Innocence in Regency Society

Chapter Four

D evlin woke sharply, still sitting in the chair. The candles had burned down to stubs and the peek of dawn came through the windows. Madeleine cradled the child in her arms. The child was still.

‘My God, is she…?’ No, it was unthinkable.

‘She’s sleeping.’

Devlin’s heart started beating again.

Madeleine shuddered. ‘Her fever broke and she fell asleep. I thought I would lose her, Devlin. It is what I deserved.’

‘Nonsense.’ Weak with relief, he stretched his stiff limbs. ‘She is through the illness, then?’

She nodded, her cheeks wet with tears.

While she had kept her anxious vigil, he had fallen asleep. Damned if he was not a useless sot. He stood up and, with a tentative hand, stroked the child’s hair.

He kissed the mother on the forehead. ‘Now you can get some sleep, as well. To bed, Madeleine, the babe can lie with us.’

He urged her up by her elbow and put an arm around her waist as he escorted her to the bed.

She looked about to protest.

He grinned. ‘Now don’t get in a twist. I’m too tired to remove my clothes and so are you. We will be as proper as peas.’

She removed her slippers and laid Linette on the bed. Devlin’s boots had long been tossed into a corner, as had his coat and waistcoat. He turned down the covers, and she crawled in. When he took his place next to her, he tucked her against him and promptly fell back to sleep.

When Madeleine woke, she was alone in the bed.

Linette. Where was Linette? She scrambled out of the covers and ran to the door.

Opening it, she saw Devlin seated at the table, Linette on his lap. The child giggled as she pulled on Devlin’s nose. Two dark curly heads so close together.

Devlin turned his head to escape the assault on his nose. He spied Madeleine. ‘Good morning, sleepyhead.’

‘Deddy’s nose,’ cried Linette, pushing Devlin’s head back with two chubby hands on his cheeks. Devlin pretended to resist.

‘Would you like some nourishment, miss?’ asked Bart, pulling out a chair for her.

She glimpsed Sophie perched on a stool near the kitchen alcove, looking smaller and more childlike than ever. Sophie jumped down and disappeared into the scullery.

‘Our girl has made a remarkable recovery, wouldn’t you say, Maddy?’

Hearing Devlin say ‘our girl’ gave her heart a lurch. Nor did the familiarity of him calling her Maddy escape her notice.

‘She seems fit,’ she agreed.

‘Mama!’ Linette scrambled off Devlin’s lap and flung herself into Madeleine’s. ‘I got Deddy’s nose!’

‘I saw, sweetling.’ She kissed the top of Linette’s head and felt her forehead with her hand. It felt blessedly cool.

Bart brought a tray of tea things, followed by Sophie carrying a plate of biscuits. He set the tea service beside her and poured her a steaming cup. ‘Do you want some tea, Dev?’

Devlin nodded.

Linette pointed to the biscuits, ‘I want one.’

Madeleine placed a biscuit on a plate and lifted Linette on to the other chair to eat it.

‘Maddy, you’re a sight.’ Devlin blinked at her over his cup. ‘That awful dress.’

She glanced down at the crumpled red silk.

‘Would you like Bart to fill you a bath? We have a tub hereabouts, don’t we, Bart?’

‘I believe so,’ Bart responded.

Before Madeleine could think of what she wished to reply, Bart fetched the large tub, carrying it into the bedchamber while Sophie put on more water to boil. When they began to carry buckets to fill the tub, Madeleine offered to assist, but Devlin would not let her. Even Linette helped, carrying small pitchers of water, spilling more than made it into the tub. It felt all wrong to be so pampered.

When the bath was filled, Devlin brought her into the bedchamber. Bart and Sophie took charge of Linette, but Devlin remained. Madeleine began to understand.

Devlin closed the door and leaned against it. ‘Shall I play lady’s maid for you?’ His voice was velvet.

It was time for her to pay for his kindness. Farley had taught her how.

She cast Devlin a demure look under her lashes and strolled over to the bath. ‘As you wish, sir.’

He moved closer, as smooth a motion as a stalking cat. Presenting her back to him, she lifted the long tangled curls off her shoulders. His hands slid up the length of her back. Slowly he undid her laces, his fingers light and dextrous. She remembered him fumbling with her laces all those years before. Her body lapsed into a languid state. His hands slipped under her dress and ran over her skin like warm liquid.

The wrinkled red silk dress fluttered to the floor. Next came her shift. When she was fully naked, she knew he would wish to see. She turned to face him.

As she expected, his eyes feasted on her, darkening with arousal. She had learned to stand still for a man’s visual pleasure.

