Page 41 of A Sham Betrothal
“That was not what you were going to say, was it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It is nothing.”
Basile studied her for a moment, then said, “Allow me to leave your side. I wish to see your grandmother seated in one of the chairs near the window.” He slipped her hand from his arm and took it in his own, squeezing it before letting it go.
Sophie smiled at him tremulously, trying to keep her composure, despite his convincing act. “Oh, yes. Please do. I worry for her health.”
As he walked off, she was given a chance to admire his form. His handsome head of hair that was pulled back in a jeweled buckle, his strong set of shoulders that filled out his coat so beautifully. She allowed her gaze to follow his path and therefore missed Sheldon’s approach. And at once, he was standing too close, towering over her, and bathing her with his hot breath as he forced himself upon her.
“Sophie, you have carried this farce all too far. You will not be able to recover from it.”
She stepped back sharply and drew air. “When will you cease to harangue me? Why are you not yet convinced our betrothal is real?” Even as she said it, she could scarcely believe she could continue in such a boldfaced manner.
“Mrs. Betteridge is here. Did you think she would not be? She cannot fathom how you came to tell such a story, for she is sure never to have met the man. If this is one of your games, you had better put a stop to it now and come home. My name can still protect you, but we will have to leave France at once.”
“I am astonished at your insistence,” Sophie said quietly, “when I have made my feelings for you quite clear.”
He moved forward again, but the soft, implacable voice of Lord Stormont came from her right. “Mr. Cholmsley. A word, if you please?”
Sophie exhaled quietly, grateful for the ambassador’s delicacy. Unfortunately, the gift of his absence meant the curse of Madame Bordenave, who seized the opportunity of having no one to occupy Sophie’s attention.
“Mademoiselle Twisden. What a happy night for you this must be.” The widow managed to make the social nicety sound like it was studded with barbs.
Sophie exhaled and turned to face her. She might be out of her element and miserable, but she had one thing of her own that the widow could not take from her.Hercharacter didn’t change like shifting shadows. She could not only live peacefully with others, she could live with herself.
“A very happy night, as you see,” she replied, a polite smile fixed on her face. “For we are finally able to celebrate our engagement dinner with my grandmother in attendance.” She went to leave.
“However, one cannot but observe how odd it is that, though you are to be marchioness, you are still dressed so simply,” the widow stated, her words carrying above the din. “The marquis is known to be wealthy. Where are the jewels your betrothed ought to be giving you? Where are the gifts that come from a man deeply in love?”
Sophie turned back. “I do not value Monsieur Gervain for his title or for his gifts. Therefore, I have not asked myself those questions.”
“Perhaps you should.” When Sophie did not reply, Madame Bordenave added, “Enjoy your dinner. Hopefully, you are able to get through it untouched by scandal.” It wasquiet enough that no one else heard, but loud enough for her words to hit her mark.
Despite her attempt at courage, Sophie was growing weary. She had few ambitions left, but getting through her dinner with the queen, without scandal, and without revealing the true state of her heart was pressingly one of them.
Chapter 19
After Basile settled Sophie’s grandmother into a comfortable chair in the antechamber, he turned to see Claudia speaking to Sophie, undoubtedly sending arrows her way. It was time to put a stop to this. He took a step toward her but was spared from performing a rescue. Armand brought a woman to meet Sophie who, from his beaming look, must have been his fiancée. One of the queen’s attendants—Vivienne, if Basile remembered correctly. She was not much above plain, but had a sweet smile, and Armand was staring at her as though besotted. Basile watched Sophie relax under such kindness.
The servants had put out a simple buffet withamuse-bouches,but none of the guests seemed interested and continued to circulate the floor. Meanwhile, Lord Stormont, the English ambassador, went to pay his respects to the queen with Charles at his side. They held a short conference before they were released, and Basile followed Charles’s progress as he moved to greet Zoé, who had just arrived with her mother. Basile gauged the potential court intrigue and tried to decide where he would best fit in.
After greeting Madame Sainte-Croix, the ambassador brought her to the circle of armchairs near the window, where she took a place near Mrs. Twisden. The windows were open, and a fresh evening breeze poured in. If only the evening was not fraught with potential disaster, it would have been a delightful gathering.
Zoé put her hand through Charles’s arm and pulled him in Basile’s direction, so she could give him a kiss on each cheek. “Félicitations, my dear friend,” she said. Charles leaned over to shake his hand.
Basile raised an eyebrow at her. Zoé knew nothing of his intention to propose to Sophie in earnest. But he could not question her about it in front of Charles. So why the sudden show?
“I hope your sister was not too disappointed to be left at home,” he said instead.
“She pouted.” Zoé laughed. “Which was entirely understandable. She considers herself your friend, too. And she would have loved to have met the queen.”
Basile smiled. “Tell her it is only a delay.”
He lifted his eyes and caught Grégoire’s regard near the entrance from the stairwell. Greg cast his eyes over to the end of the room where Cholmsley and Claudia were in deep discussion with the Comte de Vaudreuil. The latter raised an eyebrow and glanced over to the queen. Basile’s heart began to beat queerly. He had been searching for an opportunity to control the tide of gossip, but it had been too quick for him.
Turning to Zoé and Charles, he said, “I may have need of you. Will you accompany me to fetch Sophie?”
“Of course,” Charles said. Zoé wrinkled her brow in concern and turned to follow him.
