with Lord Farquharson shall not tax you too much.’
‘But—’ started Madeline.
‘Madeline.’ Her mother threw her the ‘wait until I get you home’ look.
Grudgingly Madeline held the card out to Lord Farquharson, who smiled and tutted and lingered over the empty spaces beside each dance name.
‘Can it be that Miss Langley has kept her dance card free for my sake? Is it too much for my heart to hope?’
Mrs Langley cooed her appreciation of the sugary compliment.
Madeline examined a scuff on the floor and waited until he pressed the card back into her hand. It was now warm and slightly damp to the touch. She held it gingerly by the edge and scanned to see which dances he had selected. A lively Scotch reel and, heaven help her, the waltz!
Lord Farquharson’s slim white fingers took hold of one of her hands. ‘Just in the nick of time,’ he said as the band struck up. ‘I believe this is my dance, Miss Langley.’ And with that he whisked her out to join the lines of bodies upon the floor.
The dance had a nightmarish quality about it. Not only was Madeline thrust into the limelight, a place in which she was never happy, but she had Lord Farquharson squeezing her hand, whispering in her ear and peering down the bodice of her dress for the entirety of the time. She was perforce obliged to smile politely and skip daintily about, as if she were enjoying the occasion immensely. It seemed to Madeline that a piece of music had never lasted so long. She progressed down the set, birling in the arms of every man in turn, each one granting her but a brief respite from Farquharson’s company, for no sooner had she thought it than the dance had led her to meet in the middle of the set with Lord Farquharson once more. At long last the music ceased, and Lord Farquharson returned her to her mother. His eyes glittered with something that Madeline did not understand.
‘She has the grace of a swan,’ he said to Mrs Langley.
Mrs Langley, who had seen Madeline tread on Lord Farquharson’s toes no less than four times, miss several steps, and drop her handkerchief halfway through, marvelled that a gentleman could be so forgiving of her elder daughter’s failings. ‘Dear Lord Farquharson, you are so kind to Madeline.’
They smiled at one another.
Madeline looked away and counted to ten—slowly.
Mrs Langley raved about Angelina’s growing posse of admirers. Was the young man with blond hair merely a baronet? Angelina could do so much better. Let them move here to better see Angelina’s progress around the floor. And they simply must gain an introduction to a patroness of Almack’s. Mrs Langley could not survive without securing tickets for one of the assembly room’s famous balls. It would be quite the best place to catch a husband for Angelina. And so the time passed. Madeline did not mind. She preferred her place in the background, quietly observing what was going on around her. Nodding her head and smiling politely, but never really engaging. At least there was no Lord Farquharson forcing his attention upon her. Even so, he managed to catch her eye across the room on several occasions as if to remind her of what lay ahead: the waltz. Madeline’s throat grew dry and tight at the very thought. She could see him watching her through the crowd, licking his lips, smiling that smile that made her blood run cold.
Quite suddenly Madeline knew that she could not do it; she could not let him rest his hands upon her and draw her close, pretending to be the perfect gentleman when all along he was just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to strike. And strike he would, like the snake in the grass that he was. She shuddered. No matter what Mama thought, Lord Farquharson was not honourable. He would ruin her and there would be no offer of marriage. He did not want her as a wife any more than Madeline wanted him as a husband. What his lordship wanted was something quite different. Madeline drew a deep breath and determined that, come hell or high water, she would keep herself safe from Lord Farquharson’s attentions. Mrs Langley scarcely noticed when Madeline whispered that she was going to find her papa.
Mr Langley was not anywhere in the grand ballroom. Nor could he be found in the magnificence of Lady Gilmour’s entrance hall. Madeline followed the stairs up, searching through the crowd for a sight of her father. It seemed he was not there either. She spent a little time within the ladies’ retiring room, just because she was passing that way, and enquired of several ladies within if they had seen a gentleman by the name of Mr Langley. But the ladies looked at her as if she had just come up from the country and said that they knew no Mr Langley. So that was that.
She left and was about to make her way back downstairs when a hand closed tight around her wrist and pulled her to the side.
‘Miss Langley, what a pleasant surprise to find you up here.’ Lord Farquharson pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. ‘But then perhaps you were looking for me.’ He stepped closer and did not release his grip on her wrist.
Madeline knew that the people surrounding them afforded her protection from the worst of Lord Farquharson’s intent. But she also knew that she could not risk drawing attention to herself or her situation lest they think the worst. ‘No,’ she said, and tried surreptitiously to disengage herself.
But Lord Farquharson had a grip like an iron vice, and tightened it accordingly. ‘Tut, tut, why don’t I believe you?’ he laughed.
‘I’m looking for my papa. Have you seen him?’ Madeline hoped that Lord Farquharson did not know just how much he frightened her.
The sly grey eyes watched her. ‘I do believe that I saw him not two minutes since, Miss Langley. But it was in the strangest of places.’ Lord Farquharson’s face frowned with perplexity.
In the strangest of places. Yes, that sounded most like where Madeline’s papa would be found. Papa hated large social occasions and would frequently wander off to hide in the most obscure of locations. ‘Where did you see him, my lord?’
Lord Farquharson’s grip loosened a little. ‘On the servants’ stairwell at the other side of that door.’ He gestured to an unobtrusive doorway at the other end of the landing. ‘He seemed to be wandering upstairs, although I cannot imagine why he should be heading in such a direction.’
Madeline could. Anywhere away from the hubbub of activity. Papa would not notice more than that. ‘Thank you, Lord Farquharson.’ She looked pointedly at where he still held her.
‘You’ve not forgotten my waltz?’
How could she? ‘No, my lord, I’ve not forgotten.’
‘Good,’ he said, and released her.
Lord Farquharson fluttered a few fingers in her direction, then turned and walked briskly down the main staircase.
Madeline waited until she could see that he had gone before heading towards the servants’ stairwell.
‘Papa?’ she called softly as she wound her way up the narrow staircase. The stone stairs felt cold through her slippers. ‘Papa?’ she said again, but only silence sounded. The walls on either side had not been whitewashed in some time and, as there was no banister, bore the marks of numerous hands throughout the years. A draught wafted around her ankles and the band’s music dimmed to a faint lilt in the background.
The stairwell delivered her to the rear of the upper floor. She stepped out, scanning the empty landing. Several portraits of Lord Gilmour’s horses peered down at her from the walls. Where could Papa be? A number of doors opened
