“Are you still planning to set up your mistress in a house in Mayfair?” Patrick asked casually.

“No,” Braddon replied. “As a matter of fact, we went our separate ways.” He avoided looking at Patrick, who had a discomfitting way of knowing when Braddon was fibbing.

Patrick raised a sardonic eyebrow at Braddon’s downcast face. Ashamed, was he? Damn well should be, given that he had apparently ditched his mistress in order to set up Sophie in her place.

Both men turned around as Sophie, exquisitely groomed and wearing a shimmering pale rose gown, walked down the stairs. Her eyes surveyed her husband with perfect friendliness.

“I hope you are having a good day.”

Try as he might, Patrick could sense no bite in Sophie’s mild words.

She took Braddon’s outstretched arm and gave her husband a charming smile. “Perhaps I shall see you later?”

Patrick shook his head, not because he had plans to eat elsewhere, but just to see whether he could shake her calm. Apparently not.

“I’ll wish you good night, in that case,” Sophie said pleasantly. She and Braddon walked out the door.

“Damme,” Patrick said. He turned and walked back into the library, where he had spent the night.

Sophie swallowed hard as she climbed into Braddon’s carriage, biting back the wish to retreat to her bedchamber. But, in fact, the afternoon turned out to be a delight. When Sophie considered whether or not to grant Braddon’s request, she didn’t give a second thought to the woman he had fallen in love with. A horse trainer’s daughter? Impossible. But Madeleine was wonderful: French, practical, and very funny.

She and Sophie found themselves in gales of laughter, discussing the intricacies of proper behavior. Aspects of manners that Sophie had simply taken for granted, Madeleine found ridiculous.

“But why must I fib if someone spills his soup on me?”

“Because you must,” Sophie said lamely. “Perhaps one day a drunken duchess will splatter meat juice all over your face. It happens; I’ve seen it. Even as you wipe your face, you must deny that the accident happened.”

“Poppycock!” Madeleine had a laugh that burst out of her like small fireworks.

Teaching her to be a lady wasn’t going to be as difficult as Charlotte had thought. Madeleine had an innate, natural grace that simplified their lessons. Sophie taught her a court curtsy, la révérence en arrière. By the end of the afternoon, Madeleine had it to perfection. She sank back with exquisite grace, her back foot sliding on the toes so that only her heels touched.

Sophie’s mouth fell open. “It took me weeks of practice to achieve that, Madeleine!”

Madeleine grinned. “I shall curtsy to each horse in the morning.” And they turned to the art of formal introduction.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18