Chapter 19

After Basile settled Sophie's grandmother into a comfortable chair in the antechamber, he turned to see Claudia speaking to Sophie, undoubtedly sending arrows her way. It was time to put a stop to this. He took a step toward her but was spared from performing a rescue. Armand brought a woman to meet Sophie who, from his beaming look, must have been his fiancée. One of the queen's attendants—Vivienne, if Basile remembered correctly. She was not much above plain, but had a sweet smile, and Armand was staring at her as though besotted. Basile watched Sophie relax under such kindness.

The servants had put out a simple buffet with amuse-bouches, but none of the guests seemed interested and continued to circulate the floor. Meanwhile, Lord Stormont, the English ambassador, went to pay his respects to the queen with Charles at his side. They held a short conference before they were released, and Basile followed Charles's progress as he moved to greet Zoé, who had just arrived with her mother. Basile gauged the potential court intrigue and tried to decide where he would best fit in.

After greeting Madame Sainte-Croix, the ambassador brought her to the circle of armchairs near the window, where she took a place near Mrs. Twisden. The windows were open, and a fresh evening breeze poured in. If only the evening was not fraught with potential disaster, it would have been a delightful gathering.

Zoé put her hand through Charles's arm and pulled him in Basile's direction, so she could give him a kiss on each cheek. "Félicitations, my dear friend," she said. Charles leaned over to shake his hand.

Basile raised an eyebrow at her. Zoé knew nothing of his intention to propose to Sophie in earnest. But he could not question her about it in front of Charles. So why the sudden show?

"I hope your sister was not too disappointed to be left at home," he said instead.

"She pouted." Zoé laughed. "Which was entirely understandable. She considers herself your friend, too. And she would have loved to have met the queen."

Basile smiled. "Tell her it is only a delay."

He lifted his eyes and caught Grégoire's regard near the entrance from the stairwell. Greg cast his eyes over to the end of the room where Cholmsley and Claudia were in deep discussion with the Comte de Vaudreuil. The latter raised an eyebrow and glanced over to the queen. Basile's heart began to beat queerly. He had been searching for an opportunity to control the tide of gossip, but it had been too quick for him.

Turning to Zoé and Charles, he said, "I may have need of you. Will you accompany me to fetch Sophie?"

"Of course," Charles said. Zoé wrinkled her brow in concern and turned to follow him.

Sophie was in high looks. Her cheeks were a delicate pink that he thought had nothing to do with rouge. Powdered, clothed, and shod as she was so fashionably, she would be considered a classic beauty by anyone's standards. But it was her unadorned nature that shone the brightest to Basile and made him love her. She turned a smiling visage his way, pausing her words in expectation.

"Come, Sophie," he said. He held out his arm. His eyes were still on the queen, who was attentive to the French earl whispering in her ear. Sophie glanced at him with a worried expression but took his arm.

"What is it?" Armand asked, and Zoé leaned in to whisper to him as Grégoire moved to join them.

Basile led Sophie toward the queen, trusting his friends to follow. This was the most difficult moment, but he was poised for the battle and encouraged that every one of his friends would be at his side.

After giving Basile a sharp look, the queen disappeared through the large dining room, and theComte de Vaudreuil came to meet him.

"Her Majesty wishes to speak to you," he said. "Now."

Basile acknowledged this with a nod. He could not resist adding, "I am not surprised, given all the whispers. I would only caution you to take care from whom you have the information that you carry to the queen."

Without waiting for a reply, he brought Sophie into the salon de compagnie where the queen had gone. She sat on one of the pink upholstered chairs there, waiting. Several of her attendants and courtiers flocked around her.

"Madame," he said, bowing again deeply. "You wished to have a word with me?

Her smiling demeanor was gone, and she looked down at Sophie's feet. "It is true then," she said to her. "You are wearing shoes with red heels when such a fashion is reserved for nobility."

