Carole Mortimer - Historical Romance – The Best Of The Year

He must find another solution to his problems and he must forget Madeline. It was time he returned to the country.

* * *

Lethbridge rose from the card table after having lost heavily to the man sitting opposite him. Two weeks had passed since Lord Devenish’s ball, where he had won nearly a thousand guineas from Rochdale, but this evening he had lost more than three times as much. It was unlike him to lose, but the situation had been forced on him for Rochdale held the bank at faro and insisted on replacing the cards every hand, which made it impossible for them to be marked. He would have left the table before he became so badly dipped had the marquis not goaded him into remaining.

‘I believe I am in debt to you for several thousand pounds,’ Lethbridge said, trying to hide his anger, as much with himself for being a fool as the other man, for faro was not his game. ‘I shall have to beg your indulgence for a few days—say next week, when I shall have the funds to repay you.’

‘No hurry,’ Rochdale said and smiled in a way that annoyed Lethbridge. Accustomed to winning large sums himself, he did not care for being a substantial loser. ‘We may come to some other arrangement. But we should play again and you may recoup your losses.’

‘I do not play if I cannot pay.’ Lethbridge scowled at the thinly veiled insult. ‘I shall sell some bonds and pay you next Thursday—and certainly I am ready to play whenever you choose. It is not my habit to lose.’

‘No, I have noticed it,’ Rochdale said, an unpleasant smirk on his face. ‘Shall we meet again on Thursday next at the club and try our luck again?’

‘Delighted,’ Lethbridge said between his teeth. ‘But I prefer whist or piquet next time.’

‘Certainly, whichever you choose, Lethbridge.’

Walking away from him, the count balled his hands at his sides. Something pricked at him, something that made him suspect that the marquis knew the reason why Lethbridge normally won most evenings at the tables.

He couldn’t know for certain. Lethbridge was so careful. No one had ever questioned his luck, because he made a point of losing now and then. Most of the gentlemen he played with were half-foxed or too careless with the money they had so much of that they could afford to lose a few hundred guineas or even a thousand on occasion. He took care never to win huge pots, just enough to maintain his way of life—and he’d been forced to cheat because he himself had been cheated, not at the tables, but in a business venture that had failed, losing him some thirty thousand pounds. The ships he’d invested in had been unworthy and had sunk in heavy seas carrying a cargo that would have doubled his investment, but like a fool he had not raised insurance and that meant he’d lost all his money rather than just a part.

His family seat was intact for the moment, though it was heavily mortgaged, but he had expensive tastes—one of which was his wife. Her beauty pleased him and he liked to see her wearing valuable jewels and costly gowns...even though she was unresponsive to his advances. Why must she be so cold to him? He glowered at his thoughts for he honestly could not understand what he’d done, not realising that his habit of coming to bed the worse for drink, his coarse manners in the bedroom and his selfish way of taking what he wanted without considering her needs had turned her from a sweet gentle child into the cold woman whose icy stare could make him incapable of performing as a man ought.

With his mistress he indulged in all the base acts that pleased and aroused him, but with Madeline he could not manage to perform the simple act that might give him an heir.

Damn the woman! He was not certain why he put up with her. It would serve her right if he gave her the divorce she wanted. He could throw her out without a penny, for he’d never given her the settlement she’d been entitled to on marriage although it was hers by right, having been left to her by an uncle. Lethbridge suspected that if she had any way of supporting herself she would leave him and that would not suit him. He liked other men to envy him and he knew that Madeline was much admired. If he gave his wife her freedom, she would no doubt marry again, and quite possibly to a man even richer than he had been before a few unwise investments had made inroads into his fortune.

No, he would not let her go like that. He would force her to accept him. He would get an heir on her somehow.

* * *

Madeline walked into her bedchamber a week after the supper party at Lord Devenish’s house. They had attended one of the most prestigious balls of the Season, but she had danced only once with her husband, after which she had been forced to sit with the matrons and watch the young unmarried girls enjoying themselves while he repaired to the card room. She enjoyed the music and the conversation of her friends, but her feet tapped and she longed to dance. However, she had not dared accept the only offer she’d received, even though the gentleman was a friend of her husband’s. She would have suffered for it had she been reckless enough to dance without his permission.

And the only man she’d wished to dance with had not been there. She’d looked for him in the crowded room, but had not seen him.

‘I wish for a word with you, madam.’

Madeline breathed deeply as her husband followed her into the room. From the harsh expression on his face, she feared that she had displeased him yet again.

‘Is something wrong, my lord? Have I displeased you?’

‘Have you?’ he asked, eyes narrowed. He reached out and grabbed her by her upper arms, his fingers digging hard into her tender flesh. ‘You look guilty, Madeline. What have you done?’

‘Nothing.’ She lifted her head proudly. ‘I am tired, sir. I should like to be allowed to retire.’

‘And what of my wishes or needs?’ he demanded, his mouth thin and spiteful as he tightened his hold. ‘Will you never do your duty as a wife ought?’

‘Forgive me, Lethbridge. Have you forgot this is my monthly cycle?’

‘It is always some excuse with you—a headache or your feminine cycle. Is there someone else?’ He moved in closer, his face dark with suspicion. ‘Is that the reason you are so cold to me? If I discover you have betrayed me...’

‘How could I when you have me watched all the time? You know it is not so, sir.’

He pinched her arm. ‘I want a son, madam. You will give me one or I shall know what to do.’

‘I am at your disposal, sir. You may do with me as you wish.’

‘Damn you,’ he muttered and let her go so abruptly that she almost stumbled. ‘I came to remind you it is Adam Miller’s wedding next week. You will wear the blue gown I bought you—and I want no long faces in front of my friends, nor will I accept a headache as an excuse for not attending.’

‘Very well,’ Madeline said, lifting her head to look at him once more. ‘May I retire now, my lord? I am really very tired.’

‘Do as you please,’ he said. ‘You are a cold cat, Madeline. I shall spend the night with my mistress. She gave me a son...why can you not be as obliging?’

‘I only wish I might have a child,’ she said with such a ring of sincerity that his skin flushed a dark red, then he turned and left without another word.

Maddie rang for her maid, standing silently as she undressed her. She held her tears back until she was alone, but then, in the silence of the night, she wept.

Her life was so hopeless and the memory of Hal and what might have been served only to make her weep more.

* * *

Emerging from her milliner’s shop into a wet morning some days later, Madeline regretted having sent her coachman on an errand. She had intended to walk home, for it was but a few streets, and she had dispensed with the man’s services, preferring to enjoy a little fresh air. Now the rain had made it uncomfortable and she stood in the shelter of the doorway, looking hopefully at the sky. It looked to be easing off and, unless she called for a hackney, she had no choice but to walk home. She took little notice of the covered chaise that had just drawn up at the kerb.