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He sat down at the desk after she had gone and stared blankly at the portrait of his grandfather that he had found banished to the attic and had rehung so he was working under that honest, kindly gaze. The old Earl had loved his son, refused to see what manner of man he was, even as the evidence piled up before him. Was he as blindly trusting as his grandfather had been?
Jack made himself relax, let his mind wander, collecting random memories as they floated past. Madelyn, pale with nerves, yet determined to make her proposal. Madelyn in her garden surrounded by fragrance and an exquisite world she had created with care and love. Madelyn, trembling as she came apart in his arms and then the look in those clear eyes as she came back to herself and saw him watching her.
He would trust her. He would put faith and love before cold reason and caution and, if it broke his heart, then he would have to live with the pain.
* * *
Madelyn had the grace of courage, Jack thought, watching her at dinner that night. She did not sulk, she did not show him a sullen or resentful face, nor give any hint of triumph that he had apologised. If the smile she wore did not reach her eyes and if she was focusing all her attention on Lyminge and Paulson, then he was certain he was the only one who noticed.
She was working on her embroidery when they joined her in the drawing room and she presided over the tea tray and kept a conversation going in a way that made him realise how hard she had studied with Louisa Fairfield. He had never complimented her on that, he realised. In fact, had he done anything to make her feel warmly towards him other than pleasure her in bed? he wondered.
He gave her half an hour after she retired before he followed her upstairs and listened after he dismissed Tanfield and sat in his robe, paring his nails. Madelyn was talking to Harper—he could hear the low murmur of voices through the connecting door, then the sound of the door onto the landing closing. Bed had been the one place where they had always been in harmony—he would see if that would work its magic again.
Madelyn was sitting at her dressing table when he unlocked the connecting door. She looked up, her thoughtful expression becoming blank. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘Tonight is not... Not a good time in the month.’
It took him a moment to re
alise what she meant. ‘Of course,’ Jack said meaninglessly. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ Madelyn said as he closed the door again. This time he did not lock it.
* * *
‘Anything of any interest in the post?’ Jack asked the table at large over breakfast the next morning.
Correspondence was beginning to come in quantity for his two employees as they sent for reports from the home farms and stewards at the various estates and wrestled with leases and other legal documents.
‘The usual things,’ Lyminge said, flicking over his pile, and Paulson nodded agreement.
There were two letters beside Madelyn’s place. Jack had told himself from the beginning that he was not the kind of husband who insisted on reading his wife’s correspondence and he was not going to begin now, but as though in answer to an unspoken request she slit both seals.
She glanced at one. ‘An old friend who missed the wedding.’ Then she opened the other and peered at the closely crossed lines. ‘Lady Fairfield. She has bought a... Oh, a pug. And is calling it Albert. It has bitten one footman and the butcher’s delivery boy, but she says it is adorable. I find that hard to believe.’
Jack’s correspondence appeared to consist entirely of bills. ‘It is a matter of discipline,’ he said. ‘She needs to train the creature to be civilised in the house.’
Madelyn glanced down to her side, her lips tight, and Jack guessed that Mist was pressed close against her leg. She must have thought he was annoyed because the little dog had come with her into the breakfast room.
‘As Mist is,’ he added and was rewarded by a faint smile.
‘Will you be going out today?’ Madelyn asked and Jack realised it was probably the first topic of conversation that she had initiated since they had made love on the lake shore. ‘You said something yesterday about the woods to the north.’
‘Yes. I shall probably be out well past luncheon. I will ask Cook to pack me some bread and cold meat. It may be possible to fell several acres for timber, so I am meeting the owner of a sawmill to discuss the suitability of the trees.’
‘Felling large areas of woodland? That would be quite drastic, would it not?’
‘Drastic and necessary now,’ Jack said, then wished he had said something more tactful like prudent or they need thinning. Unless Madelyn was a superb actress that look of dismay was surely genuine. He would try to talk to her again tonight, see if they could begin to find that short-lived trust and happiness again.
‘How do you intend to spend the day?’
‘I thought I would take the pony and trap into the village, look at the church, see what shops there are.’
The little two-wheeled trap was the only carriage they owned and now probably would be for some time. ‘Will you take a groom?’
‘There is hardly room and I am very used to driving one horse. That fat little pony will not be a problem. I hope you have a profitable day.’ She gathered together her post, got up with a nod to the other two men and went out, leaving Jack feeling uneasy for some reason he could not quite put his finger on.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack returned at four o’clock to a quiet house. He had thought long and hard about the past few days, had kicked himself mentally from every direction for not having told Madelyn straight out that he loved her and rehearsed just how he was going to set things right. All he had to do now was find his wife and keep his head.
