The Wicked Earl by Margaret Mcphee

Author:Margaret Mcphee [Mcphee, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: England, Fiction, Romance, Historical, Young Women, General, Nobility
ISBN: 9780373294435
Google: XyBwGRmu2AcC
Amazon: 0263194035
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

The days passed and Madeline found herself busy planning the treasure hunt for Lucien. He ate breakfast and dinner with her every day like clockwork, enquired about her welfare, and gave her copious amounts of pin money. But that was the extent of their relationship. Lucien kept a distance even when he was only seated at the other end of the table. Farquharson’s name was never mentioned, and neither was a return to London. Madeline had to confess that she was happy in Trethevyn—well, as happy as a woman could be whose husband did not love her. She missed Angelina and her parents. She wondered how they were managing amidst the scandal she had left behind, and wrote to them each week. No replies were ever forthcoming. Madeline had to accept that her family had yet to forgive her. But with spring in the air, and the secret excitement surrounding Lucien’s treasure hunt, Madeline could not be blue-devilled for long.

‘Oh, m’lady, you are clever!’ Betsy said with a giggle. ‘Won’t his lordship be surprised when he finds what you’ve done.’

Mrs Babcock hunched her broad shoulders with all the excitement of a small child. ‘Such a way with words, doe!’

A surprised smile slipped across Madeline’s face. No one had ever uttered such a compliment.

Mrs Babcock wrapped her arms around Madeline’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Madeline blushed with pleasure.

‘It reminds me of the old days when her ladyship planned the treasure hunts, and the master was just a youngster wanderin’ about the place with jam all round his mouth, his shirt tails hanging out and hair sticking up like a bird’s nest. Always was a mucky pup. Her ladyship used to say he was like a little ruffled raven. How we laughed.’

Madeline was having difficulty imaging her austere, most serious husband as a small, sticky, messy boy. The picture conjured up was quite unlike a child that could have grown to become a man feared by half of England.

‘It would be good to have little ’uns about the place again,’ said Mrs Babcock, unaware of the more intimate arrangements within Madeline and Lucien’s marriage.

Madeline stilled.

‘What little ’uns?’ asked Betsy in all innocence.

‘Master and mistress’s, of course,’ said Mrs Babcock as if it were the most obvious assumption in the world.

Madeline’s face flamed. She rose hastily, and cleared her throat. ‘I’ve just remembered that we said we would visit the parson’s wife over by the village. I had best be away if I’m to be back before dark.’

‘Right you are, then, m’lady,’ said Mrs Babcock and trundled off to let Betsy fetch Madeline’s pelisse, cloak and bonnet, and, of course, her stout walking shoes.

If Madeline thought to escape embarrassing talk of babies she was to be disappointed, for Mrs Woodford, the parson’s wife, was only too keen to reveal the good news that she was increasing and another addition to the Woodford brood could be expected late in the summer.

Madeline sipped her tea and hoped that Mrs Woodford would restrict the conversation to her own breeding.

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