Fallen Angel (30 page)

In the week since Maddie had settled in, she had seen very little of him, though his presence had made itself felt. From the moment she wakened till the minute her head touched the pillow at night, she had scarcely a moment to call her own. Her
grandfather had seen to that. Her days were spent with tutors and dancing masters and modistes. Nothing about her seemed to please. Miss Maitland would have been aghast at the tutoring of her elocution teacher, so Maddie thought, for Mr. Clarke tried to induce her to speak as if she had a plum in her mouth. It simply murdered the clarity of her diction, especially those final consonants. But that was the English for you. Since they couldn't enunciate properly themselves, they didn't want anyone else to. And as for the useless rules on protocol she was obliged to memorize, it would have been laughable if it weren't such a chore. Who in his right mind cared a brass button whether it was proper to introduce a countess to a marchioness, or the other way round? Only the English. If she hadn't known better, she would have suspected that she was being groomed to take her place as duchess, or some fool thing.

Only once, so far, had she come to points with her grandfather. He mentioned casually over dinner one evening that he wanted her out of her blacks. She dug in her heels, pointing out in as reasonable a tone as she could manage, that she wore them out of respect for her father.

The silence pulsed with leashed anger. She watched guardedly as her grandfather brought the linen napkin to his lips. His eyes blazed. Her chin lifted.

It was Aunt Nell who smoothed over what gave every evidence of becoming an ugly contretemps. She tactfully suggested a compromise—half mourning. Though Maddie had no conception of the distinction in mourning dress, the words sounded acceptable. She signified her acquiescence. Her grandfather, after a slight hesitation, followed suit. Which was why, she reflected ruefully, she was wearing a lilac silk which was indistinguishable from the finery of any lady in the room. She conceded that her grandfather had adroitly outflanked her.

His parting comment, "There's a good deal of your mother in you, Maddie," she had not mistaken for a compliment. She suspected that there was a good deal of her grandfather in her as well.

But he was not the sort of man to take into one's confidence. She had reached that conclusion within hours of her arrival. Indeed, her circumstances were so shocking, she did not think
she dare confide them to anyone, however sympathetic and broadminded, which her grandfather was certainly not. There was nothing for it but to stew in silence. She felt as if she were sitting on a powder keg. Only one spark was necessary to ignite the conflagration—Deveryn.

Her unhappy train of thought was interrupted by the Duke's exclamation of pleasure.

"Lady Mary. And blooming like the first rose of summer. Marriage would seem to agree with you, my, dear. So where is the bounder who stole my favourite niece from me?"

Maddie saw a young woman of sallow complexion whose rather undistinguishable features were suddenly transformed by a singularly charming smile. "Your Grace, how lovely to see you again." Her eyes travelled the diminishing throng of people. "Max is here, somewhere. Possibly in the library." Her hazel eyes lit up with mischief. "Perhaps he can't bear to tear himself away from the scholarly gentlemen who are invariably to be found in the bookroom on such occasions as this."

"Lord Bessborough has a very fine library," admitted Raeburn, with a twinkle.

"But not as fine as his wine cellar," Lady Mary responded in like manner.

Adroitly, His Grace turned the subject to less contentious channels. "Allow me to present Miss Nell Spencer and her niece, Miss Madeleina Sinclair."

It seemed only natural, after the introductions were made, for the group to move as one to the open doors, and even more natural, when they sat down to supper, for the younger ladies to find a place together. The Duke led Miss Spencer to a table not far removed.

"Madeleina seems in somewhat better looks this evening," he remarked conversationally. He was thinking of Maddie as she had been on the tedious, seven day drive from Edinburgh to London. He'd thought her then a rather colourless thing with little animation and even less conversation. She had improved on acquaintance. Still, she could not hold a candle to her aunt when it came to address. Old man Spencer had convinced him that the journey would give him the perfect opportunity to get to know his betrothed, even court her a little. Instead, he'd felt more akin to a nursemaid than a suitor.

Lack of practice, he supposed, and raised his index finger to summon one of the liveried footmen who was dispensing . glasses of champagne from a silver salver.

Miss Spencer gratefully accepted a glass from the Duke's hand and permitted a footman to serve her a selection of delicacies. She waited till he had withdrawn. "I don't know which hit her hardest, the tragic circumstances of her father's death or the loss of her beloved Drumoak. I think I told you that to all intents and purposes it belongs to her stepmother now? But Maddie is young. The young have a way of bouncing back from what you and I would go into a decline over. At heart, she's a very sensible girl."

After a thoughtful silence, the Duke said, "Perhaps I'm too old for her. Oh don't look so surprised. The thought had crossed my mind."

Miss Spencer coloured slightly. "I don't think anyone loves Maddie better than I do. And I am persuaded that she's a very fortunate young woman to have attached a gentleman such as yourself."

"You do? Why?" His Grace regarded the object of their conversation through half-hooded eyes. Lady Mary's husband, Max Branwell, had made a belated appearance and was being introduced to the child.

Miss Spencer, normally rather diffident with members of the opposite sex, found to her surprise that the Duke was very easy to talk to. She spoke without reservation. "You're a handsome man, possess a distinguished title as well as superior intelligence and address. Any woman would be flattered by your attention."

"You forgot to add that I'm also as poor as a church mouse."

"Oh money!" disparaged the lady in the manner of one who never had to do without a thing in her life. "My father will settle a fortune on the girl."

