Regency Wagers (19 page)

The Marchioness’s eyes pleaded. ‘He did not realise. I do pray you will forgive him.’

‘Forgive him?’ Madeleine said, her voice rising. ‘I doubt my forgiveness would be worth a farthing to him.’

The lady straightened and gave Madeleine a direct gaze. ‘You sorely misjudge my husband, Miss England. He is the best of men. His interest in your child, misguided as it was, was motivated solely by a desire to please me.’ Her voice changed to one of conviction and authority. ‘May we retire to the parlour, please?’

Madeleine nodded coolly, though somewhat abashed at her lapse in manners. She led the Marchioness into the small parlour, shabby looking compared to the one in Grosvenor Square.

‘Some tea, my lady?’ she asked with inbred hospitality.

‘That is kind of you,’ the Marchioness replied, a slight tremble to her words.

As Madeleine rushed to the kitchen, she glanced at herself in the hallway mirror. She was a fright, her apron wet and dirty where she had knelt. Her hair had escaped from its braid and was a tangle of wayward dark curls.

She set the kettle on the fire in the kitchen and pulled off her apron. The blue cotton day dress she wore would have been presentable had it not been soaked with water. Madeleine measured out the tea and poured the water into the pot. She attempted to rebraid her hair, wishing she had pins to bind it into some sort of submission. She found a few lemon biscuits to add to the fare and hurriedly assembled the tray.

She entered the parlour and placed the tray on the table next to the Marchioness. As Madeleine poured the tea, she
noticed the lady twisting her fine lime kid gloves in her smooth, delicate, ivory hands. Madeleine handed her the cup and hid her own beet-red hands in the folds of her skirt.

‘How may I be of service to you, ma’am?’ Madeleine asked, determined to display good breeding, though not feeling gracious inside. Indeed, this interview was too puzzling by half.

The Marchioness’s teacup rattled in its saucer. ‘I do wish you would call me Serena.’

‘I would not presume, madam.’

The Marchioness looked so disappointed, Madeleine thought the lady might cry. She felt a sudden sympathy.

‘Perhaps you ought to tell why you have come,’ she said in a soft, inviting tone.

The Marchioness burst into tears. ‘I have nowhere else to turn. I do not know what to do.’ She rummaged in her reticule and pulled out a white linen handkerchief, edged in elegant lace. She turned away and dabbed at her face.

Madeleine wrinkled her forehead in concern. ‘Are you in trouble of some kind?’

The Marchioness shook her head, fair tendrils shaking.

‘Is it your husband? Has he hurt you in some way?’ Madeleine would not put it past that man to be cold and cruel to his wife, not after his treatment of Devlin and, above all, his eagerness to steal a child.

The Marchioness’s head shot up. ‘My husband is the best of men. There is no more honourable a man on this earth. He is nothing but good to me, always.’ Her face crumbled again. ‘It is I who am at fault. I am a poor wife. I cannot please him in the most basic of ways.’ She dissolved into tears again.

Madeleine went to her and, crouching next to her chair, took her hand. ‘Now, you mustn’t cry. Whatever it is, I am sure Devlin can help put it to rights. He will be home shortly.’

The lady’s eyes flashed pain. ‘No, not Devlin. You.’

‘I?’

‘There is no one else I can ask. You are the only one I know who can help me.’

Madeleine stared at her in confusion. ‘It is not my position to help a lady. I am the lowest of creatures, I assure you. What could I possibly do to help you?’

The Marchioness looked directly into Madeleine’s eyes. ‘You must teach me how to seduce my husband.’

M
adeleine gaped in disbelief.

The Marchioness twisted her handkerchief. Her words came out in a rush. ‘You see, I have been such a failure as a wife. I…I do not know how to give a man pleasure
that way
and my husband…he is very dear to me, you see. He is patient and makes no demands at all, but he cannot bear to bed me.’

Madeleine returned to her chair, collapsing into its cushion.

Tears poured down the Marchioness’s cheeks. ‘He knows I pine for children, and that is why he sought to adopt your daughter. For me! To make me happy. A wretch such as myself who cannot please him!’

Madeleine took a fortifying sip of tea.

