“We won’t know which invitations to choose without you.”

“Nonsense!” Sophie said a bit sharply. “We already discussed this. In the next few weeks Madeleine will attend eight or nine public events, and you will pay your addresses to her at each one, and then you will announce your engagement at Lady Greenleaf’s ball.”

Braddon looked at her desperately. “Why don’t you want to?”

“Well,” Sophie said irritably, “if you must know, I would like to stay home from now on. I would like to see my husband.” Patrick invariably absented himself in the evening when Sophie spent the afternoon with Braddon, and she had made up her mind to see whether she could lure Patrick away from his black-haired strumpet.

“I told you Patrick wouldn’t like it,” Braddon retorted. “Got his back up about all these carriage rides with me, hasn’t he? Now I think of it, he’s been devilish sharp-set with me in the last few months.”

“He hasn’t said a word about them. Frankly, I don’t think he’s noticed.” Sophie’s voice was quiet but resolved.

“In that case,” Braddon said, remembering the more important agenda, “you don’t have any reason not to see Madeleine.”

Sophie pulled down her parasol and turned squarely to face Braddon. They were tooling their way down Water Street making, she thought with some irritation, straight for Vincent’s Horse Emporium, although she had clearly said no. “Lord Slaslow, pull the carriage over, please.”

Braddon hunched his shoulders and thought about how glad he was that he hadn’t married Sophie.

“Braddon!” The word had all the icy force of her mother’s commands.

He pulled over and hooked up the reins.

“Why do you want me to continue seeing Madeleine every week?” Sophie asked.

“She won’t see me unless you’re there, Sophie. Damme, she never even gives me a kiss anymore!”

“You will see Madeleine in the evenings. If you wish, after this week, you could invite her to go for a ride in the park with you, or to attend an afternoon entertainment. Suitably chaperoned, of course,” she added.

Braddon looked mutinous.

“Don’t be foolish, Braddon. I should like to go home now.” Sophie picked up her parasol again.

“I’m afraid, Sophie.”

She turned her head. Had she heard correctly? It seemed she had. Braddon’s sad beagle eyes were miserable, and fixed pleadingly on her face.

“We need you to help us, Sophie, right to the end. It’s only three weeks,” Braddon urged. “All this doesn’t come easily to me, you know. I’m afraid I’m going to make an ass of myself, and everyone will know that Madeleine is who she is, and—oh God, Sophie, when I thought up this scheme, I was thinking only of myself and Madeleine. I didn’t realize until a few days ago what it will do to m’mother if the truth gets out.”