A Fall from Grace Maggie Ford (feel good books .txt) 📖

wouldn’t know,’ Madeleine said tartly, letting her hand with its gorgeous engagement ring drop to her side, looking now only to escape back to her own room. But if Dolly noticed the sting in her tone, she ploughed on without regard.

‘If you want my opinion, yes, it’s a nice ring. But I don’t think I’d be all that overjoyed with some old man three times my age, even if he do have money. What on earth can you see in him? Though I suppose you know your own mind.’

Madeleine wanted to say that she hadn’t asked for her opinion, but Dolly had more to say, studying her with a disbelieving gaze. ‘Surely, you can’t love him? You with your looks could easily find someone a blooming sight younger with just as much money as your old toff’s probably got.’

Just in time Madeleine stopped herself blurting out in retaliation to this that there was no time to wait for any young man to come along; that marrying James was the only way of getting back her baby before she lost her forever. But that would have given her a wonderful opportunity to call her a gold digger, an opportunist. But wasn’t that exactly what she was?

Hurriedly she turned away from that thought as to her relief Dolly moved off towards her room, saying over her shoulder as she went, ‘Anyway, wish you luck. Don’t suppose you’ll be here for much longer now you’ve got yourself all nicely sorted out.’

The door closed behind her with almost exaggerated care, leaving Madeleine only too glad she hadn’t let herself be motivated into blurting out her thoughts. She’d never told her about her baby, fearing to be looked down on. All she felt now was relief that she’d not be seeing her for much longer.

She’d finally accepted James’s offer of a nicer place to live until they were married, now assured that his intentions were indeed honourable. She had a ring to prove it and the knowledge that they’d be married quietly, no fuss, just a small affair.

Sitting on the hard upright chair by the table, she glanced again at her ring. It had been so formal the way he’d proposed, quietly, in the dim interior of his limousine, no attempt to embrace her when almost as formally she had said yes in an almost sombre tone.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ he’d said, ‘so long as you are very sure.’

When she told him that yes, she was very sure, he had reached into his coat pocket and withdrawn a dark blue velvet box.

Removing the ring, he had gently taken her left hand to slide it on to her finger, saying, ‘I hope you realize, my dear, how very happy you have made me.’

Hardly ever did he call her Madeleine, always ‘my dear’. But it was the sheer formality of his proposal that had shaken her as he added without any trace of emotion in his tone, ‘How would you feel, my dear, to marriage three months from now? Shall we say August?’

In the dim interior she’d sensed him smiling. ‘I think a quiet affair would be best if you are happy with that, a small formal reception, not too many guests, at my home which will then also be your home. Maybe your parents will agree to be present. How can they possibly refuse a decently wedded daughter, your father giving you away, as it should be? I think a brief honeymoon in the country. I would have taken you somewhere abroad, but that’s hardly possible with the war. When it is over we may take good advantage of an extended cruise somewhere, what do you say, my dear?’

Somewhat stunned by the cut and dried way he’d apparently had everything already planned, she could only nod, half expecting him to lean over and kiss her on the mouth, maybe a lingering one to which she would have to respond. Instead he’d sighed contentedly and sat back, still holding her hand and thus they travelled to the theatre where he’d been taking her, he carefully handing her down from the limousine and guiding her up the steps to the theatre as if she were made of delicate porcelain.

That was last night, Saturday. Now she sat in her room knowing that come Thursday she’d be vacating these awful premises forever. She hadn’t told Dolly, had no intention of telling her now, not after what she’d said. Nor had she told her she would be nineteen on Friday. James was giving her a birthday party next Saturday. It was to be at his home. And what a home!

Yesterday had been the first time she had ever seen it, practically surrounded by beautiful London parks, Hyde Park, Green Park, St James Park, every bit as fine as her old home in Oxfordshire, maybe even more so as he showed her around the many lower floor rooms, stopping short of showing her the upper rooms that were the bedrooms, to her relief.

When he’d brought her there after the theatre, on the way saying with a small smile, ‘I hope you don’t mind, my dear, I thought it would be far more suitable to have supper at home rather than a restaurant – after all it will be your home soon,’ there had come a sharp sense of alarm that he might be thinking to cement their engagement.

There had also come a surge of distaste at the thought of having his hands exploring her body, wondering what she had got herself into, agreeing to marry a man three times her age. She had prepared herself to tell him very gently that she wasn’t ready for that sort of thing before marriage, instantly recalling that she’d been ready enough with Freddy Dobson. But it had been different – he’d been young and she innocent. She was no longer an innocent, but refusing James might cause him to withdraw his proposal. Then where would she be? Without his money, his help, she’d never be