A Lady Betrayed (8 page)

She drew a deep breath and picked up the gown that lay across her bed to distract herself.

Felicity seemed to follow her thoughts. “Happily, that has all ended well. I was so pleased to see the twins married; they both looked so happy. I'm sure they have matured beyond their wild times.”

“I hope so!” the twins' older sister said, grinning reluctantly. “If not, it's their husbands' problem now, not mine. The tales I have heard about their London escapades—”

“Um, yes, but I'm sure that much of that is exaggerated,” Felicity said quickly, as if to change the subject.

“I do hope so,” Maddie agreed, remembering what she had meant to ask her friend, and it had nothing to do with her younger sisters' dreadful exploits. If she didn't speak now, she would lose her nerve completely. “Felicity?”

“Yes?”

The change in Madeline's tone seem to alert the widow to a change in topic. The older woman turned to gaze at her. Almost wishing she had not spoken, Maddie ran her finger along a row of lace and tried to frame her question.

“When you were first married, did you know—I mean, how cognizant were you—that is, did your mother explain to you about—about…” Again her voice faltered, and she could not think how to word the question, as pressing as it was.

“About what to expect from the marriage bed?” Felicity smiled just a little, but her voice was serious.

“Yes!” Maddie sighed in relief. “Since I have no mother, and my sisters are not at hand, I have no one to ask, and I'm afraid I won't know what to do, or how to please my husband.”

This time Felicity did smile. “I see. If I should to try to give you—ah—a lesson in lovemaking, we would both be somewhat abashed, I think. But I can tell you that if you trust him, if you have good feelings for each other, it can be a most wondrous experience. And I will certainly be happy to answer any questions, my dear, now or later. But most of all, having seen the two of you together, I can reassure you that you will have two big advantages.”

“What are they?” Maddie asked, thinking that she really didn't know enough to know the proper questions to ask.

“First, Lord Weller does not appear, to my eyes, to be a green lad, so I suspect that he has sufficient experience to be a pleasing guide for your bridal night and will have no problems leading you smoothly into your introduction to lovemaking.”

Maddie put one hand to her cheek—she suspected she was turning pink again—and wished she didn't blush so easily. “I think that is likely true,” she agreed, trying not to giggle.

“And if you don't mind me asking, have you—ah—exchanged a kiss with your new betrothed?” Felicity picked up one of the gowns on the bed and appeared to examine its needlework with great care.

This time, Maddie was quite sure she had turned red. She told herself she was sure Felicity would be discreet and not repeat this conversation. “Yes,” she said simply.

“Did you like it?”

“Oh, yes!” Maddie answered with a good deal more force.

The other woman laughed, and Maddie, after a moment of confusion, laughed, too. “Then there you are. Follow your own instincts, my dear, and you will have no problems.”

“But do you think that he will—that I will be good enough—”

“I doubt very much that Lord Weller will have anything to fault you with, my dear,” Felicity assured her, looking up. “Please do not worry about that. A bride should have brighter thoughts on her wedding day—and night.”

Maddie nodded. “Very well, I will try.”

“You have been attempting for too long to take care of your family, your sisters, your father,” the widow pointed out, sighing. “Madeline, this is your time to enjoy someone else caring for you. That is your husband's province—allow him the privilege, the honor, of doing it.”

She had not looked at it in that way. Perhaps acquiring a husband had advantages she had never considered. It was true that she was more accustomed to caring for others than to having someone look out for her. It had been a long time since she had had anyone to cosset her, except for faithful Bess taking care of her when she was ill. This was different.

Perhaps being married could be a good thing, even outside of the marriage bed.

They went downstairs. Felicity had put the lavender silk into a neat bundle to take home and work on, promising that she would also help Maddie with her own make overs. Maddie went into the kitchen and assisted Bess in putting out a light luncheon, and the two men emerged from the study, her father shaking his head.

Maddie felt a moment of anxiety. Had they had a quarrel? No, it appeared that her father was simply admiring a particularly adept move.

“He has bested me, Madeline,” he told her as they sat down to the meal. “He kept his bishop waiting patiently, and when my knight was out of the way, it came swooping down to capture my queen and checkmate my king.”

“Quite an accomplishment,” Maddie said. She had played chess often with her father but almost never had she been able to beat him, and she said as much as she passed the dishes.

“Your father is a skilled player,” the viscount said. “I merely had a moment of luck.”

“Some moment,” her father contradicted. “You set up that play very patiently, Weller; I give credit where it's due.” Despite having lost, he seemed in excellent humor; the pleasure of a good match was exhilarating, Maddie thought. She smiled at them both.

“That play reminds me of a particularly good move in a match I played with a visiting vicar years ago…” her father commented.

After the meal, her father retired to take his afternoon rest, and Maddie, too full of nervous energy to wish to go up to her room, and not sure she could maintain her stance as a demure young lady, announced that she was going into the garden. There were dark clouds to the west, but at the moment, despite a brisk breeze, the sun still showed its face.

“I shall come, too,” the viscount agreed.

Inside the flower garden, Maddie put down a rough cloth so that she could kneel and pull weeds from a bed of flowers.

Lord Weller looked disappointed. “I am overthrown for the company of stray nettles?” he muttered, looking up as if speaking to a chattering sparrow in a tree that overlooked the flower beds. “How the mighty have fallen. That will put me in my place. Obviously, my kisses are of no value if they are rated so low.”

She laughed. “I must point out, my lord, that this part of the garden can be seen from my father's window.”

