Chapter 6

Sophie sat back down on the cold stone bench and watched Basile pull open the back door of the house and disappear into the dark corridor. She had to admit there was more to the gentleman than just play, for he had certainly shown himself a faithful friend. He sent a doctor—and no ordinary doctor! One who had waited upon the king himself. Not only that, but Basile had paid the man's bill so she would not be required to beg her ill grandmother for the sum. And then he had come to visit her…

Although she was not precisely sure why he had. He'd hardly stayed at all, and he had leapt at once to his feet as though he did not wish to be by her side a minute longer. He was a most puzzling gentleman. But, after all, a kind, puzzling gentleman.

She inhaled the clean lavender scent of the stalk that had been thin enough to tug free. Perhaps she should bring a few in to her grandmother's room to lighten the air. They were in full bloom and smelled heavenly.

Rather than go in search of a knife, she yanked at another, thicker stalk, attempting to use her fingernail to snap it in two, but it was a fruitless endeavor. A knife it would have to be.

She turned as the door to the house opened again, and this time Sheldon appeared in the yard. She set her lips in a firm line, not pleased at his appearance but having little power to do anything about it. His presence would be harder to bear after the marquis's agreeable visit.

She lifted a hand as she walked toward him. "Good day, Sheldon. I am going inside to get a knife so I might cut some lavender for my grandmother."

He pivoted to walk with her. "I will accompany you, then."

To her surprise, he did so in silence as she requested a knife from Mary, then returned with her outdoors. It was unlike him to be so discreet. Perhaps he was chastened because today was the first day she had permitted Mary to allow him entrance since his bumbling proposal. However, she would not be the one to begin the conversation.

It was only when he'd sat on the bench and she began to cut the lavender that he spoke. "Sophie, I've been thinking. And I suppose I must offer you an apology for hinting that I would not see to my obligation of bringing you and your grandmother safely home."

Sophie looked up at him in surprise and saw an earnest expression on his face. Never before had she been so in charity with him. She went over to the bench and held out her hand. "'Tis very kind of you to offer the apology."

He pressed her hand, his cheeks growing flushed. "Well, I own it was not a gentlemanly thing to say. I have also arranged for a mantua-maker recommended by Mrs. Pertrand, who is attached to the embassy, although you will not have met her yet. Madame Meriaux will come tomorrow to take your measurements so you might walk out more soberly attired as befits the public mourning of Louis XV."

Sophie was not sure she liked being handled in such a way. It was as though he thought they were, in truth, betrothed. She hoped her grandmother would be able to meet the expenses of the gowns. Dropping her eyes, she managed a "thank you."

"How is your grandmother?" he asked, turning the subject before the moment could become uncomfortable.

She went back to cutting lavender, dropping the stalks in the shallow woven basket she had brought for the purpose. "Much the same, I am afraid. She spends most of her time resting, and any time she attempts to speak, it provokes a fit of coughing that leaves her quite exhausted."

Sheldon narrowed his eyes. "You are looking a little worn yourself. You must give the care of your grandmother entirely over to Mary. It would not do for you to grow ill."

She cocked her head with a look of exasperation. "I cannot leave my grandmother alone for such a trifling fear as that. And Mary certainly cannot manage all the care for her while still seeing that we have food to eat and clean rooms besides."

Turning her eyes back to her basket, she added, "But you may set your fears to rest on that head. The Marquis de Verdelle has promised to send over his old nurse, who is looking for something to do. He assured me of her willingness to assist us with the task of caring for my grandmother. It was most kind of him."

It was embarrassing to speak of the marquis as though they were truly familiar, but it was the one sure way to remind Sheldon she was not completely at his mercy.

Sure enough, he folded his arms over his ample chest, although the tightness of his coat made the endeavor a difficult one. "I do not like your relationship with this man. I must tell you my feelings on the matter and will not be still."

Sophie assessed the lavender nestled on the straw weave, wondering if she had cut enough. It was probably sufficient. This thought pulled at her attention while she considered how best to answer.

"I thank you for your thoughts, but I shall be guided by my own. Basile is an old friend, and he means me no harm." It surprised her how easily the lie about their acquaintance slipped out, for she was in general a truthful person. But then he was easily coming to feel like a friend in their short, strange acquaintance.

"Well, as I have said before, you have a natural na?veté as a young, unmarried woman," Sheldon replied. "You cannot see the dangers he poses as clearly as I do."

"Shall we return indoors?" Sophie asked brightly. "I wish to bring these to my grandmother. I feel sure they will do her good."

Sheldon stood and tugged at his coat to right it. "Well, I suppose we can continue this discussion at another time." It came out in a petulant tone.

"Perhaps."

He turned to look at the garden. "You are most fortunate in having this outdoor space. I should have liked to have had it, but when my man of business learned of the two available properties for rent, he recommended I take the other one, for it is much larger. And indeed it is. It would take four of your sitting rooms to fill my drawing room."

