Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
She was stronger than I thought—and much braver and fiercer than her father ever gave her credit for.
She would make a fine wife.
My idea was perfect. And to my surprise, the thought of it suited me. I grunted in surprise.
“My lord, are you well?”
“Indeed, Madeleine,” I assured her. “Very well indeed.”
MADELEINE
As the carriage rolled down the approach to the marquess’s country seat, I found myself shockingly grateful for the last few unexpected hours. Despite the cramped nature of the latter portion of the journey, thanks to the marquess’s massive size taking up so much of the conveyance’s fine interior, I had enjoyed his company. The necessity of aiding him had assuaged the fear keeping me in its relentless thrall, and I had become persuaded that Lord Wheaton was not at all like my father. He had shown me courtesy and kindness, taking an interest in my past and accomplishments.
Our conversation had reminded me of the girl I had once been, a girl I had been forced to lock away as if she had never existed.
He was still in pain from the injury to his leg, but some of the strain had fled his countenance. The tense lines around his mouth had relaxed, suggesting that perhaps he had been similarly put at ease by our time together and my tending his foot. I didn’t fool myself that I had charmed him, of course. I was the daughter of a baron, but I had spent the last few years earning my keep as a housemaid. I was below Lord Wheaton in station.
Still, speaking with him had been effortless.
“We approach Wheaton,” he told me in his deep, soothing baritone.
There was pride in his voice as he spoke of his home.
“The journey wasn’t as arduous as I worried it would be, my lord,” I commented. “How is your injury? Is it paining you?”
“Thanks to your ministrations, I will be well enough now that I am where I belong. Wheaton is a true beauty.”
He was not looking at his estate as he uttered the words, however. He was gazing upon me.
Warmth crept up my throat. I liked the way his dark gaze fell over me. The way he seemed to see me. These were dangerous feelings, and I knew it. Lord Wheaton wasn’t courting me. I had never graced a ballroom and had spent a third of my life as a servant. The marquess was a handsome man, kind and capable and intelligent. Judging from his fine carriage, he was also wealthy. No doubt he had all the ladies in London eagerly setting their caps at him. Besides, he intended to send me away as soon as he could.
I banished the sudden pang that notion caused in the vicinity of my heart. Why should I wish to linger here? Wheaton was not my home any more than Cliffwood had been.
I cleared my throat. “I’m pleased that I was able to be of use, my lord. It’s the least I can do, given your generosity.”
“Generosity?” A dark brow rose. “My dear Madeleine, all I’ve managed to do is injure myself and allow you to tend to my lame foot.”
My cheeks heated even more at his intense regard and the note of praise in his voice. I was accustomed to my father’s disapproval. Lord Wheaton’s appreciation for my efforts secretly thrilled me.
“It was my pleasure to help in any way I could.”
“And it was my pleasure to share this carriage with you and to be afforded the opportunity to become acquainted with you.”
We stared at each other, my heart quickening until I was certain he must hear it above the din of jangling tack, creaking wood, and falling hooves.
The carriage rocked to a halt.
I looked away from him, past the Venetian blinds on the carriage window, to the manor house that loomed beyond. My breath caught in my throat, for the marquess’s home was at least thrice the size of Cliffwood, and its faultless exterior showed nary a hint of disrepair.
But not only was Wheaton impressive in size and grandeur, the commanding edifice was simply an architectural marvel.
“Here we are at last,” the marquess said softly.
I took in the grand stairs flanking either side of the entrance, the Doric columns, high sloped roof, and at least forty windows across the front facade alone.
“I hope you will feel at home at Wheaton,” he added.
This was not a home. It was a palace.
“I am certain I shall,” I managed weakly.
My mind went to the task of cleaning all those windows, of beating the carpets that would line the immense floors. Maintaining such an impressive household would require an army of domestics. Perhaps I could be incorporated into the servants here. I didn’t doubt, after my time spent during the journey with the marquess, that he would be a fair man. He would not be exacting, unjust, or cruel and callous as my father had been.