He took time to regard her, longer than she thought she could bear. His gaze disturbed her. Not precisely as the ogling from Farley’s clientele had done, but in an indefinable, unsettling way. His eyes finally reached her face.

‘You are lovely.’ The corner of his mouth turned up, and his dimple deepened.

The next move belonged to her. She stepped toward him and reached out her hand to caress his neck. She had not intended to kiss him, but he leaned down, and she had only to rise on tiptoe to reach his lips. He crushed her against him, standing wide-legged so she could feel his arousal pressing into her. For a moment she forgot her role and simply revelled in the strength of his muscles, the sweetness of his mouth, the feel of his hands pressing into her back, sliding down to hold her tightly against his groin. She did not realise how quickly she removed his shirt, how efficiently she freed him from his trousers, how she clung to him as he carried her to the bed.

‘Madeleine.’ His voice was a groan as he placed her on the bed and climbed atop her. His lips feathered her cheek and neck, soft, warm, and hungry. Her heart raced in excitement. His tongue circled the pink of her nipple, and all her senses sprang to life. She ached with wanting him.

She was spiralling out of control at the precise moment she ought to check herself. She had succumbed to the ecstasy of Devlin’s lovemaking once, but that interlude belonged to daydreams. She must shield herself, protect herself from feeling, just as she’d done when required to endure the attentions of other men. The Mysterious Miss M could not be hurt, or humiliated, or betrayed, because The Mysterious Miss M felt nothing at all.

The Devlin of her daydreams was not the same Devlin whose hand now stroked the flesh of her belly, whose mouth rained kisses over her breasts. She would not be fooled, no matter what kindnesses he chose to make. Ultimately, all men served their own needs, and demanded payment for any small favour they bestowed. If they were refused, they could be very cruel.

It had been that way after the enchanted night with Devlin so many years ago. Farley had come afterwards to claim his pleasure, but Madeleine refused him. He went into a rage that left her bruised and in pain. The next day, Farley departed on one of his mysterious long trips. By the time he returned, Madeleine knew herself to be with child.

Now Devlin’s hands and lips threatened to engulf her in sensation. She remained still, resolving to repay him for rescuing her, for taking in Sophie, for snatching her child from the clutches of death, but she would not allow herself to feel anything.

She pushed on his shoulders, and he lifted his head.

‘Shall I pleasure you now, my lord?’ She modulated her voice to a velvet smoothness, as she’d rehearsed many times.

He leaned on his elbow, his expression puzzled. ‘Pleasure me?’

She deliberately slithered out from beneath him, facing him instead. She ran her finger in circles on his chest. ‘I wish to please you. Tell me what I must do to pleasure you.’

He grabbed her hand and searched her face. ‘What the devil…?’

She laughed, making a throaty sound Farley insisted she learn. ‘Oh? Would you like me to be wicked? I can be wicked, my lord, if that is what you wish.’

He dropped her hand and sat up, rubbing his face.

She pretended to look wounded. ‘What is amiss, my lord? I shall do whatever you desire.’

‘Stubble it, Maddy.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his clothes.

‘Do not be vexed.’ Retaining her velvety voice, she pressed herself against his back. ‘I would not wish you unhappy.’

His muscles stiffened. ‘And I do not wish to play this game of yours. We are not at Lord Farley’s establishment, Miss M.’

‘Game?’ She sat back, blinking in confusion.

He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his shirt and groped around for the rest of his clothes, donning each piece as he came to it. ‘You are acting like cheap Haymarket-ware.’

She blinked at him, covering herself with the bed linens. ‘I do not know what that means.’

He glared at her. ‘It means lightskirt, Cyprian, dolly-mop. Shall I continue?’

Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘But that is what I am.’

He grabbed at the linens covering her and yanked them away. Before Madeleine could protest, he picked her up and dumped her into the now-tepid bath water.

‘How dare you!’ she shouted before she remembered that men did not like it if you showed them anger.

He lunged down at her face, and she drew back, fearful of the price he’d exact from her show of temper. Only an inch lay between their lips.

His voice became disturbingly low. ‘You cannot fool me, Maddy. You wanted me as much as I wanted you.’ As quickly, he strode out the room, slamming the door behind him.

Dripping with water, Madeleine burst into tears, but she did not know if it was because she had angered him or because what he’d said had been only too true.

‘Can you make it fit, Sophie?’

Madeleine stood in the centre of the bedchamber while her friend pulled on the strings of her dress. Though her hair, now in a braid down her back, remained damp, all other signs of the bath had been removed. Not from Madeleine’s mind, however, where Devlin’s angry eyes continued to haunt. She rubbed her temples.