The Marchioness sniffled, even that managing to sound ladylike. ‘I thought perhaps if I had lessons in lovemaking, I could learn how to please him. I would be a willing pupil. So, you see, I thought of you.’

Madeleine’s breath quickened. The Marchioness knew of her past? Perhaps the Marquess had discovered her identity. Had Devlin told him? Her cheeks burned in mortification. Surely neither of them would have spoken of it to this lady.

‘Me? I know naught of love between a man and his wife.’ Madeleine’s voice was tight.

The Marchioness twisted her hands nervously. ‘Not
marital
love, exactly. The other kind.’

Madeleine pretended calm as she took another sip of tea.

The lady continued. ‘You see, it is clear Devlin is besotted with you. It fairly took my breath away, the manner in which he looked upon you that awful night. You are not married, so the attachment must be of another kind.’ Her voice turned low and tentative. ‘At least that is what I thought.’

Devlin besotted with her?

The Marchioness continued, ‘Please help me, Miss England…Madeleine. Where else might I turn? I have not been exposed… That is, I have led so sheltered a life. I am not acquainted with anyone else who might…’

Madeleine understood. Only an improper female could speak of such matters. Ladies of the
ton
would not sip tea while chatting about the most effective way to arouse a man. Madeleine’s stomach clenched with the memory of how she had learned such lessons. Farley had taken her step by step through what she must do to bring a man to pleasure. Over and over. Again and again. She had learned where to touch, what to say. Such lessons should never soil the ears of so delicate a lady.

She glanced at the Marchioness, who regarded her with a hopeful, pleading expression. Madeleine was unconvinced that the fault of the lovemaking rested upon this creature’s shoulders. The Marquess showed no warmth.

She bit her lip. The Marquess had been kind and gentle to Linette, she remembered. Perhaps there was a bit of his brother in him.

She sighed. ‘Very well, my lady. I shall try to help you.’

The lady’s smile was beatific. ‘Please call me Serena.’

Madeleine laughed in defeat. ‘Serena, then.’ If she were about to provide sexual lessons to a Marchioness, she might as well be thoroughly improper and use the lady’s given name. ‘Shall we go above stairs? I do not think I can discuss such matters in the parlour.’

Serena sprang to her feet.

Madeleine brought her into the bedroom she shared with Linette. Serena glanced around the room, her eyes resting on the child’s bed. ‘Is this where you and Devlin…?’

‘My goodness, no!’ Madeleine replied. ‘This is the room I share with Linette…sometimes.’ She added, ‘Do you wish to see Devlin’s room?’

‘Yes.’ Serena nodded firmly.

Madeleine groaned inwardly. How much more improper could they be? She opened the connecting door and they walked through.

Devlin’s room looked as if a whirlwind had been trapped inside its walls. Madeleine had forgotten she had not set foot in his room since stalking out the previous night. She had not straightened the linens, nor picked up his clothes.

Serena’s eyes grew wide with wonder. Her gaze fixated on the tangle of sheets and blankets on the bed.

‘Let us return to the other room,’ Madeleine said firmly, ushering her back through the door.

Serena spoke excitedly. ‘When I was young, my bosom bows and I would sit upon my bed for a comfortable coze. Shall we do the same?’ The fine lady planted herself cross-legged upon the bed. She pulled off her hat and spencer, placing them on the side table. Madeleine had no choice but to join her.

Madeleine faced Serena’s bright, eager countenance. Serena looked as youthful as she must have been with those bosom bows.

Where to begin?

‘Have you and the Marquess ever had…um…have you bedded?’

Serena leaned forward with enthusiasm. ‘Oh, yes, indeed, but I fear I did something wrong, because it was so very
painful
the first time, and somewhat so every other time. My husband obliged by being very quick about it, so as to not distress me overmuch.’

So the Marchioness had not experienced the pleasure of lovemaking. Madeleine felt sorry for her. But was a lady supposed to experience the kind of frank pleasure she knew with Devlin?

Serena stammered. ‘I…I am not sure I can explain all that happened. I was so nervous, you see.’

‘That is of no consequence,’ Madeleine said hurriedly. She had no desire to hear the details of the Marquess and Marchioness in bed. ‘I must think a moment where to begin.’

