Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Three nights later, at Lady Andover's ball, Madeleine felt a brief burst of her old panic. Not that her feelings for Ferguson were different - but her position in the ton was.

Outwardly, little had changed - she was still the same Madeleine, safe and dull as ever. But the addition of the enormous emerald on her right hand attracted the scrutiny of everyone in the ton.

It had taken two days before Alex was satisfied with the marriage settlements. Ferguson raised no objections to Alex's demands, and she suspected Alex enjoyed stalling the negotiations more than he should have. But word had spread as Madeleine was seen wearing Ferguson's ring, and by nightfall, everyone was buzzing.

Some were quite happy for her; Lady Jersey, for instance, was very kind in her usual chatty way. And Ferguson's aunt Sophronia, the duchess of Harwich, was thrilled, even if she looked a bit grim about the eyes as she watched Madeleine being accosted by well wishers.

But not all who came to her were pleasant. Oh, they were kind - but almost pitying, too, as though they were sorry that she had been so long on the shelf that she would settle for a man of dubious morals, even if he was a duke.

"I do hope his temper has improved," said one matron doubtfully.

"A splendid match, I'm sure, although I told Lady Sefton that I would not have leapt so soon after his father's unfortunate demise," remarked another.

"You'll be wanting a stout lock on your door in case he goes mad like his brother," a third lady said, no doubt thinking her advanced age excused her bluntness.

The rumors about his brother - and the possibility that Ferguson might also be tainted - surprised her. She knew he wasn't mad, but she didn't expect others to view him with such suspicion. Would it always be like this for her, spending the rest of her life watching the ton scrutinize Ferguson for any hint of encroaching insanity?

But when he emerged from the crowd to stand beside her, her doubts vanished. It might almost be amusing to hear the ton's gossip if he was beside her to enjoy it.

And if it wasn't amusing, at least he could make it up to her when they were alone.

"How are you this evening, my love?" he asked.

As he greeted her, he picked up her hand and kissed the ring he had given her. She smiled at the gesture, feeling warmth spread through all the places tonight's foray into society had frozen. "I shall be better when we are married, I believe."

His thumb slid down to caress the pulse point in her wrist - a gesture she never would have guessed as erotic, but all the more of a tease since she could not kiss him that night, let alone take him into her bed.

"It is only a month away - surely we can survive," he said, not sounding sure at all.

Madeleine would have married him within the week, but her aunt refused to plan a wedding with such unseemly haste. Augusta was thrilled with their match, already shopping for Madeleine's trousseau - but she still insisted on Madeleine being chaperoned when he called, even though the twinkle in her eyes said she knew it was already too late for that. Augusta had never minded the girls' unconventional pursuits as long as they were discreet; now that Madeleine was safe from scandal, she had returned to the calm understanding she always displayed.

So unless some miracle occurred, they would only have stolen moments at parties such as these for the next month - and it felt like being sent to a nunnery, after all she had experienced at Ferguson's hands.

He pulled her onto the dance floor, claiming one of the waltzes she now always saved for him. In the only act that betrayed his autocratic tendencies, Ferguson demanded that she only waltz with him - a promise she kept eagerly, since no other partner would satisfy her.