers, he felt her distance.

The carriage pulled up with Jem on the box beside the driver. Devlin walked her to it.

She looked up. ‘I will not ride in
his
carriage.’

‘Do not be foolish, Maddy. Let us get out of here.’ Curious bystanders started to gather, doubtless trying to see the crest on the side of the vehicle.

‘No.’ She tried to pull away.

‘Enough of this,’ Devlin said, more to himself than to Madeleine. He picked her up and tossed her into the carriage, jumping in behind. ‘Go!’ he shouted to Jem.

The carriage lurched, and Devlin fell against her. She pushed him away. Crossing her arms over her chest, she huddled against the side of the carriage, as far away from him as possible. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Feeling miserable, Devlin rubbed the back of his neck. Her dress was wrinkled and dirty, her shoes near tatters, her hair half-tumbled from its pins.

She glanced at him briefly before turning back to the curtain.

‘Maddy?’

She did not respond.

Devlin took a breath. ‘Linette…is she…is she my child?’

Madeleine shut her eyes and focused on the rhythmic sounds of the horses’ hooves against the cobbles. She had intended for this moment never to come.

She turned to him. ‘I do not know.’

There was little light in the carriage, and she could only dimly see his face. She could not read his expression.

She continued, ‘She could be your child.’

He made a sound, an aching one. ‘How? From that first night, I suppose, but how could you know?’

He meant how could a woman who had been with countless men say that one of them fathered a child? She winced.

‘I do not pretend to know.’ She had promised herself never to believe Devlin fathered her child. She’d always told herself naming her Linette was in memory of a man who had been kind to her, nothing more. But sometimes, when she gazed upon her daughter, she believed otherwise.

‘It is possible, nothing more.’ She felt her throat tighten. The memory of that night, both with him and afterward, was etched in her mind.

‘I was a foolish girl. You undoubtedly will think me so.’ She attempted a light tone to her voice. ‘When you left that night, I did not do as I was supposed to do. I did not wash myself. I fancied it would keep you with me a little longer.’

She heard his breath quicken.

‘And when Farley came to me, I refused him.’ She winced at this part. ‘I had never refused him before, and he beat me soundly, but he did not bed me. The next day, he left. He was gone a long time, more than a month.’

Those rare times when Farley left had been the best her life had to offer in those days. She was guarded against running
away, but none of his lackeys dared touch her and the gaming hell ran without her as the prize.

‘Maddy.’

He reached for her, but she twisted away. ‘By the time Farley returned, I knew I was with child. I hid the fact from him as long as possible. He wanted to get rid of the baby, but I threatened to kill myself if he did.’

‘Maddy, I’m sorry.’ Devlin reached out to her, but she pushed his hand away.

‘Linette has been reward enough. I ask for nothing more.’

‘I should have been there to help you.’ He sounded anguished.

How like a man to be sorry for what he had not done, though he probably gave not a thought to it until this moment. Did Devlin think his regret made any difference to her? He had not believed Linette to be his child and looked for excuses not to believe so now. His words were empty.

‘I will not let the Marquess take Linette,’ she said. ‘Sophie and I will take her away this night. You need not trouble yourself further with us.’

‘You will not leave, do you understand?’ He spoke sharply. ‘It is not safe for you.’

‘You cannot make me stay.’ She twisted toward him. ‘Unless you plan to hold me prisoner like Farley did. Under guard every moment.’

‘He kept you under guard?’

‘At first. After Linette was born, he guarded her.’

‘Damn.’ The word barely reached her ears.

They rode in silence, the creaks of the carriage and the sounds of the horses’ hooves filling their ears until the carriage came to a stop. Jem hopped down from the box and opened the carriage door. Devlin lifted Madeleine out.

‘Wait for me, Jem,’ Devlin said.

‘You are going back?’ Madeleine said, fear creeping back.

‘I need to speak to my brother.’

They would plot the stealing of her child. Devlin would
give Linette to the high-minded Marquess and flawless Marchioness.

‘Do you keep me here? Do you alert Bart to guard the door?’