Page 35 of A Sham Betrothal
She would not, no matter how much it cost her. And the lead weight that had taken up residence inside of her showed her just how much it did cost her.
In the drawing room, her grandmother sat reading a book with a cup of tea beside her. She lifted her head and smiled. “My dear Sophie. As you can see, I am very much more myself. I believe your good news is what brought about such a swift recovery.”
“I am so pleased,” Sophie said, feeling entirely wretched.
“It is time we begin to think about your engagement dinner. It will be expected for someone like the marquis. I must apply my mind to how we might arrange it properly.” She sipped her tea then lifted her head, applying herself tohow they might throw an elaborate meal with scarcely a farthing to their name.
“Grandmama, I fear we do not have the means for an engagement dinner—” Sophie began.
A knock on the door cut her off, and she heard Mary hurrying down the corridor to answer it. There was the sound of an unknown voice—a messenger, it seemed, delivering something to the maid. The front door closed and Mary appeared in the sitting room.
“This came for you, miss.”
She handed her a letter and Sophie studied the mark imprinted on the deep red wax that sealed the paper. The imprint contained two shields, one with threefleur-de-lysand the other whose detail was more difficult to make out, but which seemed to have a lion and a sword. Above the shields, a crown was easily distinguishable and that gave her the first clue. Her heart began to thud. With trembling fingers, she opened the missive, for that must be what this was.
Indeed. ’Twas a summons.
Chère Mlle Sophie Twisden, the letter began. Her eyes rapidly skimmed its contents. The queen wished for the pleasure of her company on the 11thof August, Thursday next, to partake of arepas de fiançaillesto celebrate her betrothal to M. Basile Thomas Hortense Gervain, le Marquis de Verdelle, etc. Her grandmother was also invited, showing how knowledgeable the queen was of their situation. The address given was to the Petit Trianon in Versailles.
Sophie looked up, first with alarm, then with a look of manufactured pleasure when she saw her grandmother’s confusion. “’Tis an invitation to celebrate our engagement,given by the queen herself. We are invited for next Thursday to Versailles.”
Her grandmother clasped her hands together. “Oh, oh, my dear! I simply cannot tell you how delighted I am for you. I could never have predicted you would make such an excellent match. If I had, I never would have pressed you to consider Sheldon’s advances.”
The news brought Mrs. Twisden to her feet, and she would not be deterred when Sophie tried to lead her back to her chair. “No, no, I am perfectly well now,” she said. “And I will surely be well enough to attend by next Thursday. It is a most fortunate thing I had a dress made in gray silk damask before setting out for France, though I little knew how I would need it.”
She continued along in that vein while Sophie’s mind reeled. She needed to speak with Basile, but did not feel she could apply to him directly since they weren’t actually engaged. It did not matter that she had been bold in her behavior toward him. She knew her limits. Would he come to guide her on the matter of the invitation? Surely he would have received his own? It seemed too much for her to wait for him to call.
Returning vague replies to her grandmother’s questions and observations, Sophie formed a plan to visit Zoé rather than sit and wait for the marquis to call at his leisure. For she could not delay her response and needed to know what to do. This engagement had taken on gargantuan proportions.
With such excitement, it was not long before her grandmother did need to rest, and Sophie was able to ask Mary to accompany her. They would soon be constrained once Jeannot was no longer there to care for her grandmother, for Mary could not be in two places at once.
The Sainte-Croix address was not so far they could not walk, so she set them out at a brisk pace. Please God that Zoé would be there. When they knocked at the entrance, the servant answered the door with the news that she was indeed at home.
Sophie was then shown into the drawing room, where Madame Sainte-Croix and her daughters sat talking to a visitor whose own daughter appeared to be the same age as Jeanne. As Sophie entered, Zoé was already on her feet. The introductions were performed, and Sophie curtsied to the guests.
“It is the first time you have come to visit,” Zoé said. “Dare I hope it means your grandmother is doing well enough to leave her at home?”
“She is better,” Sophie said, returning her smile. “She will continue to need rest, but I have every hope she will soon be able to accept invitations.”
After a moment, in which Sophie tried to think how to gain a private audience, Zoé turned to her mother. “Would you excuse us,Maman? I would like to show Sophie our garden, for she has never seen it.”
Her mother acquiesced then turned back to their guests, and Zoé led the way out of doors, grabbing a parasol that stood near the door. Their garden was much smaller than Sophie’s, surprisingly, given how large the house was. But it was inviting with a neatly manicured lawn and carefully trimmed bushes, and even plots of flowers in colorful varieties. Zoé led her to a bubbling fountain placed in front of a bench whose arched trellis of clematis provided shade. They took a seat under it.
“I was wondering if you had news concerning your engagement and wished to be private,” Zoé said. “I knewmy mother wouldn’t mind, for the Aborgasts are intimate friends.”
Zoé had read her wishes correctly, but now that the private audience was given to her, Sophie found it hard to leap right into her purpose for coming. “Have you seen Mr. Arlington since the opera?” she said instead. It was rather intrusive as far as questions went, but the words were out.
Fortunately, Zoé did not seem to resent such familiarity. She did allow her lips to pull into a pout. “We are at odds again.”
“Really? What happened? It seemed you were of perfect accord when we met at the opera.” Despite herself, her curiosity for Mr. Arlington’s prospects suddenly seemed more of a moment than her own.
Zoé used the tip of the parasol to gouge into the dirt at her feet. “We were, and perhaps I had hoped we might begin to see eye to eye, but now…” She trailed off and focused on the pattern she was creating at her feet.
“And now?” Sophie prodded.
“Now, I fear it is not to be. After you left, Le Comte de Vaudreuil came to find me and pulled me quite out of Charles’s arm.” She brought her stare to Sophie’s as though compelled to explain. “He is such a flirt, you see, that one cannot resist him. One must laugh. Everyone knows he means nothing by it. I responded as any woman would do, to be sure. But Charles walked off and abandoned me there.”
“Abandoned you? Do you mean you had come to the opera together?” Sophie knit her brows. It did not seem like him, though she could not claim to know him well.
