would not care if he were the King himself!’ Madeline drew herself up, anger and outrage welling in her breast.
Mrs Langley sucked in her cheeks and affected an expression of mortification. ‘Please afford me some little measure of respect. I’m only your mother, after all, trying my best to catch a good husband for a troublesome daughter who refuses the best of her mother’s advice.’
Madeline knew what was coming next. She had heard its like a thousand times. It was pointless to interrupt. She allowed her mother to continue her diatribe.
‘You care nothing for your poor mama’s nerves or the shame of her having a stubborn plain daughter upon her hands for evermore.’ Fortunately a sofa was close enough for Mrs Langley to collapse on to. ‘Whatever will your papa say when we are left with you as an old spinster?’ She dabbed a tiny piece of lacy material to the corner of her eye. ‘I’ve tried so hard, but it seems that my best just is not good enough.’ Her voice cracked with heavy emotion.
‘Mama …’ Madeline moved to kneel at her mother’s side. ‘You know that isn’t true.’
‘And now she has taken against Lord Farquharson, with whom I have tried so hard to secure her interest.’ Her mother gave a sob.
‘Forgive me,’ said Madeline almost wearily. ‘I do not mean to disappoint you. I know you wish to make a good match for me.’
Mrs Langley sniffed into her handkerchief before stroking a hand over Madeline’s head. ‘Not only a good match, but the best. Can’t you see, Madeline, that I only want what’s best for you, so that I can rest easy in my old age, knowing that you’re happy.’
‘I know, Mama. I’m sorry.’
Her mother’s hand moved in soothing reassuring strokes. ‘It is not your fault that you have the looks of the Langleys and are not half so handsome as Angelina.’ The stroking intensified.
Madeline knew full well what a disappointment she was to her mother. She also knew that it was unlikely she would ever fulfil her mother’s ambition of making a favourable marriage match.
‘That is why I have sought to encourage Lord Farquharson.’
Madeline stiffened.
Mrs Langley felt the subtle change beneath her fingers. ‘Oh, don’t be like that, Madeline.’ She removed her hand from Madeline’s hair. ‘He’s a baron. He has a fine house here in London and a country seat in Kent. Were you to marry him, you would want for nothing. He would take care of your every need.’
Madeline looked with growing disbelief at her mother.
‘My daughter would be Lady Farquharson. Lady Farquharson! Imagine the faces of my sewing group’s ladies if I could tell them that. No more embarrassment. No more making excuses for you.’
‘Mama,’ said Madeline, ‘it is not marriage that Lord Farquharson has in mind for me.’
Mrs Langley laughed. ‘Tush! Don’t be so silly, girl. If we but handle him properly, I’m sure that we can catch him for you.’
Madeline placed her hands over her mother’s. ‘Mama, I do not wish to catch him,’ she said as gently as she could.
Amelia Langley’s eyes widened in exasperation. She snatched her hands from beneath her daughter’s and narrowed her lips. ‘But you’ll have him all the same. Such stuff and nonsense as I’ve ever heard. Madeline Langley turning her nose up at a baron! I’ll bring Lord Farquharson to make you an offer if it’s the last thing I do, so help me God. And you, miss, will do as you are told for once in your life!’
Chapter Two
The ballroom was ablaze with candlelight from three massive crystal-dropped chandeliers and innumerable wall sconces. The wooden floorboards had been scraped and polished until they gleamed, and the tables and chairs set around the periphery of the room were in the austere neo-classical style of Mr Sheraton. The hostess, Lady Gilmour, was holding court in a corner close to the band and its delightful music. Despite the heat, the French doors and windows that lined the south side of the room remained closed. It was, after all, still only February and the year had been uncommonly cold. Indeed, frost was thick upon the ground and the night air held an icy chill. With the Season not yet started, London was still quiet, but Lady Gilmour had managed to gather the best of London’s present high society into her townhouse. Everybody who was anybody was there, squashed into the noisy bustle of the ballroom, and spilling out into the hallway and up the sweep of the staircase.
Mrs Langley was in her element as Lord Farquharson had managed to obtain an invitation for her entire family. She was making the most of the evening and taking every opportunity to inveigle as many introductions as possible. Mr Langley, having found an old friend, had slipped discreetly away, leaving his wife to her best devices.
‘Lady Gilmour,’ gushed Mrs Langley, ‘how delightful to meet you. May I introduce my younger daughter, Angelina? This is her first Season and we have such high hopes for her. And this is my elder daughter, Madeline. She is such a dear girl,’ said Mrs Langley. ‘She has engaged the interest of a certain highly regarded gentleman. I cannot say more at the minute other than …’ Mrs Langley leaned towards Lady Gilmour in a conspiratorial fashion and lowered her voice to a stage whisper ‘… we are expectant of receiving an offer in the very near future.’
Madeline, who had been smiling politely at Lady Gilmour, cringed and turned a fiery shade of red. ‘Mama—’
‘Tush, child. I’m sure that Lady Gilmour can be trusted with our little secret.’ Mrs Langley trod indelicately on Madeline’s slipper. Her smile could not have grown any larger when Lady Gilmour offered to introduce Angelina to a small group of other débutantes. Looking fresh and pretty in a ribboned white creation that had cost her poor papa a considerable sum he could not afford, Angelina followed in Lady Gilmour’s wake.
‘Keep up, Madeline,’ whispered Mrs Langley as Madeline trailed at the rear. ‘What a perfect opportunity for Angelina.’
Less than fifteen minutes later, Angelina’s dance card for the evening was filled. A crowd of eager gentlemen stood ready to sweep the divine Miss Angelina off her feet. Mrs Langley’s head swam dizzy with excitement, so much so that she clear forgot all about her plans for Madeline and Lord Farquharson. ‘Oh, I do wish your father was here to see this. Where is Mr Langley?’
‘He’s talking to Mr Scott,’ answered Madeline, happy that her father had managed to escape.
‘Typical!’ snorted Mrs Langley. ‘Angelina is proving to be a success beyond our wildest dreams and her father’s too busy with his own interests to even notice.’ Mrs Langley shook her head sadly, but her spirits could not remain depressed for long, especially when Angelina took to the floor with Lord Richardson, who was the second son of an earl. ‘La, is she not the most beautiful child on the floor?’ demanded Mrs Langley, clutching at Madeline’s hand.
‘Yes, Mama,’ agreed Madeline with a soft smile. ‘She is indeed beautiful.’
‘And elegant,’ added Mrs Langley.
‘Elegant, too,’ said Madeline.
‘And graceful.’
‘Yes.’
Mrs
