Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

For the third time in as many days, Madeline found herself bundled up from head to toe, ready to brave the harsh wintry wind. Outside the Alcott kitchens, a cart was stacked with thirty or so baskets full of foodstuffs for the displaced families—fresh bread and cheese, cured ham, a dressed goose, strawberry jam, coffee and tea, and some chocolates and sweets for the children.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Davies, had also looked out some bolts of cloth and an assortment of other useful items—candles, sewing kits, even a few spare chamber pots. The cart was loaded down with all the plunder, ready to be pulled by a tired looking draft mare, aided by a wiry stable hand named Ramsay.

“Stay warm,” said Rosalie at her side. “And when you return, we’ll have hot cocoa by the fire.”

Madeline nodded, raising the hood of her thick wool cape up over her head.

“Don’t fret,” Rosalie murmured. “All you can do is be honest with him and with yourself.”

Madeline nodded again. She’d had a late night with Rosalie, the two of them locking themselves away in her room to discuss all that had happened over the last several days. She told Rosalie everything—her surprise kiss with Warren, her fumbling proposal to Charles, Warren’s warning.

Rosalie listened, offering little commentary at first. When she finally did speak, her advice was simple. “You have to tell him, Madeline. You can’t build a new relationship on a lie. If you’re meant to marry Bray, you must do so with a clean conscience…and encourage him to do the same,” she added with a knowing look.

So here was Madeline, ready to set out on a mission to deliver baskets to the needy. And while she did, she had to find a way to tell the man she still hoped to marry that she’d accidentally found herself kissing the gamekeeper not once but twice.

Ramsay gave a cluck to the mare and the cart rattled off, the wheels creaking against the courtyard cobblestones. Madeline gave one last anxious look to Rosalie before she followed along beside it, the skirts of her too-long petticoat and dress swishing around her legs as she walked.

Charles met them just outside the village, his face bundled behind his scarf. “Good morning, my lady,” he said in greeting.

“Good morning,” she replied. It felt impossible to be so formal with a man she’d proposed to, a man she’d kissed for heaven’s sake!

Dinner last night was painfully awkward—even by Madeline’s standards—as they both tried to avoid speaking about anything of consequence. He tried to speak to her of poetry, but she was too nervous to recite properly. And then there was the horrid display of Warren’s with the broken glass. They’d both settled into silence after that, waiting desperately for the dinner to end. Madeline couldn’t leave the table fast enough.

“I trust you slept well,” he said.

“I did. Thank you, sir.”

Perfect. If our talk gets any smaller, it will slip through the holes of a thimble.

He glanced up at the sky, adjusting his hat. “I believe the storm is almost upon us. I hope we don’t get caught out.”

She looked up too, noting the heaviness of the grey clouds. There was a quiet on the air, a promise of things to come. “We should get this done quickly,” she murmured.

“Aye. Not a moment to delay.”

The first round of baskets were delivered without incident. Several of the families had been rehomed in some of the outbuildings on the edge of the Alcott grounds. It was less than a fifteen-minute walk to reach them. All the families were appreciative, repeating their thanks as they made offers of tea and meat pies, more than willing to share what little they had.

Madeline watched with quiet surprise as Charles transformed before her eyes. Gone was the awkwardness he reserved for her. He was charming and bright, quick to laugh. He even knew the names of some of the men, patting their backs and shaking their hands. He led everyone in a round of prayer, thanking the Lord for good friends and bountiful harvests.

All the while, Madeline felt adrift. She glanced around, noting the conditions the people were living in. These buildings were meant to house tools and grain, not children. The furniture was all roughhewn, the blankets on the narrow beds threadbare. She even spied a mouse skittering in the corner, a hungry cat in hot pursuit.

In sharp contrast, Madeline floated through life, drifting between the finest Mayfair drawing rooms. Sugar with every cup of tea. Blazing fires. Men on staff to open doors and fetch and carry for her. Yet here she was delivering baskets as if she had any authority to offer these people her help. She didn’t make anything in them. She wouldn’t know how. She’d never made a thing of use in the whole of her life.

By the time Charles put a hand on her arm, gently extracting her from the women’s gossip circle, she felt desperate to escape. She all but clung to him, letting him lead her away back towards the cart.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, giving another wave over his shoulder at the assembled group.

“I’m fine,” she replied, fighting back her tears. “Let’s just go. Please, can we go?”

He nodded, keeping ahold of her arm as they walked. She settled next to him. He stayed quiet, the only sound the rattle of the cart and Ramsay’s low, melodic whistle.

“It’s a grim reality,” he said at last. “To see people living in such a state.”

She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes.

“But it won’t be forever,” he added. “The duke has already begun the rebuilding. With any luck, they’ll all be back on the row by the spring.”

“Only if they survive the winter,” she murmured. “Some of those children looked ill. And it was so cold, Charles. They don’t have enough blankets, enough wood.”

He nodded, his expression solemn. “I’ll speak to James today. I’m sure there’s more that can be done. The church can help too. We could host a bazar in Finchley. I could write to a few friends to do the same in their parishes.”

“I just hate feeling so helpless,” she admitted. “There has to be more I can do.”

“You’re not to blame for any of this, Madeline. And it’s not your problem to solve.”

“But I could solve it,” she pressed, pulling him to a halt. “Charles, with my aunt’s money, I could help those people now. I could give them all they require to survive the winter—blankets and food, proper shelter, warm clothes. You and I could do it together—”

“Madeline,” he groaned, stepping away.

Angry tears burned her eyes. “I don’t understand why you won’t even consider it. Am I so disagreeable? Is there no world in which you could ever see your way to marrying me?”

