The Foakeses did not meet for breakfast. They did not accidentally encounter each other in the hallway, nor did they attend the revival of The Taming of the Shrew, currently playing at the Covent Garden Theater. They did not meet because they never parted. The craving that had tormented Patrick was assuaged only by hours of wanton play and languorous touches. The despair that had plagued Sophie was soothed by a husband who gorged himself again and again on her body.
They did not speak of serious matters, but the world had righted itself again. Without words, they were back in the intimate world of the Lark. Sophie knew without asking that Patrick would not be going out that night. Patrick wondered at his own stupidity in ever thinking that Sophie didn’t care whether he joined her in bed. He’d had his share of lustful mistresses, but none had the thirsty, joyful desire of his own wife. So he apologized silently, without words, and was accepted ecstatically in the same way.
Chapter 21
The next morning Patrick and Sophie went to their own chambers after one last kiss. Down in the servants’ quarters, two bells chimed simultaneously.
“It’s for you, Keating,” bellowed Clemens in a cockney twang he never used once he passed the bronze door that separated the house from the downstairs. “And you too, Simone.”
Simone rolled her eyes, pushing away her half-eaten roll. “The master must have finally let her out of that bed. I hope she can walk.”
Keating gave her a slanting frown. “Don’t you talk that way about the master,” he growled.
Simone wrinkled her nose at his back as he dashed up the servants’ stairs. “Regular hoity-toity, he is,” she muttered to herself. “Just what does he think his beloved master was doing in bed all day yesterday? Playing chess?”
Sophie greeted Simone with a blissful smile. “Will you ring for my bath, please? I shall wear the green riding costume.”
Simone concealed a grin. Just what the master and mistress had been up to needed no explanation, to her mind. Just look how happy Lady Sophie was!
She did wonder whether the mistress had told him yet about the baby. Simone had guessed long ago, but the master seemed to have no idea. She looked around the room. He was sure to give Lady Sophie a piece of jewelry, or some such, when he heard the news. Diamonds, maybe. Everyone knew the master was a nabob.
For her part, Sophie was so happy that she floated into Braddon’s carriage when he arrived. She and Madeleine were planning to address the intricacies of table manners.
They had included Braddon in the afternoon lesson. For the most part Braddon had to be banished from their lessons because he spent all his time staring at Madeleine or, worse, trying to angle his way around the room so that he ended up sitting next to her.
“Men,” Madeleine had explained in delightful shorthand, “think only of kissing women, all the time. This I learned from my papa. He never let me meet any of the gallants who frequent the stables, because he said they would all try to steal kisses.”
“Then how did you ever meet Braddon?”
“Oh, Braddon.” Madeleine’s little laugh erupted. “One day the stables were not yet open, and I was taking care of my favorite mare, Gracie. I remember I had made her a mixture of warm oats. She’s getting a bit old,” she explained, “and I like to give