Page 25 of A Sham Betrothal
“None other,” the proprietor replied. “Allow me to show you to the back entrance so you may avoid him.”
“You are most kind.” The duke followed him to a door that led to a small cobblestone passageway in the back.This was one reason the Procope was so popular amongst their set. With a benevolent owner, they were unlikely to be dunned by creditors there, for none could catch them.
Grégoire touched Basile on the arm, pulling his attention back. “You may wish to know that contrary to Armand’s belief that he threw La Bordenave off the scent, she has let it be known publicly that she does not believe your betrothal to be true.”
Basile shrugged. “It is her problem, is it not?”
“Except that now the queen’s former rival, Madame Du Barry, has been cast off, Claudia is working hard to win Marie-Antoinette’s favor. If the queen gets wind of the widow’s accusations, she might have more questions for you. Questions you will not be able to avoid and will be hard-pressed to answer without deepening your falsehoods. And if she has doubts, she will not rest until she is satisfied with your intentions.” Grégoire glanced at Armand, who knew the way of the court better than anyone. “Is that not so?”
“I am in complete agreement.” Armand thought for a minute. “Everyone seems to question how thoroughly the Englishwoman has captured your heart and whether your engagement is as fixed as you say it is. I suggest you bring your flirtation with her into the public eye to prove them wrong—a task I trust you will not find too onerous.”
No, he would not find it onerous. But how had things come to such a pass where it washetaking love advice from Armand?
Basile hadno difficulty in securing an invitation for Sophie to the following night’s soirée at the Lemoines’. He sent it along with a handwritten note explaining that the invitation was for a casual supper followed by drawing room conversation with the most influential of French society. It would be the ideal place, he explained, for them to show Mr. Cholmsley and everyone else how besotted they were with one another if she were of a mind to agree to the farce. There appeared to be some doubt about their betrothal, and it would behoove them to prove the skeptics otherwise. He did not wish to cause her any disquiet, but thought it better that they were agreed upon how to proceed.
Despite telling himself he was doing the right thing in urging her to a more outward display of their supposed affection, he suffered some small anxiety waiting for his footman to return with her response.
Mon cherBasile, it said.
I have not heard from Sheldon Cholmsley in two days, so I do not know if he will be in attendance to witness our display, but I will certainly come and assist you in dispelling those injurious rumors. Je t’embrasse,Sophie.
He smiled at her teasing tone about the injurious rumors, thankful that she was capable of humor. At least, he was fairly certain she was being humorous. But then she had closed with, “I kiss you” in his own language, as though they were indeed friends. The words went straight to his heart despite the careful barricades he had put around it. He imagined placing a kiss on one cheek, then turning to the other cheek and kissing her there. Then drawing center…
No. Absolutely not. He could not lead her on a false pathof forcing a betrothal that he said would be just for show, only to then toy with her heart by kissing her. That would be most ungentlemanly. Almost as bad as presenting another man with a bill that he himself had promised to honor.
That night, he left off the powder, imagining that Sophie would also appear in more simple attire. He used the excuse of their betrothal to fetch her himself without Zoé. As much as he loved Zoé, she would fill every silence so that he could hardly enjoy Sophie’s presence.
As he reached for the knocker to her house, the door of the adjoining house opened, and Cholmsley stepped out. He scowled as soon as he saw Basile.
Basile swallowed the biting words he was tempted to utter and bowed. “A pleasure, Monsieur Cholmsley.”
“If you say so,” the peacock replied. “I will be calling upon you with a business matter in a day or two, if you would be good enough to give me your direction.”
Basile reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and drew out one of his cards. He handed it to him unsmilingly. “You may have it, although I am not in the habit of discussing…business, as you call it, with gentlemen I scarcely know,” he replied.
“This business concerns you nearly,” Mr. Cholmsley replied before giving a curt nod and striding over to a carriage that was being held for him in front of Basile’s chaise.
He watched him drive off and shook his head. For the first time it occurred to him that he could not leave Sophie to return to England on her own, and he certainly couldn’t leave her to that man’s care. He would have to take her home himself, which would cause tongues to wag unless he were able to do it discreetly. He touched the cold brassknocker and lifted it, pausing. He would not mind the journey in her presence, though. She seemed unlikely to create the sort of fuss that would make such a trip arduous, and it would give him pleasure to extend their acquaintance.
Mary opened the door at his knock, where inside Sophie was waiting for him. Her hair was dressed more simply, the powder scarcely visible, but her gown was new and decidedly French. It was made up of dark gray silk with black embroidery on the stomacher, and the cut of the bodice pulled her shoulders back sharply and nipped in her waist. Her sleeves were lightly puffed with white ribbons at the end, and white lace trimmed the low-cut bodice. If her face was powdered, this, too, was scarcely visible. As much as he’d been impressed by her beauty when she had put effort into wearing Paris fashions, he was struck as he gazed at her naked face now. This was a face he could grow to admire deeply.
He bowed to cover the distraction of these thoughts and held out his arm to assist her out of doors and into the waiting carriage.
“So, Monsieur le Marquis,” she said when she had settled herself comfortably, “what is to be our plan? What sort of flirtation are you suggesting?”
From her smile, Sophie did not seem to be worried he meant anything inappropriate. Her faith in him was rather remarkable. She had trusted him enough to pretend to know one another upon a mere glance. She had trusted him when he announced their betrothal to the society at large without having given her warning ahead of time. And even now, she was agreeing to allow him to escort her alone in his carriage so they might discuss plans for a bolder flirtation under public scrutiny. Her expression wasfull of trust.
Basile smiled at her, his eyes softening at such a display of innocence. “Let us say that I shall permit myself—with your full agreement, of course—to slip my fingers under that charmingbouclethat hangs down onto your neck.” She was again wearing the full curl that Jeannot had coaxed to life the night of the Ranelagh, ball which came down from the left side of her coiffure and rested on her shoulder, spilling over onto her collarbone.
“Touching my neck in the process, I assume,” she said, pink with an innocent embarrassment but pluck for the challenge.
“I shall endeavor to restrict my graze of your shoulder to all that is correct,” he replied, keeping his tone light, but noticing at the same time a desire to loosen his collar.
“Tickling me and causing the most unattractive goose flesh to erupt over my arms, I suppose. And what else?” she demanded.
He examined her. “I may be called upon to sit directly beside you so that our shoulders and legs are very near.” As he said it, his knee grazed hers in the dark of the carriage as though it had a will of its own. “When I am standing, I might lean in close and whisper into your ear.”
“Whereupon I laugh most delightedly at what you have just said, proving at once that you are the most diverting man I have ever met and that we share such confidences as to leave no doubt regarding our engagement. You behold in me a woman properly enthralled.”