“Please, stop.” He kept walking away, shoulders stiff.

“Just tell me why,” she called after him. “You must have a reason why. What is so wrong with me?”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Madeline. You’re beautiful and lovely and a prize worth having for any man,” he called over his shoulder.

“Then why—”

Charles spun around. “Because there is another!”

She slid to a halt.

At her look of surprise, he groaned, dragging a gloved hand over his face.

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling impossibly small. “Another?”

“Yes,” he admitted, voice low. “I am in love with someone else. I have been for a long time.”

Madeline nodded, fighting the urge to run down the lane back towards the house. “And does she love you? Will you marry her, sir?”

“I…it’s complicated,” he replied. “We cannot marry. There are…impediments. But the truth remains that I do not feel free to marry you when my heart still belongs to another. It wouldn’t be proper, Madeline. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Her mind was spinning. There had to be a way through this. There was still hope, right? Please god, let there still be hope. She couldn’t bear the thought of returning to London, utterly defeated. The moment she did, her father would lock her up and throw away the key.

She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. “But you say you cannot marry her. Surely you are not content to be alone forever?”

His frown deepened. “We cannot all get what we want, Madeline.”

“I told you we could make this marriage whatever we want,” she urged.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He turned away again.

But she wasn’t ready to give up so easily. “So, you have a lover,” she called after him. “So long as you are discrete, I don’t see why it should matter.”

He slid to a halt, spinning around. “What did you say?”

She shrugged. “Well, if gossip is to be believed, most men of the ton keep a lover, do they not? Who am I to demand your fidelity when it is you who would be doing me the favor? Charles, I already said that I would never resent you for living a life separate from mine. Give me one good reason why we cannot still marry just because you have a lover—”

“Because it is not done! Madeline, you should never have to demean yourself by accepting such a condition from a man. Such a man would be wholly without honor. Marriage is between a man and a woman, not—” He fell silent with a groan, biting his bottom lip.

“Who says marriage can only be between a man and woman?”

“Everyone!” he bellowed. “Quite literally everyone agrees that the sanctity of marriage is reserved for one man and one woman. Not a man, a woman, and the man’s secret lover! Christ—” he dragged a gloved hand over his face again. “Why does this not revolt you? Why are you not running from me?”

She blinked, lips parted on a breath. “What?”

“Madeline, I’m telling you I am impure in thought, word, and deed. I am a man of the cloth who has taken no vows of marriage, and yet I have enjoyed carnal relations. I have known another’s flesh. Do you understand?”

She crossed her arms inside her cape. “Of course, I understand. I’m not a complete simpleton.”

“Good. So, then you should run. You should rescind your offer, for I am the least deserving of men.”

“Why should I rescind? I’m only asking for a favor, Charles. As a friend—”

“You are asking to be my wife,” he growled, closing he space between them, grabbing her arms. “You’re asking me to irrevocably bind my life with yours, to share with you all my worldly possessions, to care for you in sickness and health. Christ, you’re asking me to give you my very name.”

“Charles—”

“And I am not one of your Mayfair gentleman callers who will be content to enter a marriage of convenience, never seeing you above holidays and the occasional garden party,” he went on. “This would not be a business arrangement, and I would not merely be helping a friend in need. And believe me, there would be no separate bedrooms,” he added. “I’m a passionate man, Madeline. If I ever marry, that woman will stay in my bed every night, in my arms. I would claim you so fully, so completely—”

He leaned in, and she was so sure he was about to kiss her. But then he dropped her arms as if she burned him. “To ask me to marry you, and not let me be married to you, is an offense to my sensibilities, Madeline. My wife will be mine in every way.”

Madeline whimpered, feeling something inside her heat. It spread like fire, warming her from her chest down to her fingertips. “Charles, please…”

“Please what? What do you want from me?” When she didn’t respond, he pulled her closer. “Tell me.”

“Kiss me.”

The words were hardly spoken, and he was pressing his lips to hers. Her body went limp, bending to his will as he poured his passion into her. His hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, as the other cupped her cheek. He slanted his mouth over hers, teasing with his tongue.

She opened to him, holding tight to the lapels of his coat.

As soon as it started, he was pulling away with a muttered, “Damn it.”

She stood there, raising a shaking hand to touch her lips. Her entire body felt aflame. “You love another,” she murmured. “But you feel something for me too, Charles.”

He said nothing, shoulders stiff as he stayed facing away from her.

“I have another proposition for you,” she called.

Slowly he turned, one brow raised in silent question.

“Give me two weeks.”

He frowned. “Two weeks to what?”

“To court you,” she replied. “To convince you I would make you a good wife.”

His eyes went wide but he recovered quickly, stepping forward. “Madeline—”

“Two weeks,” she repeated. “You won’t marry me unless I can convince you that our marriage can be real. Well, I don’t know what a real marriage ought to look like, sir. I know nothing of what happens between a man and a woman behind closed doors. But you could teach me.”

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

“We could find our way together, Charles. Starting now, you will teach me. If, at the end of two weeks, you still wish to walk away, you may do so. And we will say nothing of the other…complication,” she added. “Whoever she is, so long as you are willing to say you’ll consider my offer, she will be nothing to me.”

He shook his head. “I don’t deserve you, Madeline.”

“That’s for me to decide, not you.”

He held her gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“My eyes are wide open, Charles. You’ve been honest, and I can’t ask for more than that. For my part, I promise the same. Honesty first, honesty always.”

“Yes…honesty,” he muttered.

Fighting all her instincts, she inched forward. “In the name of honesty, there is something I must tell you now before we take things any farther.”

He raised a wary brow, those amber eyes locked on her. “What is it?”

“I kissed Mr. Warren.”