Page 52 of Because You're Mine
Madeline smiled at her gratefully. It was only because of the maid’s kind and sympathetic nature that she was able to pay a visit to Mrs. Florence. At this moment Madeline was supposed to be arriving at her sister Justine’s home for a month-long stay, but thanks to a forged note sent to her sister and a bribe to the family driver, they wouldn’t be expected until tomorrow. “Thank you, Norma,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to thank you for keeping this visit to Mrs. Florence a secret. I know the risk you’re taking by helping me.”
“I’ve known you for many years, miss,” Norma replied. “You’re a good, kind girl—the best of the Matthews lot, I daresay. It’s made all the staff sad to see you so brokenhearted. If talking with your friend will make you better, ’tis worth the risk.” The maid retreated into the carriage, pulling a heavy fur-lined blanket up to her shoulders.
Madeline took care to walk between the thick patches of ice as she approached Mrs. Florence’s house. It had been over two months since she had been there, and she had no idea what kind of reception to expect. It wasn’t likely that Mrs. Florence would turn Madeline away—she was too gracious for that. Still, Madeline was uneasy as she knocked at the front door.
Soon after leaving London, Madeline had written a letter of, explanation and apology to Mrs. Florence and had asked her not to send a reply, as her parents had forbidden all communication with the outside world. It must have seemed to everyone who had known her that she had disappeared from the face of the earth.
Her parents were considering various plans for her, everything from living abroad to working as a companion for an elderly relative. Perhaps what had angered them most was Madeline’s statement that any of these options pleased her better than their original intention of marrying her to Lord Clifton.
Lord and Lady Matthews had been devastated by a visit from Lord Clifton, who had wished to formally terminate the betrothal arrangement and retrieve the ring he had given to Madeline. As he had stood before her, his jowly face quivering with righteous indignation, Madeline hadn’t been able to prevent a small, hard smile from coming to her lips. Only the thought of Logan, and the grief she had caused him, kept her from feeling triumphant.
“I pawned the ring, Lord Clifton,” Madeline told him without a trace of remorse.
He looked like an apoplectic frog. “You pawned my family ring? And used the proceeds to finance your fiendish little plot?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Clifton’s outraged gaze traveled from her resolute face to her parents’ stricken ones, and back again. “Well,” he huffed angrily, “it appears that I have been spared from making a grievous mistake. A pity I didn’t realize earlier that you were never fit to be my wife.”
“Lord Clifton,” Madeline’s mother Agnes cried, “I can’t express how deeply sorry we are—”
“No, I am sorry—for all of you.” He sent Madeline a contemptuous glance. “There’s no telling what will become of you now. I hope you’re aware of what you could have had, were it not for your deceit and stupidity.”
“I know exactly what I’ve given up,” Madeline assured him with a subtle trace of irony, and her smile was bittersweet. She had succeeded in escaping from Lord Clifton…but the price had been a high one. Not just for her, but for Logan.
She also felt sorry for her parents; their misery was all too clear. Her mother was especially distraught. “I can’t bear the thought of what people will say,” Agnes had declared in a voice as taut as the embroidery thread in her hands. Her thin fingers jerked and rugged at a strand, tangling the colored floss. “I can’t abide the disgrace Madeline has brought on us. It is clear that she must go abroad. We’ll tell everyone that she wishes to continue her studies on the continent.”
“How long must I stay away?” Madeline asked, her cheeks coloring. It was difficult to hear her own mother making plans to dispose of her.
“I have no idea,” Agnes said tautly. “People have long memories. It will take years for the scandal to fade. Foolish girl, not to realize how much better off you would have been as Lord Clifton’s wife!”
“I told you I didn’t want Lord Clifton,” Madeline said calmly. “You left me no other choice. I’m willing to accept the consequences of what I’ve done.”
“Have you no regrets at all?” Agnes asked in outrage. “What you did was sinful and cruel.”
“Yes, I know,” Madeline whispered. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting Mr. Scott. But as for the rest—”
“You didn’t hurt that debauched actor; you hurt yourself! You destroyed your entire life and brought shame on all of us.”
Madeline had kept silent after that, knowing that there must indeed be something very wrong with her…because what tormented her was not the disgrace she had brought on her family, but the pain she had caused Logan. The memory of his face the morning they had parted—so blank, so controlled—sent her into fresh agony every time she thought of it.
If she had it to do all over again, she would behave so differently. She would have trusted Logan enough to be honest with him, and perhaps he might have listened. She longed to comfort him, a ridiculous notion since she was the one who had caused him grief. If only she could see him one more time, to assure herself that he was all right—but common sense told her such ideas were useless. She must let him go, and salvage what she could of her own life.
Unfortunately, that was becoming increasingly difficult.
The front door opened, and Mrs. Florence’s maid, Cathy, peered out. “Yes?” Her eyes widened as she beheld Madeline. “Oh, Miss Maddy!”
“Hello, Cathy,” Madeline said hesitantly. “I know it’s an odd hour to call, but I’ve traveled a long way. Do you think Mrs. Florence will receive me?”
“I’ll run and ask her, Miss Maddy. She’s just finishing her supper.”
Standing inside the door, Madeline breathed in the musty vanilla scent of the house, the aroma familiar and comforting. The panicked rhythm of her heart eased as soon as she saw Mrs. Florence approach, her silvery-peach hair arranged in a twist, her hazel eyes soft in her lined face. One of her hands was wrapped around an engraved silver and mahogany cane. It thumped gently on the carpet as she walked toward Madeline.
“Maddy,” she said in a kindly way.
“Have you been injured, Mrs. Florence?” Madeline asked in concern.
“No, my dear. It’s only that the cold weather sinks into my bones sometimes.” She reached Madeline and took her hand, enclosing Madeline’s cold fingers in her warm ones. “Have you run away again, child?”