"And you don't find that rather . . . crass? Distasteful?" asked His Grace. The infelicity of his remark suddenly struck him, and he said quickly, "I beg your pardon. I spoke without thinking. I meant no disrespect to your father. On the contrary, my disapprobation is all for myself."

Miss Spencer took some few minutes to marshal her thoughts before launching into a reply. "Your Grace, my father and I rarely agree on anything. But from the moment he confided that he had selected you to be Maddie's husband, I found myself in perfect harmony with his decision, though for different reasons. My father, as I've no doubt you've remarked, thinks only of the prestige of the title. It flatters his vanity to think his granddaughter will be a duchess."

Raeburn acknowledged the truth of her statement with an imperceptible nod of his dark head. He refrained from voicing the vulgar suspicion that Samuel Spencer's personal ambitions to rise above his humble beginnings as a silk mercer would also be realised. He'd heard through the grapevine that young Devonshire had been courted but had politely but firmly declined. Devonshire, a bachelor of only seven and twenty, would have suited the old man better. Spencer's great- grandson, in. those circumstances, would have been heir to a dukedom. But, as the whole world knew, Devonshire's heart was already given to his cousin, Lady Caroline Lamb. He'd been hopelessly in love with that capricious young woman since he'd been a boy in short coats.

"Your Grace, may I speak frankly?"

"Please do."

The footman returned and diligently refilled champagne glasses and tempted palettes with a selection of dried fruits and hothouse grapes and strawberries. It was some few minutes before Miss Spencer could continue where she had left off.

"You know, of course, some of the circumstances of Maddie's background, so there's no necessity for me to give you a complete biography. However, I think it would be helpful for you to remember that in the last number of years the girl has had a somewhat eccentric upbringing. She's been literally alone in the world, making her own way, managing her own affairs."

"I understood that she was at school." Surprise edged Raeburn's voice.

"Miss Maitland's Academy," snorted Miss Spencer. "I shan't bore you with a description of that establishment. Suffice it to say that Maddie learned nothing of any use to her there. The social graces, those necessary and elegant refinements which ease one's way in our society are somewhat lacking in her."
"Yes. I noticed that she doesn't have much to say for herself."

"She's not stupid, by any means."

"Intelligent? A clever girl?"

"Worse. She's had the disadvantage of a singularly masculine education." She looked at him with some trepidation.

Surprise brightened his eyes. "Well, that's something, at any rate!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My late wife was something of a bluestocking."

"Oh." There was no mistaking that the Duke of Raeburn did not find education for a woman to be an unwelcome accomplishment. Quite the reverse. The discovery left Miss Spencer at a loss for words for some few minutes.

"I understand you had charge of the girl since she left school?"

"More or less. That is to say, I met Maddie by chance two years ago at just such an evening as this. The poor thing was having a miserable time. I found her hiding in the cloakroom. I made up my mind then to do something for the child. We started corresponding and when she left school, I made my home in Scotland to be with her. It was as much as her father would allow from the Spencers. He was still bitter, you see, at the way our family had reacted to his elopement with my sister. My father
was . . . is . . .
a hard man." Her voice drifted away as if following in the wake of her thoughts. Her expression grew pensive. She came to herself gradually, and flashed her companion a look of apology. "I beg your pardon. Woolgathering is not a habit with me."

"You were remembering less happy times, I collect?"

"I was thinking of my sister and how like her Maddie is. Constance was one of the beauties of her Season. Would you believe that a duke offered for her?"

"Ah! That would explain your father's long standing antipathy to the man who eloped with her."

Miss Spencer's sigh was scarcely audible. "My father hates to be thwarted."

"And you? How is it that you have never married?"

"A not uncommon tale. Because, kind sir, nobody asked me."

"That I find hard to believe." The words sounded like the merest gallantry, though they were sincerely meant.

"I had not my sister's beauty, you see, and . . ." she faltered. She had been about to say that the taint of shop was too strong about her family in those days. She recovered herself quickly and merely observed, "But I have wandered far from my subject. We were talking of Maddie. You will need a deal of patience, but the results will more than reward you. She's like an uncut gem. A little polishing, and she will be perfect for her setting."

The Duke's thoughts wandered to the two uncut gems in his schoolroom at Raeburn Abbey. His daughters, the precocious brats, would require mallet and chisel to chip away their rough edges before they were ready for Polite Society. A happy thought struck him.

"After the wedding, when we remove to Raeburn Abbey, if you wish it, I should be honoured to offer you the hospitality of my home."

"Of course I'll visit. Nothing on God's earth could keep me away."

"No, no! You misunderstand. I mean as a permanent arrangement. My offer has much to recommend it. Forgive me, but I don't think your own situation is a happy one."

"You mean in my father's house? He's not the easiest man in the world to live with, I'll give you that."

"Well then, what could be more natural than for you to accompany Madeleina to her new home when she marries? You would be company for the girl, and, if I may say so, a salutary influence on my own growing daughters."

Miss Spencer went pink with pleasure. "You're too kind, Your Grace. I never
thought. . .
it never occurred to me. Thank you. I shall certainly consider your invitation."

When the Duke of Raeburn composed himself for sleep later that night, he set himself to dream of the young woman who was destined to be his bride. It was no fault of his that Maddie's indistinct image faded altogether to be replaced by the picture of a more mature lady of handsome demeanour and intelligent
grey eyes. His last thought before sleep claimed him was not felicitous. Duty, he deplored, was a hard task master.