dared you.”
“You didn’t precisely enjoy kissing the dancing master, did you?” Madeleine retorted.
Prudence dissolved into giggles, quickly smothering her laughter after a glare from Amelia. Madeleine would have laughed too, but Amelia turned back to her with an unusually hard look in her eyes. In that moment, Madeleine saw what Amelia would be if she decided to marry one of her suitors. As she aged, and with the right husband, she could rival any of the most fearsome hostesses in the ton.
“Perhaps it would be helpful if I explained everything,” Madeleine said, knowing that Amelia wouldn’t stop questioning until she did.
Amelia sank onto the settee next to Prudence. They both looked at her, Amelia with angry concern, Prudence with expectant amusement.
She didn’t want to start, but she somehow managed to stumble into the story. As uncomfortable as it made her, she told them everything: the earl of Westbrook’s offer, the men in the alleyway, her introduction to the marchioness of Folkestone, and the help Ellie had provided with her wardrobe.
But when she needed to tell them about Ferguson’s plan for keeping her safe, her voice faltered.
Amelia noticed when Madeleine broke off abruptly. “What are you not telling us?”
She never was good at delivering bad news, so she just said it in a rush. “Ferguson made me his mistress.”
Prudence shrieked, bouncing in her seat and sloshing a bit of her tea onto the delicately patterned saucer. “What was it like? Was it anything like those engravings we saw?”
Madeleine shook her head, grinning at Prudence’s reaction despite herself. “He did not really make me his mistress — we are just making it appear that Madame Guerrier is his mistress. It’s genius, actually. As long as Madame Guerrier has a protector, she is safe from the likes of Lord Westbrook.”
Amelia did not find any humor in the situation. “Madeleine, you cannot keep this charade going any longer. You might have been able to survive being found out on stage, but if your role as Rothwell’s mistress is discovered, you will be irrevocably ruined.”
“You have always wanted to set up a cottage in the country. Aunt Augusta will surely send me someplace to rusticate if I am discovered,” Madeleine said. As consolations, it wasn’t much. But she was still surprised by the vehemence of her cousin’s reaction.
“I never intended to be forced to move away. If you are exiled, Mother may not let me go with you. She will try to marry me off, if anyone will take me after the amount of time I have spent with you.”
Prudence looked ill, as if Lady Harcastle had already walked in to call her on the carpet. “If your mother does not take this well, imagine how my mother will react.”
“Yes, and what will happen to our club if you are forced to move away?” Amelia said.
Madeleine looked down into her teacup, untouched during their discussion. Amelia was right. Her acting would have been scandalous enough, but if anyone found out she pretended to be Ferguson’s mistress, no one would believe she was still a virgin. Men like Ferguson did not take innocents under their wing — and if they did, the women did not remain innocent for long.
But the question Amelia had not asked, and the one that had given Madeleine such a sleepless night, was why Ferguson intervened at all. Perhaps it was only because she was his sisters’ chaperone. If that was the reason, though, she could not explain the blast of heat she felt from him when he cornered her in the stairwell, or the sensation that he wanted to do all the things he was warning her against.
She took a sip of her cold tea, wiping the thought out of her mind. Amelia was upset enough by what had happened. She did not need to know the full depths of the danger Madeleine courted.
“I still do not think I shall be discovered,” she said. “Ferguson only caught me because he followed my coach to our house, not because he recognized me
“You didn’t precisely enjoy kissing the dancing master, did you?” Madeleine retorted.
Prudence dissolved into giggles, quickly smothering her laughter after a glare from Amelia. Madeleine would have laughed too, but Amelia turned back to her with an unusually hard look in her eyes. In that moment, Madeleine saw what Amelia would be if she decided to marry one of her suitors. As she aged, and with the right husband, she could rival any of the most fearsome hostesses in the ton.
“Perhaps it would be helpful if I explained everything,” Madeleine said, knowing that Amelia wouldn’t stop questioning until she did.
Amelia sank onto the settee next to Prudence. They both looked at her, Amelia with angry concern, Prudence with expectant amusement.
She didn’t want to start, but she somehow managed to stumble into the story. As uncomfortable as it made her, she told them everything: the earl of Westbrook’s offer, the men in the alleyway, her introduction to the marchioness of Folkestone, and the help Ellie had provided with her wardrobe.
But when she needed to tell them about Ferguson’s plan for keeping her safe, her voice faltered.
Amelia noticed when Madeleine broke off abruptly. “What are you not telling us?”
She never was good at delivering bad news, so she just said it in a rush. “Ferguson made me his mistress.”
Prudence shrieked, bouncing in her seat and sloshing a bit of her tea onto the delicately patterned saucer. “What was it like? Was it anything like those engravings we saw?”
Madeleine shook her head, grinning at Prudence’s reaction despite herself. “He did not really make me his mistress — we are just making it appear that Madame Guerrier is his mistress. It’s genius, actually. As long as Madame Guerrier has a protector, she is safe from the likes of Lord Westbrook.”
Amelia did not find any humor in the situation. “Madeleine, you cannot keep this charade going any longer. You might have been able to survive being found out on stage, but if your role as Rothwell’s mistress is discovered, you will be irrevocably ruined.”
“You have always wanted to set up a cottage in the country. Aunt Augusta will surely send me someplace to rusticate if I am discovered,” Madeleine said. As consolations, it wasn’t much. But she was still surprised by the vehemence of her cousin’s reaction.
“I never intended to be forced to move away. If you are exiled, Mother may not let me go with you. She will try to marry me off, if anyone will take me after the amount of time I have spent with you.”
Prudence looked ill, as if Lady Harcastle had already walked in to call her on the carpet. “If your mother does not take this well, imagine how my mother will react.”
“Yes, and what will happen to our club if you are forced to move away?” Amelia said.
Madeleine looked down into her teacup, untouched during their discussion. Amelia was right. Her acting would have been scandalous enough, but if anyone found out she pretended to be Ferguson’s mistress, no one would believe she was still a virgin. Men like Ferguson did not take innocents under their wing — and if they did, the women did not remain innocent for long.
But the question Amelia had not asked, and the one that had given Madeleine such a sleepless night, was why Ferguson intervened at all. Perhaps it was only because she was his sisters’ chaperone. If that was the reason, though, she could not explain the blast of heat she felt from him when he cornered her in the stairwell, or the sensation that he wanted to do all the things he was warning her against.
She took a sip of her cold tea, wiping the thought out of her mind. Amelia was upset enough by what had happened. She did not need to know the full depths of the danger Madeleine courted.
“I still do not think I shall be discovered,” she said. “Ferguson only caught me because he followed my coach to our house, not because he recognized me
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