Free Winter Garden by Adele Ashworth

her fork, slicing another piece of cake as they all watched. “It really is only a conclusion on my part, Mrs. Bennington-Jones. But consider this. His injuries cause him to limp markedly, and he has not the slightest interest in me as a woman. As women, I’m sure we’d all agree that we know when a man shows us interest in that way. I alsoknow we’re all ladies of quality sitting here today, and understand perfectly the consequences of gossip.”
    There was a sharp intake of breath at her understated warning. Madeleine noted with satisfaction how they all at once were so very interested in their tea—except for Desdemona, who gaped at her, uncertain but blushing a brilliant red as she suddenly grasped the meaning inferred.
    â€œMrs. Mossley,” Lady Isadora moved on at last, “are you playing the organ in church again Sunday or is Mrs. Casper feeling well enough to return?”
    They’d reverted to safe conversation, and Madeleine sat back, listening politely, marvelously pleased at the turn of events. They couldn’t dislike her—all but Mrs. Bennington-Jones—and even found her intriguing. She would be invited again. She may be French and a bit too free with her tongue, but she was also polished, educated, respectable, and absolutely not whoring for Mr. Blackwood. They believed that much, or at least had their doubts. She’d stifled the indecent talk.
    The gossip had been steered in a different direction. By nightfall Winter Garden would be stirring with the details regarding the scholar and his war injuries that had left him impotent. Her only concern now was how in heaven she was going to tell Thomas.

Chapter 4
    M adeleine sat comfortably on the sofa with her bare feet tucked under her gown and a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders, staring into the slow burning fire. She’d returned from Mrs. Rodney’s tea only a half hour ago, but it was already growing dark, and Thomas had yet to appear from an afternoon of observing Rothebury’s property from afar. Clouds had gathered overhead again during her walk home, and she’d been sprinkled with the first of the evening rain, dampening her hair and clothes. Now drops tapped the rooftop in a soothing, steady drone.
    She’d been watching the low flames for twenty minutes or so, contemplating all that she’d learned in the last few hours, but in truth thinking mostly about Thomas. Their first week together had been unremarkable as he’d kept his distance from her to an almost obvious degree. She knew he didn’t find herpresence irritating or unwanted, but she had no idea whether he found her pleasing to be around or desirable as a woman. It had taken her days to concede that although his regard of her personally was quite irrelevant and that she really shouldn’t care, it bothered her that she didn’t know. The central problem, however, aside from the fact that her straying thoughts were interfering with her concentration on her work, was that an intimate relationship with Thomas really wasn’t something she could just discuss with him over breakfast. Frankly, she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted one. It would no doubt complicate their business association, and her work, regardless of personal circumstance, always came first and always would. She would never do anything to jeopardize that. Lovers might come and go, but her work was her only true form of lasting satisfaction in her life.
    Growing warm at last, Madeleine pulled the shawl from her shoulders, draped it over the arm of the sofa, then looked behind her toward the door because she suddenly felt his presence in the room.
    She hadn’t heard him enter. The steady rainfall had covered the sound. But his commanding figure blocked the entryway from her view as he brushed water from his overcoat while plainly regarding her.
    â€œHello,” he said softly.
    An innocent word, implying nothing.
    â€œHello,”