Chapter 10

Sophie followed Basile onto the dance floor and took her position across from him in the line, curtsying to her partner as the minuet began. She had never been more upended by her circumstances than she was now. Here she was in a foreign country, supposedly betrothed to a man who possessed a title and was in a station far above her own, vulnerable and exposed, dependent upon him for finances and her reputation—her grandmother unable to guide or shield her, her only English friend proving himself to be no friend at all. She was astonished that she was not prostrate from the anxiety of her situation.

She slipped her hand into his, their stares locked as she moved in pattern to the next partner. She could feel his eyes on her when she left his hands. Sophie had always thought herself independent, a woman who knew her own mind. But all that she had thought quite firm and unshakable within her dismantled under his touch. Earlier in her house, when he had stepped close to press a patch upon her cheek, she could not breathe. Could not move until he released her from his touch. It was an inexplicable emotion to be so helpless when he drew near. It could not be love—it was much too soon to declare such a thing. It must simply be attraction.

And he was attractive. Not only in physical appearance—indeed he was that—but in charisma. There was a magnetism about him that pulled her toward him—pulled her eyes, pulled her arm into his, pulled her person to draw near until she had established herself firmly at his side. Oh, she was in grave danger of giving her heart to the man if she was not careful. For he could never be anything more to her than a charming acquaintance she once knew in Paris.

Regardless of how much she questioned her attraction to him, she could not question his trustworthiness. He might be a liar, for all she knew. He might be impoverished, a gentleman of no consequence who ingratiated himself into French society, but…

But no. That was impossible. Basile was who he said he was. Besides what society and his friends said of him, he just wasn't someone who seemed false.

He bowed to her at the end of their dance and brought her to Zoé's mother and sister just as Zoé and her partner returned, her eyes sparkling. "Sophie, do you know Mr. Arlington?"

The Englishman greeted Sophie by bowing before her. "Indeed, we have not had that pleasure. How do you do?"

She murmured a suitable reply, and Zoé leaned in to whisper something to him. Sophie watched them, struck now by what she saw was a clear partiality on both sides. He listened intently to what Zoé said, allowing himself to linger before standing upright to return his gaze to Sophie. Zoé's attention was pulled by her sister.

"Mademoiselle Sainte-Croix informs me that you are betrothed to Monsieur le Marquisde Verdelle." Mr. Arlington glanced in Basile's direction where he had gone in search of refreshments. "I had heard that he was betrothed to an Englishwoman but did not know who until now. I must congratulate you. I understand the queen is in favor of your match and is eager to meet you."

"Wh…what?" Sophie's breath left her at once. The queen? Marie-Antoinette? How had she even heard of it? Basile surely would not have announced it.

Before she could answer, Mr. Arlington smiled reassuringly. "Yesterday, Lord Stormont was invited to have an audience with her, and it was there that he learned of the beautiful Englishwoman." He darted a glance at Zoé's back. "Those were the queen's words. That a beautiful Englishwoman had captured the heart of an elusive French marquis. The whole court is talking of it."

Zoé turned from her conversation with her sister and caught the last part. Something in Mr. Arlington's words seemed to strike her as funny, and she hid her smile behind her fan.

Basile returned, delivering a glass of Champagne to Sophie. He then noticed Zoé empty-handed, surrendered his own glass to her, and looked around at the awkward silence. "What did I miss?"

"The queen knows of our betrothal?" Sophie asked him, fear creeping up her spine. She did not know precisely what she feared. Oh, everything, she supposed. She was so wholly out of her element in this country and in this dangerous game they were playing.

"Ah." Basile looked chagrined and glanced at Mr. Arlington. "You had it from the ambassador?" When Mr. Arlington nodded, he turned back to her. "Indeed. I do not know how she knew, but she is remarkably well connected. Someone must have been at Madame Beauchamp's dinner, whose task it is to report back to her anything of an interesting nature."

Sophie waited for him to elaborate—to reassure her—but he merely shrugged. "It is of no account. I gave her a brief recital of our meeting and hinted that it was un véritable coup de foudre."

