The Vengeful Bridegroom Page 10

  “It must be Alec or Mr. Westcott. Perhaps they might know…” She trailed off, her eyes widening, as she watched her brother and Mr. Brelford launch to the window in an obvious effort to escape detection.

  She raced to the window to stop them. “Matthew, Mr. Brelford, surely we can solve this dilemma.” Diplomacy and a rational mind might sway her argument.

  “I’ll be back for the dagger, Madelene. I must have it within a fortnight,” her brother told her roughly. Then they were gone. Out the window.

  Madelene leaned out the window, still believing she could halt their escape. She had to convince her brother to take her with him. He needed her help. As always.

  She heard a soft knock, then the door open behind her.

  “Madelene, Alec told me that he heard men’s voices in here,” Gabriel said in a tight voice. “I assured him it wasn’t possible.”

  She glanced at Gabriel, eyes bright with unshed tears, and shook her head, then flew past him and out the door.

  Whatever is she running to—or running from? Hasn’t Madelene had enough adventure for one night?

  He and Alec followed close on her heels with Falstaff running behind them, barking at the excitement.

  At the top of the stairs, Gabriel grabbed her arm, but she threw him off and hurdled down the stairs to the front door, allowing no time for explanation, her nightclothes billowing behind her.

  Curious to see Madelene’s flight in her nightclothes at this time of night, he helped her unlock the large front doors and pull them open. Together, they ran outside onto the front steps to watch two riders whip past them down the lane, toward the main road.

  Gabriel thought one rider looked familiar. Of course! One of the riders was Madelene’s brother, Matthew Colgate. What was he doing here? Has he come to take Madelene from me? His jaw tightened. What else could it possibly be? And yet, she remained here. What could have gone wrong? From his knowledge of Madelene’s brother’s character, Gabriel had no doubt Matthew planned some type of nefarious business.

  His only concern was for his wife, who continued to stare down the driveway, long after any sighting of the riders was possible, having lost them to the night. Gabriel stood next to her, not touching her, but wanting to be near.

  He knew he needed to remain aloof to this woman, needed to prove to himself she was only a means to an end. A beautiful means.

  But he brushed these thoughts aside when he caught her as she swayed and brought her gently down to the steps with his arms tight around her. She stared into the darkness, seemingly in a daze. He didn’t know what to do or what she needed. He could only hold her.

  Without warning, Madelene bent over, hugging her stomach, as if in pain. But he didn’t, wouldn’t let her go. She shook in his arms as a terrible sorrow seemed to overwhelm her, racking her body with unspent grief. She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist as if to ward off the pain or keep it in, he couldn’t tell which, and couldn’t know whether she even knew he was there, by her side.

  At first, he didn’t hear her.

  “Father, what can I do? I didn’t think it would ever hurt this much. How could Matthew do this to me?” she whispered. Tears streaked her face and pasted strands of her hair to her cheeks.

  He could give her no answers but simply rocked her in his arms while brushing her hair from her face. He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. He was the reason she was here and not at home with her brother, where she belonged. But he couldn’t regret what had brought them together and vowed to somehow make this right.

  Gabriel lost track of the time sitting on the stone porch with Madelene in his arms on this late spring night. He held her until she fell asleep, exhausted, probably, from her curtailed flight and her brother’s mysterious abandonment.

  In the hushed silence of the early-morning hour, Gabriel swept his arm underneath Madelene and carried her up the stairs to her bedchamber. As if she could be broken, he carefully laid her on her bed and stood looking down at her. Pale cheeks rubbed pink, the curve of her sweet but sad mouth, her long dark hair brushed over one shoulder.

  He knew of only one way to ease her pain, but he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

  Nothing more could be done, so Gabriel left Falstaff lying on the floor by her bed. The little dog would provide a modicum of comfort and watch over her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Usually Madelene would be pleased at the pretty picture she made with her robin’s-egg muslin dress and beribboned hair, but she was still lost in a fog of bewildering sadness. Her own brother didn’t want her, and his betrayal struck deep. Indeed, Matthew didn’t seem concerned in the slightest at her situation.

