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Chapter Fifteen
“You seem awfully cheerful this morning,” Mrs. Foster commented as she pulled the thread through the fabric. “Is there any particular reason why?”
Madalene lowered her needlework to her lap and replied, “I find my thoughts continuously returning to the ball last night.”
“Is that so?” Mrs. Foster gave her a knowing look. “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
“No,” she replied, not daring to admit that her thoughts were repeatedly turning towards Lord Hawthorne. “The whole night was rather enjoyable.”
“You sound surprised,” Mrs. Foster remarked.
“Frankly, I am. I danced nearly every set, and I met the most interesting gentlemen,” Madalene said.
“That is generally what happens at a ball.”
Placing her needlework on a side table, Madalene admitted, “This was the first ball where I didn’t feel like I was a prize to be won.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
Madalene reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup of tea. She took a long, lingering sip before she lowered the teacup to her lap. “I think I would like to stay in London for the rest of the Season.”
Mrs. Foster’s brow shot up. “Truly?”
“My mother found immense joy in London, and I’m wondering if I can find the same amount of joy, as well.”
A frown came to Mrs. Foster’s lips. “Is this about a handsome marquess who has somehow managed to bewitch you?”
“I know not what you are talking about,” Madalene said, taking a sip of her tea.
“No?” Mrs. Foster asked. “Not only did you dance the waltz with him, but you also took a turn around the gardens.”
“That is true, but nothing untoward happened.”
“I never implied that it did,” Mrs. Foster remarked. “I am just concerned about your welfare, and that includes your heart.”
“Who said anything about my heart?”
“No one did, but it is rather obvious that you have developed feelings for Lord Hawthorne,” Mrs. Foster said. “And please do not insult me by trying to deny it.”
Madalene gave a half-shrug. “Perhaps I have developed some feelings for him, but that is a far cry from having my heart invested.”
“Then you are lying to yourself.”
Before she could respond, Graham stepped into the room and announced, “Mr. Walker is here to call upon you, Miss.”
“Will you send him in?”
Graham tipped his head and departed from the room.
A few moments later, her solicitor entered with an unusually solemn look on his face.
Placing her teacup onto the tray, Madalene rose and asked, “Is everything all right, Mr. Walker?”
Mr. Walker stopped in the center of the room, his back stiff. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you should know before it hit the newspapers tomorrow.”
“Which is?” Madalene asked hesitantly.
“I’m afraid what I’m about to share is a little indelicate,” Mr. Walker said, wincing.
