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 looked sympathetic. “How sad for her.”
“Her life was frightful. She was forced to be a servant in her own home and mistreated. I could not leave her there.”
“You are a good man, my lord.”
“You have always been biased.”
She shook her head, looking sad. “And you will reside in London?”
“No, I plan to make this our home.”
Those words cheered her up. “You have always preferred your time at Wheaton.”
“I have.”
She hesitated. “My lord, the young lady informed me she would stay in her room unless you summoned her and she wouldn’t require dinner.”
I frowned. “Of course she needs dinner.”
Mrs. Dougall met my confused gaze. “She stated she cannot attend your table dressed worse than a servant, my lord. That was what she said to me.” Her eyes shone with sympathy. “She was so ashamed. It hurt my heart to hear her confession. And knowing some of what she has been through, I feel it even more deeply.”
“She has nothing,” I stated, thinking of the small case she had brought and hating the fact that Madeleine had been made to feel less. “I need to aid her but am unsure how.”
“Perhaps, if you are amenable, I can go to the village and see if the dressmaker has anything suitable. A simple gown perhaps that would fit her.”
“Yes,” I agreed eagerly. “Anything you see that you feel would be appropriate. I will settle the account tomorrow when I am able to move a bit easier. Purchase whatever you think is best.”
She stood. “I shall, my lord.” She paused. “And I believe you will be happy with your decision, if I might be so bold as to state my thoughts.”
I chuckled at her directness. I had known her for most of my life, and she often stated her thoughts, whether or not I wished to hear them.
“One last thing—she may have questions. About me. Feel free to answer.”
“My lord?”
“She knows nothing of me. The person I am. She will undoubtedly need some of her worries laid to rest. You would be the person she might ask. I give you leave to tell her your thoughts on my, ah, character,” I said with a small smirk.
“I shall indeed,” she replied with a lift of her eyebrow. “I shall tell her how you muck in the fields and track dirt across my freshly washed floors. That you roam around without a proper cravat.” Her tone softened. “That you treat your servants and tenants with a respect and kindness that very few men of your station would ever think to do. I will tell her how respected and well thought of you are—despite these minor unconventional behaviors you have.”
I chuckled at her speech. I was rather eccentric, but I believed life was short and should be enjoyed. And if one could not do so in their own home, where could they? Besides, she knew I was fond of her, and she felt the same of me. I had no qualms in letting her speak to Madeleine.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dougall.”
She departed, and I leaned back in my chair. Once I convinced Madeleine to join me for dinner, I would have a greater task to convince her to marry me. I was only hoping that she, too, would be happy with my decision.
CHAPTER 9
MADELEINE
Istared at the note, reading and rereading the dark, masculine scrawl. The written words both thrilled me and filled me with dread.
Madeleine—
I request your presence in the library this evening for dinner.
Please know it matters not to me what you wear—a potato sack borrowed from the kitchen would be lovely if you donned it. But I believe a solution is at hand.
We shall eat later, as you may rest. Please join me at seven. We have much to discuss.
Yours,
Alexander
Much to discuss.
Yours, Alexander.
He believed himself to be mine? That I was his, then?
His announcement before his footman opened the door of the carriage drifted through my mind continuously. I could not stop thinking of it.
When he had simply informed me he wished to marry me, I was speechless. Certain it was but a cruel jest on his part.
Except the way he looked at me—his dark gaze all at once sincere and intense—I knew he was not jesting. I had never had a man stare at me the way he did. Bold. Decisive. In command.
Making me breathless and want things I did not comprehend nor was able to understand.
But I knew this. Lord Wheaton was not a cruel man. After the time we had spent in the carriage, I knew that with an absolute certainty. The way he had spoken of his estate, his regard for the land and his farmers. His worry over his horse. He never complained about how much pain he had to be in, only accepting my attempts to ease it with a warm, genuine smile of gratitude. He was polite and honest with his emotion when he thanked me for the small repast I had thought to bring him. Praised my talent for drawing. Asked me question after question about my life. His open disdain for my father made me want to laugh. He was amusing, and his unfiltered words were as accurate as they were scandalous.