She glanced at Serena, feeling the wiser, though the lady was at least ten years older. Madeleine had vastly more experience, but what did she truly know of love between a husband and wife? Farley had not taught her about that kind of love.

She closed her eyes and thought of Devlin. He had shown her all she would ever know of love. She set her chin firmly and began. ‘I think you will find that lovemaking is very easy. Composed of easy parts.’

After all, it took a mere glance from Devlin to set Madeleine’s senses aflame.

‘First,’ she said, ‘you must look at your husband. Make sure he knows you are doing so. No glancing away, until you are certain he has felt your eyes upon him.’

‘I shall look at my husband,’ Serena repeated.

What else made the blood thunder through Madeleine’s veins? When Devlin touched her.

‘Next, you must find reasons to touch him,’ she said in an authoritative tone. ‘Take imaginary fluff off his clothing. Brush his hand with yours. Arrange his hair with your fingers. Just touch him in ordinary ways.’

Serena’s eyes glittered excitedly. ‘What does that do?’

What it did for Madeleine. ‘His body will come alive to you.’

Serena nodded. ‘What else?’

‘Well, you must contrive to get in bed with him.’ Perhaps that was too obvious.

Serena’s expression turned bleak. ‘How can I do that?’

Goodness, Madeleine had forgotten that Devlin had resisted her initial attempts at seduction. Her cheeks grew hot as she recalled how she’d thrown herself at him. What had finally induced him to accept her?

His nightmare of Waterloo. ‘You might pretend to have a bad dream. Would he come to you if you called out?’

Serena frowned. ‘I doubt he would hear me.’

‘Then you must go to his room and wake him. Seek his comfort. He would wish to comfort you, would he not?’

‘Perhaps.’ She sounded uncertain.

‘Of course he would!’ At least Madeleine hoped so. She had not been able resist Devlin’s need for comfort. ‘You must insist on not being alone. You must contrive to stay in his bed.’

Her pupil nodded resolutely. ‘Then what?’

Then let nature dictate the next course, unless the Marquess and Marchioness had somehow thwarted nature. This was becoming absurd. ‘You must cling to him.’

Tears formed in Serena’s eyes. ‘Will he allow me to?’

Madeleine took a deep breath. The Marchioness was truly an innocent. What man would refuse such a creature? Had any man ever refused to touch The Mysterious Miss M? Serena was so much more beautiful. ‘You must ask him to hold you, then. He will not refuse, believe me.’

‘What then?’

What happens after should need no lesson, if they both allowed what comes naturally to man and woman.

Madeleine’s pupil needed very explicit instructions. ‘If you feel the time is right, you remove your clothes, remove his clothes, and make love to him.’

‘How?’ She gave an anguished cry.

There was a limit to how much she would discuss. ‘Serena, merely touch him all over. Anywhere. Kiss him. It will suffice, believe me.’

‘What if it does not?’ Serena’s lip trembled.

‘Then, what have you lost? You will have tried, after all. Would you wish to go on with the rest of your life, thinking you might have had happiness if you had only seized the chance?’

Unlike Madeleine, Serena had every reason to expect happiness, but Madeleine pushed that thought away.

Serena set her jaw firmly and sat up ramrod straight. The lady had made her decision. Madeleine smiled inwardly. Finally she felt useful.

Devlin had endured his promised calls to Miss Duprey and Miss Reynolds, mainly because he had hit upon the idea of bringing Ram with him. He still felt like weeping with gratitude to have found his friend left alive.

Ram’s presence this day prevented Devlin from feeling too much obligation toward Miss Duprey, and, since Ram and Amanda Reynolds had taken such a dislike to each other, the sparks flying between the two of them diverted Devlin from his sour stomach and still-aching head.

He begged off Ram’s invitation to pass more time in the tavern and made for home. As he neared his apartments, he tried to recall what had disturbed him so the previous night. Some ominous presence he could not grab hold of. He glanced toward his building. His brother’s carriage was pulled up to the front.

Devlin broke into a run. What was Ned doing here? Why would his brother visit? To take Linette?

‘What goes on here?’ he snarled to the coachman.

The man looked puzzled. ‘I’ve walked the horses, m’lord.’

