Lady Madeline's Folly Read online

  "Who says I will turn him down?" Madeline answered sharply.

  "I say your father will turn him off. It is all well and good to amuse yourself by playing puppet mistress with your boys, but this goes beyond the others. I don't like it. And furthermore, I come to think I don't like Mr. Aldred as well as I did. I heard him being very toplofty with the Smileys last night. There is no reason for him to be looking down his nose at them. They could buy and sell him."

  "Very likely, but they cannot touch him for intelligence."

  "Sly, I call it, to be sitting listening to the old fellows talk, then parroting their own thoughts back at them, to get their approval. I haven't heard anything in the way of an original idea come out of his handsome mouth."

  "He has to make his way in the world. He won't do it by arguing with the men in power. He is young; naturally he must listen and learn."

  "Must he also toady up to them? 'Let me get you a glass of port, sir.' 'Have you seen this article in the Herald, Lord Timmins?' 'How I should love to be able to sit in on one of the cabinet meetings, and hear you all speak.' Little better than toad-eating, if you ask me."

  "I don't recall asking you, Auntie."

  "I'm telling you all the same, and I'll tell you something else you won't like, miss. I'm going back to London with you, to see you don't make a complete fool of yourself. I don't know why you couldn't marry someone of our own sort, like Eskott."

  "Eskott may go to the devil!"

  "He'll find Aldred there, if he does," Lady Margaret declared with great feeling before she strode from the room. Though her face was red and her talk loud, she was more worried than angry. She was old and wise enough to have seen these wild infatuations before; to know they did not last long, but were violent and dangerous while the fever raged. She had lived with her brother, Fordwich, forever, helping his wife raise Madeline. She loved the girl as her own daughter, but had not a mother's authority. Fordwich was no help. He was so wrapped up in this business of the regent's turning out the government that he never saw a thing that went on in his own home. He had seen enough men come and go in Madeline's favor that he paid little heed to her flirtations.

  The little scold fell on deaf ears. It had already been forgotten when Madeline descended the grand staircase mo­ments later to see Henry waiting for her below, his face turned up to watch her approach. "Exquisite!" was all he said. The tone of his voice caressing; the touch of the fin­gers, with just a little intimate pressure; the eyes glowing with pride and possession—they were enough to turn a cynic's head, and Madeline was not yet hardened into a cynic.

  There was a joyous agitation amounting almost to a pain in her chest. She knew in some intuitive way that she would never forget this moment. There was a bustle of activity behind Henry, of guests arriving to sit down to dinner before the ball. A cold draught blew in from the open doorway. She was dimly aware of this without having to look, or feel, or listen. All her conscious attention was riveted on Henry, and her own heart. She gazed at him for a long moment, then smiled.

  "I—I must welcome the guests," she said. Her voice was breathless.

  "Of course." He stood readily aside to allow her to pass. She knew he was looking after her.

  They were not seated at all close to each other at dinner—Aunt Margaret's work, Maddie thought, with a twinge of annoyance. No matter, soon they would be together. To­night he would stifle all his scruples and speak, offer for her. There was not a doubt in her mind. He would ask her to marry him, and she would accept.

  There would be one loud, long terrible brouhaha with Auntie and Papa, and then it would be over. They would give in, in the end. They always did. You could get nearly anything you wanted, if you held firm. Madeline had learned this lesson while still in short dresses and long hair. All you really needed to get what you wanted was conviction, for there was very little of it abroad in the world. Most folks were reeds in the wind, waiting for a breeze of conviction to come along and bend them.

  Lady Madeline was perfectly charming to all her guests that evening. She performed country dances with neigh­boring solicitors and parsons, the minuet with tired members of Parliament, but she saved the one waltz for Henry. It was this new dance's first introduction into her part of the countryside. Only three couples performed, while all the others looked on, staring at such wanton debauchery being performed in public, eagerly trying to learn the steps that they might try it at the next assembly. She floated around the floor in Henry's arms, too happy to speak. As the music ended, they spun near a doorway that led to the rear portion of the hall. They exchanged a speaking glance, and went out to find some privacy.

