To Tame a Dangerous Lord (Courtship Wars 5)

“Why, last summer … barely a few months ago. I think Rayne proposed to her, too—or so rumor says. But it obviously came to naught.”

Madeline wondered if Haviland still pined after the lovely duchess. Probably so, if he’d harbored strong enough feelings for her to propose marriage.

“At least he is finally doing something his grandmother approves of,” Freddie added. “His spy career was a blot on the family ledger, don’t you know.”

“I can imagine.” Madeline hesitated before making a deliberately leading comment. “Haviland said his grandmother expects him to marry and produce an heir.”

“Oh, yes. The dowager Countess of Haviland wants him to carry on the title something fierce. And she will likely get

her way. She keeps insisting that she is near her last breath. If you ask me, it’s blackmail, pure and simple.”

“Lord Haviland doesn’t really wish to marry?”

“Not precisely. It’s not the shackles of matrimony he wants to avoid so much as the chains of the ton. He detests the superficiality of society. But his grandmama is a high-stickler—like my Papa, only a generation older—and believes she can make a proper nobleman out of Rayne if he marries well. Lady Haviland is badly mistaken, if you want my opinion. Rayne won’t change his entire character just to please his grandmama, even if he bends to her wishes regarding marriage.”

Freddie gave Madeline no time to reply. Instead he grimaced and launched into another complaint. “But I would not like to be in his boots. If I were he, I would be dragging my heels, trying to make my final moments of freedom last. But not Rayne. For example, there was no need for him to come here tonight. He had a few days’ respite from his grandmother’s hounding, since she is still at a house party in Brighton given by Lady Beldon. Lady Haviland is a bosom friend of Lady Beldon’s, who is Lord Danvers’s maternal aunt.”

Madeline frowned, trying to follow the tangled relationship, while Freddie gave a mock shudder. “’Tis utterly frightening, how matrimony seems to be in the air.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the three Loring sisters all recently wed, you see. And Danvers’s younger sister, Lady Eleanor, became betrothed to Viscount Wrexham just this past week. Now Rayne is very likely to be next.”

Madeline felt her spirits sink again. “Does he have someone in mind for his bride?” she asked, although not really wanting to know the answer.

She was unaccountably relieved when Freddie shook his head. “Thus far he has only searched among the kind of young ladies his grandmother would find acceptable. But I think he needs to look farther afield, and so I told him just today.”

Freddie suddenly gave Madeline a penetrating look, but she was still dwelling on the depressing possibility of Haviland’s marrying soon, as well as wondering about the kind of ladies his grandmother would approve.

She didn’t have the requisite beauty and fortune to compete, of course. She was not particularly elegant or ladylike, either, even though she was a gentleman’s daughter. Her mother had died much too young, and her father had treated her more as a son than a daughter. Thus, she’d learned a number of masculine skills, which admittedly appealed to her more than the tame diversions young ladies were allowed, but which served her poorly in a ballroom.

Why that thought should dishearten her, Madeline had no idea. A bare three days ago, she had been content with her lot in life. All this talk of Haviland’s marriage prospects had evidently unearthed hidden longings she had resolutely repressed.

To hide her dissatisfaction—as well as to distract herself—Madeline turned the conversation to Freddie’s predicament. “It seems you are having your own difficult experience with blackmail, Mr. Lunsford.”

His face drooped. “Yes, Solange Sauville. She is a French widow who holds a certain cachet in literary circles. I mistakenly let myself be dazzled by her beauty. My father would be appalled to know I have sunk so low, not only because he doesn’t condone licentiousness, but also because he particularly dislikes the French.”

Madeline’s mouth curved faintly; it was a common sentiment among the English aristocracy, disdaining a people who had beheaded their king and queen along with innumerable other nobles merely for the crime of their blue blood. “I am half French myself, actually.”

“At least it isn’t obvious with you,” Freddie said bluntly. “Madame Sauville looks and sounds French. I should never have become involved with her, I know that now. But my father will never believe that I have learned my lesson.”

“Do you know yet how you will extricate yourself?”

“On Tuesday evening Rayne means to attend La Sauville’s soirée in London in order to steal my letters back.”

Madeline gave him a puzzled look. “I overheard you say that the letters are in her bedchamber.”

“So she claimed. Rayne hopes to find them there, at any rate.”

“Then I wonder if I could be of use after all,” she said thoughtfully.

Freddie’s eyebrow rose. “How so, Miss Ellis?”

Her gaze fixed on him. “Perhaps I could accompany Lord Haviland to the soirée on Tuesday night—as his guest or perhaps a family friend. He could keep Mrs. Sauville occupied while I search her rooms. I am less likely to be noticed, since I am a woman.”

Freddie stared at her a beat before his expression brightened. “Your idea is bang-up clever, Miss Ellis. Rayne could doubtless use a female to help him. He may be a master of disguise, but even he can’t look as if he belongs in a strange lady’s boudoir. And if you are half French, you will readily fit in at Madame Sauville’s elite gathering, since many of her usual guests are émigrés.” Freddie paused. “Yet Rayne may not be willing to take you along. He likes to do things his own way.”

“You should ask him to allow me to,” Madeline remarked. “I would very much like to help you in any way I can.”