The Stepsister's Triumph by Darcie Wilde

would be treated to an endless round of black looks and sniping comments about her carelessness and how she should have been more attentive to her spending.
    She might have gone to No. 48, but there was nothing to distract her there. Helene was attending a lecture today, and Miss Sewell was at the library. Adele would just want to know why Madelene had decided against continuing with the painting, and Madelene didn’t know what she could possibly say. She couldn’t tell Adele it was because she was too afraid. She’d had a hard enough time persuading Adele that she not only really did want to go, but that she wanted to go alone. Her friend was convinced that Madelene’s hesitations had come about because Lord Benedict was guilty of some shocking liberty.
    â€œYou did say you were attracted to him, Madelene,” Adele reminded her. “But artists . . .”
    Madelene shook her head. “I may have been attracted to Lord Benedict, but it is not an attraction he returns.”
Never mind that look we shared, or I thought we shared. He retreated from me. He all but ran away from me.
“Which is for the best. He is, after all, a figure of some controversy, and as Miss Sewell pointed out, we do not need any controversy associated with our conduct at this time.”
    â€œNo,” Adele agreed slowly. “But are you certain you want to go alone, Madelene? I’m glad to come with you.”
    And pass the session directing pointed looks and pointed remarks at Lord Benedict, because you’re afraid he hurt my feelings.
Madelene had smiled and pressed her friend’s hand. Adele would only act that way because of their friendship. Like Helene, Adele was more than ready to stand as Madelene’s champion. What neither of them had yet realized was that Madelene did not need another champion. She needed to know she could face Benedict, and her feelings, on her own.
    But that didn’t mean she had to face either one in public.
    Adele had accepted this explanation and let her go, promising as before that she would be back in exactly one hour.
    Now, Madelene stood in front of the door, frightened of her decision and regretting that she’d ever let Adele leave.
    I want to take that fear away
, Lord Benedict whispered from her memory.
    Was it possible he meant it? Madelene must have asked herself that question a hundred times. He meant something, certainly, but probably it was only light flirtation. He was accustomed to painting the ladies of society and surely had become expert on how to flatter them and keep them . . . What had he said? Completely relaxed and happy.
    Perhaps he’d even done more than that.
    No. Benedict had been a married man. Madelene did not want to believe he would betray his wife so lightly and easily.
    But what did she want to believe about him? About what he’d said to her and the way he’d behaved? Part of her believed his aloof and mysterious manner was caused by some secret hurt. But perhaps she was just being a hopeless romantic and wanted to cover Benedict’s erratic behavior with a gloss of artistic drama.
    Back and forth Madelene went. Looked at one way, all the things Benedict said, all the looks they exchanged, and that sense of sympathy between them seemed as if it had to amount to real feeling. Looked at another way, Madelene was behaving like a naive and foolish little girl who was so desperate for affection that she was making up stories about the first romantic figure to cross her path in . . . ages.
    Back and forth went Madelene’s thoughts. Back and forth.
    In the end, though, it was the practicalities that decided her. She could not be seen standing in the street like this. Madelene turned to face the door. She raised her hand, steeled her nerve, and plied the brass knocker.
    Mrs. Cottswold arrived and led Madelene up the stairs, chatting comfortably about how beautiful the weather had turned and not