Ashes to ashes, p.9
Tamed by the Lyon, page 9
Madeline didn’t hesitate. She turned and fled back to her own chamber. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but only in part because of her fear of being caught in such a damning activity. It was the vision of him, shirtless in the sunlight that filtered in through those windows, that made it difficult to breathe. Difficult to think.
Is this what it feels like to desire someone? The hot, fluttering feeling inside her was almost unbearable. But it brought with it an excitement she had never known. She felt alive, as if she’d been sleeping her whole life and had finally awakened to something thrilling and new.
But she still had no notion of why he had not consummated their marriage. Lack of will? Lack of ability?
“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “This is most definitely a complication.”
Chapter Twelve
Madeline was exploring the house in the hours after breakfast. She’d been given a tour by Mrs. Wilson on her first day in the home. Now, on her third day, she found herself struggling to remember what each room was and where each corridor and stairwell led. Exploration, in that instance, was more a matter of self-preservation. She needed to not get lost every time she left her room.
Easton House was impressive beyond reason. It was no less than four times the size of her own family’s townhouse. Built after the great fire, it had been renovated and added on to numerous times, encompassing structures that had been on either side of it, per Mrs. Wilson. In short, it wasn’t so much a maze as a rabbit warren.
In all of Madeline’s life, she’d never had quite so much time alone. In her parents’ home, her mother had always been constantly managing her time and Coraline’s. There had been morning calls to pay, shopping, going to the park to see and be seen. While it was somewhat lonely for her, it had also been inordinately peaceful. But it was time to re-enter society and, to that end, she needed to speak to her husband.
An invitation had arrived that morning to a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Etherton. It was the first such invitation they had received and she had little doubt that, in some way, Mrs. Dove-Lyon was behind it. Still, she would need to locate her husband first and secure his agreement before confirming with the hosts that they would attend. It was, by all accounts, slated to be the biggest social event until the season resumed in the winter. In truth, prestigious invitations would be hard to come by until everyone returned from the countryside.
After multiple false starts, Madeline managed to find her way back to the main staircase that led down into the massive entry hall. Finding the butler there, she asked him, “Where is Lord Foxmore at present?”
“He is in the conservatory, my lady, attending to his work,” the butler replied. “As a rule, he does not wish to be disturbed there.”
Of all the servants in the house, the butler was the only one whom Madeline didn’t especially like. The man was very superior. He clearly held her in no great respect. “Be that as it may, I’ve a matter to discuss with him urgently. Please direct me to him.”
His lips firmed in displeasure, but he gave a curt nod. “Certainly, my lady. This way.”
Following him down the corridor, Madeline found the conservatory tucked away behind a small sitting room she had not yet entered. “What is this room?”
“It was the former countess’ private parlor, my lady. It has not been used since she retreated to Rosehill, one of the earl’s smaller holdings. However, since the earl must pass through this room to reach his conservatory, it is kept at the ready.”
“I see. Thank you, Saunders. I can find my way from here,” she stated. The last thing she wanted was the man lurking and overhearing their conversation. Not that they would likely say anything inappropriate, but it was the principle of the matter, after all.
When he’d gone, Madeline opened the door to the conservatory and stepped inside. She was immediately assailed by the scent of roses. They were everywhere. In dozens of shades of pink and red, there were white ones growing there, as well, and there were some varieties she had never before seen. It was simply impossible to take them all in.
Near the far end of the room that was comprised almost entirely of glass, Oliver was standing at a workbench, his coat, waistcoat and cravat discarded. His shirtsleeves were turned back and he had dirt on his hands as he painstakingly worked on repotting a small green shoot.
She hadn’t seen him at dinner the night before. Instead, she’d dined alone in that vast space. Noting the growth of tawny whiskers on his cheek, she wondered if perhaps he’d been working in there the entire time.
“Oliver, have you been here since yesterday?”
He looked up, somewhat startled. Glancing over his shoulder at the golden glow of morning light, his brows lifted in surprise. “I suppose I have. I’m terribly sorry. I received these specimens yesterday afternoon and it was imperative to get them repotted and sorted before they suffered any root damage. I’m afraid I have a tendency to get caught up in it all.”
There were worse things for him to be caught up in, certainly. Madeline stepped deeper into the room. “What are they exactly?”
“These are a species of wild roses from the Far East. I have tried several times to import them. But each time, they have been too battered by the journey for any successful cultivation upon arrival.”
Madeline stepped closer and looked down at the small, green shoots. “It is very small.”
“Well, this is what remains after careful pruning,” he answered. “I have ten varieties, all carefully pruned, repotted in rich soil and, hopefully, in the coming months, healthy enough to attempt creating several hybrid roses.”
“You said you were trying to create a lavender rose. Is that what these are for? To help you get closer to that goal?”
He reached for a towel and began wiping the dirt from his hands. “Eventually, yes. But it will be a very slow process. And now that you have pulled me back to the world of people rather than plants, I find myself completely famished. I apparently missed supper and breakfast.”
“You did. And tea,” she said.
