HENRY WAS SURPRISED how easily he had been able to snag a kiss with Amity whereas Lady Madeleine was like a slippery eel. She was impossible to catch alone and absolutely unwilling to let him within a foot of her when it was only the two of them, even with her maid seated discreetly close by.
He had called upon her without prior notice and even wangled a dinner invitation — for they could hardly refuse a duke showing up close to the dinner hour. He hoped to become more familiar with her and with her parents. The conversation as they dined, however, had been uninspiring at best. Her mother, an attractive woman, remained mostly silent while keeping a besotted smile on her face and looking at him as if she were the one he might marry.
Her father, Lord Brayson, was pleasant enough, if one liked a man intent on mentioning every possible achievement he’d ever had or every farthing of wealth he’d accrued. Henry wondered what was the point of the man’s boasting when he could never hope to match the prestige of a duke, nor should he try.
Frankly, Henry found it a little vulgar.
Nonetheless, he could overlook both parents’ flaws for Madeleine’s sake. She was charming over the pottage and told a witty, albeit rehearsed story with the roast. It was after, when they were having port in the drawing room, that he realized how impersonal was every phrase she uttered. She could have been at any ball or party speaking to anyone, not to the man who might mean something special to her.
Henry decided to grab the bull ... or, rather, the cow by ... well, not by anything.
“Tell me about your childhood, Lady Madeleine. Did you spend most of your time in the country or in Town?”
Madeleine smiled and looked to her father to answer. Henry sighed and let the earl disclose the many fine acres they had at their country house and the number of horses. Yet when he started to give an account of his livestock, Henry interrupted.
“Livestock!” He laughed as if her father had meant it to be a joke. “Surely, your daughter and wife have no interest in our discussing your pigs.” Henry certainly had not a damned ounce of interest, either. He wanted to ask Madeleine if she’d been a lonely child, but there may have been siblings who’d passed away, and thus, he couldn’t broach such a sensitive topic.
For a moment, he couldn’t think what he wanted to know about her despite having everything to learn. She remained, confoundedly, a stranger. Once more, he turned to her.
“Did you have a favorite book growing up, Lady Madeleine? Do you like to read?” He couldn’t help but think of Amity’s animated retelling of Mrs. Lovechild’s primer, something practically every British child had in his or her nursery.
Madeleine’s lovely face remained placid. She ignored the first question and answered the second, “Currently, I enjoy a few magazines. I don’t read the newspapers as there is entirely too much offensiveness.”
“Too much,” her mother murmured.
Henry couldn’t help but notice Madeleine didn’t ask him a question in return. That left him to forge ahead. He already knew of Madeleine’s dislike of small tamed animals, as well as oranges, raisins, and now newspapers, but everything else was still a mystery.
Tapping his fingers upon his thigh, he realized all three Braysons were staring at him with polite half-smiles upon their faces.
“Have you traveled abroad much?” Henry had been to the Continent thrice, and there was much more he wished to see. He loved strolling the streets of Paris and discovering cafes with each Parisian trying to outdo the next with the perfect cup of coffee.
Lady Madeleine made a moue of dislike. “I cannot swim,” she said.
“No,” her mother murmured.
Henry was confounded. What the deuce did swimming have to do with it?
“There are ferries,” he pointed out, not meaning to sound rude. Was she under the impression she had to swim the English Channel?
“I know there are ferries,” Madeleine snapped, making her mother gasp in distress at her daughter’s discourteous tone. The young lady took a breath and softened her expression. “Those boats are on the water, are they not, Your Grace? If something happened, I would sink below the channel.”
“Sink,” her mother echoed.
“If I had a bit more money,” the earl said, “I would build you a bridge, dear girl, from Dover to Calais.” That ridiculous statement was met with smiles from both the females as if it were a distinct possibility.
Henry supposed he could always travel alone when he so desired or with one of his chums.
“What about in Britain? Ireland is out of the question, what with the sea between us, but have you seen the sights of Scotland and Wales or, perhaps, the coast of Cornwall?”
She shook her head. “Are there any? Sights, I mean?” She gave a little chuckle and her parents joined in. “Is there anything greater than London and its outskirts, my lord?”
Her parents both murmured their approval of her response.
Henry supposed it was just as well she hadn’t traveled all over as they could do so together on their honeymoon. Whereas he had been on hunting trips as far north as John O’Groats at the tip of Scotland and been sailing off the tip of Penzance on the south Cornish coast, there was much in between he hadn’t seen and much he would like to share with her.
Until she added, “I have no wish to do so.”
“No wish to see your homeland?” he asked, surprised and unable to keep the disapproval from his voice. In this age of easy train travel, it seemed a shame not to explore one’s own country.
Her father, perhaps hearing Henry’s tone, sat up straight, scooting to the edge of his chair. “While no one wishes to force our Madeleine to a watery death, I’m positive she would be honored to travel with her husband around the countryside, at least as far as that man’s country estate, whomever he may be.”
Lady Brayson smiled at this obvious ploy to get Henry to declare himself the man who would be her daughter’s husband.
Madeleine pursed her lips, glaring at her father, then looked at Henry. “I would go to my husband’s country estate, my lord, and glad to do so, but why experience the trouble of traveling farther afield when green grass is green grass everywhere?”
“True,” her mother said, sotto voce again. Her mincing tone was starting to get on Henry’s nerves.
Another few minutes passed. He was feeling a little desperate to engage in some type of meaningful discourse.
“Coffee,” he blurted out. “Do you like it?” It might not be meaningful, but it was an important part of his daily routine.
Madeleine scrunched up her face, looking, if possible, even lovelier. “No. I think it too strong and terribly unpleasant. I don’t even like its pungent aroma. It’s so foreign, Your Grace. I prefer tea, or even hot water with lemon.”
“Lemon,” her mother agreed.
Henry decided against pointing out how very foreign the now-ubiquitous tea leaf was or even the once-exotic lemon. No need to borrow trouble. Besides, when married, he could go out to drink coffee whenever he wanted. He wouldn’t need to expose his new wife to its dreadful pungency at home.
Still, he sat back wondering how anyone could not like the delicious smell of coffee. The sole thing that rivaled it was stepping into Rare Confectionery and enjoying a noseful of the rich, decadent chocolate bouquet.