Chapter 7

Basile left Sophie at her door, conscious of his clumsy attempt to add distance to their relationship by speaking of whims—and conscious also of the inexplicable regret that came when he walked on alone. All rational thought dictated he keep her at arm's length, thus shielding her from false promises. Yet, the irrational beat of his heart did not care to create distance, not when the unexpected glimpse of her staring out over the city of Paris caused his feet to stop dead in their tracks. The sight had naturally led him to offer her his arm so she might stroll with him, and that had brought him as much pleasure as he could hope for. He could think of far worse fates.

He would not go home just yet. Not before he had sorted through the puzzling feelings that surfaced whenever he was around Sophie. He headed back toward the Seine and retraced the same steps, this time continuing on to the small island from which sprang the Notre Dame. His thoughts were elusive, and he did not attempt to tame them until he came to stand in front of the centuries-old edifice. There, he lifted his eyes to the slim vertical arches that rose up to the heavens, with the three portals carved with Biblical figures that included the last judgment. Above the central portal was a magnificent rose window that could only be described as a wonder considering when it had been built.

When she had asked why he had befriended her, he'd played the impulse off as a means to pass the time and evade boredom. The words had been almost cruel, though he'd had no intention to wound. He had left her in no doubt of his determination not to seek a relationship of a more serious nature. It was the proper, rational thing to do. And yet, was he being truthful with himself? It had indeed started as a game to pass the time, but her worry over her grandmother slipped past his defenses, and her dependence on the Englishman galled. Her well-being mattered to him as though she had indeed been a friend of long date.

He turned from the great cathedral and headed toward the English embassy on rue Jacob, where he knew Zoé would be. Charles Arlington had sent a few of the French families an invitation to drink tea, and as the ambassador was well-liked among the French, it had naturally been accepted. Basile had also received an invitation, although the gathering was not supposed to be a large one. It was more likely due to his friendship with Zoé than his title.

When he arrived, he found the drawing room packed with both English and French. Lord Stormont, the English ambassador, stood in conversation with M. and Madame Necker, and Basile went over to greet him before turning to look over the crowd. Zoé was standing beside Charles, and upon catching sight of him, she lifted her hand and waved him over.

"Good day, Charles. Zoé," he added, making her a magnificent leg, which she tutted away without bothering to curtsy.

"Never mind that. Charles has informed me that Le Ranelagh will open at last on Monday, and he is invited to attend the opening ball. Enfin—rather it was Lord Stormont who was invited, but he was given extra tickets." She paused for breath, adding, "You must come with me, of course. It is the highest honor to be seen there."

Basile glanced at Charles, whose friendly greeting was dimmed by what he suspected was jealousy. Zoé was not going about her pursuit in the right way, but he was not going to refuse her proposal when it suited his own desires.

"I shall be delighted, but I won't need one of your tickets. I have been offered an annual subscription and agreed to it, although I must be out of my mind. I do not plan to stay in Paris for as long." He turned to address Charles. "Who is to be of the party?"

Zoé did not allow Charles to answer. "You have an annual subscription and did not think to tell me?"

He shrugged. "I did not think it worthy news."

"Well," she exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. "It matters not that you will return to Verdelle, for you may continue to provide me with tickets even after you leave."

Charles's expression lightened and he offered Basile a smile. "To answer your question, we have not got up a party yet. The embassy was given ten tickets, and Mademoiselle Sainte-Croix and her parents and sister will use four of them. Lord Stormont and myself will take another two. If you will not need any, we will find a ready use for the other four tickets."

"I will not. Charles, will you excuse me if I speak with Zoé for a moment in private?" Basile asked. Charles's expression grew closed again, but he nodded and stepped aside.

"What is it?" Zoé asked, full of curiosity when they were alone.

"I want you to accompany Sophie to Madame Beauchamp's party tomorrow night. Will you do it?"

Zoé gave a pleased gasp. "Is her grandmother well then? I am so glad to hear it."

"No, she is still unwell, but I have sent my old nurse to help care for her, and I think it would do Sophie good to escape from her worries for a while." He was conscious of Zoé's careful scrutiny, which he did not like and did his best to weather.

"Hm." After a moment's speculation, she promised that she would visit Sophie to offer escort and be sure she would be free to come. "And you will wish to invite her to the Ranelagh ball, of course," she added. "I am sure she will not have seen anything like it. The decorations are said to be most extraordinary, and the ball is held outdoors."

It had already occurred to Basile to invite Sophie to it, but he did not wish to be too eager. "We shall see. In the meantime, I thank you for your services in bringing Sophie tomorrow night."

Basile was uncharacteristicallyearly to Madame Beauchamp's party, and it was already crowded before Sophie arrived. When Basile at last caught her shy smile across a packed room, he went very still and found that his breath did not come as easily as it usually did. The sensation was so foreign it kept him rooted in place. There is something there, he thought. This is no ordinary acquaintance I shall soon forget.

