Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

Madeline woke with a start, bolting upright in the bed. She’d been having the most strange and wonderful dream. It involved a mountain of a man with surprisingly tender hands kissing her under the shade of her favorite willow tree. There was no bitter chill, no wind, no layers of pilfered coats. She wore only a thin silk dress over her chemise and stays. His fingers trailed up her bare arm.

“More,” she murmured against his lips, pulling him closer. It was so daring and romantic. And, oh, but he gave her more. Laying her back in the grass, his hands wandered from her face, down her shoulders, and down…

But then a clock chimed, waking her. She held onto the fraying threads of the dream; her eyes shut tight. She wanted to see his face in the light of day. She wanted just one more kiss. But the dream was gone. She was alone in a bed not her own.

She raised a shaky hand to her mouth, fingers brushing over her parted lips. The ghost of Warren’s kiss felt so real. She rubbed her eyes with shaking hands and glanced around. The curtains on the bay window were cracked open, letting a stream of light stretch across the end of her bed. She slipped out from under the covers, regretting it instantly as she shivered in the cold. Her fire was burned down to coals, which meant no hall girl came in to stoke it in the early morning. Rosalie must have told the staff to leave her be.

She glanced at the clock over the mantle and nearly gasped.

Ten o’clock.

Last night, after her bath, Rosalie made her go straight to bed with a hug and a murmured, “We’ll make a plan in the morning.” Madeline fought it at first, feeling too anxious to sleep, but once her head hit the pillow, she gave in to her fatigue. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever slept past seven in the morning.

She picked up the dressing robe off the end of the bed and slipped it on, padding over to the window on stockinged feet. It was too long, nearly making her trip. She peeled back the curtain, blinking in the sharp winter sunlight. It was her first glimpse of the sun in days. The southern English countryside surrounding Alcott Hall glittered under a blanket of frost. It dazzled like so many diamonds—the sweep of rolling, manicured grass, the shapely boxwoods, the skeletal trees standing in a line.

As she stood at the window, a trio of hunting dogs darted out of the trees, barking and jumping, chasing each other in their race to get back to the house. Moments later, a pair of dark figures emerged from the trees. Two gentlemen, walking side by side.

She narrowed her eyes, knowing the first figure. It was Mr. Burke, steward of Alcott Hall, best friend of the duke. She would know that tall frame anywhere. Even from here, she could see he was telling an animated story, gesturing with a hand that braced a catch of pheasants. He held a shotgun in his other gloved hand.

Her heart skipped as she took in his companion. “Oh god,” she murmured, placing a hand on the cold glass. The chill sank through her palm, cooling the fire in her blood. It was Mr. Warren. He was taller than Mr. Burke by a few inches. Wider set in the shoulders too. She didn’t recognize him at first, concealed as he was under a brimmed hat, with a thick scarf wrapped around his face. But it was definitely him.

What was he telling Mr. Burke? Were they laughing at her expense? Could she trust to his discretion? She should have said something last night, begged for his silence.

A soft knock at her door nearly made her jump out of her skin. She spun away from the window, clutching the top of her robe closed over her too-large chemise. “Yes?” she called.

Her door swung open, revealing Rosalie dressed in a lovely mulberry dress. The duchess wore a fashionable knit wool shawl in dark green draped over her shoulders. A matching pair of fingerless wool gloves stretched up her arms, warding away the winter chill.

“Good morning, dear,” she said with a faint smile. She looked tired, one hand bracing the side of her heavy stomach. “I’m glad to see you awake. Did you sleep well?”

Madeline nodded. “I’m sorry to have slept so late.”

“You needed it,” Rosalie replied. “May I call a maid in to stoke your fire? It’s chilly in here.”

She nodded again. “Thank you, Rosalie…for everything.”

“Offering you a place to sleep hardly counts. These rooms all stand empty most of the year anyway.”

Madeline suppressed a shiver and Rosalie pursed her lips.

“Come get warm on the bed until the maid stokes the fire,” she directed, helping herself to the other side. She sat down with a sigh, clearly uncomfortable.

Madeline crossed the carpet on her stockinged feet over to the bed, slipping gratefully back under the covers. “I saw Mr. Burke just now…out my window.” She left out the part about seeing Mr. Warren.

“Oh, good,” Rosalie sighed, stretching back on the bed. “He’s been gone the last three days. James too. I’ve been all by my lonesome here…until your surprise arrival,” she added with a quirked smile.

“Where did they go?” Madeline asked, grabbing one of the pillows and holding it closer for warmth.

