Had he wished to marry for comfort’s sake, he could not have done better than to wed Mrs Sarah Bowman, for she had been a soldier’s wife and would have been willing to follow the drum—but Hal did not wish for a wife. How could he marry when his heart was dead? Madeline had killed it when she married her count for his money.
It was ridiculous to think of Madeline. She had long forgotten him—and was probably content in her marriage with several children at her skirts.
The picture gave him pain and he put it from his mind. He must forget Madeline and move on. Perhaps it would be better to take his lawyer’s advice and seek out the daughter of a wealthy Cit, who would be grateful to offer her father’s money in return for a home and a place in society.
His lips curled with distaste at the idea, but he would not be the first or the last to seek a solution to his money problems in this way.
If the worst came to the worst, he would consider it, but for the moment he would look for other ways to pay his debts.
* * *
Lord Devenish’s rooms were overflowing with guests, all of them enjoying the fine champagne and other wines, which waiters offered them constantly as they circulated with trays. Hal accepted a glass and sipped it, moving through the crowded rooms and stopping now and then to talk to people he knew. He was hailed as a hero by many, welcomed home and greeted warmly. His bravery had been mentioned in dispatches and everyone was eager to congratulate him, asking how long he intended to stay in London and offering invitations to all manner of events.
‘The Regent told me you were an outstanding officer,’ Lord Devenish told him as he clapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him to the house. ‘Knew your father well, m’boy—and regretted what happened at the end. If you need any advice or help you know where to come.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Hallam said and smiled. ‘I do not suppose you know of an heiress in desperate need of a husband?’
He meant it as a jest, to turn off the offer of help, but his host looked grave and then light dawned in his eyes. ‘As it happens I do, Hallam my dear fellow. Her father is indebted to me for various matters of business I put in his way and told me he would like to see his girl settled with a decent fellow. He made it plain that he doesn’t look for money, but a good family and the entry into society is what is hoped for. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?’
‘Oh, I hardly think it necessary just yet,’ Hal said lightly. ‘It would be a last resort, sir.’
‘Well, I can’t vouch for the girl’s looks or manners, never seen her—but I’ll ask them to a supper party and send you an invitation. Make up your mind when you’ve seen her.’
Hallam thanked him and passed on as some newcomers arrived. He had spoken lightly, but his host had taken him seriously—but he would not think of a marriage of convenience just yet.
As the rooms filled up, the ladies took their seats for the musical recital, but most of the men moved into the card room, where several tables had been set up in readiness. Hal was invited to join a hand of whist for modest stakes and accepted. He was a skilled player and won as often as he lost. Provided he stayed within the limits he’d set himself for his lifestyle, he did not consider it wrong to gamble a little. Unlike his father, he never played the dice or faro, though he enjoyed a game of skill.
His luck was mixed that evening for he won the first hand with his partner, lost the second and third, then won the fourth, which meant he rose from the tables for supper in no worse case than he had been when he sat down.
Making his way into the supper room, he helped himself to a small pastry and ate it, sipped some wine, then made his way out to the terrace to smoke a cigar. A lady was about to enter the supper room and for a moment he stood in her way. He apologised and glanced at her face, feeling shocked as he saw the beautiful sophisticated lady whose path he’d blocked. Her hair was piled high upon her head, one long ringlet falling on to a white shoulder, her gown cut daringly low to show off the sweet valley between milky-white breasts. So far different from the girl he’d known was she that he spoke without thinking.
‘Madeline...good grief! I should not have known you.’
For a moment she seemed too stunned to answer, then a look of sadness swept into her eyes. ‘I dare say you think me much changed, for I am older.’
‘No, no, you are beautiful,’ he said, recovering. ‘You have become a great lady, Madeline.’
‘It is the gown,’ she said and a half-smile was on her lips. ‘I had heard you were home—and I was sad to hear of Mark’s death. You must have felt it deeply. You were always close as young men.’
‘We became even closer for we served together in France,’ he said. ‘How are you? You look very well.’
‘I am quite well,’ she said. ‘I am glad to have seen you. Please excuse me, sir. I went out for some air and my husband will look for me.’
Hal stood to one side, allowing her to pass. For a moment as he’d looked at her the years had slipped away and he’d forgotten their parting, forgotten the pain she had so carelessly inflicted. Now he had remembered and he felt the bitterness sweep over him.
She was obviously content with her life and her marriage, and why should she not be? The diamond necklace she was wearing must have cost a king’s ransom. He was a damned fool even to think of her. She had made her own life and he must make his. Perhaps he should move on in his life, make a marriage of convenience, as Madeline had.
He walked about the terrace, smoking his cheroot and then threw it into the bushes. He would speak to Devenish, ask him to arrange that supper party soon. If the heiress were presentable and—more importantly—agreeable, he might as well take the easy way out and marry her.
* * *
Madeline entered the hot, overcrowded rooms and realised she could not bear it another moment. Her throat was tight with emotion and she felt close to tears. How unfortunate to bump into Hal like that! He had been much in her thoughts these past weeks, since Lethbridge had told her about Mark Ravenscar’s murder. She had longed to write to Hal and tell him how sad she was, but it would not have been permitted. Indeed, she dare not for fear of what her husband might think or do.
Lethbridge was unpredictable in his moods. When she pleased him, he would buy her a new jewel or a stylish gown such as the one she was wearing this evening, but he was often jealous and if she appeared to enjoy the company of a gentleman too much he would come to her room last thing at night and rage at her. Sometimes he would punish her.
When they first married, she had tried to be a good wife to him, welcoming him to their bed with a smile, but he was a cruel man and he had taken her without thought for her pleasure, subjecting her to things that shocked her innocence, as if she were a whore rather than an innocent girl. It was a long time since she had been able to smile at him or do anything but freeze when he touched her.
A little shudder went through her for her husband had been in an odd mood of late. Their relationship had been deteriorating for some time, because of their unfortunate situation. Lethbridge needed a son to succeed him, but Madeline doubted it would ever happen. Her husband blamed her, though what she could do about it when he’d ceased to visit her bed long since she did not know. When he did come to her it was to punish her rather than make love to her.
She blinked hard, blocking out the tears that threatened. She would not pity herself simply because she’d seen Hallam—been so close to him that she might have touched him, had she dared. Pain ravaged her, but she struggled to keep an appearance of calm. No one must be allowed to see her distress. Pride was all she had left. She did not ask for pity. Indeed, she would not allow it. She had married for the sake of her family and nothing had changed. Nothing could ever change while...
No,