Lucien Tregellas by Margaret McPhee

‘You must not upset yourself. People are staring.’
    Mrs Langley surveyed the attention turned upon her family. It was not the interest she had hoped for. She noticed that even Mrs Wilson had distanced herself somewhat and was now conversing with Mrs Hammond, casting the odd look back at the Langleys. Amelia Langley held her head up high and said in a voice intended to carry, ‘Unfortunately, girls, your mama has developed one of her headaches. There is nothing else for it but to retire at once. What a shame, when we were having such a nice time. Come along, girls.’ And Mrs Langley swept her daughters from the ballroom. ‘I shall have a footman find your papa.’
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    The journey back to Climington Street was not pleasant. Madeline suffered several sympathetic looks from Angelina, a continuous harangue from her mother, and only the mildest expression of reproof from her father.
    The harangue from Mrs Langley paused only while the family made their way into their home, and resumed once more when the front door had been firmly closed. Madeline made to follow Angelina upstairs.
    â€˜Where do you think you’re going?’ her mother screeched. ‘We shall discuss this evening’s nonsense, miss. Through to the parlour with you. Now!’
    Madeline started back down the stairs.
    â€˜Think I might just have an early night myself,’ mumbled her father and tried to slope away.
    But Mrs Langley was having none of it. ‘Mr Langley,’ she cried. ‘Will you not take control of your daughter?’
    It was strange, or so Madeline thought, that she was always Papa ’s daughter when she had displeased Mama, which, of course, was most of the time.
    The long-suffering Mr Langley gave a weary sigh and led the way through to the parlour.
    â€˜She has made a spectacle of us this evening,’ ranted Mrs Langley. ‘And most certainly destroyed any chance of an alliance with Lord Farquharson!’
    â€˜Calm yourself, Mrs Langley, I’m sure it cannot be quite that bad,’ said Mr Langley.
    Mrs Langley’s face turned a mottled puce. Her mouth opened and closed convulsively. Madeline had never seen her look so distressed. ‘If you had not been hiding in Lady Gilmour’s conservatory all evening, then you would realise that it is worse than bad!’ she shouted.
    â€˜Perhaps Lord Farquharson can be persuaded otherwise,’ said Mr Langley in an attempt to pacify his wife.
    â€˜Madeline snubbed him to dance with Earl Tregellas, for pity’s sake!’
    â€˜Really?’ mumbled Mr Langley, ‘I’m sure he’ll get over it.’ ‘Get over it! Get over it!’ huffed Mrs Langley. ‘How can you say such a thing? Lord Farquharson is unlikely to look in her direction, let alone offer her marriage! She has ruined her chances. We will never be invited anywhere ever again!’ wailed Mrs Langley. Tears squeezed from her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks.
    â€˜Now, Mrs Langley,’ Mr Langley cajoled, ‘please don’t take on so. I will sort it all out. Come along, my dearest.’ He pressed a soothing arm around his wife’s quivering shoulders.
    But Mrs Langley steadfastly refused to budge. ‘What are we to do? Lord Farquharson will never have her now.’ The trickle of tears was in danger of becoming a deluge.
    Madeline watched the unfolding scene, never uttering a word.
    â€˜Speak to her, Arthur,’ Mrs Langley pleaded.
    Mr Langley patted his wife, straightened, and cleared his throat. ‘So, Madeline.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘What’s all this about? How came you to dance with Lord Tregellas over Lord Farquharson?’
    Madeline found that she could not tell even her dear papa what Lord Tregellas had done for her; how he had saved her from Lord Farquharson on, not one, but two separate occasions. ‘He asked me and took my arm. There did not seem any polite manner in which