Heiress Without a Cause

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

She was the most acclaimed actress of the season, but Madeleine could not catch her breath. Lady Harcastle's words punched it out of her. And before Madeleine could think to leave the ballroom, someone asked her to dance.

She had to submit to a quadrille, two reels and a country dance before she could dance with Ferguson again - and while she waited, her body was in open rebellion. The endless dancing snatched away any remaining air in her lungs, leaving her winded and lightheaded, like she had just run a footrace in a too-tight corset. Her stays pressed against her ribs, her heart beat in her throat, and stars flickered at the edges of her vision. And she had never been more thankful for her gloves - she could feel her palms turning slick within the soft kid, but her latest partner, Mr. Frederick Scolfield, appeared unaware of her distress. The man was her least favorite of Augusta's cousins. He was likely accustomed to girls looking unhappy and nauseated in his arms.

She finally saw Ferguson again as she stood at the top waiting to go down to the end of the figure. He leaned against a wall, watching her - but where the move had left her weak-kneed with anticipation when he used to materialize out of the crowd for her alone, now it only worried her more. Had he heard the rumors?

She wished she felt as calm as he looked. The brilliant light of the chandeliers threw no shadows on his face, and his easy smile was bright, not deadly.

How could anyone think he was a killer?

The end of the dance cast her and her odious cousin Frederick out on the side of the ballroom nearest the stairs, far from where she had last seen Ferguson, and she longingly glanced at the exit. Surely Augusta had heard the rumors, but she wouldn't seek Madeleine out - taking her home early would only confirm that the Stauntons were concerned about Ferguson's sanity. She sucked in a breath, ignoring her cousin's conversational gambits as she focused on keeping her lungs filled. If she could lie as still as death on the floor of Legrand's Theatre during the climax of every play, she could surely feign boredom until she could escape.

Frederick's voice turned petulant. He had enough money and connections that people rarely ignored him outright, even if his partners were not always eager to talk to him. He was still young enough to be an eligible match, but with his weak chin and vapid conversation, a woman would have to be desperate for his funds to consider him. "If you are this cold with the duke, cousin, you won't have a hope of keeping him in your bed," he sneered.

Madeleine did not look at him, positioning herself to watch the crowd. "My marriage is no concern of yours," she said with a sneer of her own.

She heard his sharp inhale as he took a pinch of snuff. "I did wonder how you managed to snare a coronet, but 'tis no surprise now that the truth about his sanity is coming out."

She did turn on him then, the fast whip of her shawl as she came around brushing half the snuff out of his box. He started to protest, but he took a single look at her face and shut his mouth.

"Ferguson is the sanest man I know," she snapped, in a low voice with a hint of menace she had never known she possessed. "I will thank you for not spreading rumors that have no basis in fact."

He held up a hand in mocking surrender. "As you wish, cousin. But when he abandons you for another prize, do not look to me to dance with you."

Frederick flounced off then, all wounded vanity and pricked ego. Madeleine's thoughts were dark. If Frederick, who rarely knew any news beyond the latest fashion in waistcoats, had heard the rumors, then they were all over London.

She wanted to kill Caro. The rumors must have started with her - the woman was determined to keep Ferguson from finding happiness. But she couldn't seek the woman out in public - and imagine the scandal if she and Ferguson were tried for different murders at the same time?