Chapter 9

Sophie's grandmother seemed more at ease under Jeannot's skilled care, but Sophie did not dare upset her grandmother by asking about the bills Sheldon had accumulated for the gowns and all the rest. And she had no qualms about refusing to admit Sheldon to see Mrs. Twisden when he came the next day for his promised remonstrance.

"Surely, you have taken the time to think about what I said," he began, after giving her the briefest of bows and charging his way into the sitting room. "It is not too late to pull out of this betrothal. After all, this was not announced in London, and there will be no scandal attached to your name if you were to do so."

"I have no intention of pulling out of the engagement," she said firmly, gesturing for him to sit. He would want to have his say, and she might as well hear it now when there were no eager ears to listen.

Ignoring her invitation, he paced to the other side of the room, then turned to face her. "Have you told your grandmother yet?"

"I did not deem it wise this morning when I went in to see her. She is far from well."

"It is clear to me that the news will not be well received. You know it and I know it." He pinned her with his scrutiny. "Otherwise, you would have told her by now."

"Joyful news can cause an overset in a person's health nearly as much as sober news," Sophie replied calmly, although her thoughts raced from the precariousness of her situation. "I do not wish for her to have any excitement whatsoever."

"I believe I should see her myself." His face became mulish.

"That is quite out of the question. And she would not thank you for witnessing her in a state of illness, for you are not family"—Sophie's conscience struck her even amidst what was growing into a firm dislike of the man—"despite how well you have cared for us, and for that I do thank you."

"I do not see what I am to do here in Paris, now that you are betrothed to someone else," he grumbled. "She and I have points to discuss given these unpleasant developments in regards to our connection. I would leave at once, except that I have several engagements with people in the embassy and they would not like for me to cry off."

"You must do as you see fit," Sophie said, turning as Mary came into the room. She indicated for her to set the tea on the table, then sat and gestured once again for Sheldon to do the same. The maid finished setting everything out and left the room. After a glance at his face, Sophie softened and she poured him a cup of tea. From his point of view, her behavior must seem highly ungrateful. "I do hope you will accept my decision and that we can remain friends."

"Hmph." He stared down at the fob attached to his waistcoat. "Your betrothal is of such a sudden nature, perhaps it will not last. I am a patient man."

Sophie gritted her teeth. "I certainly hope it will not keep you from looking around for a lady who will be honored to become your wife," she said, listening to the sounds of Jeannot and Mary conferring in the kitchen in two different languages.

He finished his cup in silence, then sighed. "I will have to talk to the marquess about your arrangements here in Paris. I am sure we can come to an agreement. It makes no sense that I should be made to settle the bills of a woman with whom I have no hope of sharing a future. It is only natural that he should wish to take them over."

Sophie felt her face blanch with understanding of the humiliation that awaited her. "You cannot…you cannot think to do that."

He looked at her in surprise. "Whyever not? I should not like to allow another man to be paying for the expenses of my betrothed. It is most inappropriate and sends the wrong message."

"But no one knows of your assistance to our family," she replied as a new fear assailed her. "I should hope you are not spreading it about at the embassy to whom we owe our sojourn in Paris."

Sheldon shifted. "Oh, as to that…"

His non-answer did nothing to relieve her fears. So, everyone at the embassy knew of her impoverished state. Mary reentered the room, this time bringing an apricot cake. She set it in front of Sophie, who cut a small slice for Sheldon, although he had a hearty appetite. It was petty, she knew, but tears of humiliation stung her eyes. Tears she would not let him see.

Composing herself, she handed him his plate and refilled his cup, then she sipped her own tea to gain fortitude. "I beg you will not discuss this matter with the marquis. Allow me the dignity of becoming his charge once the ceremony occurs."

He spooned a morsel of cake into his mouth, answering through his bites. "You know little of these affairs, Sophie. Trust me when I tell you it is much better this way, and the gentleman will certainly expect me to call upon him."

Although she had not had breakfast, Sophie could eat nothing. The horror of her situation had become all too clear. It was one thing for Basile to know that Sheldon was paying her bills. It was quite another for him to be handed the stack of them with the expectation that he would pay. Why, they were nothing to each other! They were even less than she and Sheldon.

When she thought about it though, she grudgingly realized that Sheldon did have somewhat of a point. And Basile was the one who had gotten her into this mess, hadn't he? He could surely afford its complications. She knew instinctively he would not hold the debt over her head the way Sheldon did—using it to try to manipulate her behavior. And oh, what it would be like to be free from Sheldon's financial hold over her!

But still, it was nothing short of humiliating, and she could only hope that Sheldon would think the better of it.

The dayof the ball at Le Ranelagh drew near, and Basile was at last allowed to leave the morning of. The king had not once requested a private interview with him, which meant he had only wished to be assured of Basile's fealty. He had to field a few questions about the nature of his betrothal from the overly inquisitive, but he mostly kicked his heels as he waited to get back to see Sophie.

It was strange that he should be eager to see her, as though they were betrothed in truth. But he could not deny his anticipation. The king at last questioned him about his wish to attend the ball, allowing him to admit he had bought an annual subscription, and that he had made plans to attend before having the pleasure of waiting upon his king. He was then graciously given leave to go and make himself ready. Upon arriving at his house in Paris, he decided to dash off a word to Sophie to tell her of his liberty to accompany her.

On impulse, before he sealed the letter, he added that if she wished to dress in the style of the French with hair powdered white and more color on her face, Jeannot would be skilled enough to help her.