  And the man she had married? An enigma. She might never know why he had chosen her as his wife other than the obvious reason—to increase his own coffers.

  Last night’s surprising conclusion was still an act of tragic proportions. She could not begin to understand or conceive what the next act would reveal.

  The dagger. She brightened slightly at the thought that if she could find it for Matthew, he would allow her to return with him. Her new resolution: to find the dagger, the center of her brother’s torment, for he had never sounded so strange nor so desperate before. What trouble had found him, or had he found, was more likely the question.

  Voices in the rose drawing room drew her to the entrance. Peering into the open door, she found Mr. Westcott and a strange man engrossed in their conversation, which ended abruptly at her arrival. She gave her husband a half smile and turned to walk down the hall. After all the commotion she had caused him last night, Madelene was quite wary of her husband’s reception.

  But he forestalled her. “My dear, please come in. I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine, Mr. Hayden Bush.” Mr. Westcott crossed the dusted and cleaned rose Axminister carpet and extended his hand to greet her warmly. She accepted his hand as they returned to their guest, who sat on one of the red brocade chaise longues, a wooden cane by his side.

  “Bush, I’d like to present my wife, Miss, rather, Mrs. Madelene Colgate Westcott,” he announced to his friend in an almost proud voice.

  Madelene hesitated, waiting for their guest to respond, and when he didn’t, she told him, “Mr. Bush, I’m glad to welcome you to our home.” She hoped her sentiment didn’t ring as false to their guest as it did to her own ears. Her heart had no optimism to playact a loving couple.

  Their guest, Mr. Bush, turned his head and looked in her direction with an unfixed stare and a smile. His handsome face surprised her for some reason, his green eyes vacant. She couldn’t help but return his smile, even if he couldn’t see it.

  Their guest wore deep brown pantaloons and matching top coat, his dark hair brushed in the latest style. Someone obviously looked after him with great care. She wanted to touch his hand or his face, her motherly instincts urging her to reach out to him.

  “Westcott, is your wife as beautiful as she sounds?” His pleasant voice alight with humor.

  Madelene dropped her jaw at the unexpected compliment, but Mr. Westcott laughed.

  “She certainly is all that and more.” Her husband must have noticed her disconcertment because he turned to her to explain. “My dear, my friend Mr. Bush lost his sight during a childhood sickness. We’ve been neighbors and friends for most of our lives.”

  “Yes, Westcott brings me news from Town of anything important, such as whether we are making any headway with that Napoleon or the latest on dit of acquaintances. Purely for amusement, I assure you.”

  During his reply, Gabriel seated Madelene in a nearby chair before returning to prop himself on the desk near the marble fireplace.

  Mr. Bush continued, “Westcott, you, as usual, are the lucky one to have found the lovely Mrs. Westcott to take you as a husband. It must have been quite a task to get him to the altar, would you not say, Mrs. Westcott?” Clever man and no doubt keen of hearing, he directed his question to her, knowing her location in the room.

 
Startled, Madelene thought the man could not have been more mistaken. His question left her uncomfortable, and she furrowed her brow, trying to think of a suitable reply. An answer that would save both of their prides. What had Gabriel told his friend?

  When her husband came to her rescue she sighed in relief. “Nay, Bush, it was I who was most interested in ensuring Miss Colgate met me at the altar. Indeed, I am most fortunate that she agreed to be my wife.” His words almost convinced Madelene he spoke the truth or to tease her. Which could it be?

  She hurried to add, “Mr. Bush, I understand it has been some time that Westcott Close has been occupied. You and my husband must have much to discuss.”

  Their neighbor nodded. “Yes, I’ve missed our talks on politics and our chess games.”

  Madelene frowned, thinking she had heard incorrectly.

  But her husband laughed. “Mrs. Westcott, it is simply Bush’s idea of humor.”

  “Oh, of course.” Madelene bit her lip, trying to think of something clever or witty to say. Before another awkward moment passed, she rose and asked their visitor, “Has my husband offered you some refreshment?”

