Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next afternoon was Friday, and as usual, Prudence called on Madeleine and Amelia while their mothers shopped. It was an arrangement they made several years earlier, after all three girls mutinied and demanded one afternoon a week when they might be free of the usual house calls and shopping excursions to Bond Street.

Lady Harcastle had declared that Prudence was wasting all her other chances to make a decent match, so she might as well lose her Friday afternoons as well. Aunt Augusta was more tactful, but she felt the same. Either way, the girls had won - and their little club was born. They dubbed themselves the "Muses of Mayfair," and each week, they shared a bit of their recent work: Amelia read from her novel in progress, Prudence shared bits of her latest historical treatise, and Madeleine recited a monologue.

As the years progressed, though, the meetings paled for Madeleine. Amelia published several novels under a male pseudonym with increasingly large sales. Prudence wrote to a variety of historians, again as a male - and they had all laughed uproariously when she started corresponding with Alex, who never guessed that many of those letters were composed in one of his own sitting rooms.

Madeleine, though, could rarely act, and she could only suggest charades at house parties so many times before people declined. It was with Prudence and Amelia's encouragement that Madeleine finally sought out Madame Legrand and a real stage.

But this Friday, Madeleine didn't want to discuss the latest developments with her friends. How could she tell them she had expanded her repertoire to become Ferguson's mistress? It was hard enough lying to Aunt Augusta at breakfast about why she had "confined herself to her room" the night before, when she had promised to attend the Locktons' ball.

Amelia would not let her keep secrets, though. As soon as Prudence arrived and they were all ensconced in the small back sitting room that overlooked the Staunton gardens, the inquisition began.

"Where were you last night?" Amelia demanded. "I know you weren't in your room before we left the house, and when I returned after two, your door was locked."

Madeleine had heard someone try the handle as she tossed away another sleepless night, but she had not wanted company. "It took longer to leave the theatre than I expected."

"Nonsense," Amelia said. "We have timed that route exactly. When I left for the ball, you were already over an hour late. And since Josephine was here to make your excuses to Aunt Augusta, you were somewhere without an escort."

Madeleine couldn't say anything without incriminating herself further. "What were you thinking?" Amelia continued, starting to pace. "London isn't safe for any of us alone at night. And the danger is not merely our reputations - any number of things could happen in Mayfair, let alone in Seven Dials. Highwaymen, procuresses, white slavers from the Barbary Coast..."

Madeleine sighed as she watched her cousin pace the room. Amelia always paced when she was agitated, or just thinking things through. Since this was the room she wrote in, there was a well-worn path for her in the carpet.

"Isn't the Barbary Coast a bit far from Mayfair?" Madeleine asked.

"Yes. They would never be suspected," Amelia said triumphantly. Madeleine sighed again. Amelia would be easier to reason with if she didn't occasionally lapse into thinking that the events of her Gothic novels could happen to them.

"Madeleine would never be so careless," Prudence said soothingly, assuming her usual role of peacemaker. "The logical answer is that she was not alone."

Amelia stopped pacing to stare at Madeleine. "Then if Josephine was not with you, who escorted you home?"

Madeleine looked at both of them. They were her dearest friends and she trusted them completely - but they would not be pleased with her next words. "Pierre brought me home after retrieving me from the duke of Rothwell."