Already a few steps away, she looked over her shoulder. A frown marred her beautiful face. “Goodbye, Lord Drivel.”
He loved that she was willing to play the game. “Fair well, Miss Prattle.”
He watched her depart, her hips rocking enticingly with each step, until he could see her no more. If he was any other sort of man, he would have followed her all the way to her carriage just for a few more minutes in her company. Gravenhurst nudged him in the side. “Do you really think that piece will meet you here?”
“Of course I do. I’d not have let her leave, otherwise.”
Two
One Year Later
Windsor Castle
1805
“Lady Madelaine, your stitch is off again.” Queen Charlotte jabbed her needle into her material and set her embroidery hoop on her lap. “Hand it to me.”
With a quick glance at the queen’s disapproving stare, Madelaine dismissed the idea of summoning tears. The notion had been ridiculous anyway. After a year at Court she knew better. The queen disliked her and no amount of crying would ever change that.
“Are you defying me, Lady Madelaine?” Polite iciness, and perhaps a tad of hopefulness, underlay the queen’s words.
Was she? Her fingers curled around her wood hoop. Did she dare disobey the queen? Her heartbeat banged in her ears. She could do it. Then she’d be ousted from Court and back home where she actually had a friend, instead of here surrounded by a hateful queen and equally cold ladies-in-waiting.
Life would be grand. The fantasy disappeared, as always. Home was no escape. The worry she saw on her father’s face the few times he’d visited her at Court would become worse if she was sent home. She’d rather endure the lectures and the loneliness than further sadden him.
The thumping in her ears lessened as her fingers loosened and she handed her embroidery hoop to the queen.
“What’s this?” the queen demanded.
She swallowed her pride, huge, bitter pill that it was. “A disgrace, Your Majesty.”
The queen’s eyebrows raised high. “Yours, to be sure.”
A spattering of nasty giggles erupted around Madelaine. She should pretend not to notice, really she should. But she just couldn’t do it. Her pride was definitely going to be her downfall. Or perhaps her temper. It was an ongoing debate in her head. She shot an icy glare to each lady who dared to meet her narrowed gaze. Only three ladies out of four today? My, the odds were improving. If she dismissed support as a requirement in a friend she could now count Lady Elizabeth Adlard, whose gaze was focused on her lap, as a friend. Madelaine nearly laughed. Ah, well, at least Lady Elizabeth didn’t join in mocking her.
Queen Charlotte stood, her silk skirts falling in a swish at her ankles as she did. She handed Madelaine’s now bare embroidery hoop to her. “Redo this and then you may join us in the library and play the pianoforte for me.”
Madelaine gnashed her teeth. The queen truly had it in for her today. She was worse at the pianoforte than she was at embroidery. Yet there was a bit of hope. By the time she redid her stitches the queen could well be tired of listening to music and might want to go for a walk through the gardens or a leisurely ride. Madelaine brightened considerably. She could walk and sit with the best of them. “I’ll come to the library as soon as I’m finished.”
“One hour,” the queen commanded and exited the room with the rest of the ladies on her heel.
Well, all the ladies save one, but Grace, with her venomous personality, was hardly a lady in Madelaine’s mind.
“Did you forget your pitchfork, Grace?” Madelaine had learned the hard way to strike first. She’d been the brunt of too many of Grace’s hurtful comments to sit and wait like a fool for Grace’s razor-sharp tongue to lash her.
“Lady Grace.” Lady Grace Frost enunciated each word like only someone who truly wasn’t a lady would do.
“So you keep saying,” Madelaine murmured, “yet it seems to me true ladies have kind hearts.”
“Be sure to work slowly, Madge. I’ve a bit of a headache and don’t think I can tolerate your pounding on the keys today.”
In swirl of skirts and blonde hair, Grace was gone. Madelaine snatched up her needle and spool of thread and furiously pushed the pin into the fabric while indulging the fantasy that Grace was the fabric. It was stupid to let Grace upset her. That’s exactly what she wanted. Yet Madelaine was upset, foolish or not.
When the clock struck the hour, Madelaine stuffed her hoop into her embroidery box and trudged down the hall. Lost in her own thoughts, it wasn’t until she was at the library door that she realized how quiet it was. She entered the library and could not help but gape at the empty room. Finally, she’d hit on a bit of luck in a year of providence drought.
She gazed at the rows of thousands of books, and a sliver of anticipation raced through her. She hurried toward the bookcase, but as her fingertips touched the first spine, the distinct creak of the door being opened filled the room. Her shoulders slumped. How ridiculously silly of her to hope for five whole minutes alone. “I’m coming.” It was hard to make her tone falsely pleasant.
“Is that disappointment I hear?”
