Charles emerged from his meeting with James well satisfied. Based on his reports, James was going to double the foodstuffs delivered to the fire victims. He’d also approved Charles’s plan to host a charity bazar in Finchley for the following Sunday.
Charles spent the morning penning letters to three other friends from Cambridge, asking them to do the same in their parishes. If nothing else, he was sure the gentlemen could be relied upon to send along a little something, even if it came from their own coffers. But Charles wasn’t above begging or accepting charity—not when it was all going to a good cause.
“I was told to find Mr. Burke before I take my leave,” he told the footman.
“Right this way then, sir,” the man replied. Charles was fairly certain his name was Geoffrey.
The footman led the way to the library, which was easily Charles’s favorite room in the house. It was a massive space, with vaulted ceilings and shelves that stretched around three walls. The shelves were fit to burst with books, including a very fine collection of hand drawn atlases that were a particular favorite of Charles’s as a boy.
The fourth wall was floor-to-ceiling windows of the finest imported glass, framed in deep blue curtains, which flooded the space with dazzling winter sunlight.
“Mr. Bray, Your Grace,” the footman announced to the room.
“Good morning, Mr. Bray,” the duchess called in greeting from the far side of the room. She was seated in a large, wing-backed chair near the windows. Mr. Burke sat in a matching chair. And the third chair surely must be claimed by—
“Madeline was just teaching Burke a few important lessons in backgammon,” the duchess teased. “Come join us, sir.”
Charles crossed the room towards them, feeling a phantom kind of tug under his left ribs at being close to Madeline again so soon. He’d hardly slept, recalling everything that happened over the last several days. His thoughts were in constant turmoil, his heart warring with his head.
And then there was Uncle Selby’s declining health. The man was getting so weak, he could hardly sit up in bed, let alone make the trek to his favorite reading chair a floor below stairs. As soon as Charles was done here, he meant to go and sit with him. Perhaps he’d ask the duchess to borrow a spare backgammon set. It’d been years since he’d played.
“I believe it is your turn, Madeline,” said the duchess, leaning back in her chair with both hands balanced over her rounded stomach.
Charles came to the table’s edge, finally able to see around the wingback to spy Madeline. Christ, she’d looked beautiful this morning. Her golden hair was down and curled, a wild spray of sunlight around her shoulders. Her dress was of the softest yellow, the perfect tone to make her skin look white as a pearl. He still wanted to count those freckles dusted over her cheeks.
“Good morning, Lady Madeline,” he murmured.
“Good morning, Charles—Bray—I mean, Mr. Bray,” she corrected, nearly dropping her cup of dice on the board. It was so awkward and endearing he wanted to lean down right now and kiss the tip of her freckled nose.
She huffed, shaking the cup to rattle the dice and tip them out onto the board. With slender fingers she picked up a white counter and clicked it around the board, knocking one of Burke’s pieces off.
“Damn,” Burke muttered.
“She’s better than you at this game, admit it,” the duchess teased.
“She’s had a few lucky rolls of the dice,” Burke countered, gritting his teeth as he counted his remaining pieces in play. “And backgammon is hardly a game of skill.”
“You were the one to suggest it, sir,” Madeline replied. “I was happy to play chess or cribbage…or nothing at all. It does seem a waste, seeing as this is a library, for not one of us to be reading a book.”
“I told you to come down at any time, day or night,” said the duchess. “The house is yours so long as you’re here, Madeline. If you want a book, take one. Take five. Take ten. Horde them in your room like a greedy little dragon.”
“Pull up a chair, Bray,” said Burke, rattling his dice in his cup. “You can play the winner.”
Charles stifled a groan, checking the time on his pocket watch. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time this morning. I’m due back for tea with my uncle.”
The duchess perked up. “Oh?”
He didn’t miss the way her gaze darted from him to Madeline and back. Christ, how much did she know? Between what James knew, what Burke most definitely knew, and what Madeline may have told her…well, he had to assume that Rosalie Corbin knew everything. Or enough of most things to paint a full picture.
“Did James dispense with the constable then?” she asked, her gaze on Burke.
“Aye. Constable Coates is well away and satisfied for now.”
Madeline stiffened, her hand freezing as she reached for her dice.
Charles glanced between them all. “A constable was here? Is there a problem?” he asked.
Madeline snatched up her dice, rattling her cup.
He took in the stiff set of her shoulders, the way she wouldn’t look at him. “What am I missing?”
Burke groaned as she bumped another of his pieces off the board. “The constable was here for Madeline.”
Fear lanced Charles’s chest like an arrow. “What? Why?”
“Obviously, because her parents are looking for her,” Burke replied. “A girl worth twenty thousand pounds doesn’t get to just waltz away whenever she wants.”
