“No, Lord Marlow, you have not mentioned it to me before,” Kenneth replied politely, trying his best not to look at the old man but at his wife.
“It was terrible business!” Lord Marlow exclaimed. “I remember it every time we have a good dinner. It is good to be grateful.”
“Yes, it is.”
Selina and Lady Marlow had their own conversation, which was mostly about wedding preparations. Portia had sneaked a book and was reading it surreptitiously from under the table.Kenneth sat ramrod straight, feeling frustrated that he had to continue listening to Lord Marlow while turning to his wife every now and then.
Kenneth was a volcano about to explode. He noticed how Mr. Sheffield passed Madeline the salt, or had the back of his hand on the edge of her plate setting. The Duke had the sudden urge to throw the man out of the window, but he thought of Selina’s marriage and kept his peace. However, if the man crossed more boundaries, he would be forced to act on them.
Soon, Lord Marlow’s voice no longer registered. It was like a muffled droning, while the food barely woke his taste buds. He wanted to drag his wife out of the house and bring her home to put an end to his hell.
“...and that was how we lost our best bull in the summer of ninety-three!” Lord Marlow concluded his long-winded tale.
“A fascinating tale, indeed,” Mr. Sheffield replied, although Kenneth suspected the man’s attention was solely on his wife. He turned to Madeline and said, “Your Grace, your grandpapa isa treasure.”
“He is, indeed,” Madeline replied, looking pleased.
“Oh, you should not believe half of the things he says!” Lady Marlow said. “I swear, most of them happened in his imagination.”
“What problem do you have with my intonation, Margaret?” Lord Marlow was confused.
“I said, you have a great imagination!” Lady Marlow practically screamed in his ear trumpet.
“I already know that. You do not have to yell at me, woman.”
Everyone seemed to sigh at that, but Kenneth’s eyes were back to Madeline, giggling over something Mr. Sheffield had said.
“I do believe it is time for some parlor games! Don’t you think so?” Lady Marlow said, breaking some of the growing tension.
“What a splendid idea, Lady Marlow!” Mr. Sheffield agreed enthusiastically. Then, he turned to Madeline once more. “Your Grace, I am eager to see your skills at charades. I have heard from Miss Selina that you are legendary at it.”
Kenneth had had enough. He immediately stood up, strode around the table, and offered Madeline his hand.
“Forgive me,” he said, his eyes only on her. “But I find I must steal my wife away for the evening. Thank you for the dinner, Lord and Lady Marlow.”
“Kenneth, it is still quite early. The family has only just gathered.”
“I know, and I would not ask if it were not important,” Kenneth said. He did not pull at her hand. He only held it, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin of her palm, like a quiet plea. He hoped that only she could feel his desperation. “There is a great deal we have left unsaid, Madeline. More than you can possibly imagine. I am asking you to come home with me. Please.”
Madeline’s eyes softened at those two last words that confirmed it was a plea. Kenneth could feel her studying his face. Then, she stood up.
“If there is urgent business at Huntington, go on, Madeline. Go home with your husband. We cannot keep you here,” Lady Marlow reassured with a smile.
Mr. Sheffield stepped back, clearing his throat awkwardly. Without waiting for another word from Madeline’s family, Kenneth urged his wife to his side. He strode out as if it werea matter of life and death, and she tried her best to match his steps. Soon, they were in the waiting carriage. He hoped that this time he could better express himself to his wife.
Chapter 24
“Do you truly intend to unhinge that door by slamming it, or is that display merely for my benefit?” Madeline asked.
Kenneth did not give her an immediate answer. For a moment, he was just quiet, but Madeline could feel the silent rage steaming from him. The carriage was now jolting over a dark, bumpy road. She watched his profile, saw his jaw tick. He was trying to control himself from saying or doing anything in the dimly lit confines of the carriage.
Is he angry?
“Kenneth?”
“Let us speak about this when we reach home,” he replied.
She could not truly argue with that. Still, it was difficult to feel the hot waves of anger emanating from him in such a small space. He sat across from her, instead of next to her. But was not this what she wanted? His usually impenetrable walls had not only cracked, but had completely shattered in his fury.
