Braddon had initiated the conversation with all his usual grace. “Sophie,” he stated, “you must listen closely to what I have to say.”

Sophie looked at Braddon in surprise. For one thing, he had addressed her formally during their brief engagement, at least when in public. Now she was “Sophie”?

There was a brief pause. “I need your help,” he said, rather less confidently.

Sophie smiled at her ex-betrothed. She felt expansively happy and willing to help anyone. “I’d be delighted to help you,” she assured him.

Braddon relaxed and lost a bit of his anxious bulldog look. “Here’s the thing, Sophie. You know I have to get married right away.”

She nodded, her eyes full of sympathy.

“Well, I’ve found the woman I want to marry.” He gulped. This was the stickler. “The problem is that Maddie—Madeleine—isn’t a lady.”

Sophie looked perplexed for a moment. Then her eyes widened.

“No!” Braddon half shouted. “She’s not one of the muslin company either, Sophie. For goodness’ sake!”

Sophie almost laughed at Braddon’s scandalized expression.

“She’s a lady inside, Sophie. And I’m not going to marry anyone but her.” His tone was fierce. “I could have got up to the sticking point with you, Sophie, you know that. But I’m not going to do it again. I want to marry Madeleine.”

Sophie blinked at the matter-of-fact way in which Braddon characterized their engagement. At least she needn’t worry about having hurt his feelings by jilting him. “Who … who is she?”

“Her father’s name is Vincent Garnier,” Braddon replied. His eyes pleaded for understanding. “Garnier has protected Madeleine’s reputation just as if she were a lady,” he said. “No one in London knows her, Sophie. No one except me, I mean. They came over from France after the troubles, and Madeleine doesn’t even speak perfect English yet.” He took a deep breath. “Her father is a horse trainer.”

Sophie’s heart sank. “You can’t marry the daughter of a horse trainer, Braddon.”

But Braddon smiled. “I’m not going to. I’m going to marry the daughter of a French aristocrat, guillotined back in ‘93.”

Sophie stared at him a moment. “Oh, no! Braddon, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can,” he replied, unyielding. “And what’s more, Sophie, you are going to help me.”

She shook her head.

“You owe me that, at least! You broke off our engagement without so much as a by-your-leave, and the very day after you convinced me to elope to Gretna Green. Do you know how that makes me look?” Braddon’s tone conveyed a strong sense of ill usage.

Sophie felt an embarrassed flush rising in her cheeks. “I am sorry, Braddon,” she said humbly. “But I can’t—what on earth could I do to help you marry this, this horse trainer’s daughter?”