The Six Month Marriage (19 page)

But that was before Madeline had entered his life.

After
weeks of preparation, the day of the ball finally arrived.

Madeline was apprehensive as she checked her appearance
in the cheval glass. So far, no one had doubted the nature of her marriage to
Philip, but his friends and neighbours would all be at the ball and she knew
that she would have to play her part to perfection if she was to convince them
that she and Philip were really married in the truest sense of the word.
Although she did not like the idea of deceiving anyone, circumstances had
forced her into a sham of a marriage, and she meant to see it through.

If not for her apprehension she would have enjoyed the
afternoon. She had been delightfully pampered. After bathing in scented water,
Jenny had helped her to dress in her most beautiful ball gown. It was a shining
example of the modiste’s art, and was a credit to Miss Silverstone. The gauze
overskirt, which was as light as gossamer, split to reveal an underskirt of
oyster pink, its satin gleaming in the evening sunlight. The delicate sleeves,
short and becomingly puffed, were decorated with the lightest frostwork, and
the same frostwork was repeated round the underskirt’s hem.

Her hair, too, was a miracle. Monsieur LeTour, the
fashionable
friseur
, had travelled over from York specially to do her
hair - Madeline had protested that Jenny dressed her hair beautifully, but
Philip had insisted, and Jenny had been just as eager for the great man to do
it, ‘For I’ll learn a thing or two, I’ve no doubt,’ she had said to Madeline.

Madeline’s fair hair had been piled on top of her head
and then caught up with a silver comb. Glossy ringlets had been teased out to
frame her face and to fall over one shoulder, and she knew she had never looked
better.

Round her throat she wore a pearl necklace.

‘You look lovely, my lady,’ said Jenny mistily.

‘Wish me luck,’ said Madeline as she pulled on her long
evening gloves and then, summoning her courage, she went out onto the landing.

Reaching the top of the stairs she saw Philip standing
at the bottom of the stairs, looking magnificent. It was the first time she had
ever seen him in full evening dress. He was wearing a dark blue tailcoat with a
figured waistcoat and a pair of skin-tight pantaloons, which showed off his
lean and rangy body to great advantage. Snowy linen could be seen at his neck
and at his wrists. A diamond tie-pin caught a ray of evening sunshine and
winked in his cravat.

At that moment he looked up and saw her.

His eyes flashed, and Madeline felt suddenly breathless.

Forcing herself to go forward she walked along the
landing and began to descend the stairs. She felt Philip’s eyes on her with
every step she took. She saw his gaze rove over her oyster pink gown and a
moment later he was striding up the stairs to meet her, taking them two at a
time. He met her on the half-landing, his eyes running over her
beautifully-arranged hair, her sparkling eyes and her pink lips, and the
intensity of his look made her heart begin to beat more quickly.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said. The huskiness of his
voice told her that it was no empty compliment. ‘Come.’

He gave her his arm and together they went down the last
few stairs.

To Madeline’s surprise he led her into his study.

‘Should we not be ready to greet our guests?’ she asked.

‘This will only take a moment,’ he said.

He took her over to the gilded looking-glass and turned
her gently so that she was facing it. Then he started to undo the clasp on her
pearls. In her surprise she put up a hand to stop him. But as her fingers
touched his a bolt of electricity shot through her, and she dropped her hand as
though scalded.

She saw his eyes flare. But then he continued to remove
her pearls.

He lifted something from the table behind him; there was
a flash of fire; and then he placed another necklace round her throat.

‘The
Rochdale
diamonds,’ he said.

Madeline gasped. The necklace was fabulous. ‘But I can’t
. . . ’

‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You are the Countess of Pemberton,
Madeline. It’s only right you should wear the
Rochdale
diamonds. And for your ears,’ he said. He turned her round and he
gave her the matching earrings, deftly helping her to arrange them.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and for a moment
she thought he was going to kiss her on the lips. But then a carriage crunched
on the gravel outside and he kissed her lightly on the forehead instead. Even
that slight touch was enough to intensify all her confusing and perplexing
feelings, and she was glad that the ball was upon them. At least in company
there could be no more disturbingly intimate moments; moments she dare not
admit were becoming increasingly precious to her. Because if she admitted it,
what then? Philip was destined for Letitia, and she would do well not to forget
it.

Jason Fellows was the first guest to arrive. He often
made the trip to
Yorkshire
as
his mother’s family was from that part of the country and his maternal
grandparents still lived there.

‘My dear Philip!’ he said, warmly taking Philip by the
hand. ‘And Lady Pemberton. You look exquisite.’ He made Madeline a low bow, and
then dispensed with formality to say good-humouredly, ‘Don’t tell me I’m the
first to arrive?’

‘Someone has to be,’ Madeline consoled him.

‘Very true. And perhaps it is just as well. I’ve a mind
to find a wife and settle down myself, so I need to get an early start! You see
what you have begun!’ he said to Philip with a laugh.

‘There will be plenty of young ladies here tonight - all
willing to talk about music and art!’ Philip spoke gravely, but a quirk at the
corner of his mouth gave him away.

‘I’m sure there will be,’ said Jason, knowing that
Philip was deliberately reminding him of the conversation they had had about
marriageable young ladies in
London
. ‘The only trouble is, I don’t know the first thing about music and
art myself!’

Another party had by this time arrived and Jason moved
through into the ballroom, leaving Madeline and Philip to greet their other
guests. Lord and Lady Cadogan were followed by Mr and Mrs Frobisher, The
Honourable Mrs Diddington and five of her daughters, all of whom were eager to
meet the new Countess.

And then Philip’s cousin, Stuart Letts arrived.

‘Stuart. So glad you could join us,’ murmured Philip.

