and beautiful. She might have chosen them herself. Would it not be lovely if this really were her house? She the mistress, and Devlin…
No, she must not pretend. But as she strolled through the rooms, she could not help herself.
She entered the parlour and ran her finger across the polished mahogany and silk upholstery. She pictured herself seated on the couch, and Devlin, on the nearby chair, reading the latest newspaper. Linette sat at her feet, playing with a doll. She ought to be doing something in this fantasy, but what? Her attempts at embroidery used to wind up in tangles, and she had never paid enough attention to sewing to know how to mend.
Sophie walked in the room in such high spirits her usually pale face was flushed with pink.
‘Oh, Maddy, it is the loveliest set of rooms I have ever seen. Do you think we may really stay? Look at the furniture. I should like to keep such nice tables polished. Do you think lemon oil or beeswax would do?’
Madeleine stared at her, not having any notion of what best polished wood, nor whether they might stay.
Sophie did not seem to notice she had not responded. ‘I shall ask Mr Bart.’ Sophie swept out of the room as quickly as she had come in.
‘Mama, I want Mr Bart!’ Linette pulled at her hand to follow Sophie.
‘No, Linette. Mr Bart has much to do right now. He’s moving boxes.’
‘I want boxes, too.’
‘Let’s explore the kitchen, shall we?’
She led Linette to the kitchen where the little girl opened cabinet doors, momentarily distracted by new discoveries within. Madeleine ran her hand over the cupboard, imagining life inside this kitchen. She saw herself kneading bread, and Devlin entering, kissing her cheek, and asking for his meal.
Folly! She knew not the first thing about making bread, nor how to cook a meal.
Devlin entered the kitchen, carrying a big wooden box. ‘Maddy, is the kitchen well supplied?’
She opened a cupboard. ‘There are things in here. Do you suppose it is adequate?’
Devlin stood next to her and peered in the open cupboard. ‘Hmm. Well, Bart will know.’ He set the box down on the table and walked out.
Much later, the five of them sat around that rough wooden table, having finished a hastily prepared meal of bread from the nearby bakery and hard cheese. Devlin poured each of them another glass of wine, giving Linette, seated on his lap, a small sip from his own glass. The little girl puckered her lips at the taste, and he laughed.
Madeleine gazed at all of them. She pretended they were a family, without a care, sharing a simple meal and pleasant conversation. The thought made her smile.
Devlin caught her eye and winked at her. ‘I propose a toast.’ He raised his glass.
‘I want toast,’ Linette said.
‘To our new abode,’ Devlin said.
‘New ’bode,’ Linette parroted.
‘Hear, hear,’ Bart responded.
‘It is a lovely place.’ Madeleine sipped her wine and swept her gaze from corner to corner.
Devlin gave her a smile. He’d had no idea that pleasing her would make him feel mellow and strangely content. He raised his glass again while Bart sliced a piece of cheese and handed it to Sophie. Little Linette banged on the table with both hands.
The mellow feeling returned. ‘Tomorrow, ladies, we shall visit the mantua maker. Outfit you properly.’
Panic came over the shy Sophie’s face. ‘Oh, no, my lord.’
Devlin at last saw an opportunity to befriend the skittish young woman. ‘Would you not like a pretty dress or two?’
Sophie shook her head and dared to glance up at him for a moment. ‘No pretty dress. Nothing pretty. A bit of fabric will do, if it is not too dear. I do not presume to ask, my lord.’
‘Sophie, you are part of our household. You deserve decent clothing.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ She slid off her stool and cleared the dishes.
Devlin rolled his eyes and caught Bart’s disapproving look before the man followed Sophie out of the room.
‘Do not mind her, Devlin,’ Madeleine said. ‘She does not want presents, I think.’
He took a gulp of his wine. Linette relaxed against his chest, still at last.
‘She is afraid of you.’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘Indeed.’
‘It is because you are a man.’
He ran a finger through Linette’s hair, brushing it off the child’s forehead. ‘Bart is a man, I’ve noticed.’
‘True.’ She looked quizzical.
‘Well, Maddy, shall you and I visit the modiste or do you choose to be your own dressmaker, too?’
He meant to be good-tempered, but she responded with a wounded look.
‘I cannot sew.’
Lord, women were difficult.
‘It is of no consequence,’ he said, hoping to return to her good graces. ‘I’m sure we can find a skilful mantua maker. I would be pleased to see you in a pretty new dress.’
Her countenance changed, as if he had said something of great importance that had never occurred to her before. ‘Of course. I understand perfectly.’
He wished he understood. Devlin poured himself more wine and drained the entire contents of his glass. It was easier to evade the musket balls of an entire French battalion than to navigate a simple conversation with a female.
‘Linette is falling asleep. I need to make her ready for bed.’ Madeleine rose from her chair.
‘I’ll carry her.’ Devlin lifted Linette, and the little girl relaxed against him, a warm bundle more than comfortable against his shoulder.
He followed Madeleine into the bedchamber where they had set up Linette’s bed. A connecting door joined the two upstairs bedchambers. He wanted to think of Madeleine knocking softly on that door and coming to him in the night, but, after the morning’s débâcle, he was sure she would not do so.
Madeleine pulled out a tiny nightdress from the bureau. Linette’s meagre supply of clothing barely filled half a drawer, and Devlin vowed to ensure the child, as well as the mother, had a pretty new wardrobe.
‘Place her on the bed, please.’
He did so as gently as he could. ‘Toast,’ Linette murmured, opening her eyes momentarily.
Madeleine glanced at Devlin and smiled. How pleasant it felt. He had no idea domesticity could be