  "We can talk in here," Madeline said, opening the door into a small parlor in common use as her aunt's sewing room.

  Henry closed the door behind them. "Talk? I have gone beyond talking, Maddie," he said, his voice a husky whis­per, as he drew her into his arms for a passionate embrace. She had been kissed before, by a round half-dozen gentle­men. None of them had caused this ecstatic turmoil she now experienced. The kiss began with a gentle touching of the lips, that kindled to a frenzy, then gradually subsided to a lingering warmth that left her weak.

  "Forgive me! Forgive me, darling," he murmured in her ear.

  "Never—unless you ask me to marry you at once," she said, clinging to him.

  "I am in no position to. I shouldn't have allowed myself the luxury around... who could resist you? You know my situation, Maddie. What a wretched match it would be for you."

  "Any other match would be unthinkable, after this," she told him.

  He folded her in his arms, tightly against his chest, with her cheek resting on his shoulder. "One day, one day soon I hope, I will have the right to offer for you," he said in ardent accents. Then he strove to change his tone. "Do you think you can wait for me, my darling?"

  "For a little while," she answered, matching her mood to his. "But I must warn you, sir, I am not at all a patient lady. I expect to see you prime minister by the end of this new year."

  "Agreed!" he said at once. "We shall be married one year from today, if I am prime minister. Now we must get back to our—your guests. You see I already consider myself an adjunct to you."

  He released her, just holding on to one hand in a painfully firm grip. She smiled triumphantly. The year, she felt, would soon dwindle into six months. For herself, she had no notion of waiting more than half a year. A June wedding would be nice.

  "Have you spoken to Papa yet?" she asked.

  "No, I had intended to keep a guard on my tongue to­night, but your beauty slipped past it. I couldn't control myself. I must speak to him soon, but we shan't spoil this perfect holiday with any scenes. After I am settled into something in London will be time enough. Will he be vi­olently angry with me?"

  "No, with me, but I can always handle him."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  Lady Margaret stuck by her decision to return to London with the family. Her concern for her niece mounted high enough that she cautioned her brother to speak to his daugh­ter.

  "Nonsense, Meggie," he scoffed. "Maddie always runs around with her new protégé every year. It is her way of amusing herself. Don't go putting ideas into her head. She'll not marry him. He has not spoken to me about such a thing. I will be sure to hint him away if he does. My cousin's son after all; I cannot be rude to him with no cause."

  "You don't have to be rude to him. Tell Maddie she is making a cake of herself," was the rejoinder. "She follows him around like a mother hen at all the parties, putting on such a display of owning him it has got all the old cats talking."

  Fordwich took it for a spinster's imaginings. It was per­fectly clear to him that his daughter's only interest in the fellow was his career. She always put him forward when a chance presented itself. She had counseled him not to accept Tilsit's offer after all, as it was beneath him. Fordwich was rather inclined to agree with her. Very sound judgment the young man had in talking up Perceval's retirement. Pity
the lad wasn't in a position to hint the same to Perceval, for it was proving a demmed hard thing for any of the others to do, and his obstinacy was all that left the Tory tenure hanging in the balance.

  The present thinking was that Wellesley, the foreign secretary, would prove an entirely suitable replacement for Perceval. That Henry hinted to Fordwich the proper replace­ment resided at St. James's Street did nothing to lessen the father's evaluation of the youngster's intelligence.

  "I am too old," he said sadly. "Wellesley is our man. He means to tender his resignation as foreign secretary to leave himself open for the promotion. He will cite Per­ceval's lack of vigor in pursuing the Peninsula campaign as his reason. It is well known the regent is in favor of it. He'll not take the resignation of Wellington's brother sitting down. It is Perceval who will go; then we are in power to stay. Perceval can hardly refuse to take the prince's suggestion. Come February, it will be more than a suggestion too."