She was standing at Zoé's side, and her hair powdered close to her natural color set her apart from the crowd. She wore a dark plum gown not unlike the blacks that the rest of the noble and genteel society were wearing. Her face had little of the powder and rouge that fashionable women wore, but it suited her. Her eyes had enough expression to equal the most vivid of colors. Still, he was curious to see what she would look like were she to dress in more of a French fashion with white-powdered hair, carefully placed patches on her cheek, and a gown in a more daring cut.

M. Cholmsley peeled himself away from a small circle and went over to her. His proprietary air was unmistakable, and Basile stepped forward to do something about it. He then came to an abrupt halt, realizing that Claudia Bordenave would spot him if he went in that direction. She had appeared at the last two evening soirées he had attended, and he began to think that someone was apprising her of his schedule. He could not seem to escape her no matter how hard he tried. She lost no opportunity to bring up their past engagement and list the reasons why they would still suit. It was extremely wearisome, and he had begun to feel hounded. Perhaps he could escape her this evening.

For some reason, her regard had settled on Sophie and the peacock and remained fixed there. She had always been a cunning woman, and he feared she had connected Sophie to himself and was looking to make trouble. Thankfully, Claudia moved away minutes later just as Zoé pulled Sophie from Mr. Cholmsley and engaged her in conversation he could have no part of since it was in French.

That was Basile's cue. He approached Sophie at the moment Charles appeared at Zoé's side. Once Charles had greeted Zoé, he had no eyes for anyone else, which left Basile and Sophie to a blessedly uninterrupted conversation.

"Enchanté, ma Sophie," he said, bending down to kiss her proffered hand. "You have arrived."

"Your Sophie?" she repeated, blushing even as she smiled. However, she said nothing further regarding his endearment. "Thank you again for sending your dear nurse to help us. I would not have dared to leave my grandmother had I not had someone as competent as Jeannot to see to her needs. She has even managed to win Mary over, and they find ways to communicate without a shared language."

"Jeannot needed no persuading to come, I assure you. She has been pestering me about providing her with an heir to dote upon, and without that, she must have something else to do."

Sophie had no chance to respond, which was just as well since he had been speaking of heirs and himself in the same breath. Grégoire passed by them on his circuit of the room and made her an elegant bow. "Mademoiselle Twisden, I am delighted to see you are out in company again. Your grandmother, I trust, is much improved?"

"She is…better, but I fear it will be some time before she can rejoin society. I hope she may not spend her entire visit in Paris tied to her bed. She was so looking forward to seeing her friends again."

"One must hope, indeed," Grégoire said.

A movement in their direction caught Basile's eye, and he groaned inwardly. La Bordenave had spotted him after all and as she approached, Cholmsley eyed her progress, glancing between the widow and Sophie. Basile quietly ground his teeth. Would he never be free of that woman? And must Sophie forever put up with that overbearing coxcomb? No! Something must be done.

"Bonsoir, Basile."

As Claudia curtsied, the wide skirts of her gown forced Sophie to step backwards. His mind calculating rapidly, he bit back a protest to see her treated that way when she was the superior of the two women. Sophie's affronted look went as quickly as it came, and she schooled her features. She did not so much as look at Basile, and it seemed to him as though she accepted the indignity. It was time to put an end to La Bordenave's pretensions.

"Good evening, Madame Bordenave. What a most propitious meeting, for I am able to introduce you to my fiancée, Mademoiselle Sophie Twisden."

Taking full advantage of Claudia's shocked attention fixed on him, he caught Sophie's eyes and tried to read her reaction to his impetuous announcement. He allowed his face to reveal nothing, but his eyes compelled her to accept his falsehood. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was that he could be free of Claudia's constant presence and Sophie might dispense with her unpleasant suitor. He would worry about the rest later.

Sophie's color heightened, but her face did not express any more of what she was feeling than his. She held his gaze, seeming to weigh the meaning of his false proposal. Somehow he knew, dangerous though it was, that she would not hold him to it. It was a dastardly thing to do, he knew, but he trusted her to understand why he had done it. He made a vow to himself that she would not suffer from it.

"Is that so?" Claudia's voice hardened as she turned to stare at Sophie.

Sophie pulled her eyes from Basile and turned up the corners of her lips.

"Yes, Basile and I are betrothed, although it has not been publicly announced before now. I had thought we decided to wait until Grandmama was better before announcing it, did we not, chéri?" She looked at him sweetly and he could hear the faintest edge to her voice. It was only because he was coming to know her that he could hear it at all.

Basile knew what was required of him, and he brushed past Claudia and held Sophie's hand, bringing it to his lips.

"Forgive me, mon amour. In my ardor, I was too eager to share our good news with the world. But, of course, I should have waited until your grandmother was well enough."

"Betrothed! You and Miss Twisden?" Claudia exclaimed in a ringing voice as her incredulous stare rolled from Sophie to him. Basile could not understand why she'd spoken in English until several of the party turned her way, including the bug-eyed stare of Mr. Cholmsley. The room began to hum as the women whipped open their fans to spread the news.

"Sophie," Mr. Cholmsley thundered, moving toward her at once. "What is this woman saying? You must correct her."

Sophie looked up at her compatriot with a smile that could not have been more convincing. "Please wish us happy, Sheldon. The marquis and I have reached an agreement."

