A Lady of Consequence. Mary Nichols

said his papa was anxious for him to marry.’

      ‘No doubt he is. But you must face the truth, my love, he will not look at you for that role.’

      Madeleine sighed, thinking of the play they had just been rehearsing. ‘If I were really a comte’s granddaughter, he would.’

      ‘If you were a comte’s granddaughter, my dear, you would not have led the life you have and you would not be nursing a grievance against the whole haut monde. And if you are thinking of exacting your revenge on Stanmore, father or son, then you are like to have your fingers burned, mark my words.’

      ‘I am not thinking of revenge. It is the haut monde I wish to study. I want to see the family together; I want to see how they deal with each other, if they are loving towards each other and how they treat their servants. You have taught me a great deal and I am sure there is nothing you do not know about acting the lady, but I want to see it for myself. I want to be among them just for a little while. It will be a great help to me when I have to play the great lady.’

      Marianne looked at her with her head on one side, as if cogitating whether to believe her or not. ‘And you expect me to collude with you in this?’

      ‘Yes, dear Marianne, get me an invitation to the next soirée you go to, please, just this once. I won’t ask you ever again.’

      She was not sure why she wanted this so much. It was not as if she hoped to promote herself in the eyes of the Marquis, let alone his family, but if she could make the story of the French comte convincing enough, the fact that she was accepted at Stanmore House might gain her entry to a few more social occasions and maybe she could establish herself in Society without having to delude some susceptible nobleman into marrying her. And perhaps, in time, she might meet someone who could know the truth about her and still love her.

      Her imagination soared; she could see herself fêted and showered with invitations and being accepted. Yes, that was what she wanted most, to be accepted. She wanted to be seen at Stanmore House in order to set the ball rolling. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘If you cannot ask her ladyship yourself, ask the help of Sir Percy. I believe he is a frequent visitor to Stanmore House. The Duchess will perhaps listen to a suggestion from him.’

      Sir Percy was one of the few men who did not ask sexual favours for his patronage. Marianne said it was because he was in love with the Duchess of Loscoe and had been ever since she first came out, but she had married the Earl of Corringham and, after he died, the Duke of Loscoe. Having been rejected, Sir Percy had taken refuge in pretending to be an outmoded fop. He was far from that, as Madeleine appreciated, and if anyone could help her, he could.

      ‘She might, but I doubt he will agree to hoax the Duke and Duchess.’

      ‘It is not exactly a hoax, is it? And he will do it if you ask it of him, he is very fond of you, he told me so when we were out in his carriage last week.’

      Marianne chuckled. ‘Did he now?’

      ‘So, will you ask him?’

      ‘Perhaps, if the opportunity arises next time I see him, but I make no promises.’ She adjusted her powdered wig, stood up in a flurry of silk-covered hoops and took a last look at herself in the mirror. ‘Come now, put it from your mind and concentrate on the play. I can hear Lancelot calling everyone to their places.’

      Madeleine’s performance as Juliet that night excelled anything she had done before and the applause at the end meant she had to take several curtain calls before they would allow her to go. Her dressing room was awash with flowers and she examined each bouquet carefully to see who had sent them, but none that she could see had come from the Marquis of Risley. It was evident he was not going to further their acquaintance; she would not give him the carte blanche he wanted and so he had lost interest. But she would not admit to being disappointed, not even to herself.

      Duncan was sipping tea in the withdrawing room of Stanmore House, having dined at home with the Duke and Duchess and their guests, his sister Lavinia and her husband, the Earl of Corringham and the Earl’s sister, Augusta, and her husband Sir Richard Harnham.

      ‘Duncan, you really must put in an appearance at Almack’s at least once this Season,’ Lavinia said.

      ‘Why?’ he demanded. He loved his sister dearly, but ever since she had married James six years before and borne two lively children, she seemed to think she could bully him into doing anything. He gave a quirky smile; she had always tried to bully him, even when they were children; it was nothing new. ‘Why should I dress myself up in breeches and stockings and stand about like a liveried footman just for the dubious pleasure of dancing with some plain chit who thinks she can trap me into marriage?’

      ‘How can you be so cynical, Duncan? There are any number of very acceptable girls coming out this Season. How do you know that one won’t turn out to be exactly what you are looking for?’

      ‘I doubt it. They will either be missish and just out of the schoolroom, with silly giggles and no conversation, or spinsters at their last prayers who have been residing on the shelf for years and yet each Season they dust themselves off and launch themselves at every eligible man foolish enough to go near them.’

      The Duke and the Duchess, their stepmother, had been listening to this exchange between brother and sister with amused tolerance, but now the Duchess smiled. ‘Duncan, don’t you want to marry?’

      ‘Not particularly, Mama, certainly not enough to jump into it simply because a young lady is considered suitable. Suitable for what? I find myself asking.’

      ‘Why, to be a marchioness,’ Lavinia said.

      ‘But it is no certainty that someone who might make a good marchioness will make a good wife. I want to have feelings for the woman I marry, feelings that last a lifetime. I am not prepared to shackle myself to a breeding machine with whom I have nothing in common. There is more to marriage than that.’

      ‘In other words, you want to love and be loved,’ Frances said softly.

      He did not think his stepmother’s comment needed an answer. She understood him and had often in the past interceded for him with the Duke and he loved her for it, but if she was ranging herself alongside Lavinia in this quest to find him a wife, he was going to disappoint her.

      ‘Somewhere out there, in the ranks of the nobility, there is someone who will answer for both,’ Lavinia persisted. ‘You must give Society a chance.’

      He smiled at his sister. ‘You were fortunate that your choice of husband was also suitable from the point of view of the haut monde, Lavinia dear, no compromise was asked of you. It does not happen often.’

      ‘Thank you very much,’ James put in drily.

      ‘You know what I mean.’

      ‘All I am saying is that you should attend those functions where you might meet suitable young ladies,’ Lavinia went on. ‘But if you do not go out and about, how can you possibly make a choice?’

      ‘I do go out and about, I am not a recluse.’

      ‘Oh, yes, you go about with your dandified friends and hover about stage doors dangling after actresses, but you won’t find a wife there, now will you?’

      ‘Vinny!’ her husband admonished her. ‘It is not for you to comment upon how your brother spends his evenings.’ He paused, curious. ‘How do you know so much anyway?’

      ‘Benedict told his sister and she told me.’

      ‘What did he tell her?’ Duncan asked, suddenly interested.

      ‘Oh, nothing of import, except that you were rivalling each other to take a certain actress out to supper. Felicity said there was a wager on it.’

      Duncan muttered darkly under his breath. Trust Willoughby to empty the bag. If the object of the wager had been anyone but the delectable Miss Charron he would have answered teasingly, but there was something about their meeting the evening before