  Madeline, alert to her lover's future, arranged that Henry be present at a dinner party to which she also invited Welles­ley. "If you are to be secretary to anyone, it might as well be the prime minister himself," she pointed out. "It will be easier to accomplish before he becomes the new chief."

  "What if his resignation is accepted, and he is not made prime minister?" Henry countered. "Then I am out in the wilderness of the back benches. Of course, if I could get the offer and delay my acceptance till he is promoted..."

  "It won't be accomplished in a day, Henry," she warned. "You can hardly keep him dangling a month."

  "He hasn't offered yet," he replied, frowning in concen­tration.

  "I shouldn't be at all surprised if he broaches the matter this evening. He has some little inkling that Papa's support involves your appointment. It was not put into such blunt words, of course, but Wellesley is subtle enough to read between the lines, I think. He is no stranger to nepotism."

  Madeline, the busy diplomat, was at pains to outline her cousin's interest and preference for a prime minister to Wellesley that same evening.

  "Congratulations, sir," was Henry's salutation to the for­eign secretary. "It is an honor to shake the hand of our next prime minister."

  "Oh as to that..." Wellesley disavowed, restraining any outward show of joy, "there is no saying what will come of it. It is a matter of conscience with me that I will not serve under Perceval, but that is not to say I expect to replace him."

  "You must not disappoint us, sir," Henry replied. "The country expects it of you."

  "My family has never been reluctant to do its duty," Wellesley answered modestly.

  "Indeed it has not! The name has been carried to all points of the globe—India, the Peninsula, where your brother is now distinguishing himself, and his country."

  There was some discussion of the Peninsular campaign, after which Wellesley, well impressed with Fordwich's cousin, asked, "Just what is your official capacity at the moment, Mr. Aldred? I keep seeing you about here and there, hear everyone speak of you, but I don't believe I have heard exactly who it is you are working for."

  "I have been considering various offers. I just recently came up to London. Lord Tilsit wants me to take a northern seat or work for him, but I am not at all sure the price of corn is my chief concern at this moment."

  "It is an important matter at any time, but hardly the most exciting matter on the books. Your broad general in­terest and knowledge might be better used in a different capacity."

  This "broad interest" was felt by both Henry and Made­line to refer to the speaker's pending position as prime minister. "I have been busying myself to get a grasp of the overall picture," Henry replied at once.

  "That's very interesting. Very interesting. We too seldom see such a breadth of vision in the young. We shall be speaking again soon, I expect. Ah, there is Sidmouth. I must say good evening to him."

  Henry looked with a bemused smile at Wellesley's de­parting form. A prime minister-to-be, speaking to an ex-prime minister, and both of them on terms with himself. How his world had widened since he'd come to London! Both he and Madeline felt that if the post as Wellesley's assistant had not actually been offered, it was certainly in the offing.

  And indeed it was. The hoped-for offer was made three days later. By then it was known that Wellesley's resignation had not been accepted. He was no longer being touted as Perceval's replacement, and his offer was politely declined.

  "You don't mean you refused him?" Madeline asked when Henry told her the tale. "He is still a very influential man, Henry. The foreign secretary—it's an enormously important post, and his secretary would be much noticed too."

  "How long will he continue as foreign secretary?" Henry countered. "It seems to me this was Prinney's chance to dump Perceval, if that is all that troubles him about his government. Why did he not do it? This was his chance, but he didn't take it. No, Maddie, I think the old boys who sit stroking their chins about your fire are badly mistaken about their chances for holding on to power. They are on their way out the door, and are too stupid—that is, blinded by prejudice—to see it."

  "What if they do have a few terms out of office? It's not the end of the world. No government is in power forever. You work in opposition, work as hard as you can, then when the Tories are back in the saddle, you are given a prime post. That's the way politics works, Henry."