"Yes, you chose well. As for me, I am partial to our modest rooms and the garden that comes behind them. I would much rather have that than a large drawing room." Sophie stepped back, allowing him to open the door to the house. "And although I have said it before, please allow me to thank you for your kindness in arranging all the details of our travel."

"Well." Sheldon frowned and looked down at his buckled shoes. "It was only natural if we are to be betrothed."

Sophie froze in place and opened her eyes at him. Did he truly think it? Still? How many ways did she have to make it clear to him?

"But you understand this is not to be the case, do you not? I believed your accompaniment was done out of kindness for our family and the friendship you once had with my father, not for any unspoken promise."

"We shall see. There is no need to discuss it now," Sheldon replied vaguely.

Any kindness Sophie had felt for him earlier dissipated like mist. "You must please excuse me. I wish to bring these to my grandmother, and I should not like for you to fall ill by spending too much time in a household where there is sickness."

"By George, you're right!" he exclaimed. He made a hurried bow. "I shall bid you good day, Sophie."

He left, and she let out a quiet huff of exasperation as she turned into the suite of bedrooms. There, she paused at the threshold and took in her normally vibrant grandmother lying in the bed, eyes shut. She brought the basket over to the dressing table and set it down before going over to pull the covers more comfortably around her grandmother.

"Sophie."

"Yes, Grandmama?" She paused in her movements and sat on the side of the bed, taking her grandmother's hand in hers.

"Sheldon was here. I believe it is time to think about marrying him. I want to see you taken care of."

The words were spoken weakly and were accompanied by a fit of coughing that left Sophie uneasy but gave her the time she needed to consider how to respond.

"I wish you will not talk as though you are not going to make a full recovery, Grandmama. Do you know that the Marquis de Verdelle has promised to send his very own nurse to tend to you? Her name is Jeannot, and he assures me that you will soon recover under her ministrations."

When her grandmother offered no response, Sophie could not resist filling in the silence. "I promise you, all will be well. There is nothing to worry about. I have everything in hand here." She pasted a smile on her face, although her grandmother's eyes were closed, willing the smile to sound in her voice. It did not remove the worry from her grandmother's tone when she spoke again.

"You cannot be left to the mercy of this world with no fortune to save you." There was a long pause before she continued in the same feeble voice, interspersed with more bouts of coughing. "When this Jeannot person arrives, I want you to go out. Sheldon can get invitations. Until we can get you some black clothes, choose the more sober colors when in society. And do try to give Sheldon a chance."

It was the most her grandmother had spoken since she became ill, and Sophie was beginning to fear that anxious worry would hinder her grandmother from getting well. Nothing would keep Sophie from promising her whatever she desired.

She patted her hand. "Very well, Grandmama. I will do as you say."

The dressmaker arrivedfirst thing the next morning and took Sophie's measurements in a practiced manner as her assistant noted the figures. Madame Meriaux brought samples of what she said were being worn by everyone of note. She was quick to inform Sophie that the monsieur had ordered her to make up three gowns from any of these fabrics. Sophie offered her a tight-lipped smile, tempted to order only one just to prove to Sheldon that she made her own decisions. However, the truth was that she would need at least three gowns, if not more. In the end, she ordered three gowns made up of varying tones of gray and black that would be distinguished by touches of white or black embellishments. These gowns were promised in a week, with one fitting midway through.

No sooner had the mantua-maker left than another knock on the door brought Sheldon into their sitting room where Sophie was picking at the stitches of a flamboyant trim to an otherwise sober-colored gown. She stood.

"Sheldon, I am sorry but I do not have the time to visit just now. We are expecting the nurse to come for my grandmother, and I want to be ready for her."

"I will not stay," he assured her, then proceeded to bely these words by sitting without waiting to be invited. "I merely came to ensure that the dressmaker has shown you the samples and that you've had those gowns made up for you as I indicated."

Sophie breathed in through her nose as she smoothed the carmine-colored ribbon she had already pulled free from the skirt. "It was kind of you to send the dressmaker, but quite unnecessary. I would have done so as soon as I had the chance."

"Yes, but in arranging it, I was able to have the bills sent directly to me rather than have them go through your grandmother, who is ill." He swiveled on his chair and looked behind him. "Perhaps Mary might bring us some tea."

"Sheldon." She stared at him in shock. "You should not be paying my dressmaker's bills, even temporarily. It is most improper."

He brought his attention back to her in surprise. "My dear, I am paying all of your bills. I thought you knew that. Your grandmother would not have been able to afford this trip or those gowns she commissioned for both of you before we left England had it not been for me."

Sophie felt the blood drain from her face and managed to choke out the words, "I did not know it." How in the world was she to pay him back? She would certainly need to if he were to be convinced they had no future.