Sophie's eyes widened, and Basile knew she had not understood the significance of the shoes he had sent her. Diamond-buckled shoes with a heel stained red, a sign of the noblesse. She had not known it was a sign that he intended to make her his marchioness in earnest. His intention was to propose to her with the rubies.

He hid all signs of agitation when he replied. "It is only natural, my queen, for we are to be married. She will therefore be a marchioness. If we have precipitated the wedding by her wearing the noble shoes, it was only for this dinner to honor Your Majesty." Sophie darted a worried look at him.

"That is all very well," the queen said, "but some of my attendants have said that you do not mean to marry her at all. That it was all done as a whim to humiliate your new queen by provoking me to take up your cause and look the fool. What have you to say to that?"

Spears of alarm pierced Basile. He had not counted on an open confrontation. Now it was imperative he convince Sophie their engagement was every bit as real as if they'd met over the course of a period of months, had walked together, danced together, shared intimate conversation, and had fallen head over heels in love. In fact, it was so. All of it was true. Except it occurred in weeks, not months.

Sophie was wading through a nightmare.Could the queen of France have authority over an Englishwoman to the degree that she might put her in prison? Would Basile be punished in some similar way? She looked at him and caught his look of disquiet at the accusations the queen brought against them.

"Votre Majesté," Basile said, "I fear you have been fed misleading information, but it is not coming from us."

He reached into the left pocket inside his coat and pulled out a small black velvet bag. Taking it in two hands, he bowed and presented it to her. "This is, perhaps, an opportune time to present you with a small gift I brought with hopes that it will please Your Majesty."

The queen took it from his hands, looking at him almost warily. She opened the pouch and pulled out a bracelet made of a single row of sapphires of considerable size. Her eyebrows rose, for she had a weakness for jewelry. She brought her regard up to Basile.

Sophie saw the stones winking and glittering in the candlelight of the room. Much though she might wish to forget the widow's words, she could not help but think of what she'd said. That Basile had not bestowed any fine jewelry upon her, and that therefore he did not love her.

It was true, of course. He did not love her. This betrothal was made up, so he would not be giving her any jewelry. But for once, she thought how nice it would be to be cherished in that way.

"Along with this gift for you," Basile continued, pulling his gaze from the queen to glance at her, "I hope you will be pleased with the gift I have brought for my intended. I planned to use the dinner to present it to her, but I believe Fate has directed us on a different course. For what better timing than to present it to her in a more intimate setting with you at the head?" He turned and caught Sophie's hand.

She did not understand what he was doing. Was this part of his scheme? He had never shared his plan with her, and she certainly hoped he had one. Basile reached into his other inside pocket and brought out another velvet bag, this one much larger and more worn. He presented it to Sophie with a bow.

"Mon amour," he began, causing her to freeze. This public endearment would make it much harder to pull back from. Heavens! Is he thinking this through? "This is my family's set of jewels. It has always belonged to the Marquisat de Verdelle ever since the title was created. As we are to be married, I now wish to gift them to you."

Wordlessly, she took it from him and opened the bag. Her fingers trembled with everyone's eyes turned her way. Out of the velvet pouch, a sparkling ruby necklace with several connecting stones in shiny gold slipped into her hand. A ring fell onto the floor, causing Grégoire to dart forward to catch it. He handed it back to Sophie. Then the rest of the contents, a pair of earrings and a bracelet, slipped out as well. She placed them back on top of the bag to keep a more secure hold of it all, then looked at Basile warily.

He turned to the queen. "Altesse, are you satisfied with the authenticity of our engagement?"

One of the courtiers was whispering in the queen's ear, and Sophie caught him saying the words "les bijoux sont connus, sa mère les portait…" He was assuring her that these were indeed the jewels that belonged to the family, for even his mother had worn them. Basile could not be giving such a sentimental and priceless gift to her in truth, but it seemed so cruel and unnecessary to take their charade to such a level.

"I am satisfied," Marie-Antoinette said. She directed a hard stare at Madame Bordenave, who stood at the back of the room watching the proceedings. "It looks as though your information was une erreur—unless you wished to make a fool of your queen."