Mr. Cholmsley seemed lost for words, but he stood in front of her and begged that she explain herself, which she did in a low voice that Basile had trouble catching over the hum of the masses. His every attention was on her.

"Sheldon, leave it, I beg of you," she said. "I have already told you there is no hope for a match between us. And now you will understand why."

Claudia, not wishing to have her message lost for the remaining crowd, added in French for good measure, "I declare, I almost thought you would never marry, Basile. I suppose the need for an heir must cause one to make hasty steps in that direction."

She spotted Armand advancing, his eyes on Basile, and pounced. "Monsieur de Galladier, you are a most intimate friend of the marquis. You must tell me all about their coup de foudre!"

She took his arm and whisked him away but not before Basile heard Armand say, "Madame, you have guessed the matter. It was indeed love at first sight."

Basile sent a questioning glance at Grégoire, who answered. "You may be sure he will know how to handle her." He leaned in to murmur the rest. "He is only na?ve when it comes to his own affections. He knows who La Bordenave is."

Grégoire glanced at Sophie, who seemed to look anywhere but at them, then dipped his chin to Basile to murmur, "I shall leave you to your oh-so-charmante fiancée."

Amidst the whispers, Basile tucked Sophie's hand into his arm, and she walked at his side with her head held high. He led her through the open doors of the terrace to the stone balustrade that looked over the garden at the back of the house. Now outdoors, he gulped at the fresh air. There were steps that led down to the garden, which had couples taking a turn in the rectangular stretch of grass. Other couples sat more discreetly on the stone benches in verdant arches.

"You must think I have gone mad," he began. The night air was cool and perfumed with flowers and freshly cut grass. "Allow me to explain?—"

"It is possible I have already guessed all." Sophie breathed in and lifted her gaze to the sky, which was particularly clear and showed a host of stars across its expanse. "I understand that this is not a true betrothal, but that you did it for your own purposes—and perhaps for me in that way you have of playing harmless games."

Basile could not answer this. It certainly did not put him in the best light, but he did not deserve better.

They walked on, crossing underneath one of the arched trellises that had fragrant blooming roses intertwined from one side to the other. "In all honesty, you have saved me from the most unwelcome attentions of Sheldon Cholmsley. And I can only suspect that your motives in proposing were for similar reasons."

"It is just so," Basile replied, glancing at her from the side and trying to read her expression. He could only make out her profile lightly in the moonlight, but he could detect her scent and admired the soft skin of her hand when he placed his over it. Walking next to her brought him pleasure, despite his unease over his impulsive announcement. "Now that I have given my word, however, I engage to honor my commitment."

"No, no." Sophie pulled him to a stop, and he could barely discern the furrow in her brow. "I shall not hold you to it. I understood the spontaneous manner in which you announced it. I have no wish to force you to honor a commitment you made under such circumstances. I assure you, I did not look for your proposal."

Basile smiled to himself, prey to relief that she would free him of his engagement so rashly given and piqued despite himself that she was so adamant in rejecting his offer. He allowed silence to reign again as he considered his words. It was a bit late for that, but he would move more cautiously.

"Well, I shall not force you into a marriage that was not of your choosing, simply by having announced the match publicly. But here is what I think on the matter. Before you return to London, you might choose to announce that you have come to the realization you prefer to unite yourself with a man from your own country. Hopefully after M. Cholmsley has either left or set his attention on someone else." He smiled at her and gave a light tug on her arm. "You are therefore obliged to regretfully withdraw your promise. I engage to be suitably devastated but declare myself perfectly in line with your reasons. Nothing shall impinge upon your honor."

From what he could glimpse of her expression in the dark, Sophie did not look entirely convinced at the ease of his proposed rupture. But when she turned to him, her tone betrayed no hesitation. "I think that will answer very well. And in the meantime, I may enjoy my stay in Paris without being persecuted by proprietary men."

"And I by such women," Basile added. He exhaled and flashed her a smile born of relief. Sophie had not demurred over his crazy scheme, and perhaps he would indeed be free of Claudia. By the time he and Sophie ended the charade, he would be safely back on his estate beyond the widow's reach. His relief made him want to offer something to Sophie—an unaccustomed personal disclosure.

"I should probably explain that I was once betrothed to Claudia, and she broke off the engagement for a man with better prospects. Ever since she arrived in Paris in her widowed state, she has not stopped hounding me with proof of all the reasons we should make a match of it again. I, of course, have learned my lesson and cannot be tempted."

"So you do understand to some degree what I am facing with Sheldon," she said.

"All too well." He pressed the hand that rested on his arm. "I promise you, this will be an advantageous move for us both."

The garden began to fill with more of the guests with people coming nearer—ostensibly with the object to listen. It would not do to discuss details here with such a public audience, and he must certainly call on her tomorrow to align their stories. He glanced up into the vast, candlelit drawing room, beckoning in its gaiety. At the door stood one of the king's courtiers, and he made a signal to Basile that he wished to speak to him.

Ah. Basile had not yet been summoned to Versailles, but it appeared the time to show his allegiance to Louis XVI was now upon him. He only wondered how quickly he would have to obey the summons.

"Shall we go inside?"