He crossed one leg over the other. "Well, now you do. And you see why I had assumed an engagement between us was imminent."

She could only stare back at him mutely. How could her grandmother do this to her? Sophie had known how badly her grandmother wished to visit Paris, but to allow herself to be beholden to Sheldon Cholmsley like this? And she could not even discuss the matter with her grandmother now when she was so very ill.

"I was not privy to the information and would have objected most adamantly had I known," she said at last. "I will return the gowns." She would just have to wear those already in her possession.

"You cannot. Such a thing is not done, and you do need the mourning attire to be presentable in society. Mrs. Pertrand told me as much." He looked at her carefully. "You must not worry. We need not discuss the engagement at present. There will be time for that."

Any arguments she put forth now would only be wasted breath. Sophie did not know how she managed to continue a conversation when she was in such a state of upset. She managed to rid the house of its unwelcome visitor minutes before Basile's nurse arrived by claiming she had several items that needed mending. He seized on that disclosure by reminding her that she would have nothing so taxing to do as mending when she was married to him. It took everything in her not to whip the cocked hat out of Mary's hands and throw it at his head.

Madame Jeannot proved to be a gentle, reassuring presence. She spoke no English, but that did not stop her from endearing herself to Mary. Using gestures, she showed that she considered Mary to have authority over how the kitchen was run and would put all of her own efforts into tending to Mrs. Twisden. Sophie was exceedingly grateful to have her, for they could communicate, and she quite trusted the homemade remedies Jeannot had brought to alleviate her grandmother's suffering.

The nurse began by replacing her grandmother's pillow with one she had brought from the marquis's house, stuffed fat with goose down. She gently lifted Mrs. Twisden from behind and placed the more comfortable pillow underneath her head which eased her breathing. She approved of the lavender that Sophie had collected and even displayed a salve that contained some of it. This, she rubbed on Mrs. Twisden's chest and back that caused a hacking cough, but which seemed to allow her to sleep more peacefully.

After only a half day with Jeannot in the household, Sophie was inspired to take both of the nurse's hands in her own with a warm look of gratitude. "Merci!"

Jeannot brushed it off with a laugh and urged Sophie to go for a walk, which she decided to heed and called for Mary to accompany her.

Outside in the bright light that reflected off the beige stones of the buildings, they walked over to the short wall near the Seine and stood watching the river flow by. The sun had long since reached its zenith and was streaming through the streets on the opposite side of the river. Its rays danced on the ripples of water as a breeze lifted Sophie's curls. Her gaze focused dreamily on the boats that drifted by on the river's current. Some held bales of hay and others, produce. On others were the rustling of livestock. She turned to face right and spotted the tall spires of the great Notre Dame cathedral behind some of the buildings on the ?le de la Cité.

A touch on her elbow yanked her out of her reverie and caused her to spin in alarm. Instead of finding some impertinent stranger who had dared to accost her, she came face to face with those compelling eyes of Basile Gervain.

"Mademoiselle Sophie," he said, smiling, as he bowed before her. "It is good to see you out of doors."

She recovered her composure and was able to smile in return. "Well, it is only because you had the goodness to send your nurse, who in two hours has already become indispensable to us."

She was learning to guard her heart whenever she was in Basile's presence. He was much too handsome and entirely out of her sphere. She well knew the danger of falling for him. But resisting him was hard when they met unexpectedly, and he looked at her as though he cared about her.

He held out an arm in invitation to slip hers into it, and they began to walk in the direction of Notre Dame. "Jeannot is un trésor, is she not?"

"The very best treasure," she replied with sincerity.

They walked quietly for a space, with the clip-clop of horses' hooves to their right, and the cries from sailors below as they greeted each other on the water or maneuvered to avoid collision. Mary walked several paces behind them.

Sophie turned to him suddenly. "It just occurred to me how odd it is we should meet by chance this way. Paris is not a small city."

She could see his eyes crinkle from her vantage point. "The city is much more intimate than you imagine, Sophie. One is forever bumping into friends here—and, hélas, into those one would rather not meet."

She digested this as he added, "But I live just there on that street." He pointed ahead to the next side street that cut across to the Seine. "So you see, I am not so very far from you."

"How fortunate," she replied lightly, then could think of nothing further to add. She found herself oddly tongue-tied. This was not like her and she wondered if it had anything to do with all the time she had spent indoors with her grandmother. It must have dulled her wits.

"Has Mr. Cholmsley been providing you the comfort of a fellow countryman? He lives next door to you, I remember, for I had an invitation sent there from Madame Dubigny."

"He does indeed live next door." Sophie twisted her lips wryly, thinking with plunging insides of their recent conversation. "Though I cannot say he brings me much comfort. He would like to marry me despite my repeated assurances that we should not suit."

