Chapter 8

Sophie's tête-à-tête lasted only a short time before Basile brought her back indoors. Within minutes of stepping inside, they were drawn from one conversation to another with people she scarcely knew but who were all brimming with curiosity. She was hard-pressed to hide her alarm, even with Basile at her side. It was more from fear of questions she would have trouble answering than his sudden declaration, although to find oneself suddenly engaged without a prior understanding did pose an upset to one's equilibrium.

She had pretended a very natural indifference to his announcement and assured him that by no means would she hold him to it. This, indeed, was true. The thought of trapping a man into marriage was abhorrent to her, even if he had created the trap and stumbled into it all on his own. She would never force his hand.

But to be the object of such scrutiny was unnerving. Zoé was the first to come over to them the minute she and Basile stepped indoors.

"How very, very naughty of you to become secretly engaged and not tell even me, Basile." Zoé managed a pout which soon split into a grin. "But I am so happy for you both. In sooth, I had guessed your feelings ran deep when you asked me to escort Sophie here tonight."

Before Sophie could recover from that disclosure, Zoé slipped her arm through Sophie's and led her away, saying over her shoulder, "I shall learn all the news from her, for I know you will tell me nothing."

That caused Sophie's heart to accelerate, a feat she had thought not possible considering how nervous she was already. How could she prevaricate without any time to prepare, and to a woman who had shown herself to be a friend?

"So tell me everything," Zoé said, leading her over to a false column built into the wall and painted with ivy. "I want to know all the details of how you caught Basile when no other woman could do so."

"Oh, well…I suppose we…" Heat rushed up Sophie's face as she struggled to think how to answer. "We met in England first, you see. And I suppose it must have been love…" Her words trailed away when she saw Zoé's look of disbelief.

"That will not do, my dear," Zoé leaned in to whisper. "Basile has told me that he in fact met you here in Paris, and only a few days ago."

Sophie grew hot with embarrassment which caused a surge of irritation to rise. How dare he put her in such a position! "Then why do you pester me about a love story? You must know it is not true."

Zoé's changeable features moved to chagrin. "Oh, did I anger you? I am sorry. I thought it might be true. For you see, I am a romantic at heart, and I have never seen Basile act this way. I was quite convinced he did indeed fall for you at first sight."

Tumultuous thoughts and feelings raged inside of Sophie. One of his closest friends thought his attachment was real? What if it was? No, no—it can't be! Don't travel that dangerous, futile path of thought.

When Sophie did not respond, Zoé tugged at her arm, which she was still holding on to. "Oh, do forgive me for causing you distress. I can see that you do not like this subject at all."

Sophie attempted a smile that would not appear bitter. If it was this difficult to explain their sham betrothal to Zoé, who was something of a friend, then it would only be harder with everyone else.

"So you have not fallen in love," Zoé said quietly, underneath the murmur of voices that filtered around them as she studied Sophie's face. "It is a betrothal that is not meant to last?"

"'Tis only to keep persistent suitors from harassing me, and I believe Basile has the same objective." She lifted her gaze to meet Zoé's. "At least that is what he seemed to have in mind when he announced it."

Zoé's eyes opened very wide. "Do you mean you did not agree in advance to pretend a betrothal? Oh, that is infame! And just like Basile to do it. That is why I was never tempted to make a push for him, myself. Not," she added dismissively, "that I've ever had the slightest tendresse for him."

Sophie thought she had no blushes left, but she was wrong. She had not intended to throw Basile to the wolves. "Will you kindly keep this to yourself and not tell Basile I have told you this, for I should not wish to embarrass him."

"Have no fear on that head." Zoé reached out for two lemonades from a servant who was passing by. "Basile is never embarrassed, although he deserves to be."

She handed a drink to Sophie, whose tongue was cleaving to the roof of her mouth. The sweet lemonade was at first unpleasant, but the cold liquid soothed and calmed her as it went down.

"Nevertheless, I will keep this secret," Zoé said. "I may look frivolous, but I am a good friend to have. I do not gossip." She sipped her lemonade, her eyes drifting across the room to where the English ambassador stood.

Sophie followed her look and crossed that of Sheldon's. As soon as he caught sight of her, he marched forward to take her hostage with his speech. Zoé took one look at his face and said, "I believe he will have his say no matter what I do, but do not forget that you have promised to leave with me, so you must not give into his entreaties if he orders you to leave early." She moved from Sophie's side just as Sheldon arrived.

"Sophie, there you are. After that most shocking announcement, you disappeared before I had a chance to find out what this was all about. Where were you?"

"Kindly keep your voice down." Sophie attempted to soften her admonition with a smile. "Although we are surrounded by French speakers, many of them do speak English also and you are calling unwelcome attention to us."

"Very well. But you must answer my question. I did not even know you would be here tonight. Who is staying with your grandmother?"

"Jeannot, the former nurse to the m—" She stopped. "My fiancé's former nurse. He has graciously lent her to bring my grandmother back to health."

Sheldon studied her with narrowed eyes before leaning in. "This betrothal has come about too quickly. When did he request your hand in marriage? When had he the time to do so?"

Sophie thought quickly. "He came to visit me. He asked me in our garden, and I told him yes."

Sheldon's frown lines grew pronounced. "Does your grandmother know?"

She paused—oh dear, what to tell Grandmama?—then shook her head. "No, she does not."

At this, his look of tension eased. "You see, all this has been done without any guidance, and in a foreign country. You are under the spell of this land, for in England we do not go and betroth ourselves to someone we scarcely know without the guidance of those who know better. Your father entrusted your care to me."

When he saw her look, he added, "In so many words."

The number of people gathering near to listen had grown, and Sophie laid a hand on his arm. "It would be better if this conversation were had at another moment and in a more private setting."

