Chapter 16

Sophie sat on the stone bench in the garden, immobile, removed from her surroundings, reliving every minute of what had transpired at the opera the night before. She thought about her sudden decision to flirt with Basile the way he had done with her. It had certainly been a bold move. She had wanted to prove a point to the marquis, had wanted him to feel a fraction of what she felt when he touched her in such a way or placed the weight of his regard on her. And he had felt it as she had, of that she was sure, for it had led him to kiss her. When her mind came to rest on the moment his lips pressed onto hers, time came to a standstill. He would never have done that if she hadn't flirted. Despite that, she could not be sorry.

"Your grandmother is much improved." Jeannot had come to find her in the garden. Sophie had not heard her approach. "She is reading in the sitting room and did not even need a rest after lunch."

"It is good news." The weight of Sophie's thoughts made casual speech difficult.

The nurse busied herself, pulling some errant weeds and cutting stems of thyme that she had been using to make tisanes for Mrs. Twisden that helped with the cough.

"I think my presence is no longer imperative, mademoiselle," the nurse said. "I think tomorrow I will leave. It is good timing, je l'avoue, for Madame Thérèse is coming from Tours before her confinement makes such a visit impossible. I will go see to her."

"Yes, of course," Sophie said, pulled at last out of her reverie by the news. They had been lucky to have the nurse for as long as they had. Sophie stood and took Jeannot's strong hand in hers. "I do not know how I can thank you for your kindness to us."

The nurse patted Sophie's arm with the strength of someone much younger. "C'est naturel. Until I am called upon to care for your enfant with the marquis, I was happy to be otherwise employed."

The nurse turned to walk back toward the house when her words penetrated. Her infant? Her baby with the marquis?

"Jeannot," she called out before stopping short. How could she explain that there would never be an enfant? She had avoided telling Mary about the engagement, although the maid must surely know. But Sophie did not wish to see the nurse disappointed when nothing came of it. "Do you…do you know about the engagement?"

"Why, of course!" the nurse said, turning back with a smile that made her appear even more youthful. "Your grandmother could not keep such news to herself and knew she would have a sympathetic ear in me. Although why Basile did not tell me himself… I will have to scold him on the matter."

"Yes, do that," Sophie muttered as soon as the nurse had walked away. She would like to see Basile try to explain the situation to his beloved nurse.

She went inside and down the cool, dim corridor. As she stared at the door to the sitting room, she put her hands on her waist, readying herself to enter it. This was becoming ever more complicated. She would take her grandmother into her confidence, but the truth would only cause her to worry about their debt to Sheldon. Or worse—cause Sophie's grandmother to try to throw her back into his path.

And then there was the odd feeling she couldn't explain to herself that the betrothal was actually real. Or that she wished it were real. The thought caused a heaviness to settle in her chest. She could never admit such a thing to Basile who—for all he was a kind and considerate man underneath his playful exterior—would be appalled to think she was tempted even a little bit to hold him to his proposal.

She would not, no matter how much it cost her. And the lead weight that had taken up residence inside of her showed her just how much it did cost her.

In the drawing room, her grandmother sat reading a book with a cup of tea beside her. She lifted her head and smiled. "My dear Sophie. As you can see, I am very much more myself. I believe your good news is what brought about such a swift recovery."

"I am so pleased," Sophie said, feeling entirely wretched.

"It is time we begin to think about your engagement dinner. It will be expected for someone like the marquis. I must apply my mind to how we might arrange it properly." She sipped her tea then lifted her head, applying herself to how they might throw an elaborate meal with scarcely a farthing to their name.

"Grandmama, I fear we do not have the means for an engagement dinner—" Sophie began.

A knock on the door cut her off, and she heard Mary hurrying down the corridor to answer it. There was the sound of an unknown voice—a messenger, it seemed, delivering something to the maid. The front door closed and Mary appeared in the sitting room.

"This came for you, miss."

She handed her a letter and Sophie studied the mark imprinted on the deep red wax that sealed the paper. The imprint contained two shields, one with three fleur-de-lys and the other whose detail was more difficult to make out, but which seemed to have a lion and a sword. Above the shields, a crown was easily distinguishable and that gave her the first clue. Her heart began to thud. With trembling fingers, she opened the missive, for that must be what this was.