“Oh, yes she can,” the duchess replied defensively. “And Madeline’s worth is not tied to the price of her dowry, Burke.”
“You’re quite right,” Burke replied. “If anything, we are selling her short, seeing as the Leary fortune she will inherit at marriage is worth easily three times the sum of her dowry. What do you say to that, Bray? Would you let a lady worth over eighty thousand pounds slip away?”
Charles stilled, glancing down at Madeline. He needed to speak with her alone.
“Burke, don’t push,” the duchess muttered.
“I never meant to be such a nuisance,” said Madeline, her voice soft.
“It was no trouble,” Burke replied. He glanced up at Charles with an impatient look. “James met with the constable and told her she wasn’t in the house. Which, at the time, she wasn’t,” he added with a wink.
“I was with Warren,” she blurted, snatching her dice off the board. “Mr. Warren,” she added too late. “In the stables. That’s where I was while the constable was in the house.”
Charles’s stomach clenched tight as he had a sudden mental image of Madeline tipped back in the hay like another of Warren’s many conquests, Warren rutting between her legs. He blinked, clearing his throat. “Well…”
Their awkward moment was not missed by the duchess and Burke, who were both looking supremely uncomfortable.
“Yes…” Burke added. “Yes, she went down to see the new colt. Just born this morning. A fine little chestnut fellow—”
“Ahh—” the duchess cried out, slapping a hand over her rounded stomach, and doubling over. “Oh no, I’m feeling strange pains.”
Madeline reached out a hand. “Rosalie, are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” said Burke, taking his turn with a roll of the dice. They rattled in the cup, landing with a clatter on the board. “Breath it out, Your Grace.”
“No, no,” said the duchess, rubbing the spot on her side. “I think I need to go and have a lie down. This is a particular pain,” she added, scrunching up her brow. “Burke, will you assist me?”
Burke scooped his dice back into his cup. Glancing between Charles and Madeline, back to the duchess. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” she added with a fervent nod. “I need to lie down now. I’m so sorry to cut your game short, Madeline.”
“I can take you,” Madeline urged, getting to her feet.
“No, Burke can do it,” the duchess repeated. “He’s stronger. He’ll catch me if I faint.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Burke muttered as he got to his feet. But he dutifully stepped around the back of Madeline’s chair, helping the duchess to her feet.
Charles fought the urge to roll his eyes. The duchess was being painfully obvious with her intentions. But he could only feel grateful because he was now desperate to talk to Madeline.
“Do take care, Rosalie, and rest,” Madeline called after her.
“You’re unbelievable,” said Burke as he placed an arm around the duchess’s waist, helping her shuffle away.
“I know, right?” she said with a grin. “Now, shush, and help me.”
They bickered softly to each other as they crossed the room towards the door.
“I guess I’ll be taking the duchess upstairs now!” Burke called back across the library in the height of melodramatic fashion. “It will probably take me at least a quarter of an hour. And then I’ll be back to resume our game!”
Not waiting for Madeline’s response, he showed the duchess out and shut the door with a snap.
Charles didn’t bother to watch them go, his eyes already back on Madeline. She stood next to the duchess’s abandoned chair, worrying her bottom lip in a way that would make Warren feral if he were here. Why was he suddenly nervous now that he was alone with her?
“So…are you alright? The constable being here didn’t frighten you?” he asked.
She wrapped her arms tight around her middle, flashing him a veiled look before she focused her eyes back on the door.
“Madeline—”
“Of course, it frightened me,” she snapped. “I’m frightened, Charles. This is what frightened looks like,” she added, waving a hand erratically across her person.
“Madeline, I—”
“My parents think I’m missing. At this moment, they are scouring the whole of England looking for me. But I can’t tell them where I am, because the moment I do, they’ll come for me. They’ll lock me away for good, and they’ll throw away the key!” She spun away with a soft sob.
“That’s not going to happen,” he growled, his anger bristling as he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“You couldn’t stop them,” she replied. “Even Rosalie has admitted she can’t stop them. If a duchess is powerless, what does that make you?”
He said nothing, his jaw tight.
“So long as I am seen as my father’s property, I belong to him, Charles,” she went on, spinning around to face him again. “I belong to the Blaire family. They don’t care that I am their daughter. They only care that I am worth a fortune. You heard Burke just now; my dowry alone is twenty thousand pounds. But since I did this horrible thing in running away, James believes my father will deny me my dowry rights,” she said with a shake of her head. “The only money I can offer you must come from the Leary fortune. But it is significant, Charles. A townhouse in London, mine shares, land in Ireland. I could give you a full accounting if you wish—”
“Christ, I don’t care about the money,” he said. “Of all the many things I am considering with this proposal, the money is least among them.”
