Chapter 5

They left Sophie's rented lodgings, and Zoé studied Basile's face as though attempting to read something of his intentions there. He would not give her cause to read too much into intentions he himself did not quite understand.

"'Tis no small thing to care for a loved family member in a foreign city. You did well to propose we come," she said.

"I suspected she would not have access to the right care, being so new to the city," he replied mildly.

In truth, the fact that he had thought about her enough to bestir himself on her behalf surprised no one more than himself. But the compulsion to see her left him with no peace until he put the idea into motion.

"She appeared calm enough, but one could see her agitation," Zoé observed. "It is why I proposed we not stay."

He had thought to find Sophie pale and listless with worry upon arrival, but instead her eyes were snapping and her cheeks aflame when she threw open the door. It was almost as though she were expecting someone else and was ready for battle. He wondered if she had been harassed by the peacock that day and mistook their visit for another unwelcome one of his. He would have to ask her.

"You were not inclined to stay longer, were you?" Zoé insisted.

"No, no. It was not meant to be a long visit." Basile replied, somewhat absent-mindedly. He ignored Zoé's piercing looks.

"Eh bien! If you don't mean to tell me any more, I suppose we must find some other discours to squabble over," she said in a pique.

Basile hid a smile. She was so easy to bait, even when he was not trying. "I suppose we must. How did Charles take to your ignoring him all evening?"

Zoé frowned. "It is most unaccountable, but he seems to give up so easily at the slightest resistance. I should like to see him show himself a man and fight for me."

"Ah, but perhaps you have misjudged your Englishman." Basile led Zoé along the border of the Seine, the most direct path to her house on rue Dauphine. "Some men would prefer to have your fidelity without needing to fight for it."

"Is that true?" Zoé looked at him curiously. "What about you? What would you do if you were indeed in love and your woman flirted with another man to provoke you?"

Basile was silent for a moment, his mouth turned downwards. "Why, my dear, that is entirely another matter. I would remove her from his company and waste no time in kissing her senseless until she forgot any other man existed."

"Là!" Zoé said, her face breaking out into a smile. "It is a shame I have not the slightest tendresse for you, for that is what I should like above all things. Only, I should like for it to be Charles kissing me like that."

"Rid yourself of the notion that I will drop a word in his ear. I leave you to your own affair," Basile said.

"Pfft!" was all Zoé gave by way of reply.

The next night,Basile went to the opera in need of some diversion, but he found the experience insipid. His box was filled with people he felt obliged to invite, but who he did not particularly wish to converse with. He went out into the foyer during the entr'acte for refreshments and Grégoire sought him there with news.

"Armand seems to have made a conquest at last, and it is not the fair Apolline of the garnet brooch."

Basile raised an eyebrow. "Indeed! And who is she?"

"She is one of Marie-Antoinette's attendants, and she blushes when he is near." Grégoire watched the crowd walk by them and nodded at one of the patrons.

"He has aimed high then," Basile said. He hoped for Armand's sake it would last.

"She is perhaps easily overlooked as one of the less-favored of the queen's attendants. But her heart seems true."

"I would not wish anything better for him," Basile said, before catching sight of the last person he wished to see, parading by in a swirl of silks. He turned suddenly in an attempt to hide his face, his anxiety increasing a notch. Would he never be rid of her? "Fichtre! It's La Bordenave."

But it was too late. Claudia had already seen him and cut across the crowd to where they stood.

"Why, Basile—Monsieur St. Pierre. What a delight to find you both here. The evening is growing ever more promising." She slipped her arm through Basile's, pulling him close. Her scent cloyed, and he found her grip firm when he tried to lessen the hold. "à vrai dire, you have only improved with age."

Grégoire shifted slightly and cleared his throat as he glanced at her, clearly at a loss for how to help Basile. The Duc de Lauzun spotted him before coming over. "St. Pierre, you've a hunter for sale, do you not? I've a mind to purchase it." With a "bonsoir" and a bow to Basile and Claudia, he hurried him off. Grégoire sent an apologetic look over his shoulder to Basile.

He extricated his arm from Claudia's, which produced a playful pout on her face. It goaded him that he could still find her attractive even without any desire to win her back. As she put every bit of art into her appearance that was naturally endowed with womanly beauty, it was also unsurprising.

"Come now, Basile," she protested. "You know you are the tiniest bit glad to see me again. Admit it."

He regarded her with narrowed eyes. "What do you want, Claudia?"

"Nothing." She shrugged and gave a laugh while fanning herself. "Everything. Why should we not pick up where we were before, but this time with both of us wiser about love? Admit it. You are holding out your heart for me. This is why you have never married."

"I have not married because I have not found the woman I wish to spend the rest of my life with." A sudden bit of devilry made him add, "Until now."

"Oh!" She turned her wide eyes to him, and he could see the surprise and hesitation in them. The speculation over whether it might be her, but common sense informing her it was not. "Do tell. Have you found your marquise?"

"I do not believe you are acquainted with her," he said dampeningly.

She fanned herself, her smile somewhat dimmed. After a moment she dropped her hand to her side. "I do not believe you. I think you have entirely made her up. Basile, I wish you to know that I regret not having married you when I had the chance to do so. But now, think how much I would bring to a match between us. I am as wealthy as you please and am a favorite at court."

"Were a favorite," he corrected. "Madame Du Barry has been sent to a convent in Meaux, and you are unlikely to curry favor with the queen."

