Page 7 of A Sham Betrothal
“Why do you accept the company of the p—the Englishman? I have forgotten his name.” Basile waved away its importance. “You must surely have friends whose company would delight you more. An English suitor?” He smiled but with less delight at the thought. He could not see Sophie with a man whose blood ran thinly in his veins.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Cholmsley.” Her arm was still in his, and she slipped it from his elbow then unfurled her fan and began to wave it. “Alas, my grandmother wishes for the match. I will not hide from you that whatever fortune my family once had, it is now a mere pittance. She hopes to save me from poverty.”
Sophie glanced at him with a wan smile. “It is morehonesty than you would wish for perhaps, but at least you will never be able to accuse me of setting my sights above my station.”
The answering smile came naturally to Basile. How unusual this woman was! “I own, I find your honesty refreshing.”
Sophie hid her smile behind her fan—in shyness, he thought, rather than coquetry. “Very well.”
“Have you another project dear to your heart if you are to escape marriage to him? Do you hope to marry someone else?”
The words were out, and her expression carried a most pointed application, which gave him his answer. It filled him with chagrin—a most unusual feeling for him.
I must be out of my mind to talk this way. There is only one answer a woman can give you, and you are leading her to hope in vain that you are her savior and solution.Fortunately, Sophie Twisden did not seem a woman to cling to a fruitless endeavor.
“I suppose I prefer almost anything to marrying Sheldon.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I am ready to take on any position that might spare me this fate. But he has been pressing his advantage, and I believe he hopes to secure a promise before our trip is at its end. This is, of course, most uncomfortable, since he is our escort in Paris and my grandmother and I are entirely at his mercy. I have been holding him off.”
“Allow me to encourage you to remain strong.” Basile lifted her hand and placed it back on his arm. “It would be the greatest tragedy to succumb for lack of friends.”
“Oh, are we friends now?” she asked lightly. He thought it cost her, for her smile wavered almost imperceptibly.
“Why, we have been friends these past two years, mydear Sophie.” He looked at her in feigned astonishment and was delighted to see the ready laughter return to her lips.
Just as he decided to relinquish her to her grandmother’s care so as not to draw too much speculation over their attachment—or raise any hope in her breast—the peacock moved toward them at what must have been an accelerated pace for him. She raised her eyes, just as Mr. Cholmsley flagged her attention.
“Sophie, come. We must leave straight away. Your grandmother is unwell.”
“Oh!” Sophie’s expression changed in an instant as all humor and pleasantry left it. “Forgive me. I must attend to her.”
“Yes, of course. I wish her a quick convalescence.” Basile caught sight of the older woman being helped to the door. Attending the party so soon on the heels of the older woman’s arrival in Paris must have been too taxing.
Sophie left him without a second glance or anything else that might lead him to believe she would unwittingly develop any sort oftendressefor him that might ruin their delightful discourse. It was all the better that she did not. Still, it was a shame she must be consigned to the boring Englishman’s care, both tonight and during her stay in Paris.
Chapter 4
Mrs. Twisden was roused from a troubled slumber to receive the doctor’s second visit since she’d fallen ill. After she had submitted to his ministrations, the doctor met Sophie outside of her grandmother’s room. His grave expression caused her heart to seize.
“Well, Monsieur Pichon, how is mygrand-mère?”
He shook his head soberly, then adjusted his wig. “She has caught an inflammation of the lungs, which is injurious for a woman of any age and may prove fatal at hers. I believe you should begin making preparations.”
She stared at him blankly, and though she refused to understand his meaning, her limbs grew cold. “Preparations?”
“It is always wise to prepare for the worst, mademoiselle.” He reached for the hat that Mary handed him and put it on his head. “At a time when a nation’s king falls ill and dies, it very often provokes a like-minded response in the more sensitive of women. Their very naturaloutpouring of grief will take on a more sinister form, leading to an unhappy ending.”
“I assure you, Monsieur Pichon, my grandmother is suffering from no such thing. She has only arrived in Paris the day before yesterday.” Sophie followed him to the door, unable to keep the astringency from her reply.
“Ah, with her level of French so superior—and yours as well. I had thought… But then it was certainly her journey that has fatigued her to the point of ill health. As I have already advised, you would do well to make preparations for the worst.”
That was enough. Sophie welcomed the anger that rose up against his morbid predictions, for she could not bear to succumb to fear. Her grandmother simplymustcome through this.
She offered the doctor a tight smile by way of answer and held the door for him to leave, waving Mary away. She wanted to be the one to put the harbinger of gloom firmly on the other side of it.
“Can you believe this man?” she asked Mary as soon as he had left. “Much good his learning has done him if all he can do is to put on a long face and attempt no remedy that doesn’t involve cupping.”
“I could see you were not best pleased, miss, but as I can make out nothing of what he says…it is only a bunch of gibble-gabble to me. Whatdidthe sawbones say?”
“It is not worth repeating, but I shall have to find another doctor nearby. Or wanting that, an apothecary.” She clenched her fists tight. “Oh, but it is frustrating to be in a foreign city when there is a particular need—and I with limited means in finding a solution.”