"I always told you that when at last you fell in love, it would be a case of love at first sight," Zoé said, her mirth escaping in a giggle. Mr. Arlington studied her, his serious expression close to a frown. He must have wondered what about it made Zoé laugh, but then, he did not know it was not a true engagement. It also seemed he could not entirely hide the jealous feelings he held toward the marquis. That she could understand. Basile and Zoé were so close as to cause anyone with a particular interest to wonder if they might cherish secret feelings for one another. She would be tempted to be jealous as well except that she had no cause to be, for she had no real claim whatsoever on Basile.

Basile stopped Zoé from elaborating with a look, and something of an understanding passed between them that did not serve to alleviate Mr. Arlington's suspicions, for he soon took a cold leave of Zoé.

As soon as he was gone, her face fell. "I do not understand Englishmen. They just grow reserved and pull back their affection the minute they are no longer the center of a woman's attention. Why is that?" She turned to Sophie suddenly. "How can any woman give her undivided attention to one man?"

Sophie glanced at her in surprise. "I…I do not know." She thought of the men of her acquaintance. Sheldon would certainly not pull back his attention when a woman wasn't interested. He would only increase it until he was bludgeoning her to death by his regard. In fact, she wished he would pull back. "Perhaps it is only that he feels strongly?—"

She stopped herself. She did not wish to voice her suspicions about the nature of Mr. Arlington's interest, although Zoé seemed far from being offended by her familiarity.

Sophie tried again. "I could not help but notice that perhaps the two of you harbor a…preference for one another? And yet—if you will forgive me for frank speaking—you do not appear to return his feelings in a way that would cast out all doubt. I believe some men are proud and will withdraw their heart rather than risk their affection not being returned."

Zoé lowered her eyes, her lips straightening in a firm line. "That shows no courage at all. Perhaps such men are not worth fighting for, then. Why should a woman cease to enjoy herself for fear that a man might decide her smiles are too easily given?"

Sophie glanced at Basile, who was watching her. His face was absent of its usual glint of humor as though he were truly curious about her answer.

"You may be right," she said cautiously. "But those same men might very well fight for a woman's heart if only they are assured of their love being returned. Wholeheartedly, faithfully, and with a single focus."

She glanced back at Basile, and his lowered eyelids made it impossible to discern what he was thinking or whether he thought her advice sound. In the next moment, one of Zoé's admirers came to join the circle and carried her away for a dance.

"Wholeheartedly, faithfully, and with a single focus," he said, smiling at Sophie until her breath evaporated. "I told Zoé something along the same lines, but it is much prettier having it come from your lips."

Sophie discoveredhow enjoyable it was to experience a ball at Basile's side. He left her at regular intervals as was fashionable, but she felt his steady presence and it brought her a sense of protection. And, miracle upon miracle, he was able to pull Zoé and her sister and mother away at little after midnight, claiming a long ride home.

The next morning, Sophie peeked into her grandmother's room and found her supported by cushions so she was able to sit partially upright. It was the first time her grandmother was seated thus and fully alert, and Sophie knew it was time to talk to her about the bills first and foremost, but also to tell her about the betrothal. As she entered the room, Jeannot patted her arm affectionately.

"I will leave you."

Sophie murmured her thanks, glancing after the nurse. She had not seemed to lose her remarkable energy even in the past days caring for Mrs. Twisden.

Returning her regard to her grandmother, Sophie came over and sat on the chair near her bedside. She clasped one of her hands and smiled at her. "You look well."

"I do feel improved. But it is too soon to think of leaving the bed, as much as I would like to."

"Much too soon," Sophie replied, admonition touching her voice. "I am too thankful to see you recovering to wish for you to relapse into another bout of illness."

"I can't believe I have wasted so much of our precious time in Paris by being bed-bound." Her grandmother sighed.

She reached her other hand out and Sophie understood she wished for water, which Jeannot had managed to infuse with lemon. The nurse had taken the morning to return to the marquis's house and replenish her stock from the greenhouse there. Sophie owed a debt of gratitude to the marquis she would not be able to pay.

When her grandmother had finished drinking, she handed the glass back to Sophie and asked, "How is our Sheldon doing? I hope he has managed to find enough to amuse himself with in Paris. He agreed to this trip as a great favor to me. Otherwise, I think he would never bestir himself to leave England."

"As to that," Sophie began, her brows knit, "is it true that he not only arranged the trip, but also financed it?"

Mrs. Twisden sent Sophie a startled glance, then dropped her eyes. "So you know about that. I meant to tell you."

