Page 11 of A Sham Betrothal
“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 yourmarquise?”
“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.”
“Werea 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…”