“But you must consider it,” she pressed. “You’d be foolish not to. You could be rich beyond your wildest dreams! Even without the dowry, we’d want for nothing.”
“Madeline, I don’t care about the money—”
“Then why do you hesitate?” she cried, tears once again stinging her eyes.
His hand dropped away from her shoulder. He hated that he was hurting her. “I…don’t know,” he lied.
“First you said it was because you loved another. But surely, we are past all that now. I would never come between you and Warren. You do not have to give him up, Charles.”
He groaned, dragging a hand through his curls. “Madeline, do you even hear yourself? You are asking me to make a vow of marriage knowing I don’t intend to keep it. You really intend to marry me, support me, and keep my lover in your home so I can be with him whenever I wish? Do you not see how mad that sounds?”
She squared her shoulders at him. “Perhaps that would have been the arrangement at first,” she replied, holding his gaze. “But Charles, you know how things are…changing…between us, I mean,” she added, inching forward. “Between the three of us. I don’t know what to call this. I’m not sure there’s even a word for it. Three people in a marriage is not the common practice, I grant you. But why should we sacrifice our own happiness for the sake of a set of rules that only sometimes apply?”
He raised a brow. “What can you mean?”
She shrugged. “I mean that all marriages are a farce. Show me a good marriage where a man is loyal to his wife, and I will show you ten more that are held together with little more than habit and spite. My own parents are like oil and water. They make each other miserable. For those rare few like Rosalie and the duke who stumble into a love match, maybe there can be fidelity. But most of the people in my circle are in arranged marriages. It is a business deal, Charles. Nothing more.”
“That is not the case in my circle,” he replied. “We lowly commoners must live by the rules, Madeline. And I am doubly confined by my position. As a man of the Church, I cannot be seen with Warren. There can be no hint of impropriety. It would ruin us both. It could land us in jail, or worse. I may love him, but I must love him from afar. And I cannot think of dragging you into the middle. I would never do you the dishonor or put you in such danger.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “You know, at some point in my life, I’d like to think that I could be the mistress of my own fate. I must tell you that there is nothing I hate worse than having all my decisions made for me, Charles.”
He blinked, surprised by the sudden strength in her tone. “I’m only trying to protect you—”
“You are trying to control me,” she countered. “And I get enough of that from my father and his brothers, my mother, my governess, my tutors, my fencing instructor. Every single person in my life tells me what I should want and how I should behave. I am sick to death of it!”
“So, you expect me to just step back and stay silent? As your husband I would have no say in our life or the living of it? You want total control?”
“No,” she cried, her voice almost a groan. “Ugh, I want to be free, Charles! I have lived all my life in a physical cage. The four walls of a drawing room have been my bars. I am kept quiet and confined. I am fed and petted and given pretty things to look at, but I am trapped! I cannot breathe but know that someone is looking over my shoulder, ready to tell me I am doing it wrong!”
He shook his head, her pain striking him like a lance to the chest. “Madeline, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be free with me,” she begged, sweeping forward to take his hands in hers. “Do you know what I see when I look in your eyes?” She gazed up at him, those beautiful blue orbs open and wide, luring him in.
“What?” he murmured, desperate to see himself through her careful gaze.
“I see a like soul, trapped inside another cage,” she murmured.
He sucked in a breath, his hands going stiff in her grip.
“But your cage is of your own making, Charles. For you are a man. You could do and be anything in this life. You have only to try for it, to dare to believe it could be yours, and it can be!”
“You make it sound so easy,” he muttered, dropping his hands away from her.
“You simply must get out of your own way. For that is where we are different. I am in a cage and others hold the key. Even you stand before me now with a key, Charles. You could free me. And if you will only let me, I could free you too. You don’t have to live trapped inside your mind, inside your fear. You don’t have to push Warren away anymore. If you trust me, if you let me in, you can be together. I can protect you both. My wealth, my position, they will be our sword and shield. We could all be together—”
“Please stop,” he groaned, shrugging away from her.
It was too much. Hope was such a rare and fragile thing. Charles had lived a life watching all his hopes and dreams dashed upon sharp rocks. Again and again, his candle was utterly snuffed out. His parents dying young, leaving him and his brother with nothing. His uncle barely making enough to feed them all. He took the offer of the late duke to go to Cambridge, not because he wanted to be a curate, but because he had no other options.
And Charles had never been strong. He was too easily pushed by the whims and wills of others. Too easily led away from his own desires. He let Uncle Selby pull him away from Warren. He let his mentor push him towards accepting a position in Bredbury. He didn’t want to go to Bredbury! He wanted to stay here. James Corbin offered him a position in Finchley, and he was too damn afraid of other’s opinions to take it. Afraid to want something, try for it, and not get it. Again.