  Mr. Bush stood, leaning on his cane ever so slightly. “Thank you, Mrs. Westcott, but I had breakfast before I left home. I appreciate your hospitality.”

  Madelene smiled slightly. “As I’m sure my husband has told you, we are in the midst of settling in and opening the house. I hope when we have everything in order you could perhaps join us for dinner?”

  Nodding, their guest told her, “It would be the greatest of pleasures, Mrs. Westcott. I look forward to the event with much anticipation.”

  Prepared to depart the room, Madelene walked to his side and touched his arm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but now I must now beg your leave to see to our housekeeper. She had an unfortunate spill yesterday.” She turned to leave the room when a lone curl slipped onto her forehead, reminding her of what she needed to ask her husband.

  “Mr. Westcott, I didn’t have the opportunity to ask you last night. Did you remember to bring a lady’s maid with you from the village?” As soon as the words left her lips, Madelene worried Mr. Bush might wonder why she had not brought her own lady’s maid to the marriage. She added hastily, “You remember, my lady’s maid had taken ill before we left Town.” Her pleading eyes met his.

  Thankfully, he confirmed her subterfuge. “Yes, I do recall your lady’s maid could not attend you. However, Mrs. Westcott, I did neglect to ask at the village. There hasn’t been the need for a lady’s maid here in some time. Perhaps one of the housemaids might serve until we can find someone more suitable?”

  Another day with doing her own hair? The result, she concluded, was she must continue to wear her hair in a simple fashion, since the latest hair trends were more intricate than she could manage on her own. And she felt too young to wear a mobcap, even if she was a married lady.

  She responded in an even tone. “Of course, I will see what can be done. Mr. Bush, will you join us for lunch?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Westcott. I will only darken your doorstep for a few minutes more before I return home.”

  “I disagree. You’ve brightened our household with your presence. I look forward to your next visit,” she replied, then departed for the kitchen, determined to have a word with the new cook, reluctantly remembering last night’s disasterous dinner.

  When she closed the door behind her, Falstaff appeared from nowhere to confront her and began barking. Surprised, Madelene refrained from her purpose down the hall. Small though he might be, on all fours, he was yet another guard for Madelene.

  She sighed. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he? After all, he was such a small little thing, and his tail wagged, which she thought a positive sign. Madelene tried again to walk down the hall, but he continued to growl at her.

  Unwilling to wage battle with something with sharper teeth, she hesitated.

  “Ah, Mr. Westcott,” she cried softly before raising her voice. “Mr. Westcott!”

  Her husband jerked the door open to find Falstaff looking at Madelene, who stood braced against the wall.

  “Falstaff, come here!” he commanded, and the little dog ran over and sat at his master’s feet, banging his tail on the shiny wood floor.

  Mr. Westcott smiled. “I see our Falstaff is bothering his mistress again.” He looked over at her. “My dear, you will love him after you get to know each other better. He’s actually quite harmless, except, of course, to rats.” He bent down to scratch Falstaff behind the ears.

  With a sigh, she informed him, “I sincerely doubt your dog and I will ever have a mutual affection for one another. I would greatly appreciate it if you would make sure he stays out of my way in the future.” Confident the matter closed, Madelene put her shoulders back and marched down the hall.

  Gabriel whispered in Falstaff’s ear. “She’s a bit of a shrew, but has a soft heart. Go follow her, she might give you a biscuit!”

  At the word “biscuit,” Falstaff tore down the hall, past Madelene, and toward the kitchen, seeking his promised treat.

  As Madelene followed her nemesis, she decided the kindness her husband had shown her was all for his friend’s benefit.

  Reflecting on the night past, she realized he must have carried her to her bedchamber, because she couldn’t recall arriving there of her own accord. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. She wondered if her husband’s thoughts toward her were as unsettling as hers toward him.

  Mr. Westcott. He certainly was a puzzlement. She sighed and shook her head. Indeed, he would not be her mystery to solve.

  Concentrate. That was what she must do. She needed to find the dagger Matthew had mentioned and take it to him. But where to start? She didn’t know where to look for the dagger, and she didn’t know Matthew’s whereabouts.