"I hope he has not been pressing his advantage unfairly while your grandmother is unwell." Basile slowed his steps when she did not answer him right away.

She darted a glance at him and chose full honesty. How she needed a friend. "He is pressing his advantage, but I fear that he has had cause to do so."

"Ah. So your affections are engaged," he replied after a slight pause, his voice hard.

"No," she replied with a bitter laugh. "They are most certainly not and are not likely to be. But I discovered that, unbeknownst to me, my grandmother has allowed Sheldon to pay not only for our stay in Paris but even such things as the bills incurred at the mantua-maker's." She looked at him, willing him to understand. "It is intolerable. Of course he will expect something in return. And now I cannot even task my grandmother with it. She is too unwell."

Basile was silent as they walked, and she began to fear he was disgusted by her. To be so impoverished. To be something of a kept woman, although it was through no choice of her own.

"It seems there is only one thing to it. You will have to fall head over heels in love with an eligible man—and quickly."

She met this sally with a feeble grin. "Oh, why certainly. Such a thing may be had at the snap of one's fingers."

"In all seriousness," he went on. "He cannot pressure you into a union you do not wish for."

"He is confident that I do not know what I want and that I will come to discover it when he has presented his case for marriage in several different ways." She allowed her voice to drip with irony to relieve some of her annoyance.

"I know men like that," Basile said. "They are seldom convinced they might be wrong. They are never a pleasure to be around." Sophie laughed, and he paused, pulling her to a stop. "I have not asked you where you wished to go."

"I was merely taking air. But I suppose I should turn back toward my home." She gave him a look. "Even though I do trust Jeannot entirely."

Basile directed his steps down the street where he'd said he lived. They would be walking a full square to bring her back to her house.

"When will you do more than just take air?" he asked her. "Have you plans to reenter the social scene again? I am sure it is what your grandmother would wish."

"Odd you should say that," she replied. "It is what my grandmother wishes. She told me so, but with her in a state of such weakness I fear to heed her."

"In that case, I will have an invitation sent for Madame Beauchamp's dinner tomorrow night. And really, I think you will be pleasing your grandmother by attending. I can have Zoé's mother include you in their party so that you will be accompanied."

"It is kind of you," Sophie said slowly. "I would like it, if it should not trouble Madame Sainte-Croix. I…am not sure it is the right thing to do, despite my grandmother telling me to go. What if something should happen to her whilst I am out on a pleasure jaunt?"

"You will ask Jeannot to tell you if she has any fears that your grandmother might take a turn for the worse. She has skill with healing, and I think she will know if there is cause for concern." Basile pointed on the opposite side of the street a little farther ahead. "That is my house."

It was a grand structure whose fa?ade took up a good portion of the street. The building was made of limestone and there was an iron gate in its center. As they drew abreast, she looked through the opening where she was afforded a view of the courtyard and garden. The house was a pleasing, welcoming edifice. Grand and yet built in simple lines with elegant paned windows set in even rows.

"Beautiful." She turned to look at him. "Your family has owned it for generations, I imagine?"

He nodded, and she bit her lip as a thought occurred. What had they in common? Why, nothing. She had to ask him—had to know. When she brought her eyes to rest on his handsome bearing, he was looking at her curiously.

"Why in heaven's name are you acting the friend to me when I am so clearly beneath you in station? Your family, your title…everything is centuries old. Does it not turn your head at times?" She laughed, attempting to cover up the embarrassment over her impetuous but honest words.

He continued to study her, and it only made her face grow warm until she needed to turn forward again to escape his gaze.

"I am accustomed to my station, so I suppose I don't heed it," he answered at last. "I'm not grateful for it—not as I should be. I am more grateful for my family seat in the Champagne region. In truth, I am the last of four brothers and it is only the fickle hand of Fate that chose me as marquis."

His lips tightened, and he moved on without saying more, leading her to the end of the street and turning right to bring her back to the humbler lodgings that were temporarily her own. So, he had not wished to inherit his title then. This was news to her. Despite her sympathy for his position, it had also not escaped her notice that he had not answered her question.

They spoke only of benign observations as they walked and she considered the moment for honesty to have passed. However, when they reached the front of her house, he stopped and faced her.

"As for your first question." He leaned in until she was pinned underneath his very direct regard. "I befriended you initially on a whim to enliven my stay here while I am forced to be in Paris. But you must not think I regret the acquaintance, for I do not. You do not bore me."

"Heavens," she said, in possession of herself again at this sobering reminder. "You overwhelm me with your compliments, sir."

He laughed. "You think it poor praise, Sophie, but believe me when I say there are few people indeed of whom I can say the same."

Sophie acknowledged this with a nod, for what could she say in return? It was clear he had not lost his heart to her, and she would do well not to be a fool and lose hers to him.