Devlin jumped on to the side of the carriage and peered inside, ready to confront his brother.

The carriage was empty. ‘Where are they?’ he demanded.

The footman pointed to the house.

Devlin bounded into the house and found the parlour empty. The kitchen floor was dotted with puddles, a bucket
and scrub brush lying in the middle of the room. Voices sounded above him.

Giggles?

He tore up the stairs. ‘Ned! Ned! Where are you? By God, if I find you…’

He flung open the door to Linette’s room.

Two female heads popped up in surprise.

‘What the devil…?’

Madeleine and Serena sat on the bed, looking like two little girls caught in mischief.

‘Hello, Devlin,’ said Serena, who broke into giggles.

He scowled. ‘Where the devil is Ned?’

‘Ned?’ Serena gave him a puzzled look. ‘At White’s, I should think.’

‘Then where the devil is Linette?’ Women. They made no sense.

‘Linette went with Bart and Sophie to purchase some meat pies for supper. I suspect they may have also made a stop at the confectioners,’ Madeleine said, barely concealing mirth.

Devlin put his hand up for her to stop talking. He rubbed his brow. ‘Then Ned did not take Linette?’

‘No, indeed!’ a shocked Serena said. ‘How absurd.’

‘How could you think such a thing?’ Madeleine scolded.

Serena bussed Madeleine’s cheek. ‘I think perhaps I should take my leave.’

Madeleine looked regretful. She reached for Serena’s hat and helped Serena place it becomingly on her head. Then she assisted her into her spencer. The two smiled at each other.

‘Would you mind telling me what the devil is going on?’ Devlin said.

‘Oh, Serena is leaving.’ Madeleine smiled.

‘I surmised that.’ He touched his forehead. ‘Why the devil is she here?’

Madeleine gave him an impatient glance. ‘Devlin, I do wish you would not swear.’

‘Damnation, tell me why my sister-in-law is visiting my…is visiting here.’

Serena swept over to him and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘A mere afternoon call.’

He gave her a sceptical look. The two women walked down the stairs, arm in arm, chatting companionably. Madeleine rushed ahead to the parlour to gather Serena’s gloves and reticule. Serena gave her a big hug, and Devlin thought he heard Madeleine whisper, ‘Good luck.’

Why the devil was Maddy wishing Serena good luck?

Madeleine stood at the open door as the footman assisted Serena into the carriage. Serena waved out the window. Madeleine watched for several minutes after Serena had gone out of sight.

‘She’s left, Maddy.’

‘I know,’ Madeleine said in a dreamy tone. ‘I was placing her in memory.’

The Marquess sipped his sherry and gazed absently out the window as he waited for his wife to appear for dinner. His heart was sick with grief, but he promised he would reveal nothing. He had seen a glimpse of the Heronvale carriage on St James’s Street, near Devlin’s residence. He had casually checked with Jem to see if Devlin had the use of it, but, as he feared, it had been Serena.

He gulped the remainder of his sherry. His wife having an affair with his brother? How much more painful could it be? Damn Devlin! Pretending to court one young lady while setting up housekeeping with another while dallying with his brother’s wife. Ned squeezed the crystal wineglass, shattering it in his hand as Serena entered the room.

‘Oh, my! What happened?’ She ran over to him, behaving as if she cared that he bled.

‘It is a trifle,’ he said, wrapping his finger with his handkerchief. He twisted away, refusing to be duped by her solicitude.

She pulled the bell, and Barclay appeared. ‘Some bandages, Barclay, if you please. And I’m afraid there is broken glass.’

‘Immediately, my lady.’

Barclay returned almost at once with a basin of clean water and the bandages.

‘Sit down, Ned,’ Serena commanded, ‘so I may tend to you.’

He opened his mouth to protest, but she took his arm and pushed him gently into a chair and knelt in front of him. Perhaps if he endured her ministrations he could dispense with them as soon as possible.

She held his hand over the basin and carefully removed his handkerchief. ‘You have a piece of glass piercing your finger.’ She placed her delicate finger and thumb around the piece of glass and pulled it out, dipping his finger into the soothing warm water. Patting his finger dry, she unrolled the bandage and wrapped it around the wound.