Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

“What?” Patrick squawked, jerking out of her grasp as if her touch burned him. “Madeline, you’re mad—”

“Why is it mad?” She chased him as he took the three bumbling steps backwards, his shoulders hitting the opposite wall of the tiny office.

He held up both hands as if he meant to ward her off. “Madeline, we are cousins. First cousins!”

“When has that ever stopped the aristocracy before?” she replied with an indifferent shrug. “It’s not as if I would ever expect to share your bed—”

“Christ, Madeline.” He dragged a hand through his messy golden locks. “I beg you, don’t put that image in my head. And don’t ask me again. It would be like marrying my sister,” he finished with a strangled groan.

She had to concede that point. With Patrick’s own brothers being so much older than him, Madeline was more of a sibling to him than ever they were. But that didn’t bother her in the slightest. Society could think what they want. So long as she and Patrick were safe and happy, what care she for the approval of the vultures of the ton?

“Just think on it before you say no—”

“No.”

“What are your prospects otherwise?” she challenged. “You are the youngest son of a baronet, and Rory is already married with three sons of his own. The next two eldest are married as well, with pregnant wives both. You will never inherit Blaire Lodge—”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Patrick snapped, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Imagine it,” she went on. “We could live happily together at Leary House. We already get on so well. You could live your life and I mine. And I’d never resent you for looking elsewhere or for-for having affairs—”

“Madeline, I beg you,” Patrick groaned again. “I cannot discuss such matters with you. Not now. Not ever.”

She flapped her arms helplessly, tears stinging her eyes again. “Well, then what am I supposed to do? My only chance at making this work is to marry someone I already know. I don’t trust this plan otherwise. I refuse to tie myself into a marriage with a stranger.”

“Well, I cannot possibly be your only unmarried male acquaintance,” he snapped. “Because hell will freeze over first, Madeline. I am off limits!”

She wrapped her arms back around her middle, trying very hard not to pout. It would have been so easy to marry Patrick! The matter could be settled tomorrow by teatime.

“Hey!” Patrick snapped his fingers. “What about that sea captain friend of yours? What’s his name? Wesley-something…”

Madeline stilled, her gaze drifting slowly back over to her cousin. “Captain Renley?”

“That’s it,” he replied, grin growing. “Captain Renley is a very eligible bachelor, M. And you get on well. None of your usual awkwardness. I’ve even seen you dance together at the odd thing. I daresay a man as handsome as the captain may even have you rethinking your commitment to celibacy,” he added with a wink.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. Captain Tom Renley was a good friend. She’d never considered him as a possible match because, well, it was complicated. They first met three years ago when she and her mother were guests at the Duke of Norland’s summer house party. Three years ago, the Duke of Norland was George Corbin. It was Madeline’s first season out, and her mother had been on the misguided mission to get her married to him. Thank heavens her plans were foiled, for there were no two people less suited for marriage than Madeline Blaire and George Corbin. Not only did the duke not get married that summer, he disclaimed all rights to his title, passing the dukedom to his younger brother, James.

James Corbin was named duke by the queen herself on the day that should have celebrated his elder brother’s wedding. He returned to Alcott Hall with his two closest friends in tow, Captain Tom Renley, and Mr. Horatio Burke, whom the duke immediately named as his new steward.

Within a fortnight of his investiture, the duke surprised the ton twice over by walking to the little church in Finchley and marrying Miss Rosalie Harrow, a woman of no birth, family, or wealth. Madeline remembered the morning the news hit the society papers. Her mother had shrieked, nearly tipping her tea into her lap.

Madeline never said anything at the time, but she was secretly thrilled, for she considered Rosalie a friend. Rosalie Harrow was one of the first ladies who made Madeline feel like herself. She didn’t care that Madeline was reserved. She sat in silence with her, sketching or watching the flowers in the garden. She never laughed at Madeline’s awkwardness or tried to finish her sentences. She just let Madeline be.

Over the last three years, they’d maintained their friendship, writing letters almost monthly, and seeing each other whenever the duchess was in town. But Rosalie preferred to stay in the countryside. Madeline could easily understand why. She may be a duchess now, but the ton was never going to let her forget who she was before the duke raised her out of the gutter.