Madame Bordenave had gone white, and she slipped out of the room, bumping into Sheldon on her way out. Catching a glimpse of the queen, not even he dared to make a scene. He, too, quickly disappeared from sight.

The queen smiled upon Basile. "Perhaps you might bring your fiancée to the petite salle à manger and help her to adorn herself with this charming addition, for I had noticed she was rather bare of adornment. Then we can move into the large dining room to begin the celebrations.

"Je vous remercie de vos bonnes graces," Basile replied, taking the velvet bag from Sophie's hands, which had gone cold, and cupping the jewelry into one of his hands. Having thanked the queen, he slipped his other hand around her arm and led her to the small dining room the queen had indicated. She followed him numbly. The room was empty save for a servant, who quickly departed upon seeing them.

Basile set the jewelry on a table there, then said, "Turn for me."

Sophie was too stunned to think, so she obeyed him and felt the ribbon that held the silk flower loosen, then slide off her neck. It caused her to shiver, and she turned back around, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper.

"Basile, what are you doing? You cannot think to give these to me—or even to lend them to me. We have gone too far. We must tell the truth."

His blue eyes settled on her face, then he took one of her hands in his. "The truth? The truth, Sophie, is that I would like to hold this hand for the rest of my days."

He kept his brilliant gaze steady, which had the effect of hypnotizing her until he turned to the table to pick up the bracelet. He placed it around her arm, then fiddled with the clasp until he was able to shut it. Then he picked up the ring. "And I would like you to keep this ring, until I can choose one myself and place it there permanently."

Sophie's heart pounded with fear that what she thought she was hearing was part of the sham. Were there still people listening who needed to be persuaded? Surely, he could not have truly begun to love her.

He picked up the two earrings, gold wires that pierced the ears and allowed rubies to dangle from each. "Hélas," he said with a quick smile and a glance at her ears. "Yours are not pierced. These will have to wait."

He slid them back into the bag, which he returned to his pocket. Through all this, Sophie was helpless under his ministrations. She could not speak.

At last he picked up the necklace, which was intricate but not heavy, she found, when he took her by the shoulders and turned her gently so he could lay it across her neck. She felt the warmth of his hands and the cool metal against her skin. He brought her back around, then allowed his hands to brush the bare skin of her arms until he had her hands in possession of his own.

"Je t'aime," he said quietly. "I think I have from the moment I met you. Perhaps it was my heart that proposed publicly so we might be pledged until my reason could catch up. Please put me out of my anxiety and tell me you might come to love me back."

Sophie began to shake. She could not help herself, and neither could she smile. She was too fearful the attempt would cause her to burst into tears. "I am afraid…"

She stopped. It was too hard to get the words out around her constricted throat. Basile tightened his grip on her hands, his face growing dark with something like despair. And it was that look that forced her to speak.

"I am afraid I already do."

Basile's expression remained unchanged for a moment. Then his crystal-blue eyes went wide as a brilliant smile broke out on his face. "You already love me?"

She nodded.

"Ah, Sophie?—"

And then she was swept up into his arms. He kissed her, and she responded by sliding her arms around his waist and clasping them behind him to hold him tight. And if the kiss at the opera had sizzled, this one burned, causing her stomach to swoop and her head to buzz, and her arms to want to pull him even closer.

Sounds of the servants entering pierced her fog, and Basile ended the kiss, pulling back from her. Cool air filled the space between them, and she blinked as though trying to clear the haze. When her eyes were able to focus, they filled with the vision of him watching her. He had her arms firmly in his grip and seemed to be attempting to absorb every inch of her face. At last, he released her.

"Mon amour, let us go celebrate our engagement dinner with friends, and even with foes. The friends will raise a toast and be happy for us à l'excès. The foes, I suppose, we shall have to put up with for one night, but we shall not care one whit what they do. After all, who invited them?"