“You can’t have everything you want,” Madeleine muttered, but her face was softening. Braddon could see it. And her hand wasn’t moving as briskly over Gracie’s side.

He looked at the neck of Madeleine’s starched white fichu and gulped. He longed to plunder the sweet flesh that flirted modestly behind her lace scarf.

“Only for three weeks, Maddie. In three weeks I can meet you at a ball, be swept off my feet, and we can marry by special license, the way Sophie and Patrick did. After we’re married, no one will think twice about your past. You will be the Countess of Slaslow, and no one questions a countess.”

For the first time, Madeleine looked torn, rather than adamantly set against the idea.

“I wouldn’t be able to do it,” she muttered, leaning her forehead against Gracie’s warm belly. “I am not an aristocrat, Braddon. I’m only a simple horse trainer’s daughter.”

He scoffed. He could smell victory. “Since when do simple horse trainers quote Rousseau and Diderot? Your father owns more books than he does saddles!”

Madeleine raised her head and looked straight into his eyes. “I am educated, Braddon; I can read. But that doesn’t make me a lady. What do I know about dancing and, and all those other things ladies can do? I know how to splint a foreleg, but I don’t even know how to embroider!”

Braddon scowled fiercely, ducking under Gracie’s neck and forcing his large body into the space at the back of the stall, next to Madeleine. “Don’t talk about yourself that way, Madeleine! You are more of a lady than most women I know. That embroidery business is all poppycock. My sisters couldn’t do it worth a fig. My mother wailed about it endlessly. None of ‘em learned to play the spinet or the harp, and Lord knows they’re terrible singers. That’s not what makes you a lady.”

Madeleine looked at him imploringly. “You simply don’t understand, Braddon. What about my clothing? I don’t have the right gowns, and Lady Sophie is so elegant.” She had read about Sophie in The Morning Post, which always carefully detailed where she had been, with whom, and, sometimes, what she was wearing. The very idea of meeting her was terrifying, let alone the idea of Lady Sophie teaching her how to be a lady.

“Sophie will take care of all that,” Braddon said carelessly. “I’ll give her some blunt so she can pick up a few dresses for you.” He was deeply enjoying the fact that Gracie’s huge bulk was pressing his body against Madeleine’s.