He turned to Garnier. “I presume the marquis didn’t survive? He won’t be turning up in London, will he?”

Garnier shook his head firmly, his lips pressed in a straight line.

But Madeleine didn’t look entirely happy. “How can I pretend to be the daughter of the Marquise de Flammarion?” she said miserably, looking at her papa. “You have told me again and again how elegant, how perfect the marquise was. What of the people who knew her? They will take one look at me and know that I am nothing like the beautiful marquise!”

The two men who loved her most in the world looked at Madeleine blankly.

“You are beautiful,” Braddon said, absolute faith in his voice. “Besides, daughters often don’t look like their mothers. Look at my poor sister Margaret. M’mother used to swear that the girl had too many freckles to be her daughter, but Margaret made a perfectly reasonable marriage, for all that.”

There was a moment of silence after this tangled speech.

Vincent Garnier’s brows were drawn together in a terrible scowl. “You are a lovely girl,” he told Madeleine presumptively. “Besides, people will assume that you take after the marquis.”

“But they must have known what he looked like,” Madeleine persisted. “I am sure he was slim and elegant too.” She looked down at her curvaceous body. “I simply don’t look like an aristocrat!”

“You look better than any of those frivolous muffin-brained women,” her father bellowed. “I do not want to hear another word about it!”

Madeleine jumped in surprise. Her father was a taciturn man, not given to speaking overmuch. But he rarely shouted either.

“All right, Papa,” she agreed.

Braddon took her arm and smiled down at her, his blue eyes clear and truthful. “I wouldn’t want you to be slim and elegant, Madeleine. I want you just the way you are.” Something about his tone made a flush rise in Madeleine’s cheeks.

“Ne dîtes pas ça!” she protested. “Papa will hear you!”

But when Madeleine looked over at her father, he had turned back to his accounting books, and she couldn’t tell by the little smile tugging at his mouth whether he had heard Braddon’s comment or not.

“Go! Go!” Garnier barked. He looked sharply at Braddon. “You may ask Lady Sophie to visit us when she returns from her wedding trip. I should like to meet the woman who is supposed to teach my daughter to become a lady. From The Morning Post, she appears a mere fribble!”

Braddon bowed respectfully, hoping to God that Sophie was not one of those women who would put up a fuss about visiting a public stable. And hoping that the Lark would return to London soon.