“Of course I mean Patrick,” she snapped. “What other husband do I have?”

“But, but—” Braddon was utterly nonplussed. “Why on earth not? Patrick has always been in on m’schemes. Not to say that he approves of ‘em, but …”

“If he is to find out, then I will not be available to tutor Miss Garnier,” she stated, her tone allowing no room for argument.

But obstinacy was second nature to Braddon. “Look here, Sophie. How are you going to explain where you are in the afternoon? What is Patrick going to think about the time you spend with Madeleine?”

Sophie shot him a stinging glance. “Husbands don’t watch their wives as if they were lapdogs. My mama does precisely as she pleases.”

There were a few seconds of silence as Braddon tried to decide how to point out that Sophie’s parents were not an appropriate exemplar.

“My mama couldn’t have gone somewhere every week without my father findin’ out,” he finally said lamely.

“I am quite certain that Patrick and I will have no disagreements over the matter,” Sophie replied. “I doubt he will express any interest in my whereabouts during the afternoons, but if he does, I will inform him that I am visiting the children’s section of Bridewell.”

“Bridewell! Patrick would never let you go to Bridewell,” Braddon exclaimed, thinking of the hospital for the poor, which was located in a highly disreputable area.

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to browbeat Madeleine like this?” she asked sweetly. “Because you might wish to know that ladies visit Bridewell regularly and play with the foundling orphans. We are welcomed by the hospital staff.”

“Oh Lord,” Braddon said, flustered. “Are you sure, Sophie? Why not simply tell Patrick, and then things will be so much easier?”

“I won’t. And if you tell him, I won’t lift a finger to help your Madeleine.”

“Of all the stupid crotchets!”

Sophie’s frayed temper mounted. “If it’s a stupid crotchet, then you can find someone else to help you, can’t you!”

Braddon cast her an appalled look. Trust a woman to start screeching just as a fellow had to transfer the reins to his whip hand.

“Don’t give it another thought,” Braddon said, once he had made the delicate maneuver and his horses were gently trotting through the archway and into St. James’s Park. “I’m sure you’re right. Now I think on it, Patrick wasn’t at all nice about my last scheme.”

In fact, the more Braddon thought about Patrick’s reaction to his “broken leg,” the gladder he was that Patrick would never know about his newest scheme. The expression on Patrick’s face when Braddon started smashing his adhesive plaster was not to be forgotten, but neither was the lecture he read him afterward. Fairly made his ears peal, it did.