Page 58 of Maid for the Marquess

I smiled, lifting her gloved hand to my lips and kissing it. “I am the fortunate one, Maddie mine. You make me happier than I deserve.”

“You deserve everything,” she replied.

I met her eyes, a silent conversation flowing between us. It held promises of the future for both of us.

MADELEINE

I was stunned by what Alexander said to me. The way he bestowed yet another unexpected, thoughtful, extravagant gift on me. I had never known anyone like him. This tall, strong, powerful, yet incredibly gentle man who was generous, capable, giving, and so loving toward me.

The gifts he handed to me were numerous and expensive, but none was as worthy as the man himself.

Could he, I wondered, love me the way I had fallen in love with him?

Across from me, he chuckled. “One more surprise today, Maddie mine, then we shall be done. We will head home to Wheaton on the morrow and start our life together, yes?”

“Yes.”

The carriage rocked on through the steady traffic as a companionable silence fell. I would be contented to return to Wheaton and the quiet stillness of the countryside soon, but I had to admit that our jaunt to Town had been more than pleasant. Not just because of the vast spoiling Alexander had done of me either. But because of all the time we had been able to spend together. There were no tenants, no estate matters to take him away from me in London. It was only the two of us.

The carriage rocked to a halt again.

Alexander leaned forward and peered through the Venetian blinds on the window. “Ah, we have arrived at our next destination.”

A groom opened the carriage door. Alexander exited first and turned back to offer me a hand. Feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, I placed my hand in his and alighted from the carriage. The tall, elegantly appointed building before boasted a sign that read Bellingham and Co. Two banks of windows showed off the wares within. I recognized it at once as London’s most prestigious shop.

“Lady Beckett told me about Bellingham and Co.,” I said delightedly. “She told me there are various departments, with everything from clocks to bonnets and fans.”

Alexander smiled down at me, offering his arm. “I am acquainted with the owner, Mr. Tarquin Bellingham, and he has been kind enough to procure some special items for you that I think you may find of particular interest.”

I settled my hand in the crook of his elbow, wondering what special items Alexander could have possibly thought of. Already, he had plied me with stockings, gowns, undergarments, bonnets, sewing items, jewels, and books.

We ventured within and were instantly greeted by an affable gentleman who offered to provide us with a tour of the varying departments. Alexander accepted, which was just as well because I was too busy craning my neck to observe the vast array of goods the store sold as we moved about. Furs and fans, haberdashery, fine furniture, jewels, clocks, and even perfumes. I had never seen the like, and certainly not all in one place.

The establishment was a fine one. I had no doubt that everything within was quite costly.

“Mr. Bellingham has gathered the goods he felt may be of interest to you, and they are arranged in a private shopping room, Lord Wheaton,” the clerk said when the tour of the expansive and impressive store was finished. “This way, if you please, my lord, my lady.”

“Thank you, that would be most agreeable,” Alexander said.

The clerk guided us to a door on the periphery of the haberdashery department and bowed. “If you require assistance, I would be more than happy to provide it, my lord.”

Alexander gestured for me to precede him into the small, paneled room. And the moment I was within, I couldn’t contain my cry of pure happiness. I rushed forward, instantly recognizing pencils and crayons for drawing, along with papers and brushes. A handsome mahogany box was on the table at the room’s center.

I turned back to Alexander, finding him watching me with an affectionate expression on his face. The clerk had discreetly closed the door behind us, leaving us alone, and I had been too caught up in the drawing supplies that I had failed to take note.

“What is in this box?” I asked.

“Open it and see,” Alexander invited.

I lifted the lid and discovered cakes of watercolor within, along with a glass for water and a palette in a lower drawer. Ultramarine, Prussian blue, Carmine, Purple Lake, Venetian red, and yellow ochre were lined up neatly, their bright hues beckoning for a paintbrush.

“It is a painting box,” I exclaimed softly. “It’s beautiful.”

I had never seen anything so fine. After so many years of making the ends of pencils and scraps of paper my father had cast off suffice, the sight of so many new, glorious implements was like something from a dream.

“Do you like it?” Alexander asked.

I turned back to him. “I adore it. Thank you for arranging for me to see it. Perhaps I will have a few small pencils. Enough to last me until another trip to London.”