Indeed. 'Twas a summons.

Chère Mlle Sophie Twisden, the letter began. Her eyes rapidly skimmed its contents. The queen wished for the pleasure of her company on the 11th of August, Thursday next, to partake of a repas de fian?ailles to celebrate her betrothal to M. Basile Thomas Hortense Gervain, le Marquis de Verdelle, etc. Her grandmother was also invited, showing how knowledgeable the queen was of their situation. The address given was to the Petit Trianon in Versailles.

Sophie looked up, first with alarm, then with a look of manufactured pleasure when she saw her grandmother's confusion. "'Tis an invitation to celebrate our engagement, given by the queen herself. We are invited for next Thursday to Versailles."

Her grandmother clasped her hands together. "Oh, oh, my dear! I simply cannot tell you how delighted I am for you. I could never have predicted you would make such an excellent match. If I had, I never would have pressed you to consider Sheldon's advances."

The news brought Mrs. Twisden to her feet, and she would not be deterred when Sophie tried to lead her back to her chair. "No, no, I am perfectly well now," she said. "And I will surely be well enough to attend by next Thursday. It is a most fortunate thing I had a dress made in gray silk damask before setting out for France, though I little knew how I would need it."

She continued along in that vein while Sophie's mind reeled. She needed to speak with Basile, but did not feel she could apply to him directly since they weren't actually engaged. It did not matter that she had been bold in her behavior toward him. She knew her limits. Would he come to guide her on the matter of the invitation? Surely he would have received his own? It seemed too much for her to wait for him to call.

Returning vague replies to her grandmother's questions and observations, Sophie formed a plan to visit Zoé rather than sit and wait for the marquis to call at his leisure. For she could not delay her response and needed to know what to do. This engagement had taken on gargantuan proportions.

With such excitement, it was not long before her grandmother did need to rest, and Sophie was able to ask Mary to accompany her. They would soon be constrained once Jeannot was no longer there to care for her grandmother, for Mary could not be in two places at once.

The Sainte-Croix address was not so far they could not walk, so she set them out at a brisk pace. Please God that Zoé would be there. When they knocked at the entrance, the servant answered the door with the news that she was indeed at home.

Sophie was then shown into the drawing room, where Madame Sainte-Croix and her daughters sat talking to a visitor whose own daughter appeared to be the same age as Jeanne. As Sophie entered, Zoé was already on her feet. The introductions were performed, and Sophie curtsied to the guests.

"It is the first time you have come to visit," Zoé said. "Dare I hope it means your grandmother is doing well enough to leave her at home?"

"She is better," Sophie said, returning her smile. "She will continue to need rest, but I have every hope she will soon be able to accept invitations."

After a moment, in which Sophie tried to think how to gain a private audience, Zoé turned to her mother. "Would you excuse us, Maman? I would like to show Sophie our garden, for she has never seen it."

Her mother acquiesced then turned back to their guests, and Zoé led the way out of doors, grabbing a parasol that stood near the door. Their garden was much smaller than Sophie's, surprisingly, given how large the house was. But it was inviting with a neatly manicured lawn and carefully trimmed bushes, and even plots of flowers in colorful varieties. Zoé led her to a bubbling fountain placed in front of a bench whose arched trellis of clematis provided shade. They took a seat under it.

"I was wondering if you had news concerning your engagement and wished to be private," Zoé said. "I knew my mother wouldn't mind, for the Aborgasts are intimate friends."

Zoé had read her wishes correctly, but now that the private audience was given to her, Sophie found it hard to leap right into her purpose for coming. "Have you seen Mr. Arlington since the opera?" she said instead. It was rather intrusive as far as questions went, but the words were out.

Fortunately, Zoé did not seem to resent such familiarity. She did allow her lips to pull into a pout. "We are at odds again."

"Really? What happened? It seemed you were of perfect accord when we met at the opera." Despite herself, her curiosity for Mr. Arlington's prospects suddenly seemed more of a moment than her own.

