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