Sophie tugged on the material of the dress. ‘It is too small, Maddy, and the seams cannot be let out.’

‘Oh, bother,’ she mumbled.

The door slammed. Footsteps sounded in the outer room. ‘Bart! Bart!’

Madeleine felt the blood drain from her face. Devlin had returned.

‘Where is everybody?’ He entered the bedchamber.

Sophie shrank back to a corner. Madeleine braced herself.

Surprisingly, he wore a grin on his face. He walked briskly over to her, lifted her off the ground, and swung her around. ‘I have a surprise for us. Where is Bart?’

‘Here I am, Dev.’ Bart appeared in the doorway, holding Linette’s hand. Linette had her thumb in her mouth.

Devlin released Madeleine. ‘We’re moving. Right now. We have to pack.’

‘Did you get us tossed out of here?’ Bart asked, his eyes narrowing.

Devlin clapped Bart on the shoulder, smiling broadly. ‘No, I’ve merely secured lodging spacious enough for the lot of us.’

Madeleine’s hands flew to her face. For all of them? What of sending them away?

‘Explain yourself, lad.’ Bart said.

‘I have procured the lease to Madame LaBelmonde’s apartments,’ Devlin responded, grinning.

‘Madame LaBelmonde?’ Madeleine raised an eyebrow.

‘Two bedchambers above stairs and two below. A parlour, dining room, and a proper kitchen.’ He placed his hands on his hips in satisfaction. ‘It should do very well.’

‘A sizeable rent, I suppose?’ Bart pursed his lips.

Devlin shook his head. ‘Not beyond our touch, once my quarterly portion is in hand.’

Bart clucked his tongue. ‘How do we pay until then?’

Devlin tossed Madeleine a broad wink before answering Bart. ‘I wagered the first month’s rent on a roll of the dice and won. My recent winnings should pay the second.’

‘You wagered the rent?’ Madeleine gasped. Visions of foolish, ruined men, their faces bleak and despairing, leaving Farley’s gaming rooms flashed through her mind. She remembered the sounds of angry words, overheard years ago outside her parents’ bedchambers.

‘Lord Devlin is a sad gamester, ma’am,’ Bart told her.

‘What else was I to do with my time but play cards?’ Devlin countered. ‘We shall go on very well, I promise.’

Madeleine wondered about more than the rent. ‘Who is Madame LaBelmonde?’

Devlin smiled at her. ‘A close neighbour.’

‘Close?’

‘Indeed. She has found a new protector. Lord Tavenish, I believe. He purchased a town house for her. She leaves her furnishings.’

‘Lord Tavenish,’ Madeleine repeated. A frequent visitor at Farley’s, Lord Tavenish had been well over fifty with sagging skin, and a sour smell. Would a town house be worth such a man?

Bart blew out a breath. ‘Well, what is done is done.’

‘Indeed.’ Devlin grinned. ‘We have not a moment to lose. There is a tenant interested in these rooms.’

‘These rooms? Already?’ Bart asked.

‘The matter is completely settled. I called upon our landlord and made an arrangement with him. If we move out today, our debt to him is forgiven.’

Little Linette let go of Bart’s hand and tottered over to Madeleine. ‘Up, Mama.’ She reached her hands up. Bart turned on his heel, muttering about setting to the task and hotheadedness. Sophie quietly crept along the wall until she, too, reached the door.

Devlin turned to Madeleine, his smile taking her breath away. She spun to face the wardrobe, gathering Devlin’s clothing to pack in the trunk.

‘You rented these accommodations to include us?’ She could not believe it. There must be some mistake.

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him again. ‘Yes, to include you. We could not get on here, all of us, in this small space.’

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 man, I’ve noticed.’

‘True.’ She looked quizzical.

‘Well, Maddy, shall you and I visit the modiste or do you choose to be your own dressmaker, too?’

He meant to be good-tempered, but she responded with a wounded look.

‘I cannot sew.’

Lord, women were difficult.

‘It is of no consequence,’ he said, hoping to return to her good graces. ‘I’m sure we can find a skilful mantua maker. I would be pleased to see you in a pretty new dress.’

Her countenance changed, as if he had said something of great importance that had never occurred to her before. ‘Of course. I understand perfectly.’

He wished he understood. Devlin poured himself more wine and drained the entire contents of his glass. It was easier to evade the musket balls of an entire French battalion than to navigate a simple conversation with a female.

‘Linette is falling asleep. I need to make her ready for bed.’ Madeleine rose from her chair.

‘I’ll carry her.’ Devlin lifted Linette, and the little girl relaxed against him, a warm bundle more than comfortable against his shoulder.