The Six Month Marriage (11 page)

‘It’s possible.’ Philip’s voice was still hard.

‘Then the masked men were looking for him,’ said
Madeline.

She was beginning to understand the situation. For a
moment a part of her wished that she had not demanded to be told, so that she
could still think she was involved in nothing more than the commonplace dangers
of burglars or highwaymen.

But that was ridiculous, she told herself, straightening
her shoulders. It was better by far to know the truth. Because if the last week
was anything to go by, then the coming months may be full of such incidents,
and the more she knew about the cause of the incidents the better.

‘Possibly,’ said Philip. ‘Either that, or they were
looking for information. Perhaps secret information that he has uncovered,
information that would be dangerous to the French.’

‘And the break-in? The people who were responsible for
that were also looking for your friend? Or his information?’

‘It certainly seems that way.’

‘And what did you discover now? When you followed the
masked men?’ asked Madeline.

‘Nothing.’

Madeline heard the frustration in his voice.

‘They had too much of a head start,’ Philip went on. ‘We
followed them for some way, but our horses were tired from the day’s journey
and theirs were fresh. In the end we lost them. And now, Countess, you know
everything I know,’ he said curtly.

He moved to leave the room, but even so she needed to
know more. As he walked over to the door she said, ‘Do you think they will they
trouble us again?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, turning. ‘But probably not. I
have, however, taken precautions. I have instructed the outriders they are not
to leave the coach for any reason. If their constant presence means they can no
longer ride ahead to pay the tolls, so that we are delayed at the toll gates,
and that they can no longer organise our rooms in advance so that we have to
wait whilst our rooms are prepared at the various inns along the way, then so
be it. The coach will not be unprotected again.’

He spoke coldly; stiffly; and Madeline realised that the
rapport which had grown up between them on the earlier part of the journey had
been destroyed.

For some reason she could not begin to fathom, she
realised she cared about its loss.

But it was too late now to do anything about it. Philip
had already walked out of the room closing the door behind him.

Madeline walked over to the window. But it was not the
pleasant landscape, basking in the last rays of daylight, that she saw. Instead
it was the incidents that had recently beset them. When she had married Philip
she had known the undertaking was perilous, but she was beginning to realise
there were other perils connected with the venture, perils that had nothing to
do with marriage. Perils she could not possibly have foreseen.

Philip
pulled off his boots with a feeling of profound dissatisfaction. Once back in
his room he could no longer hide from the fact that the day had been full of
frustrations. Not only had his attempts to discover who had attacked the coach
been unsuccessful, his subsequent conversation with Madeline had proved disastrous.
And all because he had been trying to protect her.

Where had it come from, this need to protect her? he
wondered. Why had he not just told her the truth about the danger she was in
and left her to grapple with the information as best she could? Why had he
wanted to shield her? She was nothing to him. She was not someone he cared
about, he told himself. Of course not. She was simply the means by which he
intended to claim his inheritance.

And yet, was that not the problem? Madeline wasn’t
simply
anything. Nothing about her was simple. And nothing about his reaction to her
was simple either. First of all he had found himself unaccountably - and most
inconveniently - attracted to her, and now he found himself wanting to protect
her as well. It didn’t make sense. She was nothing but a chit of a girl, and
should not in any way be influencing his life.

So how was it that, alone in his room, he could think
about nothing else?

The following morning they set out again. They now went
more swiftly than before. Unwilling to linger on the road, Philip set a brisk
pace and Madeline took to travelling for most of the day in the coach, despite
its despoiled squabs. Although she enjoyed riding she found the new pace
demanding, and she preferred to travel for at least a part of the day in the
coach.

By the afternoon, however, she had grown tired of being
confined and she took to horseback once more. She did not ride by Philip’s side
as she had done the previous day, but rode next to the carriage whilst he rode
on ahead. The hostility of the previous evening had not evaporated, and they
had spoken scarcely two words to each other since setting out.

Before long, however, he fell back to ride alongside
her. As he did so, the carriage turned off the road and went through a set of
imposing gates.

‘We will not be staying at an inn tonight,’ he informed
her. ‘We will be staying with Lady Weatherby, my great-aunt.’

‘But we can’t just call on her unexpectedly,’ protested
Madeline.

‘I sent a messenger to her with a letter a few days ago.
She will be expecting us,’ he said.

Although he was riding beside her his manner had not
relented, and his voice was still cold.

‘And does she know? About our arrangement?’ asked
Madeline hesitantly.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Philip with slight nod. ‘She knows. It
would have been pointless to try to deceive her. Aunt Honoria may be old but
she’s shrewd. She would have seen through any subterfuge at once.’

Madeline was in a way relieved. She knew that at some
point she would have to be able to convince Philip’s friends and relatives that
she was his true wife, but she was glad that she did not have to do so just
yet, because she was not sure if she could play the part convincingly. In
company, perhaps, at a large dinner party, or at a ball, where she would not
have to speak to any one person for long, but not in such an intimate
situation.

Philip paused, then said, ‘It will be as well for you to
be on your guard, even so. Aunt Honoria can be unpredictable. She has strange
fads and fancies.’ There was a slight thawing of his manner as he spoke, as
though their enforced conversation had done something, at least, to heal the
breach between them.

‘Is it wise, then, to stay with her?’ asked Madeline,
pleased he had unbent a little.

‘Yes.’ He spoke definitely. ‘It is better to meet her at
a time and place of my choosing rather than her own. Old though she is, she
would have travelled to Stonecrop to meet you if I had not arranged for us to
visit her on the journey north. And if she is planning any mischief I would rather
she did it here.’

‘What kind of mischief is she likely to plan?’

‘It’s impossible to say. She has an . . . original . . .
mind.’