That evening, Basile attended to his appearance more carefully than usual. Leaving the restraints of Versailles must surely have contributed to his exuberance in attending the ball. It was too early in the court's mourning period to wear the ivory and golds he preferred, so it would have to be black. But he would wear a white shirt and neckcloth along with the gray breeches and clocked stockings. He had a small collection of wigs, and he wore them when at Versailles. But his hair was thick enough that he could powder it and pull it back and still be considered to have dressed with elegance. He wondered if Sophie would allow Jeannot to assist her as he had suggested.

He brought his carriage to Zoé's house to fetch her, her sister, and mother—M. Sainte-Croix had taken unwell and could not attend. They stopped at Sophie's house next, and there, he bid the ladies to wait in the carriage while he went in to escort her. A light rain had begun to fall, but having brought an umbrella, he was prepared. He hoped it would not spoil their evening.

At his rap on the door, the maid admitted him, and in a matter of moments, he was standing in the entranceway. At the sound of his arrival, Sophie exited from one of the rooms, dressed in a magnificent Parisian gown of dove gray. As for the rest, Jeannot had evidently seen to Sophie's toilette.

Her hair was pulled up higher than usual, brushed over some sort of cushion as was the fashion. A large curl fell over her shoulder, and the boucles—the curls on each side of her face—framed the most charming expression. It was one of brown eyes, large with apprehension, and a shy smile that betrayed her anticipation. Her hair was powdered white, and the lovely cinnamon-clove scent of mareschal powder reached him, mingling with her usual scent of oranges. Her face had only the slightest dusting, but the red on her lips….

Ah, but he must not think of that when he would not be kissing them.

"You are merveilleuse, mademoiselle." Basile bowed low, then reached into his pocket for a small case. "Would you permit me?" He let his question dangle as he slid a tiny black patch in the shape of a heart into his fingers and approached her.

She stilled as he neared her, and his own breath ceased as he placed the patch on a spot just above where her dimple appeared when she smiled. He allowed his thumb to press the patch onto her cheek as his fingers grazed just underneath her chin. A strange stirring in his heart made it difficult to step away, and he had to wrench himself back.

"There. That will do nicely I think." His voice was gruff and he cleared it, cocking his head as he studied her. "You look French."

"Do I?" Her brown eyes opened slowly and she blinked at him. "That is a high compliment. I am aware my English fashion cannot compare to the Parisians'." Her eyes crinkled suddenly as she smiled at him.

"Zoé, Jeanne, and Madame Sainte-Croix await us in the carriage," he said, crooking his arm for her to slip hers through it.

She turned back to bid farewell to Mary just as Jeannot came into the corridor. The nurse greeted the marquis with an affectionate pat on his cheek and promised to take good care of Mrs. Twisden.

"Thank you, Jeannot—and for assisting me with my hair," Sophie said, turning back to smile at the nurse.

Basile helped her into the carriage and participated in the excited chatter as they bowled away in the direction of Passy. His thoughts, however, did not stray far from the vision of Sophie and her red-stained lips, or the feel of her skin under his fingers. He would have to make sure they had plenty of time at the ball to dance together and to talk. They still had not coordinated the stories of their supposed engagement.

The rain had ceased by the time the carriage deposited them at the entrance to the ball. There, they followed the crowd through the arched entrance, and once inside the walled space, Basile glanced around, impressed despite himself. The interior was as lavish as though it were the inside of the opera house, although the night sky was visible with all its stars beyond the multitude of lustres, each with a lit candle. The vestibule contained arcades in between a series of pilasters, and the last arcade on the left held a space to deposit hats and canes.

"Would you look at that," Sophie breathed.

Farther inside, each wall was adorned with ionic columns painted in the color of marble, whose bases were each done in pale blue. Beyond the columns was a covered walkway with benches upon which to sit, and on each side of the floor were massive chimneys adorned with mirrors. At the end of the promenade was a sunken dance floor with more benches to provide an amphitheater that looked out over it. And the whole of the place was brightly lit from candelabras and chandeliers. Everyone present was dressed in the height of fashion, though the sober colors still reigned.

The Sainte-Croix family immediately found acquaintances and fell into conversation with them, and Basile was able to lead Sophie to the side of the room.

"I was unsure if you would return in time for the ball until I got your message," Sophie said as they settled on one of the benches.

"I was as unsure as you, for the king had given me no indication if and when I might leave." He smiled at her, finding her mignonne, elaborately attired thus. What made her cute he could not say, except that perhaps it did not seem as though a veiled expression were possible on her face when she had the adorable patch next to her red lips.

She bit those lips now, and he detected anxiety in her expression. "Basile, I fear there is a complication to our sham betrothal."

He immediately thought of the queen and wondered if Sophie could possibly have heard of their conversation in the drawing room. He decided not to tell her of it if she had not. It would only increase that look of anxiety.

"Tell me," he said.

She closed her lips and breathed in deeply. "Sheldon is planning to present you with the bills for our expenses in Paris—our lodging, my gowns—everything!" She closed her eyes.

Basile broke his stunned silence with an audible gasp, then, "Le diable l'emporte!"

The devil take him!

She regarded him with unease, but he merely laughed with incredulity. "The peacock has no elegance of mind. You are well rid of him." She kept her eyes on him, and he could see she was not reassured, so he shook his head. "Let him hand me all of your bills and think no more of it. It is true that I should not choose to act as he did in the same circumstance, but there is no reason why you should be punished for his infamy."

Her eyes quit his as she trained her gaze forward. "I can understand his frustration with me, although it is most certainly not of my doing. But it is most humiliating."

A dance set was forming in front of them, and Basile made a split decision. Sophie needed to dance just now and toss her cares away. There was no reason not to enjoy this evening, or their sham betrothal—as she called it—to the fullest.

"You need be under no obligation to that man. I will stand your friend." He smiled at her, and held out his hand. "Come. Let us join this set."