Sheldon looked around as though seeing for the first time the faces alert for gossip. "You may be sure it will be," he seethed quietly. "I shall take it upon myself to visit you. Perhaps your grandmother will receive me."

That was the last thing Sophie wanted, and she replied firmly, "Perhaps. But not until she is well."

"Let us hope this news does not finish her," Sheldon said grimly, and since he gave no indication he would move from her side, she curtsied and turned to see if she might find a friendly face elsewhere in the crowd.

The rest of the evening was no easier. Basile came to apologize, saying that one of the courtiers had informed him he was summoned to Versailles immediately. He would return as soon as the king had given him leave to do so. With Zoé speaking with Mr. Arlington, Sophie felt like she had lost her last friend.

More people sought introductions, no matter how flimsy, so they might learn of her story with the marquis. She was assured just how sought-after he was and how astonishing a thing it was that a simple Englishwoman with very little fashion could catch his heart in such a way. This was said with a laugh, supposedly meant to take the sting out of the words, but which seemed to make them more poisonous. Sophie could only reply that it was indeed unaccountable and that there was no explaining the ways of the heart. She was more than ready to leave the soirée at two o'clock in the morning, when Zoé was at last ready to depart, urged on by Madame Sainte-Croix. She decided that if she was given a choice, it would be the last time she attended a party with Zoé, whose aim, it appeared, was to be the last one to leave.

After receivingthe message that the king had asked for him and having bid farewell to Sophie, Basile returned home from the dinner to gather some things he would need for an extended stay at court. He dearly hoped the king would not keep him there overly long. Perhaps he could claim a betrothal as an excuse to get away. Then again…was it wise to announce a betrothal that would not be carried through?

He rubbed his chin as the carriage rattled over the packed dirt roads and headed out of the city. It was probably better not to bring up the betrothal on his own, although the queen would certainly hear of it at some point and wish for all the details. He did not know Marie-Antoinette well, but from what little he knew, she would likely expect a story embellished with every romantic detail.

Basile did not often question himself, but his impulse was proving difficult to reason away. It mattered little that Sophie would eventually leave France and that what he had said was true—it was possible to end a betrothal without either of them facing scandal. She would not be improved by his public declaration, and she would face the same worries at the end of it that she did now. His lips tightened into a thin line and he stretched out his legs, irritated with himself for being so hasty.

When Basile became marquis, he had chosen not to have a room in the palace, although it had been offered to him. He explained in the most diplomatic way at his disposal that he was not a member of the king's advisory circle and therefore would not wish to take up the space of someone who spent more time in Versailles than he. He was allowed to maintain his own small house nearby, and that was his destination when he finally arrived after three in the morning, pulling his sleepy servants out of bed to attend to him.

The next morning, he removed his sword before entering the king's chamber and appeared before the king, bowing very low. "Majesté, votre serviteur."

"Marquis," the king replied, with a nod and gestured for him to sit at one of the velvet-covered chairs in the room before turning his attention back to the Duc de Lauzun.

Basile did as ordered, waving away a glass of Bordeaux, and struck up a conversation with the Comte d'Artois, who was also waiting on his brother the king's pleasure.

"I am to understand that the Chateau de la Muette will host an open ball beginning on Monday. Will you attend it?" Basile asked.

"Le Ranelagh?" The count drank of his wine. "It will depend on the king. He will not attend this early in the court's mourning period, but he may give me leave to do so. Do you have a subscription?"

"Yes, and I plan to attend if I have leave." Basile looked up as the queen swept into the king's cabinet, followed by her attendants. He leapt to his feet along with the other gentlemen.

The queen came first to the king and curtsied deeply as all conversation ceased. Then her eyes roved around the room until they landed on Basile, her eyes suddenly intent. A ping of warning settled in his breast. She knew.

"You may continue with your conversations," she announced. Turning to her husband, she added, "I only wished to hear from Monsieur le Marquis about his betrothal to the Englishwoman, Mademoiselle Twisden."

All eyes turned to Basile, causing his breath to seize. If he were the blushing sort…

He moved forward and made another elaborate leg to his queen. "Your Majesty is remarkably well connected, and I am so pleased to hear it. I hope I may have the favor of your approval."

She indicated for him to rise. "Why, certainly. How did you meet her? What is this romantic story? I must have it." The conversation did not quite resume, but the king had at least turned back to the duke on his right.

Basile did not take his eyes off Marie-Antoinette, but he felt the attention of everyone in the room waiting for his answer. What seemed an innocent invention hours before became twisted as he contemplated lying to his queen.

"I fear our story will disappoint you. We met briefly when I was touring England and Scotland before I came into the marquisate, but other than discovering a mutual delight in each other's company, we did not think to pursue a courtship." He licked his lips. "Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon her outside of Stohrer!"

"And when was this?" she asked, her lovely eyes alight with interest. Basile could understand why men were so captivated by her, although he would never draw so near to a flame that could not but singe.

"Not much above a week ago," he admitted.

"Voyons!" she exclaimed. "It is a love match, then. Un véritable coup de foudre if you can betroth yourself so quickly. I am to understand that you have been an elusive heart to capture in Paris. It needed only this Englishwoman."

"I admit 'tis so, madame. If only you will countenance it, our joy will be complete." His thoughts ran quickly. He needed to prepare for the eventual rupture by sowing doubt. "Of course, we have some obstacles to overcome."

"Love removes all obstacles," the queen said as she smiled upon him. She then took leave of her king and swept out in much the same way she had come.

Her only purpose in entering the king's chamber, then, had been to hear his story. A slight apprehension that was much like nausea settled over him. He would have to make this betrothal convincing and make their rupture even more so.