  "Yes, but why should I hitch my wagon to a dead horse? If the Whigs are to form a government—"

  "I doubt very much that they will," she interrupted.

  "Now don't be angry with me. You know why I am so impatient to get on with making a name for myself. One year is all I have to reach the top of the heap, remember? I dare not make a wrong step."

  "But really, my dear, you must make some step. You cannot go on claiming to have just arrived in town forever. Your face is becoming too familiar for that."

  "I am desperately short of funds," he admitted, discon­solate. "I dislike to ask my father for more. He has a large family to provide for, you know. If only I could find some­thing to tide me over for a few weeks."

  "Something non-political, do you mean?"

  "Yes, but pray do not suggest I set up as someone's tutor. It's ridiculous really—your father working so hard, and he an old man, and here am I, young and robust, and unable to find anything to do."

  "Yes, Papa is feeling the result of all the worry and scheming that has been going on."

  "I wish I could help him in some way."

  "It would bring you closer to him, make him realize how worthwhile you really are. Henry..."

  Before the sun set. Henry was established as Lord Fordwich's unofficial helper. He worked out of the house on St. James's Square, which delighted Madeline. At any hour of the day, she had only to open her father's study door to find him. He was paid enough to cover his daily expenses, and in return performed those routine chores that could lighten Fordwich's burden and, in theory, instruct the young man in the art of government. Everyone was pleased with the arrangement except Lady Margaret, who took to slamming doors and sniping at everyone who came near her.

  Eskott did not discontinue his visits, despite the second rejection of his offer of marriage. He came shortly after the new year to crow over the success of his house party.

  "You should have been there, Maddie. You would have had an inner track with the new beau of London. Byron was a tremendous hit. A walking Apollo, and a demmed talented one too. The ladies are all running mad for him."

  "He gave you some stiff competition, did he?" she asked, undismayed. Such matters as new peers of talent and beauty usually excited sharp interest from her. Eskott was curious to notice her lack of concern. "How did your do go?" he asked.

  "Fine, very nice. No lavish balls nor anything of that sort. A quiet party."

  "I expect you were dull as ditch water, without the boy there."

  "Henry did manage to come to us for the latter part of the holiday," she informed him with a satisfied smile.

  "Did he ind
eed? The mama recovered then, I assume?"

  "Yes, she did."

  "I hope the young lady he jilted at home did likewise," he told her with a sapient look.

  Madeline snapped to attention. "More scandal-mongering behind his back? What did you do, send spies along to check up on him, Eskott?"

  "No, I am not so interested as all that. Merely I have friends from the vicinity who were home for the holidays. They tell me he broke off with some young heiress he was dangling after before he came to London."

  "It is not news to me. If I had known you were so interested in my cousin, I could have told you all about it. He did terminate an old affair with an erstwhile lady friend while he was home. Terminated it to their mutual satisfac­tion, I might add. There was nothing in the nature of a jilting, unless her having taken up with another beau might be called jilting Henry."

  "We must allow it to be inconceivable that any lady of sound mind would jilt Henry," he replied mockingly. He had to accept her version of the story. She was acquainted with one of the principals, while he had his story second hand, and then only after a good deal of trouble in tracking down anyone from the vicinity of Manchester who knew of the affair. It was difficult for a proud man to be pestering friends for this sort of sordid scandal.

  "What had he to say of my other piece of backbiting, the affair of the letter to Neville?"

  "He admitted it. He spoke to Neville out of respect for his father, and declined the offer out of respect for common sense."

  "Have you found him a more—er, sensible position? You will notice, I hope, that I never suggest the paragon go out and find something for himself."

  "Yes, I am aware of all your little barbs, Eskott. Henry has had many interesting offers."

  "Which of them has he accepted?"

  "None. He is presently lending Papa a hand. He is ex­tremely busy at this time, you know. It is a temporary thing only."

  "Planning to rig him out in the family livery?"