Page 5 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
His features distorted. “I—I’m sorry, what?”
“Yes,” she said again, tears filling her eyes, a song in her voice.
They stood. His face was brighter than ever.
“Are you sure,” he said, his mouth fully extended in a great smile.
“Of course, I’m sure. I’ve known you quite some time. Isn’t that remarkable? And I’ve come to know the safety I feel in your presence, by your side. I’ve never known such bliss. My Lord ...my husband... yes.”
“Hurrah!” he exclaimed. “Let us go and tell your parents. Right now.”
They turned and saw Lisbelle, a handkerchief to her face.
“Oh my,” the maid said through tears, “that was just splendid.Splendid, my darlings!”
The three started back towards Aspendale House when Lord Oliver stopped and turned towards Madeline once more.
“Are you indeed sure, My Lady? I do not wish to force your hand.”
“I am more than the fuel to the fire that burns within you,” she whispered. “I am the fire itself.”
They hastened their pace back towards the house.
Chapter 3
“Foster, there you are.” She’d caught the butler of Aspendale in the midst of his righting Papa’s portrait in the gallery. He was a short, stout man whose physical presence managed to occupy a space three times his size.
“Ah, M’Lady,” he boomed as he sprang to attention. “What can I do for you?”
“Summon my sister to the parlour, will you?”
The man’s face was one of perplexion. “Lady Emily is alreadyinthe parlour, M’Lady.”
“Oh, very well,” said Madeline. She turned to Lord Oliver and grinned. “It seems the secret is out. They’re all awaiting our return.” She turned back to the butler. “Thank you, Foster.”
The butler’s massive chest puffed. “M’Lady, if I may, I was asked to bring some champagne to the parlour ... inopalinegoblets?” He asked this as if intoning some sort of code.
“Yes, Foster,” she said, unable to hide her excitement, “thereiscause for celebration.”
The man’s face brightened into a smile that could have warmed ten winters. “Very well, M’Lady.”
They made their way through the gallery, the approving looks of four generations of Whitcombes upon them. She held his arm. It was so strong and rigid, so steady and sure.
A flutter of nerves in her belly took full wing as they entered the parlour.
“Papa, Mama,” she said, her voice nearly breaking, “Lord Oliver has asked for my hand, and I’m pleased to say I have accepted.”
There was a universal cry of joy as the family surrounded the couple.
“Welcome to the family,” said her mother.
“It is my honour, truly, Lady Abigail,” said Lord Oliver. He turned to Madeline’s younger sister. “And Lady Emily, I shall watch over your sister as if it were my only duty in life.” Finally, he turned to Ambrose, the Whitcombe patriarch. “And last, but not least, Lord Stamford. I swear on this day, I shall uphold the honour of the Whitcombe family as if I bore the name myself.”
Lord Stamford took his future son in-law’s hand and smiled. “Congratulations, my boy.”
Madeline eyed him suspiciously. She knew Papa didn’t approve of Lord Oliver as a suitor, much less a husband. But that was Papa – always putting on airs.
“Well,” said Papa. “This calls for a drink.”