Madeline, standing next to him, realised that he was not
pleased to see his cousin, whatever his words. But she had no time to wonder
about it, as Stuart moved on and more guests claimed her attention. Soon the
house was ringing with the sound of music as the orchestra struck up the chords
of the first dance.

‘Come,’ said Philip, taking Madeline’s arm. ‘The guests
are all here. Now it is time for us to open the ball.’

Madeline had always loved to dance, but had had little
opportunity to do so - until now.

She took her place at the top of the set, Philip facing
her, and swept him an elegant curtsey. And then the dance began. Madeline could
not remember ever having enjoyed herself so much. Her nerves completely
vanished and she remembered all of the complicated steps; steps she had
practised with her mother in snatched moments of happiness, when her father had
been from home.

‘Oh! My dear Countess! Isn’t this wonderful?’ gasped
Clarissa an hour later, when Philip and Madeline were mingling with their
guests. ‘I’ve never enjoyed myself so much in my life. I do declare I’ve danced
every dance! And Amelia is having a wonderful time as well. So good of you to
invite her and Percival along this evening. They are having a marvellous time!’

‘It was a pleasure.’ Madeline glanced at the happy
couple, who were dancing at the other side of the room.

They were interrupted by Jason. ‘Miss Rogers. May I have
the honour of your hand for the next dance?’ he asked, coming up to the two
ladies.

As soon as Clarissa had accepted Jason’s hand for the
next dance, Madeline found her own hand being sought. ‘My dear Countess, may I
have the honour of this dance?’

‘Mr Letts,’ said Madeline, turning to see Philip’s cousin.

‘Please. We are related now. Will you not call me
Stuart?’

‘Stuart. I would be delighted.’

The ballroom was looking entrancing, Madeline noted, as
Stuart led her out onto the floor in preparation for a cotillion. All the
effort she and Mrs Potts had put in had been worth it. The chandeliers sparkled
and shone, the mirrors gleamed, and the green-and-white chairs blended
beautifully with the flowers that had been brought in from the gardens, and
which now filled huge vases all around the house.

‘May I say how lovely you’re looking tonight, Countess?’
Stuart asked.

Madeline was still not used to the compliments which
prevailed at social gatherings, but she managed to reply lightly, ‘Thank you.’

‘Philip is a lucky man.’

There was a suggestive expression on his face as he said
it, as though there was more to the commonplace remark than there appeared to
be, and Madeline decided to change the subject. ‘What brings you to
Yorkshire
?’ she asked, turning the
conversation into less personal channels. ‘Some kind of business, I think you
said?’

‘Oh, nothing of any importance,’ he replied vaguely. ‘Just
a little property that needs attending to from time to time.’

His conversation was light and agreeable and, but for
the fact he paid her rather too many compliments, she was happy to dance with
him; and happy to accept his hand for a second time later in the evening, this
time for a quadrille.

‘Quite the gentleman, isn’t he, Mr Letts?’ giggled the
youngest Miss Diddington as she collapsed into a chair beside Madeline once the
quadrille was over. ‘I was hoping he’d ask me for a waltz, but Mama says I am
not allowed to dance it even if there is one.’

‘You are perhaps a little young for the waltz,’ said
Madeline.

‘Oh, pooh! That’s what Mama says. Oh, look, here is the
Earl come to claim you. When I am a married woman I shall waltz until my shoes
drop off!’

‘Was Miss Diddington being entertaining?’ asked Philip
as he claimed Madeline’s hand.

Madeline laughed. ‘She tells me that when she is a
married woman she is going to waltz until her shoes fall off!’

‘A waltz. I should have thought of that,’ said Philip
meditatively as he looked down into Madeline’s eyes.

‘I don’t know how to waltz,’ she admitted as they
approached the floor.

‘Don’t you, indeed?’ There was a strange glow in his
eyes. ‘Then I must teach you. But not here. Somewhere more private, I think.’

Taking her by the hand, he led her out of the ballroom,
across the hall and into the library – the one room not being used that
evening. The sound of the music and chatter faded away behind them.

‘Philip! We can’t leave our guests!’ she said as he
closed the door.

‘They’ll manage very well without us for a few minutes.’
He smiled down at her. ‘First, I place my hand on your waist, so.’

He suited the action to the word, and Madeline felt a
surge of heat where his hand rested.

‘Then you place your hand on my shoulder.’

She lifted her hand hesitantly and rested it on his
shoulder. Through the cloth of his tailcoat she felt the hard ridge of his
muscles and her fingers unconsciously ran over them, taking pleasure from their
strength.

‘And then I take your other hand.’

Even through her evening glove she could feel the heat
of his touch. ‘Now what happens?’ she asked, her voice low.

‘Now you trust yourself to me.’

He took a step to the side and, with his arm guiding her,
she felt her feet follow his. She soon picked up the steps of the dance and
began to follow more easily. They glided round the room, avoiding tables and
chairs as though they did not exist. Their bodies were not touching except
where their hands met, or where Philip’s hand rested on her slender waist, but
the distance between them was slowly shrinking. His head lowered and her arms
slipped round his neck – and a knock came at the door.

Philip cursed under his breath, stepping away from
Madeline just in time as Crump, the butler, entered the room.

‘Begging you pardon, my lord. Young Cedric Neith has
taken more wine than is good for him and I fear he may insult some of the
ladies. I have tried to reason with him, but to no avail. I hesitated to call
the footmen, my lord, for fear that, if pushed, he may start a brawl.’

‘What a puppy!’ said Philip. ‘Can his father not keep
him in line?’

Crump lifted one eyebrow, and Philip understood
immediately, because young Mr Neith’s father was completely ineffectual. ‘All
right, Crump. I’ll come at once.’ He turned to Madeline. ‘I’m sorry, I –’