And now here was Madeline. Sweet, honest Madeline. She was so lovely, so kind. How easy it would be to let himself be pulled by her too, led down the garden path into her bright future of a perfect forever, Warren at their side. It was impossible. What she was saying was impossible. There was no reality in which he could have them both. It was not done.
He didn’t even realize he was shaking his head.
Madeline looked so utterly crestfallen. “I see you are determined not to believe me,” she murmured. “This is your answer then? You’re saying no?”
Was he? Had the words yet passed his lips? He knew he ought to say no to her. Such a precious flower deserved better, more. “I—don’t want to ruin your life,” he muttered, letting his truth slip free at last.
Her gaze darted up, blue eyes deep and wide. “What can you mean? You wouldn’t be ruining my life; you would be saving it. Have I not just said—”
But he shook his head, letting her have all his fears. “You said it yourself, I am a powerless man. I am a lowly vicar, Madeline. I have no wealth, no connections. I cannot fight for you, nor can I protect you. Not from the censure of the ton. I fear I cannot risk making you my wife, not if I will make you a social outcast in the same day, a joke told at teas and luncheons to which you no longer receive an invitation—”
“But I don’t want those invitations—”
“You say that now, but you haven’t yet felt the full sting of society’s hatred,” he shouted at her, watching her shrink back. “You are insulated here at Alcott. Were we to join your family for Christmas, do you think their usual set would rejoice at your new inferior connections? Would they even shake my hand?”
“I—”
“And what of Warren?” he added, feeling fiercely protective of his dearest friend.
She blinked, lip quivering. “What of him?”
“Do you expect to drag him into this mess too? You would parade him around London drawing rooms as…what? Your handsome laborer? Would you watch as the feathered peacocks sipped their brandy and asked him about his scars? Would you watch them try to bed him as part of a bet? ‘Who can claim a wild night with Madeline Bray’s kept man?’ You know they will try it,” he added, eyes narrowed at her.
“I will bite the hand of any lady who dares to touch him,” she said, her voice quivering. “He is ours, Charles.”
His heart raced at the words. Ours. Christ, it sounded so good. He wanted it to be true.
“Not that he needs any protecting from us,” she added. “But if it came down to it, I would use my wealth to keep us safe. We could leave London, Charles. Leave England. The three of us, we could travel. Our life would be ours alone. And I care not what the ton thinks of me. I will give not a fig for what they think of you or Warren either. I have never sought their good opinions. Why start now?”
He sighed a deep breath, dragging his hand through his hair once more. “You seem so determined,” he muttered. “How can you have such strong convictions? How can you see in me what I clearly cannot see in myself?”
She shrugged. “I have spent my life watching others. I am no great entertainer or orator. I am not the center of anything. I live quietly and reservedly. And I see people. I see through their armor and their veils. You are no great mystery to me…or to Warren,” she added. “We see you just as you are. You are a good man. A strong and capable man. A kind one. An honest one.”
How could that be true? He didn’t feel like any of those traits applied to him on his best day.
She took one of his hands in both of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I will only say these next words one more time, so please listen.” She held his gaze, her openness overwhelming him. “Charles, I need to marry now, and I want to marry you—no, please—don’t say anything,” she said quickly, raising a hand to his lips to stifle his words.
He groaned, trying to ignore how good it felt to feel her fingers brushing his lips.
“Please—just—let me get this out,” she stuttered. “My pride cannot take asking you again. But I am offering you all that I have, Charles Bray. And I mean to take you both, if Warren will have me. I will be a wife to you both. But you must marry me. And soon. Free me from my cage, and I will do everything in my power to free you from yours too. I will help you learn to see yourself the way we see you.”
Tipping up on her toes, she brushed her lips featherlight against his. “There, I have said my piece. Please do not answer now. This cannot be rushed, and I will not have you appeasing me out of pity or obligation. You must want this too. Do not speak a word about it until you are ready to say either yes or no.”
The clock on the mantle chimed and Charles groaned, knowing his uncle waited for him even now. He glanced back at her, desperate to do something—anything—to say without words how strongly he was coming to care for her. How badly he wanted to hand her the key to free him from his self-torment.
In the end, he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, taking a moment to breath in her sweetly floral scent. “Can I come again tomorrow?” he murmured against her skin.
She nodded and pulled her hand away, dismissing him with a nod.
He turned for the door and stilled, glancing over his shoulder. “This morning with Warren…you didn’t just look at a horse…did you?”
She pursed her lips, crossing her arms around her middle. “No.”
He groaned, turning away. “And did you…”
Silence hung between them as she made him wait, made him wonder.
“Warren takes what he wants,” she called in a soft voice. “And I think I mean to follow his example…wherever it leads.”