He frowned. “Which I was supposed to have with you. I fell asleep upstairs and when I awakened, this shipment had arrived and I fear I completely lost track of time. I am very sorry.”
Madeline blushed at the reminder of his nap and her own snooping. She’d honestly been relieved not to have to face him over tea. The very idea of sitting politely face to face with him after having behaved like a peeping Tom was something she couldn’t imagine would have gone well for her. “It’s quite all right. Perhaps we could persuade the cook to provide us with an early luncheon?”
He grinned. “Quite possibly. She is used to my rather odd hours.”
Madeline looked away as he reached for his waistcoat and cravat. When he was fully redressed, he offered her his arm. It was not an occasion that called for such a gesture. They were simply walking side by side in their home, after all. But she accepted it nonetheless. It was a way to be closer to him, after all, and that was what she wanted.
“Should I miss meals or fail to keep our engagements, please do not hesitate to send someone for me,” he stated. “It is one thing to closet myself away with my work when alone, but you should not have to suffer for it.”
“Thank you. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You are not a bother… and no one should make you feel as such. I admit that we have found ourselves in a rather unique situation. It is rather like an arranged marriage, but we arranged it ourselves. Still, we are practically strangers to one another and it cannot be easy. We must both make an effort to get to know one another and to build some sort of intimacy with one another if we are to ever become more than that,” he stated. “And I have already fallen short of the mark.”
“But you are kind,” Madeline replied. “You are very kind to me. Kinder than many have been in my life. And I think you are very critical of yourself.”
He stopped walking then. “But I haven’t been truly kind, have I? I married you for reasons that we both know are far from generous of heart. We married one another for those reasons, in all honesty. I’ve been, at best, cordial. But a wife deserves more than simply cordiality. And I will strive to do better.”
“Speaking of our reasons for marriage, we’ve been invited to a ball hosted by the Viscountess Amberley. I think it will be the only event of any note for some time. If we decline, there may not be another opportunity for such interaction… certainly not with that degree of visibility. Should I accept?”
He nodded, though he clearly did not look eager for the outing. “Yes. I think I can muster up the necessary enthusiasm by then.”
Madeline turned slightly, placing both her hands on his forearm. She was acutely aware of the firm muscles beneath, of the heat of his flesh beneath those layers of fabric. She could feel it, after all, seeping through the clothing. It was tantalizing and tempting in ways she had never imagined. “Thank you, Oliver. I never imagined that when I sent that first letter to Mrs. Dove-Lyon that I would be fortunate enough to find a husband who was—”
When her silence stretched on, he supplied, “Not in his dotage?”
“Well, that, certainly. But you are ever so much better than simply ‘not in your dotage’.”
It was an opportunity that he couldn’t pass up. They were alone, without any servants or any of her ridiculous family members about. Proximity, Mrs. Wilson had said. It appeared to be working in his favor assuming he could pull himself away from his work long enough to take advantage of it. And assuming they could avoid further interruptions.
Reaching up with his free hand, Oliver cupped her face gently, his thumb sliding over her soft cheek in a gentle caress. She looked up at him through thick, sooty lashes. But she didn’t back away. Leaning in, his lips were scant inches from her, closer than he had been in the garden yesterday certainly. Her eyes had drifted closed and her face turned up in anticipation. It was proof that she knew what he was about and that she welcomed his kiss in that moment.
And before their lips touched, Saunders cleared his throat from the doorway of the conservatory.
“Forgive me, my lord, but there is an urgent matter you must attend to.”
Exasperated, Oliver eased back from her. “What is it now?”
“The solicitor is here, my lord. He indicated that he was expected. Shall I ask him to come again at another time?”
He had been expected. But Oliver had lost an entire day dealing with the arrival of his latest treasures. “No. That will not be necessary. You may show him to the study and I will attend him there shortly.”
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said, dipping his head in acquiescence.
“It’s all right. I’ll find Mrs. Wilson and see to it that a tray of refreshments is sent to your study,” Madeline offered softly.
“We will continue this… discussion… after dinner,” he promised.
She blushed prettily. “I shall look forward to it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver entered the drawing room and frowned. The places were set just as they had been the evening prior. He was at one end of the long table and Madeline was at the other. How on earth was he supposed to utilize proximity, as Mrs. Wilson had suggested, when she seemed so determined to keep them apart?
Gesturing to one of the footmen, he said, “On whose orders was the table laid in such a manner?”
“Mr. Saunders, my lord,” the footman replied. “He always oversees the setting of the table.”
“I see. Get him for me.”
The footman gulped, nodded and then took off in a flash. Moments later, the dour-faced butler entered. “You wished to see me, my lord?”
“Yes, Saunders. Is it really necessary that my bride and I dine twelve feet apart?”
“Fourteen, my lord.”
“What?” Oliver demanded.
“Fourteen feet, my lord. The table is fourteen feet in length. We have the option of increasing it to eighteen should you and Lady Foxmore ever wish to entertain,” the butler replied.
