Page 29 of A Sham Betrothal
Later, after Basile reentered the gates of his courtyard and handed the reins over to his groom, he went to change his clothes before heading to his study where a newspaper awaited him, along with his correspondence. This and a glass of claret would be just the way to spend the afternoon. He had only just sat when the sound of the knocker announced a visitor.
Themajordomeentered bearing the card of a M. SheldonCholmsley.Blasted peacock. He had better get this interview over with.
“Show him in.”
When M. Cholmsley entered his study, Basile stood and gave him a short bow of acknowledgement. “I presume you are here for those matters you wished to discuss with me?”
If he had thought to disconcert M. Cholmsley when the time came to handing over the bills Sophie had warned him about, he much mistook the man. M. Cholmsley sat in the chair Basile had indicated, then brought a pile of papers out of a leather carrier he had with him. He set the pile on the table in front of him.
“You may know that I have paid for Sophie and Mrs. Twisden’s journey to France, which included not only their travel, accommodation, and food, but also their gowns and other fripperies. This, of course, was so they might mingle comfortably in French society.” He looked at Basile. “You must be aware that Sophie has not a farthing to her name.”
Basile studied him for a minute under hooded eyelids that did little to conceal the derision he felt. “I am aware that Sophie brings other assets to our union than money, of which I have no need.”
“I am glad to hear it. Then you will not mind my presenting you with these bills that Sophie and her grandmother have incurred since the beginning of the journey.”
“And if I should mind?” Basile asked. “What will you do then?”
M. Cholmsley’s face took on a belligerent look which did nothing to render his visage more noble. “I shall make it clear to the English society residing in Paris that you are unwilling to care for her needs, which makes me wonder if you are earnest in your willingness to marry her. And I shall cease to pay the rent for their house, although I will notleave them without help. They may reside with me until I return to England.”
“I will not hide from you,” Basile said, finding it difficult to keep a rein on his temper, “that I find your behavior repulsive. You attempted to force a marriage upon Sophie though she made it clear she did not wish for it. And you now try to pawn off bills to others that you had promised to honor. This is not the behavior of a gentleman.”
“I little care what opinion you have of me.” But M. Cholmsley’s purple cheeks as he drew himself upright belied his words. “I merely wish to say that if you are bent on marrying her, I would advise you to show it by taking charge of her expenses.”
Basile sipped the claret his servant had brought him, offering nothing to M. Cholmsley. He would not be staying long enough to drink it.
“You really are a man of coarse manners,” Basile said in a mild voice. He had trained himself not to show his emotions so easily, but this one stretched his self-control thin. “A French gentleman does not discuss money in the way that you seem to be able to do.”
He stood and sifted through some papers on his desk. “Here are the directions of my man of business. You may discuss this with him, although I am not entirely sure of his proficiency in the English tongue. Afterwards, I will instruct him on what I wish to do, once I’ve heard his opinion on the matter.”
“I quite thought we might settle this here?—”
“But we will not.” Basile felt no compunction about cutting the visit short.
His manner seemed to infuriate the peacock, which of course it was calculated to do. M. Cholmsley gathered thepapers and stuffed them back into his leather pouch, along with the card for the man of business.
“I do not believe that a betrothal so hastily arranged—and this between a man and woman from two different cultures—can possibly succeed. I do not know what game you are playing, but I hardly think you will end up marrying her after so short an acquaintance.”
“You forget,” Basile interjected with a raised eyebrow. “It has been two years since we first met.”
“Then she will have second thoughts about leaving behind her country and yoking herself to a foreigner.” M. Cholmsley lifted a finger. “Sophie is a weak woman and will be overset by this change in lifestyle. These complications will surely occur to her at some point before her marriage.”
“Sophie, weak? You do not know her, then.” Basile walked over to the door. “As you have nothing of good sense to say, I will bid you good day.”
The door opened as he was about to reach for it. Hismajordomeknew him well and must have sensed his dislike for the Englishman. He had not quit his post.
“You may show Monsieur Cholmsley out,” he said.
Basile turned, and his visitor clutched his carrier in his right hand and shoved his cocked hat over his wig before stalking out of the room.
When he left, Basile looked at his servant. “I must pen a note to myhomme d’affairesand will bid you to send someone to bring it to him.”
His servant nodded, and Basile went over to his desk. He would instruct his man of business to provide whatever financial relief Sophie and her grandmother might need and give instructions about the payment of their current and future bills. However, he was undecided over the course of action regarding the bills from before theirengagement which M. Cholmsley wished to pass over to him. He would let his man of business do the negotiations. After all, as he’d said to M. Cholmsley, a gentleman did not discuss such affairs.
The next day,Basile presented himself at Sophie’s door and glanced at the adjoining house where Cholmsley lived. The sight brought his ire back in full force. For the briefest of moments, his irritation against the man turned into frustration over how this engagement was complicating his life. However, when the more egotistical portion of his brain tried to lay the burden at Sophie’s door, he stopped himself.
She had not entrapped him. She had not even remarked his presence until he had forced himself upon her notice. No. There was only one person to blame, and it was he, himself. He had brought this on his own head, and he would cheerfully do whatever was necessary to extricate both Sophie and himself from the mess.
He rapped at the door and waited until Mary opened it. After delivering a curtsy and a smile more friendly than the maid had thus far given him, she led him to the sitting room where he found Sophie seated in one of her more colorful gowns. Mourning attire could be dispensed with if one was just sitting at home. Her grandmother sat near her, similarly attired.