“Ah, I see, discretion is a worthy virtue.” He glanced over his shoulder without making the movement obvious. “And where would we not be seen?”

“At the other end of the beds…”

“So why do we not move there?”

“We will,” she told him, her tone calm. “When we have reason—when we have weeded the bed.”

“I see.” To her amusement, he pulled off his gloves and hat and knelt to attack the weeds with a vengeance. “Then I must add my labors to yours, so that we can finish with the infernal weeds more quickly. I have a more agreeable pastime in mind!”

His weeding was fast if not terribly accurate; she saw a few flowers tossed through the air along with the brambles, but she didn't scold, too amused and touched to see a peer of the realm apply himself to agricultural chores for the sake of a lady's favors.

Her favors.

Being courted was certainly an agreeable sensation. And the thought of being kissed again—she thought of Felicity's questions—oh, yes, she liked it exceedingly.

She quickened her own pace, and soon they did reach the end of the flower bed, and the more private side of the garden, where they were hidden from the house and the view of the windows by the privet hedge and the angle of the building.

This time, the viscount leaned over her, and she didn't try to move away. She looked at him instead of down at the ground, and as her fingers brushed a last bunch of unruly greenery, she felt a sudden searing pain.

“Oh!” Maddie pulled her hand up, but it was too late. She had touched a stinging nettle, and the plant's noxious touch had had its usual result.

“Wait!” the viscount said. “Don't touch anything else.”

She certainly wasn't going to touch the nettle again, Maddie thought, frowning at him. She had to blink back tears. Amazing that such a small plant could inflict so much pain. She should have been paying more attention, not gazing into the viscount's dark brown eyes. Really, she was acting like a lovesick girl, and she was too old and sensible for such behavior—or she should be, she scolded herself.

But while she admonished herself, and tried to blink away the tears—she knew better than to rub her lids and transfer the oil from the plant into her eyes—the viscount was several feet away, bent at the waist and scanning the long grass past the garden in search of something.

“Found it!” He announced in triumphant tones. He pulled up a broad-leafed plant and came quickly to rub it gently over her reddened and still burning finger. Almost at once, the pain in her blistered skin eased.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, sighing with relief. “You are as adept as Thomas in knowing the plants and their properties.”

“I grew up on my family's estate, and my manager made sure I spent plenty of time outdoors,” he told her, “learning my way around the property and getting to know as much as any good farmer would know.”

He led her to the wooden bench beside the beds of flowers where they could sit, safe from any more assaults from treacherous flora.

“Your manager? Did your father not spend time on the estate?” she asked a bit hesitantly, not sure how he would respond to a question so personal.

For a moment, her fiancé's face closed, then he drew a deep breath and looked across the garden and into the surrounding trees. “Like you I lost a parent young, but more than just the one. My father died when I was ten, my mother when I was fourteen.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Maddie exclaimed impulsively, putting one hand on his arm. Having touched him, she was then not quite sure what to do—to withdraw it at once seemed unkind, yet to continue the contact…

He solved her quandary by laying his hand over hers, then lifting it and turning up her palm, despite the dusting of soil that remained from her gardening, and kissing it lightly.

“You have a kind heart, Madeline. Yes, it was hard. I felt very—very adrift. I had one grandparent still alive, who made her home with me until I went into the army. I served with Wellington during the conflict against the French…”

His voice trailed off, but his expression tightened, and she felt this was not a subject that he wished to pursue. Many men had fought against Napoleon in the long years of war; some spoke of it often, some not at all. Nodding, she let the sentence die away.

Perhaps that was why he seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with her father, she thought, since he had lost his own father so young.

“Papa has relished your company,” she told him, speaking the rest of her thought aloud.

“And I, his,” Lord Weller said quickly. “But even more, I am enjoying my time with his daughter.”

Yet he spoke as if the time were limited, Maddie thought, feeling a pang of foreboding. Four weeks…he had to stay four weeks to have the banns read before they could have their wedding, and over a week and a half had already gone…was that all the happiness she was to be allowed?

Despite the story of the drunken duel and the man who was determined to kill him, surely there was something that could be done, some way a madman could be stopped…there had to be a way.

Now the viscount was running his hands down the slope of her neck where it met her shoulders, and the small movement sent a shiver down her spine and woke a quivery sensation inside her body. All the feelings inside her body seemed to jump to life.

How did he do it?

She forgot the sting of the nettle, and instead, her whole body poised itself for pleasure, for the delight that his touch always brought. She lifted her face to his, hoping for another kiss, but for the moment, he seemed to concentrate on his hands, on running his fingers lightly over her arms, bare on this sunny day below her short sleeves, skimming her forearms down to her wrists, lifting first one hand and then the other.

“But I am dusty from the garden,” Maddie tried to protest.

He shook his head. “Good honest English dirt,” he said, grinning.

He kissed one hand, then the other, then put her hands behind his head. Maddie clasped her hands around his neck and came willingly, more than willingly, into his embrace.

A drop of cold liquid hit her cheek, then another. Was the viscount weeping? Confused, she blinked, and felt more liquid touch her face.

Oh, blast—the contrary English weather had turned against them.

“We'd better run for it,” Lord Weller said, his tone as frustrated as she felt. He clasped her fingers, and hand in hand, they pelted for the house, as the clouds—she had been too engrossed in his lovemaking to notice the clouds thickening overhead or the sunlight dimming—released their burden of rain.