Madeline didn’t care about her lack of status. Rosalie had a kind heart and a loyal soul. So Madeline had kept all her many suspicions to herself as she observed the way Rosalie interacted with her husband and his two best friends. It didn’t escape her notice the way Rosalie could finish Mr. Burke’s sentences, or the way the captain always seemed ready with a joke to make her laugh.

Madeline didn’t have the words to describe her suspicions, but she was fairly sure Rosalie’s marriage to the duke was unique. Knowing what she knew, Captain Renley didn’t seem like a viable candidate for her future husband. But she wasn’t about to tell Patrick any of this.

“M? Well, what do you think?” said Patrick, brows raised in curiosity.

“Maybe,” she replied.

“He’ll be at Alcott Hall, will he not?”

She nodded. In Rosalie’s last letter, she’d remarked on the excitement she shared with the duke that Captain Renley would soon return after a twelve-month at sea.

“Well, fancy a trip south?”

His words effectively pulled her from her muddled thoughts. “What?”

“You need a husband. Captain Renley is available. Go to him, and make your case,” Patrick reasoned.

“But—I can’t—Patrick, that’s mad,” she cried, taking a step back and nearly tripping over his office chair.

He laughed. “What’s mad about it? You can’t possibly write this in a letter, M. It’s too…much,” he added. “This is the kind of request that demands an in-person conversation. If Captain Renley is at Alcott Hall, that’s where you need to go.”

She shook her head. “Mama will never approve. She won’t let me just drag her off to Alcott with a plan to propose to a sea captain.”

Patrick’s smile turned positively devious as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “Who says you need to tell her?”

She blinked. “What?”

He reached a hand in his waistcoat pocket, tugging out his watch by the chain, his smile spreading. “It’s nearly noon, M. Do you know what passes by at noon not one block away from here?”

A nervous fluttering took over her stomach as she followed his point to its logical conclusion. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips. “Patrick, I can’t—”

“You want to really give Uncle Richard a run for his money?” he pressed, stepping forward to snatch up his coat off the hook by her head. “Take all the notes I have here in my pocket, board that noon coach, and ride off for Alcott Hall. Bag yourself a husband before Lord Raleigh even realizes you’re gone. You can write him a note while you’re on your honeymoon.”

Her heart was racing. This was reckless. Stupid and selfish and a hundred other terrible things. And nothing was going to stop Madeline from doing it.

Patrick handed her a small wad of folded pounds. It was as if a stranger reached out with her hand, taking them and slipping them into her own pocket.

“What if he says no?” she murmured.

He was going to say no. Why wouldn’t he say no? There was not a man worth having willing to say yes to Lady Madeline Blaire.

Patrick shrugged. “Well, then you’ll be no worse off then you are now. In fact, this might be better.”

“How so?”

He laughed, scooping the tartan off the floor ad wrapping it back around her narrow shoulders. “For three years, you’ve been playing this game following Aunt Diana’s rules. If you go to Alcott and ask the captain and he says no…well, you’ll still have the duchess in your corner. Is she not a close friend?”

Madeline nodded.

“Just imagine how well Her Grace must be able to play the marriage game,” he mused. “Did she not bag herself a duke in under a month? Surely, she can help you bag a peer able to put his boots on the right feet.”

Madeline snorted. It was highly unladylike, but she couldn’t help it. This was complete and utter madness. Madeline had never gone anywhere without her mother as a chaperone. “They will come for me. They’ll be so mad, Patrick. I’m sure my father will never speak to me again.”

“They won’t know where to find you,” he replied. “Write a note to Aunt Diana now saying that you’re staying at Blaire Lodge for a few days. By the time your dear mama realizes you’ve lied, you’ll be safely hidden away at Alcott.”

Madeline’s nervous smile spread. “Oh, Patrick, you’re a villain.”

“Please, this is the least I can do,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Now, hurry up, and jot down the note for your mama. We’ll send it off on our way to the coach.” He slipped past her for the door.

“Wait—where are you going?”

He took her in from head to toe. “We’ve got to do something about your outfit, M. Alcott Hall is six hours away in good weather, and there’s a storm rolling in. In that silly getup, you’ll freeze to death before you’ve even reached Greenwich.”