‘Is she likely to expose the masquerade?’ asked
Madeline.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. She doesn’t like
Letitia any more than my father did, and I wouldn’t put it past her to create
difficulties of some kind, but as to actually exposing the nature of our
marriage, I think it unlikely. Even so, it is better to be prepared for
anything. With Aunt Honoria it’s never possible to be sure.’

The coach turned off the main road.

After passing between two stone pillars it wound its way
up a long gravel drive. The drive was dark, being overhung by gnarled old trees
and sombre bushes, but finally the coach emerged into sunshine once more. And
there ahead of them was a glorious, sprawling pile.

‘The house is Jacobean,’ said Philip. ‘It has been in
the family for centuries.’

Sunlight sparkled on the windows which Madeline could
see were made up of tiny diamond-shaped pieces of glass. The house itself was a
muted red, which stood out from the surrounding green gardens, creating an
imposing spectacle.

There was a hustle and bustle as the servants sprang
into action. Madeline and Philip dismounted, and then approached the imposing
entrance.

Once inside, Madeline felt apprehensive. The entrance
hall was like a cavern, with stone flagged floors and a huge stone fireplace.
Suits of armour stood to either side of the fireplace, and above it hung a collection
of antiquated weapons: maces, morning stars and fearsome-looking double-handed
swords.

An ancient butler led them upstairs. Heavily-carved
tables and ponderous chairs in solid oak were pushed back against the walls.
But when they reached the dowager’s sitting-room at the back of the house, Madeline
received a pleasant surprise. Although the furniture was still the heavy oak
furniture she had seen elsewhere, there was an air of cheerfulness about the
room. Fresh flowers stood on the mantelpiece and tables; the upholstery was of
bright, instead of dull, red and gold; and the sunshine spilling into the room
through the diamond-paned windows made it a welcoming place.

Sitting on a chair so large and heavily-carved it could
almost be called a throne, sat Philip’s aunt.

Madeline saw at once where Philip’s hawk-like air came
from. Lady Weatherby’s eyes were amber, like Philip’s. Her nose was beak-like
and her mouth was thin. Claw-like hands clutched at the arms of her chair, and
her hunched body reminded Madeline of a bird of prey.

As Madeline and Philip entered the room Matterson, Lady
Weatherby’s trusted companion, was reading to her from the newspaper. But at a
sign from Lady Weatherby the newspaper was quickly laid aside.

Madeline felt a shiver of apprehension as the dowager
turned beady eyes on her, but nevertheless she lifted her chin. She had fought
many battles in her short life, and if this proved to be another one then so be
it.

‘So. Found a way round your father’s will at last?’ Lady
Weatherby demanded, fixing Philip with her penetrating glance. ‘Never one to be
led by the nose, were you, boy?’

‘I take too much after you,’ Philip said dryly.

Lady Weatherby gave a cackle of laughter. ‘A hit, boy. A
palpable hit! And so,’ she went on, turning her shrewd glance on Madeline, ‘this
is your new bride?’

‘Yes. This is Madeline,’ said Philip.

‘Come closer, girl,’ said the dowager, beckoning with
one bony finger.

Madeline took a step forward, and felt the dowager’s
eyes on her, scrutinising her. ‘So. Married m’nevvy, have you girl?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Pretty manners, anyway,’ she said judiciously. ‘Pretty
face, too. You’ve done us proud, m’boy,’ she said to Philip. ‘A lovelier
Countess there’s never been, not even your great-grandmother, and she was one
of the great beauties of her day.’ The dowager turned her attention back to
Philip. ‘Well, no use sitting here all afternoon, not when there’s sunshine
outside. Ring the bell, Matty. Tell Crookshank we’ll take tea on the lawn.’

The old lady rose to her feet and Philip offered her his
arm. Then, offering Madeline his other arm they went outside, settling themselves
beneath a spreading chestnut tree that grew in the middle of the well-kept
lawn.

So far, the meeting had gone smoothly, thought Madeline.
But remembering Philip’s caution, she kept her wits about her. Although Lady
Weatherby was being charming there was a sharp intelligence behind her eyes,
and it was impossible to know what she was thinking.

Matty soon followed the small group with a pile of
cushions which she arranged on the chairs that had been set under the tree, and
tea was brought out. A silver tray was set on a wooden table spread with a
snowy cloth and the beverage was poured from a silver teapot, fresh and hot.

To begin with, the time passed pleasantly. Lady
Weatherby set herself out to entertain, and once they had finished their tea
she regaled them with tales of her youth.

‘D’you know what this reminds me of, Matty? This
marriage of Madeline and Philip’s?’ she said, with a sly glance at Philip. ‘With
all the ruckus it’s created it reminds me of the time Lady Caroline Lennox ran
away with Henry Fox. You remember it, don’t you Matty, old girl? It was the
talk of the town.’

‘Don’t I just!’ exclaimed Matty as she arranged Lady
Weatherby’s cushions. ‘I was in the schoolroom at the time, but my nurses were
full of it. How romantic it sounded! And how daring! Imagine, defying the Duke
of Richmond!’

‘Duke of Richmond to you and me, but just her father to
Lady Caroline,’ snorted Lady Weatherby. ‘Girls never have minded their fathers,
and never will, I’ll be bound.’

Madeline was startled. She had led an isolated
childhood, and she had not realised that other girls defied their fathers. She
had never even thought of defying her own father, but then, he had been such a
bully that it was not surprising. As she listened to Lady Weatherby’s tales she
realised she knew very little about normal life. Perhaps, over the next six
months, she would have a chance to learn.

‘Still, it all turned out well in the end,’ said
Matterson, drawing Madeline’s thoughts back to the present. ‘Mr Fox became Lord
Holland and Lady Caroline became Lady Holland. And she was reconciled with her
family in the end.’