“I’ll tell you what, Maddie, that old woman is right. Your mother would be proud of you now. You learned all the things that she would have liked to have taught you, and you’ve turned into the most beautiful, most proper lady I’ve ever seen.”

Madeleine buried her face in Braddon’s shoulder. “Oh, Braddon,” she said, half muffled. “I love you.”

“You do? You do? Do you, Maddie? Really?”

At that Madeleine laughed, a watery little laugh. “I do.”

“Oh, Maddie.”

And, when he raised his head again: “Marry me, Maddie, please.”

“I already said I would,” she whispered, with just a trace of her normal impish humor.

“No, I mean marry me now. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

“Do you mean elope?”

“For you, I will even climb a ladder,” Braddon said seriously.

Maddie’s endearing laugh erupted. “I sleep on the ground floor, Braddon.” Then she grew more serious. “No, I can’t elope. My father wouldn’t like it. But perhaps we could marry quite soon.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow.”

“Day after.”

“No!”

“Next week?”

Braddon’s kisses were so sweet. Maddie’s heart flip-flopped madly in her chest. “Next week,” she conceded.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The following morning Sophie walked into her sitting room with a renewed sense of energy. To this date, Sophie had simply inhabited the room; now she planned to make it her own. True, the room had been wallpapered by its last occupant in a dizzying series of trellises crammed with roses so fat that they looked like pink clouds, but that she didn’t mind. Although she did object to the figurehead of a naked woman that incongruously decorated one wall.

The first thing Sophie did was ring the bell for a footman. Then she began pulling books from the low shelf under the window. The books had spilled out of Patrick’s library downstairs. She pulled them out at random, created spiraling stacks on the polished wood floor. They were an odd mixture. Sophie dumped The Care and History of Husbandry on top of God’s Exhortation Against Witchcraft, followed by a series of dusty bound pamphlets explicating the miracle of the steam engine.

As the door opened, Sophie said “Good morning,” briskly, but didn’t turn around. “I’d like all these books taken up to the attic, please, as well as that … that woman.” She waved at the figurehead gracing the south wall.

“Sophie! You should be more careful.” Patrick loomed behind her, frowning. “You are not lifting heavy books, are you?”

Sophie dusted her hands on her dress, not even thinking of Simone’s reaction to the brown streaks she left on her lemon-yellow morning gown. She looked up at her husband, trying to keep all traces of sarcasm from her voice. After all, she might have been hoisting boxes of books in the last month, without his knowledge.