lip received several nasty nips from her teeth. She looked at him, and then looked at him some more.
‘Was there something you wished to tell me, Miss Langley?’
Madeline twisted her hands together. ‘It’s…just that Lord Farquharson has claimed me for the waltz. Perhaps he will not recover in time, but—’
‘Recover?’ her defender enquired. ‘What in Hades did you do to him?’
‘My father showed me how to disable a man by using my knee, should the occasion ever arise.’
His mouth gave only the smallest suggestion of a smile. ‘And the occasion arose.’
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
They looked at one another.
‘Find whatever excuse you must, Miss Langley, but do not waltz with Farquharson.’
Madeline seriously doubted that the Prince Regent himself could come up with an excuse acceptable to her mother. But there was always the chance, after the incident in the bedchamber, that Lord Farquharson would have changed his mind over dancing with her. ‘I’ll try,’ she said. And she was gone, her feet padding softly down the cold stone stairs that would lead her back to the ballroom.
‘There you are, Madeline. Where is your papa? Did you not tell him of Angelina’s success?’ Mrs Langley was all of a flutter.
Madeline opened her mouth to reply.
‘Never mind that now. You’ve missed so much. You will not believe what has just happened.’ She clapped her hands together in glee. ‘Mr Lawrence was taken quite ill, something to do with what he ate at his club earlier in the day.’
‘Poor Mr Lawrence,’ said Madeline, wondering why Mr Lawrence’s malady so pleased her mother.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mrs Langley. ‘It meant that he could not dance with Angelina as he promised.’ Her excitement bubbled over in a giggle.
‘Mama, are you feeling quite well?’
Mrs Langley touched a hand to her daughter’s arm. ‘You’ll never guess what happened.’
Madeline waited expectantly.
‘The Duke of Devonshire stepped in to take his place and danced with Angelina!’ She clasped her hand to her mouth. ‘Isn’t it just too, too good?’
Madeline glanced across the dance floor to see a rather dashing-looking young man with twinkling blue eyes and warm sand-coloured hair twirl her sister through the steps of a country dance. Angelina was glancing up at the man through long lashes, her golden curls bouncing against the pretty flush of her cheeks. ‘Yes, it is wonderful.’
‘Wonderful indeed!’ Mrs Langley breathed.
Madeline cleared her throat. ‘Mama, my head hurts quite dreadfully.’
‘Mmm,’ mused Mrs Langley, barely taking her eyes from Angelina’s dancing form. ‘You do look rather pale.’
‘I wondered whether Papa might take me home in the carriage. I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind.’
‘I tell you of Angelina’s success and in the next breath you’re asking to go home.’
‘Mama, it isn’t like that. Lord Farquharson—’
‘Lord Farquharson!’ interrupted her mother. ‘I begin to see how this is going. Your papa may not realise what you’re up to, but I most certainly do!’ Mrs Langley turned on Madeline, her mouth stretched to a false smile in case anyone should think that Mrs Langley and her daughter were having anything but the most pleasant of chats. ‘You are so determined to refuse a dance with Lord Farquharson that you will destroy the evening for us all. You think to thumb your nose at a baron and care not a jot if you ruin your sister’s chances.’
‘No, Mama, you and Angelina will stay here, nothing would be ruined for her.’
‘Are you so wrapped up in your own interest that you cannot see Angelina has the chance to catch a duke? That child out there,’ said her mother, ‘has only kindness in her heart.’ Mrs Langley glanced fleetingly at her younger daughter upon the dance floor. ‘Not one word has she uttered about Lord Farquharson’s preference for you. Not one!’
‘Little wonder! She is relieved that she does not have him clutching for her hand.’ As soon as the words were out Madeline knew she should not have said them. Oh, Lord. She shut her eyes and readied herself for her mother’s response.
Mrs Langley’s eyes widened. The false smile could no longer be sustained and slipped from her face. ‘Madeline Langley, you go too far. Your papa shall hear of this, indeed he shall. All these years I’ve slaved to make a lady of you, so that you might make a decent marriage. And now, when I’m on the brink of bringing all my hard work to success, you threaten to ruin all, and not only for yourself.’
Madeline counted to ten.
‘Pray do not look at me in that superior way as if I know not of what I speak!’ Mrs Langley’s small lace handkerchief appeared.
Madeline continued to fifteen.
‘You have not the slightest compassion for your poor mama’s nerves. And all the while Mr Langley makes your excuses. Well, not any more.’
And twenty.
‘You are not going home,’ Mrs Langley announced. ‘You will sit there and look as if you are having a nice time, headache or not. When the time comes, you will dance with Lord Farquharson and you will smile at him, and answer him politely. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Mama, there’s something I must tell you of Lord Farquharson,’ said Madeline.
Her mother adopted her most stubborn expression. ‘I know all I need to know of that gentleman, Madeline. You will waltz with him just the same.’
Madeline looked at her mother in silence.
‘Mama. Madeline.’ Angelina appeared at her mother’s shoulder. As if sensing the atmosphere, she glanced from her mother’s flushed face to her sister’s pale one. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, nothing is wrong, my angel,’ replied Mrs Langley with a forced smile. ‘Madeline was just saying how much she was looking forward to dancing this evening.’
Angelina coiled an errant curl around her ear. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I came to war—I came to tell Madeline that Lord Farquharson is over there looking for her.’
‘How fortuitous,’ said Mrs Langley.
Fortuitous was not the word Madeline would have chosen. She turned her head in the direction Angelina had indicated.
Lord Farquharson raised his glass to her in salutation. Even across the distance Madeline could see the promise upon his face.
‘What is it, Lucien? First you insist on uprooting me from a very cosy hand of cards at White’s, then you trail me here after Farquharson, and
