Free The Madcap Marriage by Allison Lane

international news, skimming the society page last. In that respect, she was much like Alquist.
    Fate had chosen his wife well.
    Unfortunately, his ham-fisted handling had eroded her trust. It would take time and skill to restore it. And more courage than he’d shown to date. Helen would not accept platitudes. He could only pray that he could rectify matters before she decided to take charge. She’d shown a lamentable streak of independence – fleeing Christchurch, insisting on going out despite her injuries, confronting Sir Steven head-on. It could lead to serious clashes if not checked. However alone she’d been since her parents’ deaths, she now had a husband to look after her. It was time she recognized that.
     

Chapter Four

 
    Helen paced Mademoiselle Jeanette’s elegantly appointed fitting room while an assistant lengthened a mourning gown. Rafe had stayed in the carriage so their names would not be linked before tomorrow’s announcement – or so he claimed. But the real reason was probably cowardice. He must have known his name would be on every tongue. He was more notorious than even Steven had implied.
    It was the height of the Season, so the shop was crowded. She’d waited half an hour for an assistant to serve her – Miss St. James, newly arrived from Somerset, commanded no concessions from a prominent London establishment. Not that she minded, for the wait allowed her to bring her provincial gawking under control. She had never seen so refined a shop, with lush carpets, Sheraton chairs, and a dozen tables piled with pattern cards, dressmakers’ dolls, fabrics, and trims. Servants raced in and out of the main salon, fetching fabrics and serving tea.
    But today’s conversation rarely touched on fashion. Rafe’s scandals echoed from all sides.
    “Is Miss Pauling mad?” demanded an elegant blonde of her friend as she fingered a piece of Caledonian silk that matched her blue eyes. “Everyone knows Mr. Thomas is in debt and will likely lose her dowry at the tables before the ink dries on their marriage lines. He takes after his grandfather, though his notoriety extends far beyond gaming. Remember Lady Chatsworth?”
    “Chasing her naked through Berkeley Square.” Her friend giggled. “My governess nearly fainted when she discovered I knew the tale. I wish I’d been there to see it.”
    “Watch your tongue, Martha,” snapped an older woman. “If anyone hears such talk, they will think you fast.”
    “But how will we know whom to avoid if we don’t discuss such things?” asked the blonde, widening her eyes in faux innocence. “You must admit Mr. Thomas has caused no end of scandal. Like what he did to Lady Melthorpe.”
    “Come, Mama. You laugh at that tale yourself – cavorting together in the Serpentine under a full moon.” Again Martha giggled. “How adventurous!”
    “Until Lord Melthorpe arrived.” Icicles dripped from her voice. “Forget Mr. Thomas. The man is incorrigible. Do you wish to put Lord Blakeley off?  He is your best chance for an offer, so concentrate on pattern cards. You need a gown for Lady Debenham’s ball. As for you, Lady Elizabeth” —she glared at the blonde— “if you must speculate on why Miss Pauling accepted Mr. Thomas, at least be honest. He has charm to spare and could talk the devil into mending his ways if he put his mind to it.”
    Lady Elizabeth fell silent, but the discussion raged elsewhere.
    “I always knew he would court an heiress,” said a dowager as she frowned over a piece of Mechlin lace. “Runs in the family. Hillcrest wed money, too. Thomases have always sought the fastest ways to expand their coffers.”
    “Even an heiress would think twice about allying herself with Thomas,” snapped her companion. “He must have seduced her. A fortnight away from town would leave him desperate. You know what he’s like.”
    “True. Few have his appetites. Or his temper. Imagine dueling over a courtesan!  And without seconds!