"Come now," she retorted, her voice sharp. Taking hold of herself, she continued, now coaxing. "If you must know, the queen and I have reached a little understanding. I can be?—"

"Madame, you must excuse me. I am afraid I am not interested." He gave a slight bow and left before he had to listen to any more.

It had beentwo days since Basile had seen Sophie, although he received word from the doctor who had attended to Mrs. Twisden, and who was hopeful of her prognosis. He wished to know how she fared and decided to visit, though Zoé was unable to accompany him this time. It was unclear if she was trying to promote a connection she thought he wished for, or if she truly was busy.

He was admitted by the maid this time, not by Sophie. His speculation over whether they had a male servant grew more decided. He suspected they did not.

"Miss Twisden is in the garden. I will fetch her," the maid said, but Basile held out his hand.

"I will join her in the garden, if you will show me the way." Even as he said the words, he could see the small trees and climbing plants over a trellis through the glass door at the end of the corridor. It was one of the charms of her living arrangement. The rooms might be small, but there was a full view of a beautiful green space that made the whole seem larger and brighter.

The maid curtsied and led the way to the door. When she opened it for him, he stepped through it and turned back.

"I will introduce myself. You need have no fear for your mistress." He smiled at her, and the maid curtsied again in reply before reentering the kitchen.

When he cast his gaze over the verdant space, he found it bigger than he had first thought because, while the immediate area outside the door was an immaculate garden with fruit trees and trimmed bushes, there was a wilder section farther back with trees, bushes, and stone benches. He spotted her figure from where he stood and strode forward. The day was sunny and mercifully cooler than it had been in the days past.

When he was a few feet away, she looked up and her face lit with a smile that reached her eyes. That was immediately followed by a deep blush. The view nearly stopped him in his tracks. She was charming in this bucolic setting—almost like an English country maid with rosy cheeks and simple dress, a straw basket sitting at her feet. It reminded him of his hitherto carefree days when he had been able to travel throughout England, Wales, and Scotland.

"Monsieur Gervain," she said, standing in some confusion.

"Are we back to formal address now?" he replied with a lift of an eyebrow.

"No, no, Basile. I am Sophie to you, as ever." She seemed quickly to have recovered her self-possession and smiled at him in a way he could only describe as saucy. He returned the grin.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the bench beside her. It was small, but there was not another one nearby and it would have to do if he did not wish to have her craning her neck up at him. She moved over by way of answer, and he was careful not to crush the skirt of her gown when he sat.

"How is your grandmother?" he asked, turning in place to catch a glimpse of her face.

She looked straight ahead, and her pinched expression gave him the answer he sought. She twiddled a stem of lavender in her fingers.

"She is quite ill, but I must thank you for sending Monsieur Comble. I find him to be a reasonable man, not giving airs that some doctors do. And he doesn't bleed his patients." She sent Basile a tremulous smile. "I discovered that you had paid for his services. He would accept nothing from me."

Basile didn't wish to dwell on that and he waved it away. "He is trustworthy. Although he is not King Louis's principal doctor, he had been called upon to consult over our recently departed king."

"Had he!" Sophie brought her wide-eyed gaze to him. "He must be a notable doctor indeed. My grandmother does seem to be coughing less after taking the treatment he prescribed."

"That is good news." Basile was silent for a moment, enjoying the sun, the medley of flowers, and the sound of buzzing life that surrounded them. He was conscious of her skirts next to him and of the impulse to lean into her. To kiss her cheek, causing her to turn?—

He stood, and Sophie looked at him in consternation before getting to her feet. "I suppose you must be going? You came only to have news?"

"Yes, to have news of your grandmother. I also wished…"

He paused as he considered again the idea that had come over him that very morning. It was impulsive, but he would do it. "I wished to send my old nurse to aid in the caring of your grandmother if you would permit it. Jeannot—it is her family name, you see—declares she is growing idle. My sister Thérèse is in the expectant way, but until there are children to dote upon, Jeannot is looking for something to fill her days. Do you suppose her presence would be welcome?"

"Oh." Sophie breathed out the word. "I cannot refuse your generous offer. I have been sharing the care for my grandmother with Mary, but to have someone else, if indeed your nurse should wish it…" She turned a questioning glance to him.

He liked the way her face grew animated when she was taken up with an idea. How could he have thought her expression veiled the first time they met?

"She should indeed," he assured her. "And when your grandmother grows better, I hope you will allow Jeannot to care for her more fully so you might attend some of the soirées in Paris?"

"If she does get better," Sophie said, worry evident in her tone.

"She will." Basile held her stare, as though it were possible to chase away the doubts and fears by doing so. Zoé had been right. It was hard enough when a loved one was ill, but how much more difficult when one was on foreign soil!

They faced one another—she, seemingly lost in her thoughts, and he, content to look at her. The nearness of their pose, the awareness of it, finally shook him from his strange reluctance to leave.

"I will be off then," he said, lifting his hat and sweeping her a bow, his smile back in place.

She curtsied. "It was so good of you to call."

"I do not wish to interrupt your time outdoors. I shall see myself out." His eyes lingered as she brought the lavender stem up to her nose.

"Very well," she said.

As he moved toward the door, he resisted the urge to turn around and wondered if she followed him with her eyes when he departed. He could smell lavender long after he left the house.