Page 23 of A Sham Betrothal
Sophie glanced at Basile, who was watching her. His face was absent of its usual glint of humor as though he were truly curious about her answer.
“You may be right,” she said cautiously. “But those same men might very well fight for a woman’s heart if only they are assured of their love being returned. Wholeheartedly, faithfully, and with a single focus.”
She glanced back at Basile, and his lowered eyelids made it impossible to discern what he was thinking or whether he thought her advice sound. In the next moment, one of Zoé’s admirers came to join the circle and carried her away for a dance.
“Wholeheartedly, faithfully, and with a single focus,” he said, smiling at Sophie until her breath evaporated. “Itold Zoé something along the same lines, but it is much prettier having it come from your lips.”
Sophie discoveredhow enjoyable it was to experience a ball at Basile’s side. He left her at regular intervals as was fashionable, but she felt his steady presence and it brought her a sense of protection. And, miracle upon miracle, he was able to pull Zoé and her sister and mother away at little after midnight, claiming a long ride home.
The next morning, Sophie peeked into her grandmother’s room and found her supported by cushions so she was able to sit partially upright. It was the first time her grandmother was seated thus and fully alert, and Sophie knew it was time to talk to her about the bills first and foremost, but also to tell her about the betrothal. As she entered the room, Jeannot patted her arm affectionately.
“I will leave you.”
Sophie murmured her thanks, glancing after the nurse. She had not seemed to lose her remarkable energy even in the past days caring for Mrs. Twisden.
Returning her regard to her grandmother, Sophie came over and sat on the chair near her bedside. She clasped one of her hands and smiled at her. “You look well.”
“I do feel improved. But it is too soon to think of leaving the bed, as much as I would like to.”
“Much too soon,” Sophie replied, admonition touching her voice. “I am too thankful to see you recovering to wish for you to relapse into another bout of illness.”
“I can’t believe I have wasted so much of ourprecious time in Paris by being bed-bound.” Her grandmother sighed.
She reached her other hand out and Sophie understood she wished for water, which Jeannot had managed to infuse with lemon. The nurse had taken the morning to return to the marquis’s house and replenish her stock from the greenhouse there. Sophie owed a debt of gratitude to the marquis she would not be able to pay.
When her grandmother had finished drinking, she handed the glass back to Sophie and asked, “How is our Sheldon doing? I hope he has managed to find enough to amuse himself with in Paris. He agreed to this trip as a great favor to me. Otherwise, I think he would never bestir himself to leave England.”
“As to that,” Sophie began, her brows knit, “is it true that he not only arranged the trip, but also financed it?”
Mrs. Twisden sent Sophie a startled glance, then dropped her eyes. “So you know about that. I meant to tell you.”
She fell silent and when Sophie grew tired of waiting for more, she prompted her. “Why did you do it? Of course Sheldon has expectations of marriage if he is purchasing my gowns and everything else on this journey.”
Irritation had seeped into her voice, and she did not wish to be irritated with her grandmother. She was the only person Sophie had left on this earth, but this incautious agreement to allow Sheldon to foot their bills seemed most unlike her.
“Sheldon proposed it when I confessed I wished to go to Paris but had not the means. At the beginning, he did not bring up the idea of marriage as a consequence, and I assumed he had decided to help because of his friendship with your father. When I understood his intentions in yourregard, it was too late to pull back. I had hoped you might develop feelings in return…” She raised guilty eyes to Sophie. “Do not think too harshly of me, my dear.”
Sophie could not like that her grandmother had done this without talking to her, but she could not remain angry or even judge her. How could she, when she had her own secrets?
She shook her head. “I don’t.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Her grandmother squeezed her hand. Then, after a pause, she added, “How is he keeping himself?”
Sophie fingered the coverlet and studied the pattern of red flowers and green foliage printed onto the cream fabric. It was now that she needed to open up in the same way she wished her grandmother had done with her. But she could not be entirely truthful, for to confess that she had pretended an engagement she had no hope of keeping—only to make it perfectly clear that Sheldon had no hope of winning her hand—would only plunge her grandmother into worry. It provided only a temporary relief and solved nothing.
“As to Sheldon,” she began. She bit her lip and looked at her grandmother, whose careworn face she loved so much. Her eyes had dimmed with illness but were still studying her as intelligently as ever.
Sophie wondered what she could say that would be honest but not force her to confess what she was not ready to. “Sheldon does seem to be enjoying himself in Paris, for he has a number of engagements that keep him occupied.”
“I am much relieved to hear it,” Mrs. Twisden said, as if that settled it. “My dear, would you brush my hair for me? I do not like to bother Mary when she is so busy, and I fear to tax Jeannot with it when she is only here as a favor to us.”
Sophie nodded and took the brush, its bristles softened with use. She removed her grandmother’s cap and brushed the long silver hair that had greatly thinned with age but was still beautiful.
“I have some news that will quite surprise you, I think,” she said cautiously, thankful that she was not forced to look at her grandmother as she said it.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, for I am to be married.” Her voice faltered then. How could she tell her grandmother the particulars of such a falsehood?