Rosalie turned serious, one hand absently massaging her side. “There was a fire in Carrington. It was awful. It took down a whole row of houses.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Madeline replied automatically.

“Several of the houses were split to home two families,” Rosalie explained. “It was something like thirteen in the row, but it housed over twenty families. James was beside himself. He takes everything so personally, as if the chimney fire was his fault.”

“But he’s not responsible.”

“Try telling him that,” Rosalie replied with a sigh. “He and Burke have been overseeing rehoming the families. He means to begin the rebuild before the new year.”

“My timing is perfectly terrible,” Madeline muttered, feeling like she should pack her things right now and leave. You don’t have any things. She groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Nonsense.” Rosalie gave her shoulder a pat. “I’m glad of the company.”

Before Madeline could reply, there was a knock at the door. Rosalie called for them to enter. Within minutes, her room was bustling with activity. A hall boy knelt over the fire, rebuilding it with fresh wood. The housekeeper herself brought in a breakfast tray as a pair of maids hurried around the room, laying out an array of clothes—dresses in a rainbow of colors, pelisses, petticoats.

Madeline looked wide-eyed at the duchess.

Rosalie just shrugged again. “I can’t wear them in my current state. And James has a weakness for smothering me with gifts. I have more dresses than I could wear in two lifetimes.”

“I couldn’t possibly—” Madeline began, but Rosalie held up her hand.

“You can and you will. Lydia here will see to the fittings.” She gestured at the taller of the two maids. “Besides, you can hardly wander around Alcott in your underthings. Not when we have the curate coming for dinner tonight.”

The maids exchanged a pair of grins that had Madeline ready to crawl under the covers.

Within the hour, she was standing on a little tailor’s box in front of her roaring fire, listening to Rosalie fill her in on all the details of the dukedom, while Lydia pinned the hem and sleeves of each dress. Rosalie was several inches taller than Madeline, and broader across the shoulders too, so they would all need to be taken in if they were to fit.

Madeline felt ridiculous having to rely on the duchess’s charity. She had a perfectly good wardrobe waiting for her at Blaire House. Part of her wanted to send a note to her family’s housekeeper, Mrs. Reeves, and have some of her things sent here, but then her parents would know exactly where to find her.

As if Rosalie could sense her thoughts, she let out a sigh, setting her cup of tea aside. “Madeline, we need a plan.”

Madeline tensed, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“I’ve directed Mrs. Davies to remind the staff that in this house we favor discretion above all else,” Rosalie went on. “No one will mention that you are here. Not if they expect to keep their positions,” she added, letting her eye fall on Lydia. She stood, stepping around the tailor’s box to hold Madeline’s gaze. “You’ve had a night to think on it. The excitement of your daring travel has waned. So, tell me now: is this still truly what you want?”

“Yes,” Madeline breathed.

Rosalie pursed her lips, crossing her arms atop her rounded belly. “Don’t be hasty, Madeline. You said you wanted to marry George once too, do you remember?”

“I never wanted to marry him,” she said quickly. “You knew before I did,” she added. “You helped me all those years ago. You made me feel like I had a choice.”

“You still do.” Rosalie stepped forward, taking her hand with both of her own. “Madeline, even without the money, you still have a fine dowry. Twenty thousand pounds is—”

“Is not mine,” she replied, jerking her hand free of Rosalie’s gentle grip. “My dowry will go from my father’s hands to my husband’s. I will never touch a shilling. But Aunt Maude’s money is mine.”

Rosalie sighed, stepping away.

“What would you do in my position?” she called after her.

The duchess stood at the window, looking out upon her grand estate.

“You were lucky,” Madeline murmured. “You got to marry for love.”

Rosalie stiffened, not turning around.

“That will not be my fate. I’m not suited for it. I’m…well…me,” she finished with a shrug.

“I don’t like to hear you talk so,” said Rosalie, turning back around. “You’re a lovely girl, Madeline. Any man would be a fool not to see it. You are a prize.”

“But that’s just the thing,” she replied, stepping off the tailor’s box and moving to Rosalie’s side. “I don’t want to be another man’s prize. I don’t want to be caught in some gentleman’s snare. Rosalie, I could be free. I could marry someone who could help me be free. Will you help me find such a man?”

Rosalie sighed, glancing back out at the lawn.

Madeline peered around her to see that Mr. Burke and Mr. Warren were still standing in the field. Two more men were with them, the hunting dogs trotting around.

Rosalie turned to face her, one hand on her shoulder. “If you truly mean to do this, if you mean to marry by the end of the year—”

“I do,” Madeline said with a determined nod.

“Then we’ll need help,” Rosalie replied. “And there’s only one person I trust.”