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, she would not think of that now. She had the beginnings of an unpleasant headache and all she wanted was to go home. In her own room she could give way to the tears that might bring some relief to her distress.
She stopped a passing footman and asked for her carriage to be brought round.
* * *
Only when she was being helped inside did she ask for her husband to be told that she had retired with a headache. The last thing she needed was to drag Lethbridge from his cards to accompany her home. He would be angry either way, but tonight she needed a little solitude.
Seeing Hallam so unexpectedly and at such close quarters had brought home her wretchedness. She must hope that Lethbridge would play late and be too tired or too drunk to bother with her when he returned. In the morning she would have recovered sufficiently to face him, but if he questioned her tonight she was not sure she could hide her despair.
* * *
Fortunately, Madeline’s husband had enjoyed a successful evening at the tables and had ignored the message that his wife had gone home because of a headache. Rising from the tables at three in the morning with his pockets filled with the guineas he’d won from his companions, he’d called for his carriage, which Madeline had had the forethought to send back for his convenience. Conveyed to his home in a mellow mood, he did not bother with visiting his wife’s room, but drank a glass of brandy after his valet had undressed him and went to bed to smile over the evening’s play and sleep through until late the next morning.
* * *
Madeline was up and dressed and about to go out when her husband entered her room in his dressing robe. He looked at her from narrowed eyes.
‘Is your headache better, madam?’
‘Yes, sir, I thank you,’ she said. ‘Forgive me for leaving early. It was shockingly bad and I did not wish to disturb you.’
‘Just as well for I could not have left the play,’ he said. ‘My luck was in and I won several hundred guineas.’
‘I am sure that is very pleasing, sir.’
‘It