Page 18 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Both women’s mouths gaped.

“Oh, there you are, Madalene,” her aunt called as she waved. “I had your easel set up beside mine so that we can enjoy atête-à-têteas we paint.”

Her aunt deserved an appreciative kiss for interrupting the awkward moment.

“I am coming, Lady Saxton,” she called back. Despite wanting to flee their presence, she searched for something kind to say.

“Mrs. Ainsworth, I meant to talk to you all morning. Your dress is quite becoming, bringing out the green in your eyes.” Although the neck-swallowing lace was modest, the gown was a lovely shade.

Mrs. Ainsworth opened her mouth to say something, then clamped her lips tight. Hopefully, she felt guilty for her cruelty.

“Lady Lionel, once I am finished, will you give me your opinion on my painting? Lady Saxton believes you have an eye for art.”

Lady Lionel blinked, and her brow furrowed.

Maddie was beyond dismal at painting, but she would give it her best effort.

“Please excuse me. Lady Saxton desires my company.” She turned her back to the women. Briefly closing her eyes, she exhaled humiliation and hurt. Then she strolled to her aunt as if she were not the most unpopular woman at the gathering.

“Are you enjoying yourself, dear?” Lady Saxton asked.

She pecked her aunt’s cheek. “Yes.” At least she had been before hearing about her lewd behavior with a man she had never touched, and discovering everyone would be happier if she were still in New York. She forced the corners of her lips upward as she slid into her seat.

Her aunt pointed to the tray of orchids in front of them. “They remind me of you. Exotic and beautiful. That is why I chose this spot.”

A kind sentiment from someone she loved eased the sting of the earlier insults. Unfortunately, the painful pricks returned with a vengeance because not one of the ladies set up an easel near them.

Pretending she was Michelangelo, Maddie mixed the colors on her palette. Once her brush touched the canvas, all hope was lost. Despite her intense concentration, she couldn’t control the blasted brush and her flower resembled a splotch. No matter what angle she studied her artwork from, it remained an amorphous blob. She had never considered herself a skilled artist, but her efforts were even more abysmal than usual. Perhaps guilt made one paint like rubbish.

She set down her brush. “Aunt Henrietta, you are spending so much time with me. Would you care to visit with your other guests for the remainder of the week?”

“Don’t be silly,” her aunt said. “’Tis as if I finally have a daughter. I will not allow anything to detract from my joy.”

“But, Aunt Henrietta,” she whispered, “I don’t think the women favor me.” She swung her hand, palm upward, indicating how far away the rest of the guests were seated.

Aunt Henrietta perused the hothouse, then leaned toward Maddie. “They are Sir Saxton’s business associates, not people I consider friends. You are the one I want to spend time with.” She flicked her wrist. “Besides, sometimes groups of women behave like a shiver of sharks in a sea of blood. Especially when they are jealous of another’s youth and beauty.”

Her aunt deserved to know how poorly she had behaved. But how to break it to her? Maddie swallowed.

Wilson approached. “My lady, Second Lieutenant Calhoun just sent his regrets. His duties require him to accompany Major Blythe and his lordship .”

“Thank you, Wilson.” Her aunt sighed.

“Lady Saxton, may I speak my mind?” he asked.

“Please do.”

“The new men you hired to help with the weekend…How do I say this respectfully? They are absolute simpletons.”

Maddie’s sentiments exactly. However, if they ceased staring at her as if she were a sweetmeat, she might find them amusing.

“Firstly, I couldn’t find a uniform large enough for the big one. Secondly, they smell like they bathed in whiskey.” Wilson cringed and sniffed as if their scent surrounded him. “I am certain they are drunk. I am going to escort them away from the ladies.”

Without waiting for a response, Wilson turned on his heel and marched to the opposite end of the structure where Diggins sat on Myrle’s shoulders, shoving his gloves onto the highest branches of an exotic-looking tree. Once the glove was in place, Diggins clasped it, then pumped.

Lady Saxton moaned. “Is the ninnyhammer shaking hands with a branch?”

“I believe so,” Maddie said.