Zoé used the tip of the parasol to gouge into the dirt at her feet. "We were, and perhaps I had hoped we might begin to see eye to eye, but now…" She trailed off and focused on the pattern she was creating at her feet.

"And now?" Sophie prodded.

"Now, I fear it is not to be. After you left, Le Comte de Vaudreuil came to find me and pulled me quite out of Charles's arm." She brought her stare to Sophie's as though compelled to explain. "He is such a flirt, you see, that one cannot resist him. One must laugh. Everyone knows he means nothing by it. I responded as any woman would do, to be sure. But Charles walked off and abandoned me there."

"Abandoned you? Do you mean you had come to the opera together?" Sophie knit her brows. It did not seem like him, though she could not claim to know him well.

"No. I came with my mother and sister, but he left with scarcely a by-your-leave. It enrages me, this off-hand leave-taking as though I were no more to him than a…a puppy. He clearly does not esteem me if he can do such a thing."

Sophie remembered how miserable he had looked when they'd met at the Tuileries. She had encouraged him to try again. "Perhaps," she said gently, "he fears you would rather be with the comte than with him."

"Then he doesn't consider me worth the fight. Or he is afraid to lose—and that is just as bad."

Sophie let her eyes drift as she inhaled the scents of the garden and worked at the problem in her mind. Should she stay clear of a situation that did not directly concern her? A situation in which she could not even be sure her advice would be useful or welcome? But then Mr. Arlington's face loomed before her, a picture of misery. And even Zoé's face was troubled when they were at odds. No, it was clear Sophie needed to say something.

"Perhaps it is not that he so little considers you or that he is afraid. From what I know of him, scant though that is, I believe it is rather because he is a gentleman and therefore will not press you. He naturally prefers to be assured of your partiality to him above all others. When he is sure of your regard, he will fight for you. That does not reveal cowardice or a lack of concern—it is simply good breeding. At least for an Englishman."

Zoé turned to study her, her expression contemplative. "You said something like this before. Do you think it's his gentlemanly ways that cause him to react thus?" A laugh escaped her. "I don't believe the French male has such a notion. He takes what he wants."

"Which would you rather have?" Sophie asked, a smile forming. She had not minded when Basile had stolen the kiss from her. Although it was hardly as though he had stolen it. She had handed it to him on a silver platter.

"Oh, I suppose I would rather be allowed to choose." After a silence which Sophie did not try to fill, Zoé exhaled. "Very well. I will show him my partiality—even when a most charming comte or other gentleman comes to flirt—for I have been quite miserable. We shall see if what you say is true."

"I think that is a very good notion," Sophie said, inwardly willing Mr. Arlington to do his part.

Zoé sat up straighter and turned a smiling countenance to her. "But then tell me how you are. How is your engagement?" She nudged her with her arm. "Is it becoming more real by the day?"

The question, said in jest, little helped. "On the contrary, it is becoming frighteningly hard to maintain such an imposture." Sophie slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the letter from the queen and handed it to Zoé, who opened it and perused the elegant scrawl.

"Ciel!"

Heavens was right! "I can only suppose Basile received something similar. How are we to keep this up when the queen has taken notice of it?"

Zoé read it twice then set it on her lap, allowing a soft, "How I wish I could go," to escape before she sat upright. "But this is not about me."

"What am I to do?" Sophie asked her. "Basile does not seem at all concerned over the entanglement we have gotten ourselves into."

"Basile possesses a maddening ability to do whatever he wishes without sparing a thought for how inconvenient others might find it," Zoé replied tartly. When Sophie pressed her hands to her eyes, she touched her arm. "No, I should not have said that. Though he is not considerate like Charles is, he does have a remarkable way of seeing things through."

"I know she is not my queen, but Marie-Antoinette is still a queen. Do I lie to her?" Sophie turned to face Zoé, desperate for comfort, for guidance.

"I think only Basile can truly answer that question, and we shall have to apply to him for what to do." Zoé handed the letter back to Sophie. "His sister should have arrived in Paris by now. I believe she was to have come yesterday. That will give me a reason to visit him and find out what he means to do."

She patted Sophie's arm. "You may trust him to keep you from all harm, or I shall have something to say to him."