“By jove, you are a capital sort, Miss Ellis,” Freddie exclaimed, beaming.
Madeline found herself returning his smile, but Freddie’s next remark took her aback.
“If you succeed in helping Rayne, then you should be rewarded for your efforts.”
“Rewarded?” she repeated cautiously.
“You know … a monetary remuneration.”
Heaven knew her finances were in a sad state, since she’d spent all her savings on her brother’s elopement. But she was not about to take Mr. Lunsford’s money.
“I do not want a reward,” Madeline replied. “I merely want to help ward off your father’s retribution, and in some small measure repay Haviland for coming to my rescue.”
Freddie looked quizzical, but then he shrugged. “As you wish, Miss Ellis. I simply want to retrieve my letters from that she-devil.”
He bowed then, and strode off with a jaunty step, looking far more cheerful than he had this morning, but leaving Madeline feeling quite alone again in the crowded ballroom.
She cast another glance at Lord Haviland as he finished the quadrille with the Duchess of Arden. A fresh surge of envy washed through her, along with an inexplicable pain in the vicinity of her heart.
There is no point in my remaining here, Maman, just so I can be miserable, Madeline thought, turning toward the ballroom doors to make a retreat.
Perhaps she would retire to her bedchamber—or better yet, find a pleasant nook in this enormous manor where she could indulge in a bout of melancholy in private.
* * *
“I know that none of the candidates I put forth last month interested you,” the lovely Roslyn, Duchess of Arden, told Rayne as their quadrille concluded, “but I have high hopes for this evening. There are at least seven young ladies here you should meet.”
“I have danced with three of them,” Rayne acknowledged.
“But none of them suit your fancy?”
Rayne managed an apologetic smile. “I am afraid not, your grace. But I appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”
The duchess gave him a congenial smile in return. “They may improve upon further acquaintance, but if not, you needn’t despair. I am determined to find the ideal bride for you.”
Roslyn herself would have made him the ideal wife, Rayne thought as he guided her toward the sidelines. She was well-bred, gracious, and thoroughly versed in the social niceties. She would have made an admirable hostess for balls such as this, and would have pleased his grandmother as well. But Roslyn had rejected his proposal this past summer in favor of her duke.
She wanted love in her marriage, she’d claimed, and Rayne would never have given her love. He’d been physically attracted to her, certainly—what red-blooded man would not? But he hadn’t harbored any deeper feelings for Roslyn than admiration and respect, while Arden was head over Hessians in love with her.
Unfortunately, she was vastly superior to every other possibility Rayne had considered over the summer. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with any of the proper, insipid young ladies he had interviewed thus far. Their fawning attempts to impress him only made him want to send them scurrying back to their schoolrooms, where they could spend a few more years maturing from girls into women.
Rayne turned Roslyn over to her new husband and stood conversing a moment with his former rival. Surprisingly enough, there was no lingering hostility between them. He quite liked Drew Moncrief, Duke of Arden, for his keen intelligence and ironic sense of humor. That and his aristocratic demeanor made him a perfect match for his beautiful bride, Roslyn.
Speaking of keen intelligence … Rayne glanced around the crowded ballroom, searching for Madeline Ellis. He wondered if he would have to make a foray up to her bedchamber and physically compel her to come down to attend the ball. He didn’t care for fêtes such as this any more than she did, but he wanted to help pave her entrance into local society and introduce her to the gentry who would be her new neighbors.
He was looking forward to seeing Madeline for his own sake also. Her company would enliven this dull affair, Rayne knew, feeling a surge of pleasant anticipation.
Just then Freddie Lunsford strolled through the throng, looking highly pleased with himself.
“What has you grinning like a moonling?” Rayne asked when Freddie reached him.
“Miss Ellis. She’s a game one. She knows how to put a fellow at ease.”
Rayne cocked his head, wondering just how she had won his cousin over. “Only this morning you were calling her a managing female.”
“Oh, she is—but in a kind way. I told her about the Widow Sauville’s blackmail attempt.”
Rayne thought he understood. “She wormed the details out of you, did she?”