Page 19 of A Sham Betrothal
“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 themdospeak 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. “Myfiancé’s former nurse. He has graciously lent her to bring my grandmother back to health.”
Sheldon studied her with narrowed eyes before leaningin. “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 wouldreturn 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 Château 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.”
