‘Do you like horses, Maddy?’
‘What?’ She glanced at him. ‘Oh, horses. I used to like horses.’
‘Not now?’ His mouth turned up at one corner.
‘I have not been on a horse since…for many years.’
‘You ride, then?’
She had careened over the hills, giving her mare her head, clearing hedges, sailing over streams. Nothing unseated her. She outrode every boy in the county and most of the men. When she could remain undiscovered, she spent whole days on horseback.
Had she not been out in the country on her mare, unchaperoned as usual, she might not have met Farley, might not have succumbed to his charm. Never riding again was fitting punishment for her fatal indiscretion.
She blinked away the regret. ‘You might say I used to ride horses as well as I now ride men.’
‘Maddy!’ Devlin stopped in the centre of the pavement and grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Do not speak like that. I ought to throttle you.’
She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘As you wish, sir.’
He let go of her and rubbed his brow. ‘Deuce, you know I will not hit you, but why say such a thing?’
‘Because it is true. I know what I am, Devlin. There is no use trying to make me otherwise. It is my only skill. Bart and Sophie can do all sorts of useful things. You, too. You can win at cards and go about in society. You have fought in the war. What could be more useful than that? But me, there is nothing else I know how to do.’
He extended his hand to her, wanting to crush her against him and kiss her until she took back her words. Though the kissing part might not prove the point, exactly, he admitted. He dropped his hand and, putting her arm through his, resumed walking.
After a short distance in silence, he said, ‘That’s what you meant last night. Saying it was the only thing you could do.’
She did not reply.
Devlin held his tongue. This was no place for such a conversation in any event. Besides, each time some handsome equipage passed by in the street, she slowed her pace a little.
He chuckled. ‘Horse mad, are you?’
She pointedly turned her head away from him.
‘Now do not deny it, Maddy. You are horse mad. I recognise the signs. I was myself, as a boy. Why, I liked being with the grooms better than anyone else. My brother, the heir, could not keep up with me when I rode, though he’s a good ten years my senior. Nothing he could do but report to Father that I was about to break my neck.’
He threw a penny to the boy who had swept the street in front of where they crossed.
‘Oh, look at all the shops!’ Madeleine exclaimed. ‘I had not reckoned there to be so many.’
Like a child at a fair she turned her head every which way, remarking on all the delicious smells and sights.
‘You have not been to these shops?’
She laughed. ‘Indeed not. I always wondered what the London shops would be like.’
‘You’ve been in London three years and have never seen the shops?’ This was not to be believed.
‘Lord Farley did not take me to shops.’
This time Devlin stopped. ‘Do you mean that devil did not let you out of that house?’
‘Not as bad as all that, I assure you.’ She patted his hand and resumed walking. ‘When Linette was big enough, I was allowed to take her to the park across the street. But only in the morning, not when other people might be about. And there was a small garden in the back of the house. Sophie and I were allowed to tend it, though I mostly had the task of digging the dirt, because I did not have the least notion how to make the flowers grow. I enjoyed feeling the soil in my hands, though.’
Such a small space of geography in which to spend more than three years. ‘I wish Farley to the devil.’
She gave him a look. It struck him as almost the same expression Sophie bestowed on Bart.
As they stood at the entrance to a shop with an elegant brass nameplate saying ‘Madame Emeraude’, Madeleine shrank back. Devlin had to practically pull her into the establishment. She held her fingers to the hood of her cloak, covering her face.
A modishly dressed woman emerged from the back. ‘May I be of assistance?’
Since Madeleine had turned away, Devlin spoke. ‘Good morning. Madame Emeraude, I collect?’
The woman nodded.
Devlin gestured to Madeleine. ‘The young lady is in need of some new dresses.’
‘Certainly, sir. Shall I show you some fashion plates, or do you have certain styles in mind?’
It irritated Devlin that the dressmaker addressed him directly instead of Madeleine, as if Madeleine were his fancy piece to dress as he wished, but, he supposed, in this neighbourhood, her clientele were almost exclusively from the demimonde.
‘Shall we step into the other room?’ She gestured elegantly.
He pulled Madeleine along to the private dressing room in the back. ‘The young lady is in somewhat of a fix. You see, she has only the dress she wears and we were hopeful to purchase something already made up.’
Understanding lit the woman’s eyes. ‘Let me see her.’
Since Madeleine was acting like a stick, Devlin had no choice but to treat her that way. He turned her toward the dressmaker and removed the cloak that obscured her.
‘Oh,’ said the woman in surprise. ‘Miss M, is it not? How delightful to see you again.’
‘How do you do, ma’am,’ Madeleine murmured politely, though Devlin did not miss the splotches of red on her cheeks.
‘Deuce,’ said Devlin.
‘Why, I believe I have a dress ready for you,’ said Madame Emeraude helpfully. ‘Do you recall we fitted it not a fortnight ago? Wait a moment and I shall see—’
‘No!’ Madeleine cried.
Devlin interceded, putting his arm around Madeleine. ‘We do not wish that dress.’
Madame Emeraude looked from the one of them to the other. ‘I see. It is a new day, is it not? Well, I am pleased for you, miss. That other one was charming, but I shall have no business with him, I tell you, until he pays—’ She caught herself. ‘I beg pardon. I only meant I wish you well, Miss M.’
‘Thank you,’ Madeleine said, continuing to look miserable.
Madame Emeraude smiled and began to consider her, stepping around her. ‘Oh, my,’ she said as she saw the open laces of Madeleine’s dress. ‘This dress does not fit. No, no, no. This will never, never do.’
‘You see our predicament.’ Devlin smiled. Madeleine fixed her interest on the floor.
‘Let me show you a few things I have on hand.’
Madame Emeraude signalled an assistant, who carried in one dress after another. Madeleine seemed to regard each garment with horror. They were, Devlin thought, merely dresses. A little fancy, perhaps.
As Madame conferred with her assistant, Madeleine whispered to him, ‘Devlin, please do not make me wear those dresses. This one I have will do, or Sophie can make me a plain one.’
‘What is wrong with them?’
‘They are not…respectable.’
He regarded her, rubbing his chin. ‘I see.’
When Madame Emeraude came back to them, Devlin took