pressed her hand. âI wonât let it be.â
âHave you considered there are some things that might be out of your control, Helene?â
âYes. Iâm making a list.â
Madelene laughed. The mirth came as a surprise and was all the more wonderful because of it. Helene returned a smile that was more a flash in her eyes than an expression on her face.
Then those eyes grew hard again. Madelene had become used to Heleneâs hard looks. They were not deliberate. It was just that when Helene was thinking, she paid attention to nothing beyond the currents of her own mind. It was the thoughts she was looking at, not Madelene.
âMadelene, are you attracted to Benedict Pelham?â Madelene wasnât sure what expression showed on her face just then, but whatever it was, it was strong enough to make Helene pull back. âIâm sorry,â she said. âI should have said that differently.â
âItâs all right, I, just . . . Iâm not sure, but I think so.â
âLook at me, Madelene.â Helene took her hand. âItâs all right if you are. Adeleâs talked with Mar . . . Lord Windford and Monsieur Beauclaire. They say heâs a good man.â
âYes, I know, that is, I feel sure he must be. And please donât ask me how I can tell.â
Helene waved her words away. âThe question is, Madelene, do you want to see more of him?â
Madelene bit her lip. She pulled the note out of her sleeve and read the words again.
You are not alone. The door is open.
He had a firm, clear hand. Not a wasted motion, no blots or blurs.
âYou know what happened last time I got a proposal,â she said, running a thumb across the
B
.
Helene nodded. Memory churned Madeleneâs stomach. The entire family had collaborated in the scenes. Her stepmother began with a stream of laments that her poor, dear, helpless Madelene was throwing herself at a fortune hunter; that her cruel husband would take control of her money, leaving her, and all her family, in rags. Her father joined in, mostly at mealtimes, droning on in icy disapproval about what a worthless, loose woman Madelene was, encouraging the attentions of every vagabond wastrel in a well-cut coat. Lewis raged at everyone. Glorietta and Maude wept at the drop of a hat about how their looming poverty would doom them both to spinsterhood.
It had gone on for days until Madelene had allowed Mama to dictate her refusal note to the gentleman in question.
âNot that I think Lord Benedict would ever propose to somebody like me,â Madelene croaked. âI mean, he might consider it for the money, I suppose, but . . .â
Helene squeezed her hand, and Madelene closed her mouth around the words.
âDo you want to see more of Benedict Pelham?â Helene asked again.
Madelene tucked the note back into her sleeve. She got to her feet and walked over to her window. She rested her fingers lightly on the sill and stared out at the street. She did not see the fashionable neighborhood below, or the rooftops of Grosvenor Square three streets over. She saw the long procession of years, sitting in a room like this, staring out a window like this, fearing the step in the hall and the knock on the door. She felt the cold dread of each meal, and each afternoon in the parlor, because they might bring another demand for money, or another bill in the post.
She saw the glittering celebration Mama would insist on for her twenty-fifth birthday. After that, it was only a matter of time. She would be still unmarried and worn entirely down, and all they had to do was wait a little longer until Madelene became so tired that she would do what was wanted. She would sign the money away to her father and his second family, just so she could at last be left in peace. Once that money was theirs, she might finally be allowed to marry whoever would agree to take her without a fortune, or she might