  He was in trouble yet again. And like before, no matter what he had done, she had to fix it.

  So, where indeed could this dagger be? If the dagger had not been stolen on the way to Shropshire, which she sincerely doubted, then someone here must have taken it.

  Only two possibilities: her husband or Alec, not including the whole household. Which one and why?

  While pondering her brother’s dilemma, she stopped at the housekeeper’s door to listen. When she heard Mrs. Lavishtock issuing loud snores, Madelene continued to the kitchen where she found a housemaid crying on a small stool near the cold fireplace.

  “Why ever are you crying? What can be the matter?” Madelene reached the servant’s side and touched her arm.

  The housemaid leapt to her feet at her mistress’s touch and dashed tears from her cheeks. “Oh, miss, I mean, mistress, I didn’t mean for you to find me like this.”

  “Why the tears? Please tell me what has happened. Has anyone treated you ill? Have you been left all alone in the kitchen? Did Mr. Westcott not bring a cook with him yesterday?” Madelene didn’t know where to begin to see to the situation.

  The housemaid wrung her hands, avoiding Madelene’s concerned gaze. The slender maid with reddened eyes, a small round face, and white complexion hesitated before replying. “Well, ye see, Mrs. Compton, the new cook, had words with Mrs. Lavishtock last night, and rather undone, Mrs. Compton left early this morning. Leaving me alone here, and I don’t know what to do effen someone doesn’t tell me.”

  How strange. What could Mrs. Lavishtock have said to the cook to anger her? With no help for it, Madelene shook her head, thinking about the time lost looking for the dagger while she saw to household matters. “We shall handle the kitchen until a new cook can be found. What is your name?”

  “Fanny, ma’am.”

  Madelene rolled up her sleeves and found an apron hanging on a hook. “Then, Fanny, with the two of us, we shall put everything to rights. No need for more tears. I know my way about the kitchen. Clean yourself up, then carve the chicken remains from last night. We’ll make sandwiches, then we’ll start dinner preparations. Of course, this is only temporary until we have Mrs. Lavishtock
’s services and a new cook.”

  Fanny’s little face brightened at Madelene’s instructions, obviously glad for direction.

  “Ruff, ruff.” Him again. Madelene looked down to see Falstaff sitting next to her feet, his tail still flapping. She was quite relieved he no longer growled or barked at her. A decided improvement in their relationship.

  “Oh, Mrs. Westcott, the little dog likes his biscuits. Would you like to give it to him?” Fanny hastened away before Madelene could reply.

  The little dog stared hungrily as Fanny handed Madelene a hard biscuit. Cautious, Madelene knelt to lay the treat in front of the dog and jumped away to avoid any contact with sharp teeth.

  Falstaff grabbed it up and ran into a corner of the kitchen, apparently to enjoy it and to prevent anyone from taking it from him or having to share, Madelene thought in bemusement.

  With Fanny’s help, Madelene soon had soup warming at the fireplace and a rabbit on the spit for their evening meal. Fortunately, Mr. Westcott had brought back a month’s worth of supplies along with the now-departed cook. As she wrung the lettuce for a salad, Madelene smiled. While she enjoyed cooking, she loved baking even more. Maybe there would be time tomorrow for a plum cake.

  Madelene’s eyes widened. How could she be thinking about baking when she had to find the dagger? And although she wasn’t planning to become a permanent member of the household, she couldn’t very well neglect it until she left.

  Perhaps it would not be too long before they found a cook. She must remember to advise Mr. Westcott of the need to return to the village to find another, less easily nettled cook.

  A brief visit with Mrs. Lavishtock brought relief to learn the housekeeper thought to be up and about tomorrow and able to supervise in the kitchen. Her ankle appeared to be giving her less pain, for which Madelene was grateful.

  While in the kitchen working with Fanny, Madelene did not see Mr. Westcott all day and she wondered what kept him occupied. To her frustration, she had no time to search for the dagger. The day hurried into late afternoon before she realized it. With only a short time to dress for dinner, she left the kitchen in Fanny’s capable hands. The young woman needed only more confidence and, in time, would make a fine cook.