Diane Gaston - Innocence in Regency Society

Sophie did as she was told, coughing softly, eyes downcast.

Madeleine rose to pour a cup of tea for Sophie and Devlin. ‘You need not have snapped at me.’

He glanced at her, regretting his burst of temper, but her eyes held the hint of a smile and a softer expression that spoke of what had passed between them the previous night.

‘I apologise.’ His eyes held hers for that moment. He hoped she knew he was sorry for more than a fit of temper.

Between coughs, Sophie said, ‘I need to tend to my sewing.’

Madeleine started to protest, but Devlin shot her a glance to keep quiet. She spooned him a bowl of porridge.

‘You need sew no longer, little one. We have had a change in fortune. In fact, I intend to return your earnings to you.’

Sophie’s eyes grew wide. ‘We have money?’

‘We will by this afternoon, I expect. I will call on my brother again. He will give me the money this time.’ He cautiously took a spoonful of the lumpy porridge. Perhaps by the morrow they would be feasting on boiled eggs and ham.

‘You see, I will do as my brother wishes and he will advance me the money.’ Devlin would leave further explanation of their change in fortune to Madeleine, not knowing how to tell Sophie about his need to marry.

‘May…may I continue with the sewing?’ Sophie asked, her eyes darting warily.

He leaned to her and placed his hand on her arm. ‘You may do whatever you wish. I do shout and bluster, but you are a free woman, Sophie. Not mine to command.’

Madeleine stood behind him with the pot of tea. She brushed against him as she poured.

‘Where the devil is Bart?’

‘Gone to find work,’ Madeleine said.

‘Deuce, you did not stop him?’

‘He left before I came down.’

Bart would be out searching for some sort of back-breaking labour, or something so dangerous, only a few of the out-of-work war veterans would compete for the job.

‘He went to a lead factory in Islington,’ Sophie said, before a cough stopped her.

‘When?’

She held her throat, as if that would hold back another coughing spell. ‘An hour or more, I think.’

He could hire a hack and catch up to him. Devlin took a quick sip of his tea and rushed off to warn his sergeant not to risk his neck another time for Devlin’s sake.

He found Bart at the factory door where he and others hung about, hoping to be chosen for a job. The factory billowed black smoke and flecks of black ash covered the pavement and buildings. How could anyone abide such dismal surroundings?

‘Come on, Bart. Let us get you out of this damned place.’ He gestured his friend over to the hack.

Bart did not leave his place in the ragged line that had formed. ‘It is honest work, Dev, and pays well.’

‘You no longer need to break your back. Our fortunes have changed.’

Bart stared at him, hands on his waist. After a moment he abandoned the line and walked over to the hack.

Devlin explained the whole business as they rode back. Bart responded with a grim expression. ‘It is right enough, Dev, but I do not like it all the same.’ He shot Devlin a suspicious glance. ‘Are you certain you have thought this through?’

Devlin nodded, frowning. ‘This is not one of my impulsive acts. I have sat up half the night figuring this. We are mere days from having no blunt at all. What else can we do?’

The two men stared at the buildings passing by, the only sounds the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones and the shouts of vendors selling their wares.

‘When the time comes,’ Devlin said at last, ‘I want you to stay with Madeleine.’ He did not have to explain what he meant.

‘We have not been apart since Spain. I’ll not desert you now.’ Bart’s thick brows knitted together in one straight line.

Devlin regarded his friend with a wan smile. ‘Sophie will not wish to leave Madeleine, I expect, and I doubt you will wish to leave Sophie. Am I correct?’

Bart did not answer, but neither did his craggy brows move from their stern expression.

‘I can only do this if I know they remain safe.’ Devlin’s voice became low and insistent. ‘I must depend on you to look out for them. I will not be able to see to it myself.’

Bart stared at him as the hack neared St James’s Street. ‘I will do as you say.’

That afternoon, Madeleine was alone in the house. Linette napped. Sophie, who had insisted herself fully recovered, went to return her sewing to Madame Emeraude and get another batch. Bart accompanied her, so she need not carry the basket.

Devlin left to see the Marquess, to announce his decision to seek a wife so as to release his allowance.

Madeleine hated this solitude. Busy all morning, she had given herself no time to think of Devlin searching for a wife. And leaving her.

Now there were no distractions.

The only fantasy she could muster was of Devlin in a church with a beautiful lady like the Marchioness at his side, saying his vows. If she shook off that unwanted reverie, she saw him facing the same lady in his bed.

She grabbed her sewing and settled herself in the parlour’s window seat. The day was clear, the kind of day she once might have spent on horseback, galloping over the hills near her home. Those days felt as unreal to her as her fantasies about Devlin. She frowned over her stitches. Sophie had helped her design an apron to protect her dresses during the day. They had found an old bedsheet to make it with. Stitching was laborious, but she was determined to finish the garment when she was not needed helping Sophie with the dresses.

Sewing simply did not occupy enough of her mind, and this morning of all mornings she did not wish to think. Devlin would marry and she would be sent away.

She supposed she should be grateful that he intended to take care of her and Linette. It was a good fortune, a perfect solution to all their problems. Perhaps Devlin would visit after he wed. Lots of men kept mistresses, she knew. Several had offered her a carte blanche, but Farley inevitably found out and they never offered again.

She refused to rank Devlin the same as those odious creatures who used to drool over her. He was not like them. Being with him was so different than being with other men. So wonderful. Devlin was a man like no other.

She turned back to her stitches. Perhaps if she became truly skilled at sewing, she and Sophie could earn enough for a little place to stay, enough to feed and clothe themselves and Linette.

Devlin would be free.

Madeleine concentrated on speeding up her sewing, necessary for a seamstress. She tried very hard to keep the stitches the same size and close together. Sometimes she would forget to use the thimble and push on the needle with her bare finger. More often, she poked herself with the needle’s point instead of moving her fingers away.

For a few moments, the effort consumed her mind, but a noise in the street distracted her. A shiny barouche with a splendid pair of matched bays pulled up in front of the house. The horses were as fine as any she had ever seen. What stable had bred them? she wondered. They were identical in size, their markings so similar one would suppose they had been twins. She wished she had seen them in motion.

The knocker of the door sounded, and she jumped. She peeked out the glass to see who knocked. An unknown man stood there. The driver of the elegant equipage?

She opened the door.

The man who stood before her was more refined than any she had ever seen. His buckskins and driving coat were so finely tailored they looked moulded to his well-formed frame. His eyes, regarding her with a startled expression, seemed familiar, as did the set of his chin.

‘I was given this as Lord Devlin Steele’s direction.’ He eyed her as men usually did, but without the typical prurient gleam.