Innocence in Regency Society. Diane Gaston
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to her, and she’d been his. He laughed, remembering how easy it had been to entice her to his room that night, her father bursting in at the perfect moment—when she’d been naked on top of him.
Yes, he’d get her back, he vowed. This time without the child she was stupid enough not to prevent. Perhaps he could make some money on the child. He knew men whose tastes went to ones as young as that. A little beauty like her mother, she would likely sell at a good price.
What revenge ought he to exact upon Steele? It would give him added pleasure to give that matter some thought.
Humming and jauntily swinging his walking stick, Farley continued on his way.
T he packages from their shopping expedition arrived that afternoon amid much excitement. The wide eyes of little Linette as she opened hers made all the extravagance worthwhile. Sophie, whom Devlin did not expect to break out in raptures, reverently fingered the cloth they had purchased.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Sophie whispered, though she did not meet his eye while saying it.
‘You did tolerably well, Dev,’ Bart said, watching Sophie’s every movement.
‘Indeed?’ He laughed. ‘I am unused to such high praise from you.’
‘The lass is happy. Mind you do not tease her, now.’ Bart shook his finger in warning.
Devlin tried to stifle his grin. ‘I shall endeavour not to.’
Madeleine was unusually quiet. She excused herself, saying she wished to unpack her dresses. Thinking of it, Devlin realised she had been just as solemn on the ride back home.
Linette held the horse up to Devlin, pulling on his trousers as she did so. ‘Horse! Horse!’ she said excitedly. It was inevitable. The horse captured the little girl’s attention and the expensive doll was ignored. Devlin sat down on the floor.
‘Shall we build a stable for your horse, Lady Lin?’ He gathered the blocks together and started building.
‘Wady Win,’ Linette parroted.
‘How much did all this cost, might I ask?’ Bart’s voice was deceptively casual.
‘I think you had better not ask,’ Devlin said ruefully. ‘I thought I might pay a visit to my brother tomorrow.’
Madeleine walked back into the room. ‘You will visit your brother?’
She did not need to know he intended to ask his brother for a small advance. ‘I promised my sister-in-law, as you recall.’
‘Oh.’ She sat on the settee and watched Devlin and Linette build the promised stable with the blocks.
‘Would you like me to make tea, Maddy?’ Sophie asked, dropping her fabric back into its box.
Madeleine popped up. ‘I will do it.’
‘You, Maddy?’ Sophie said. ‘It is not necessary.’
‘I want to. It is not so difficult, is it?’
‘Neigh! Neigh!’ Linette galloped her wooden horse, trying to make it jump over the blocks. The blocks tumbled.
‘Now, I was building that.’ Devlin ruffled the girl’s hair, making her giggle. He kept an eye on the mother.
‘I will do it, Maddy. Do not trouble yourself.’ Sophie started for the kitchen.
Madeleine insisted. ‘No, I will do it.’
‘It is my job,’ Sophie said, visibly upset.
Madeleine put her hands on her hips. ‘I would like to make it. I am tired of being waited upon as if I am no use at all.’
‘But, but…’ Sophie burst into tears and ran out.
‘That was badly done, miss.’ Bart gave her a stern expression. ‘The lass wishes to serve you. She credits you with sparing her much hardship.’ He marched after Sophie.
Madeleine glanced at Devlin, her hand rubbing her throat. ‘I did not mean to make her cry.’
Devlin understood. She wanted to feel she had some use beyond the bedchamber. He had even less to offer, except the money his brother controlled, if he could get it. If Madeleine wished to make tea, what was the harm?
He turned back to the blocks. ‘Maddy, if it would not be too much trouble, would you make me some tea?’
The next morning Devlin walked up to an impressive town house on Grosvenor Square and rapped with the shiny brass knocker. The heavy door opened and a solemn-faced butler almost broke into a smile.
‘Master Devlin.’
‘Barclay, you never change.’ Devlin did smile. ‘I trust you are well?’
The man took his hat and gloves. ‘Indeed, I am, Master Devlin.’
‘Is my brother here?’
‘He is expected directly, my lord. Shall I announce you to her ladyship?’
‘If you please.’
He followed Barclay to the parlour, decorated with Serena’s usual perfection, couches and chairs arranged to put visitors at ease. A moment later, the Marchioness came through the door.
‘Devlin, you kept your promise. How good to see you.’ She reached out her hands to him.
He clasped them warmly and kissed her cheek. ‘Serena, you are in excellent looks, as usual.’ His brother’s wife had the cool beauty of the fine china figurines gracing the mantelpiece, disguising her warm-hearted nature. Her reserve and unceasing correctness could so easily be mistaken for coldness.
She coloured slightly. ‘Do sit with me and tell me how you go on. I’ve already rung for tea.’
He joined her on the couch. ‘I am well, Serena.’
She peered at him worriedly. ‘Are you sure? You look a little pale. Do your wounds still pain you?’
He laughed. ‘I am quite well. Thoroughly recovered and there is no need to fuss over me. Where is Ned?’
‘Attending to some business.’ Her brows knit together. ‘Are you in trouble, Devlin?’
‘Good God, no, Serena.’ Her solicitude rivalled his brother’s. ‘I have something to discuss. Nothing to signify.’
The tea arrived and she poured with precision. He sipped the liquid, brewed to perfection, and thought how different this cup was from the strong, leaf-filled concoction Madeleine had made the day before.
Serena spoke. ‘It was pleasant seeing you yesterday.’
‘Indeed.’
‘That young lady—Miss England, I believe—was lovely. Who is she, Devlin?’
He should have expected this question. He gave Serena a direct look. ‘An acquaintance.’
Her eyebrows raised.
He held her gaze.
Serena glanced down demurely. ‘Does she interest you?’
Did Madeleine interest him? Keeping her safe interested him. Making love to her interested him, but he would not explain that to Serena. At least Serena must not suspect Madeleine to be anything but a well-bred young lady, unchaperoned though she had been. She would not have mentioned Madeleine at all if she had thought her to be Haymarket-ware, as Madeleine called herself.
‘She is an acquaintance, Serena,’ he repeated in a mild voice.
She tilted her head sceptically, but was much too well bred to press any further.
They sat in awkward silence.
‘I