She fell silent and when Sophie grew tired of waiting for more, she prompted her. "Why did you do it? Of course Sheldon has expectations of marriage if he is purchasing my gowns and everything else on this journey."

Irritation had seeped into her voice, and she did not wish to be irritated with her grandmother. She was the only person Sophie had left on this earth, but this incautious agreement to allow Sheldon to foot their bills seemed most unlike her.

"Sheldon proposed it when I confessed I wished to go to Paris but had not the means. At the beginning, he did not bring up the idea of marriage as a consequence, and I assumed he had decided to help because of his friendship with your father. When I understood his intentions in your regard, it was too late to pull back. I had hoped you might develop feelings in return…" She raised guilty eyes to Sophie. "Do not think too harshly of me, my dear."

Sophie could not like that her grandmother had done this without talking to her, but she could not remain angry or even judge her. How could she, when she had her own secrets?

She shook her head. "I don't."

"I am glad to hear it." Her grandmother squeezed her hand. Then, after a pause, she added, "How is he keeping himself?"

Sophie fingered the coverlet and studied the pattern of red flowers and green foliage printed onto the cream fabric. It was now that she needed to open up in the same way she wished her grandmother had done with her. But she could not be entirely truthful, for to confess that she had pretended an engagement she had no hope of keeping—only to make it perfectly clear that Sheldon had no hope of winning her hand—would only plunge her grandmother into worry. It provided only a temporary relief and solved nothing.

"As to Sheldon," she began. She bit her lip and looked at her grandmother, whose careworn face she loved so much. Her eyes had dimmed with illness but were still studying her as intelligently as ever.

Sophie wondered what she could say that would be honest but not force her to confess what she was not ready to. "Sheldon does seem to be enjoying himself in Paris, for he has a number of engagements that keep him occupied."

"I am much relieved to hear it," Mrs. Twisden said, as if that settled it. "My dear, would you brush my hair for me? I do not like to bother Mary when she is so busy, and I fear to tax Jeannot with it when she is only here as a favor to us."

Sophie nodded and took the brush, its bristles softened with use. She removed her grandmother's cap and brushed the long silver hair that had greatly thinned with age but was still beautiful.

"I have some news that will quite surprise you, I think," she said cautiously, thankful that she was not forced to look at her grandmother as she said it.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, for I am to be married." Her voice faltered then. How could she tell her grandmother the particulars of such a falsehood?

"Do you mean that despite everything you have accepted Sheldon?" Mrs. Twisden struggled to turn to look at her, so Sophie dropped her arm and met her regard. She sat on the bed and took her grandmother's hand.

"It is not Sheldon." She smiled, or rather struggled to smile. "It is the marquis. Monsieur Gervain. The man who brought us Jeannot."

Mrs. Twisden's expression was confused until she connected Basile with his nurse and then her confusion turned to amazement. "The marquis? But…you hardly know him! How did you manage to…to catch his interest?"

"I can scarcely say," Sophie said, blushing from embarrassment and chagrin at deceiving her grandmother. Borrowing a line from Zoé, she said, "I believe it must have been love at first sight between us."

"Well, well." Her grandmother absorbed that. Then, after a short reflection, she smiled suddenly. "I own that I am sorry for Sheldon, for he must be experiencing some disappointment, but I can only rejoice for you, my dear. How did it come about?"

Sophie thought back to their meeting outside of Stohrer. "I believe there was an understanding between us as soon as we met that allowed us to reach an agreement so quickly." What she said was so close to the truth that her heart pained her at the idea that this was not a true betrothal. "But I do not want for you to be overly excited, Grandmama. I wished to tell you, but not to focus on it at present. I would like to have you recover fully."

"And then we may plan the nuptials," her grandmother said with a smile. "I am rather tired."

"Yes, then we may plan the nuptials," Sophie repeated, the ache in her heart taking on greater proportions. "Let me remove this pillow so you may sleep more comfortably.

She did so and kissed her grandmother's forehead before leaving the room and shutting the door quietly behind her. She would do anything to spare her grandmother worry, even if it meant shielding her from the truth. She had to make sure the engagement was believable, and only when her grandmother was fully recuperated and ready to return home would they go about enacting the break of their sham agreement.