“I do not care if it expands to a hundred feet, Saunders. The point is that I would prefer Lady Foxmore be seated near the head of the table, nearer to me. It is impossible to enjoy any conversation at dinner when we must shout over the top of the centerpieces and candelabra.”
The butler frowned. “I see, my lord. I was unaware that you would desire such a breech in etiquette. Naturally, if it is your wish, I will see it done. I should hope that Lady Foxmore will not think poorly of the household staff based on such—”
“Lady Foxmore will not care a whit. But if you do not stop preaching about it, I most certainly shall! Move the place settings. I shall be in the library until dinner.”
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said.
The words might have been meek, but the man’s demeanor was anything but. Put upon, yes. Long-suffering, most certainly. The butler appeared as if someone had just given him great disappointment. And no doubt, he had. Sebastian had been the one who understood and appreciated protocol and etiquette. He’d been the one who had embraced wholeheartedly all the aspects of society living that Oliver himself found so tedious and abhorrent.
Once in his library, Oliver strolled to his desk and poured himself a small amount of brandy. Mindful not to consume as much as he had the previous night so that he might be a marginally pleasant dinner companion instead of focusing all his energy on not planting his face into the soup bowl, he sipped it gingerly and walked to the doors that opened out onto the terrace.
Taking in the twilight, he savored the slightly cooler air of the evening and the scent of the garden below. Then he heard voices. Low, feminine, sweet. They came from the morning room. Curious, he moved closer. Then closer still.
He could hear Madeline speaking but it took the longest time for him to recognize whom she might be speaking to. When at last he heard the answering voice in something more than a dulcet whisper, he knew it was Mrs. Wilson. What in the world was she doing in the morning room with his bride?
Moving closer still, he hovered just to left of the French doors that opened off the morning room and strained to hear their conversation.
Madeline smiled as she refilled the tea cups. They were on their second pot. It had been Lucy’s idea to put a bit of brandy into it. Heavens, it was so terribly warm!
“Thank you so much for visiting with me, Mrs. Wilson. I’m so glad to have gotten to know more about you and your very interesting life before coming to work at Easton House,” Madeline stated.
“Oh, my! I should never have stayed so long, but it’s been such a joy to speak with you, my lady. I cannot tell you how glad we are to see Master Oliver—forgive me, Madam—Lord Foxmore settled with a new bride. It does my heart good, you see? I’ve been here with him since he was a boy. Ever since his poor mother passed,” Mrs. Wilson said.
“He was very close to her, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, aye. Like peas in a pod, they were. Always digging in the dirt together. She loved her flowers, she did. And now, so does he. Apples never fall too far from the tree, I think, unless they’ve a good reason to.”
“Well, I wished to speak with you, Mrs. Wilson, about something very important. I’m not certain if you are aware of this, but I was not from the same social class as Lord Foxmore. My father is only one generation removed from trade and my mother was part of the country gentry, but was never launched in London society. The truth is, I’ve never learned anything that would be necessary to be the wife of an earl. I cannot act as his hostess nor can I run a household like this with any sort of skill. I fear I am perfectly useless. That being said, I am certainly not blind and I can see quite clearly how well and efficiently you run this household.”
Mrs. Wilson beamed. “Oh, my lady. That is music to my ears.”
“So, please, you do not need my approval on things. You should simply continue on as you did before I arrived… though I would take it as a kindness if you could deign to educate me in all the ways it seems my mother failed. Teach me what I need to know to take care of this house and keep it running so that I do not embarrass myself or Oliver—Lord Foxmore.”
Mrs. Wilson’s eyes narrowed. Slightly foxed on her brandy-laced tea or not, the woman appeared quite shrewd. “You’re rather taken with him, aren’t you?”
Madeline blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean,” Mrs. Wilson said, leaning in and whispering in a voice that was very far from an actual whisper in volume, “that you are smitten with Lord Foxmore. I might have known him since he was a boy, but I’m not blind to the man he has become. I know how handsome the ladies find him. And that you are not immune to his charms.”
“He is very handsome,” Madeline agreed. “Is there a reason—never mind. I should not ask such things.”
“Is there a reason he did not come to your bed,” Mrs. Wilson supplied, drinking deeply from her tea cup.
Madeline blushed to the roots of her hair. “Yes! I know I shouldn’t broach such a subject with you… but, is it me? Does he not find me attractive? Am I not the sort of wife he wished for? Or is it something else? Is he perhaps unable to be a true husband to me?”
“Unable?” Mrs. Wilson cackled. “I should think not. He’s quite able and has been since he was a young lad. Had to give many a serving maid a stern talking to over batting their eyes at him, I have. And given him a stern talking to then, as well, about not encouraging them!”
“Oh,” Madeline said, utterly crestfallen. “So it is me. He just doesn’t—well, we undertook this marriage for very unusual reasons. I should not expect it to run its course in the usual way, should I?”
Mrs. Wilson’s laughter faded. “No. No. No. That’s not of things at all! I believe, Lady Foxmore, that Lord Foxmore is attempting, in his own ham-fisted and high-handed way, to be patient and give you time to know him better.”
“What in heaven’s name for?”
