She dipped her head, hiding her face from him. ‘You are not obliged to house us.’
He tilted her face to him, his fingers under the soft skin of her chin. ‘I am obliged.’
Not that he understood it, but Devlin felt keenly responsible for them. What would happen to them otherwise?
She shook her head.
He held her gaze. ‘As you have said, you have nowhere else to go.’
She cast down her eyes.
‘Madeleine, you are no prisoner here, if you wish to go.’
Her glance flew back to him. ‘I do not wish to leave. You are correct. There is no place for me.’ Her voice cracked.
His finger drew a line down her cheek. ‘Let us not speak of this now. We have much to do.’
He watched her turn away, stooping down to hand Linette some clothing. ‘Put them in the trunk, Linette.’
The laces on the back of her dress were undone. ‘Let me lace you,’ he said, reaching for them as she stood up again.
She twisted away from his hand. ‘It is no use. The dress no longer fits.’
‘Change to another then. I will leave the room if you desire privacy.’
She kept her eyes on her daughter, a doll-like miniature of herself. ‘I have no other dress.’
‘No other dress?’
‘Well, there is the horrid red one, but Sophie washed it and it is quite wet still. I must have grown out of this one since last wearing it.’
He studied the frock, and it did indeed look unfashionably old and slightly girlish. ‘A long time ago, I collect.’
‘The day Farley brought me to London.’
Devlin heard the edge in her voice. How had she come to be in Farley’s clutches? ‘You brought only one extra dress?’
‘I did not want Farley’s clothes.’
Devlin raked his fingers through his hair. He had not calculated on having to purchase a wardrobe. Did the little maid and the child need to be clothed as well?
Madeleine regarded him, her eyes serious. ‘Do not worry. Sophie will know how to alter it. She is clever at such things. In the meantime, if I go out, I shall wear my cloak. It covers everything.’
‘We will get you clothes, Maddy.’
She lifted her eyes to him before walking over to Linette.
Later that afternoon, Madeleine held Linette’s hand as she walked through their new rooms. Linette chattered, and she answered automatically, trying to stay out of the way of Devlin and Bart, busily carrying in trunks and boxes.
She had feared Madame LaBelmonde would have furnishings as gaudy and garish as in Farley’s establishment, but these rooms were genteel, the golds, reds, and greens muted and beautiful. She might have chosen them herself. Would it not be lovely if this really were her house? She the mistress, and Devlin…
No, she must not pretend. But as she strolled through the rooms, she could not help herself.
She entered the parlour and ran her finger across the polished mahogany and silk upholstery. She pictured herself seated on the couch, and Devlin, on the nearby chair, reading the latest newspaper. Linette sat at her feet, playing with a doll. She ought to be doing something in this fantasy, but what? Her attempts at embroidery used to wind up in tangles, and she had never paid enough attention to sewing to know how to mend.
Sophie walked in the room in such high spirits her usually pale face was flushed with pink.
‘Oh, Maddy, it is the loveliest set of rooms I have ever seen. Do you think we may really stay? Look at the furniture. I should like to keep such nice tables polished. Do you think lemon oil or beeswax would do?’
Madeleine stared at her, not having any notion of what best polished wood, nor whether they might stay.
Sophie did not seem to notice she had not responded. ‘I shall ask Mr Bart.’ Sophie swept out of the room as quickly as she had come in.
‘Mama, I want Mr Bart!’ Linette pulled at her hand to follow Sophie.
‘No, Linette. Mr Bart has much to do right now. He’s moving boxes.’
‘I want boxes, too.’
‘Let’s explore the kitchen, shall we?’
She led Linette to the kitchen where the little girl opened cabinet doors, momentarily distracted by new discoveries within. Madeleine ran her hand over the cupboard, imagining life inside this kitchen. She saw herself kneading bread, and Devlin entering, kissing her cheek, and asking for his meal.
Folly! She knew not the first thing about making bread, nor how to cook a meal.
Devlin entered the kitchen, carrying a big wooden box. ‘Maddy, is the kitchen well supplied?’
She opened a cupboard. ‘There are things in here. Do you suppose it is adequate?’
Devlin stood next to her and peered in the open cupboard. ‘Hmm. Well, Bart will know.’ He set the box down on the table and walked out.
Much later, the five of them sat around that rough wooden table, having finished a hastily prepared meal of bread from the nearby bakery and hard cheese. Devlin poured each of them another glass of wine, giving Linette, seated on his lap, a small sip from his own glass. The little girl puckered her lips at the taste, and he laughed.
Madeleine gazed at all of them. She pretended they were a family, without a care, sharing a simple meal and pleasant conversation. The thought made her smile.
Devlin caught her eye and winked at her. ‘I propose a toast.’ He raised his glass.
‘I want toast,’ Linette said.
‘To our new abode,’ Devlin said.
‘New ’bode,’ Linette parroted.
‘Hear, hear,’ Bart responded.
‘It is a lovely place.’ Madeleine sipped her wine and swept her gaze from corner to corner.
Devlin gave her a smile. He’d had no idea that pleasing her would make him feel mellow and strangely content. He raised his glass again while Bart sliced a piece of cheese and handed it to Sophie. Little Linette banged on the table with both hands.
The mellow feeling returned. ‘Tomorrow, ladies, we shall visit the mantua maker. Outfit you properly.’
Panic came over the shy Sophie’s face. ‘Oh, no, my lord.’
Devlin at last saw an opportunity to befriend the skittish young woman. ‘Would you not like a pretty dress or two?’
Sophie shook her head and dared to glance up at him for a moment. ‘No pretty dress. Nothing pretty. A bit of fabric will do, if it is not too dear. I do not presume to ask, my lord.’
‘Sophie, you are part of our household. You deserve decent clothing.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ She slid off her stool and cleared the dishes.
Devlin rolled his eyes and caught Bart’s disapproving look before the man followed Sophie out of the room.
‘Do not mind her, Devlin,’ Madeleine said. ‘She does not want presents, I think.’
He took a gulp of his wine. Linette relaxed against his chest, still at last.
‘She is afraid of you.’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘Indeed.’
‘It is because you are a man.’
He ran a finger through Linette’s hair, brushing it off the child’s forehead. ‘Bart is a