Page 38 of A Sham Betrothal
“Do you think you can secure an invitation for me?” Zoé asked again.
He would like to have punished her for coming to stir up trouble, but the truth was, her presencewouldcomfort Sophie.
“I will do my best.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “But failing that, why do you not ask the Comte deVaudreuil? I saw the two of you quite cozy at the Delbosc’s supper.”
Zoé colored, and her face took on a somber tone he was unused to seeing in her. “I do not wish to further my acquaintance with him. I depend on you to secure me an invitation.”
Basile did not pry. It likely had something to do with Charles. He had not missed the way the Englishman hadleft the evening of the opera, his face like a thundercloud after watching Zoé flirt shamelessly with the earl. Perhaps Zoé was finally understanding what sort of a man he was. It occurred to Basile in a belated way that Sophie never flirted with anyone but him, not that he had seen.
“I will ask the Duc d’Orléans, and see if he might procure one,” Basile said.
When Zoé took her leave, Thérèse eyed him with speculation. “So you have found a wife at last. It took you long enough after Claudia.” After a moment, she added simply, “I am glad.”
This was the moment to say something that would sow seeds of doubt that the engagement was not on such solid footing as everyone might believe, but he did not have the heart for it. The thought of ending the engagement was no longer a matter of course. In fact, if they were not already engaged, he quite thought he might like to court Sophie. And since he was not ready to be married, the idea was not worth dwelling on.
At last, Thérèse went to rest from the journey. Basile spent a short time with Achille, discussing the agricultural practices he was implementing, which at any other time would have interested him. Before his brother-in-law could be carried away by the topic, Basile had to plead a prior engagement so he could escape. And a short while later, he was knocking on Sophie’s door. There, it was no surprise that he found her in the garden, her grandmother also having chosen to rest in the heat of the afternoon.
Sophie looked up when he strode out to her, then stood. Her gown was one of her more cheerful ones with broad stripes of cherry red and pink. It would have been impossible to walk out in it just now when the mood of Paris wassomber, but he had to own how well she looked in it. Her expression, however, was wan.
He bowed over her hand, stopping short of kissing it but did not immediately let go. The idea of courtship had intruded once again in his thoughts. Despite himself, his heart beat a faster rhythm when he found himself near her. Perhaps he should suggest the idea of making their betrothal real.
“Did Zoé come to see you?” she asked.
He nodded. “And informed my sister of our engagement.” He smiled at her ruefully, but she did not return it.
“What shall we do?” she asked simply. “It has all become so complicated. First my grandmother asking to live with you, then your sister learning of it. And now the queen is bringing our match into the highest public sphere with a dinner. It seems to me a dilemma entangled beyond remedy.”
Basile stared at her, his heart heavy with her unhappiness. She did not deserve to be burdened with such worries, and it was fully his fault. “Won’t you sit beside me?” he asked, giving her hand a light tug toward the stone bench.
She sat in a rustle of silk, and he sat beside her, careful not to sit as closely as before for fear it might result in the very thing that happened at the opera. His gaze fell to her dimpled chin, her elegant nose, her large brown eyes, and he absorbed all the details of her profile until she turned his way. He still had not answered her question. How was he going to get them safely through the court and society intrigue? Perhaps there was a simpler way. What once had been unthinkable, now seemed…not quite so.
“I promised I would see you through this.” He shut his eyes for a moment as he gathered his courage. “I have asked once before, but I will ask again. Are you sure you do notwish to become betrothed in earnest? I never meant to compromise you by my prank.”
“No!” she said, too suddenly as she turned her face forward.
His heart stuttered to a halt. He had almost thought she might wish for it. Without entirely being certain of his own feelings, he had begun to wish…oh, he did not know precisely what he wished for. It was too monumental to think it was marriage at this precise point in life. But he wished he could somehow continue to have Sophie Twisden in his life in some capacity. He wished she had not rejected him so summarily. That she did was more than a blow to his pride. It was a disappointment.
“No,” she said again more calmly. “I have no wish for a betrothal that was established either to serve a pecuniary service or a convenient one. I merely wish to be guided by you on how to get through this dinner and its after-effects without enduring censure.”
The fire he had felt the night of the opera fizzled. In its place was a sort of cold disappointment. He swallowed and brought his stare to the fountain in the corner of the garden whose bubbling sound filled the silence that had fallen. It was not until she had rejected his sincere offer that something like hurt pierced his chest. And yet, he would have to honor her by doing what she asked. He took in a silent breath, then let it out.
“We continue the charade until the end and convince the queen. We show all of society how deep are our feelings for one another, and then we shall have our fight and subsequent break-up. It will be out of sight of the public eye, for we do not want a scandal. But we will be sure that the reason that spreads is one of our choosing.”
He turned to her, so she could see his determination. “And as I promised, I will see you safely back to England. You have nothing to fear.”
“You are most gallant,” she replied, her voice revealing none of the playfulness he had come to know in her.
He could understand why. He had been anything but gallant in forcing this sham betrothal on her, and she was the one to suffer for it.
Chapter 18
“You sent word for us?” Grégoire inquired, entering the study with Armand on his heels. Themajordomediscreetly closed the door behind them. He had already provided the beverages in anticipation of their arrival.
Basile had been staring through the window, his hands clasped behind his back, and he now turned. The dinner with the queen was the next night, and he was still no further to knowing how he was to extricate Sophie and himself from this affair with their reputations intact. It had seemed once such an easy thing, but if his leaden heart was any indication he had grossly underestimated the task. “Have a seat.”
They did so, and after pouring them some Burgundy, he asked, “Did you both receive your invitations?”
The queen had graciously allowed him to include the presence of three or four guests, and he had asked for Grégoire, Armand, and Zoé, along with her mother. He had learned from the ambassador, Lord Stormont, that most of the notables from the English society in Paris would bepresent. It would include Charles Arlington, whose presence Zoé hoped for. It would also include Cholmsley. At least Claudia would not be there.
