The Fall of a Saint. Christine Merrill
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but I could not want to leave the training of her to strangers.’ She emphasised the female pronoun ever so slightly, to remind him of the possibility that he might fail. ‘I will be quite capable of educating our child. Amo, amas, amaretto...’
‘Amat,’ he corrected, unable to stop himself.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She gave him an innocent look.
‘Amo, amas, amat. I love, you love, he loves. Amaretto is Italian. It is a bitter almond liquor.’ Was she seriously as ignorant as she pretended?
‘It does not matter, I am sure,’ she said, her eyes wide and innocent. ‘Love and bitterness are not so very far apart.’
It was a game, then. Another attempt to test his patience. ‘While I have no doubt that you were proficient enough for your previous job, I thought you would not be interested in the education of our child,’ he said, shooting her a triumphant smile over the rim of his wine glass. ‘You mentioned you wished to leave me soon after the birth, did you not?’
Apparently, there was something in what he’d said that upset her. For a moment, all pretence disappeared and her composure cracked. She looked confused and frightened. Worse yet, she looked ready to cry.
He held his breath and prayed the mood would pass. People around him were supposed to be happy and at ease. He made sure of it. He knew even less about womanly tears than he did of love. Perhaps Madeline sensed it and was resorting to tactics far more upsetting than tropical birds and bungled Latin.
Then the moment passed and she made a little pitying click with her tongue. ‘You agreed that I could do just as I pleased. If it pleases me to leave you, I shall. But not because you are bribing me with trips abroad. Suppose I wish to stay?’ She gave a feminine shrug. ‘Perhaps you could send me away against my will. I know what you are capable of. I am sure your friends would be interested in hearing it.’
At last he was on familiar ground. He smiled back at her. ‘Why, my dear, one might think that you married me for no other reason than to await a chance to tell that story.’ Let her deny it, or admit.
‘It will be a nice change for you. When we met, you seemed most eager to ruin your own reputation. I simply mean to be the helpmate you deserve.’
It was a pity that her plan would not work. Men of his rank would be better, were it possible to shame them into good behaviour. He took a sip of wine. ‘Then let me avail you of the sad truth, Madeline. You are as ignorant of the ton as you pretend to be of Latin. The reason for our marriage does not matter to them. Not really. They will gossip for a time. But they would not dare cast me off for my piggish behaviour. Men and matrons will applaud me for marrying you and not leaving you to your unfortunate fate. And women of a certain, liberal-minded sort will find me dangerously appealing. Do your worst. Tell your story, here, now, before the cake is cut and your audience departs. And then we will get on with our lives.’
He took another sip of wine, enjoying her shocked silence and waited for the farce to end.
* * *
When the door closed on the last of the guests, Maddie could not help the feeling of relief. It was foolish and spiteful of her to attempt to goad a reaction from St Aldric in full view of the ton. Other than the few tart remarks he’d made to her, he’d taken it all with amazing sangfroid, as though it were perfectly natural to have his house and his life turned upside down by a stranger.
She had almost got to him when she had bungled the Latin. He had been marched through conjugations and declinations by a governess at least as strict as she was and had been unable to keep from correcting her. But it went too far against her grain to perpetuate such deliberate ignorance.
Perhaps that was what had upset her so. The knowledge that the only child she was likely to have would be raised by others. It was the best thing for the baby, of course. St Aldric could provide more than legitimacy to the little one. But to know that there would finally be someone who she could honestly claim as family and love as her own, only to walk away....
It was too soon to think about any of this. Much could happen between now and the birth. Her head was not clear enough to imagine the future. The servants had begun to clear away the mess. As the orchids disappeared towards the kitchen, she could take her first free breath. The cloying perfume had very nearly sickened her at the table and she had managed only a few bites of ham and the thinnest slice of wedding cake. And her head still rang from the sound of the birds.
That had not worked either. He had ignored the chirping and whistling. But judging by the murmurs of the guests, the ton would declare this the event of the Season. By tomorrow, matrons all over London would be stalking the docks in search of imported birds.
She was the only one who had suffered by this day. As she always did on visits to the town house, she felt small, insignificant and very much alone.
It had been easier in the past week, staying with Evelyn and Dr Hastings. Their house was elegant, but nothing so large as this. She felt almost at home there, after she got used to the novelty of sleeping in a room decorated for a guest and not a servant. Evelyn was both wise and helpful, putting her mind at rest on the subject of pregnancy and delivery. Doctor Hastings was quite different from what she had expected him to be, after Dover. He’d made it clear that his home was at her disposal for as long as she might wish it.
She had dared to imagine, just for a moment, that they were her family. To be so welcome and not obligated to work for her place was a novelty. Nor did she think St Aldric had paid them for their hospitality to her, as her absent father did the family that raised her. They took her in willingly, expecting nothing in return.
Then Dr Hastings had hinted, very diplomatically, that if she had a change of heart about the marriage or anything else, she was to come to him and he would help her.
It made her uneasy. Did he think her not good enough for the duke? Was he hoping, in the guise of kindness, to dissuade her from marrying his brother? Or did he know facts that had not yet been revealed to her and meant this as a rescue? It could be that St Aldric was just as dangerous as she expected him to be and that marriage to him would be a fresh misery.
But it was too late to worry now. She had chosen to marry him. Despite what a villain her husband might be, she was a duchess and she meant to behave as capriciously as the worst of them.
When she had demanded that a modiste must drop everything and provide a wardrobe fit for the wife of a peer, St Aldric had hardly blinked. Instead, he’d added, ‘You will need a maid, as well. Do you wish Mrs Card to arrange suitable candidates for you to interview?’
A devilish part of her had decided that enlisting the housekeeper was the way to cause the most difficulty. But it left her in the embarrassing position of interviewing servants, using a tone that had been used upon her scant months ago. In the end, she chose one of the housemaids who had some experience with dressing and hoped for the best.
That girl, as the others had, accepted her as her future mistress with eager enthusiasm. She seemed to think any woman that might suit his Grace was near to perfection.
How could they all be so wrong about him? Was he truly able to hide the darker side of his nature to all but her? The servants seemed to view him not so much as a saint but almost as a God, rushing to do his bidding as though it was an honour to serve here.
Such misguided loyalty chilled her blood. And with it went any desire to upset the household instead of the master. These poor unfortunate souls had done nothing to deserve her punishment. She knew from experience what it was like to have employers with no sympathy for the servants and the difficulty their outlandish requests might make. She could make their lives hell with unreasonable demands. Or she could set the whole house into chaos by her inaction.
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