Page 19 of Love Unraveled
“How unfortunate,” Elizabeth said. “I was so looking forward to it.”
“And I was looking forward to more of Monsieur Durand.” Catherine waggled her eyebrows at Sophia.
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, that too.”
Sophia reached for another cake, changed her mind, and sat back in her chair. “Evil women,” she said, back in a playful mood now Gaston was out of the picture.
“No, curious ones,” said Elizabeth. “And since you will not expand on your acquaintance, we must probe Monsieur Durand for information.”
Sophia threw both hands, palms up, into the air. “Such is life. The evening was not meant to be.”
“I assume Monsieur Durand will hear of the events and know it has been canceled. Perhaps we should let him know, in case he has not?” Elizabeth looked innocent, but Sophia knew she was still trying to find out how well Sophia knew Gaston. They had spent yesterday evening playing the same game, although thankfully there had been other people around to interrupt their interrogations.
“He’s a big…eh…ragazzo grande.” Sophia’s brain worked in three languages, and English was often the weakest of them. Sometimes the simplest of words eluded her. “Boy,” she said, snapping her finger when the word fell into place. “A grown man. He’ll figure it out. Besides, I do not know where you can find him.” It was the truth. Sophia had no idea where Gaston was staying, nor did she care to know.
“Oh, but I do,” Catherine said, looking far too triumphant for Sophia’s comfort. “Quite by accident, we ran into Bentley during our early-morning promenade with Daniel. It seems your Monsieur Durand is staying in the same bachelor quarters as him.”
The cake churned uncomfortably in Sophia’s stomach. Gaston was getting far too close to her life. She smiled at Catherine. “What a coincidence,” she said, but she knew there were rarely coincidences. She was certain Gaston had known the connection when he’d chosen his rooms.
“And, since we are all unexpectedly free tomorrow evening and it is too late to find another event to attend, I have decided to hold a small gathering.”
“A superb idea,” Elizabeth said, and they both looked at Sophia.
Catherine raised a hand as Sophia was about to protest. “Sophia, you cannot deny me my first hosting experience since Daniel’s birth. Papa is here and would be severely disappointed if you did not attend.”
Sophia relaxed back in her chair. She’d assumed Catherine was implying she would be including Gaston and was relieved that was not the case. She’d not realized Catherine’s father had arrived in London. Sophia got along famously with Lord Stratton, and Catherine often paired them together.
“Of course,bella, I will join you.”
“Wonderful.” Catherine stood, and Elizabeth followed her lead. “Maybe Papa can find out more about your mystery man,” she said as she kissed each of Sophia’s cheeks. “He’s always been good about drawing people out.”
Sophia frowned, and Catherine laughed.
“Oh, did I forget to mention Nicholas went to see Bentley after he dropped me here? It seemed only polite to also include your monsieur.”
Sophia sat staring out at the small garden long after her two friends had left. She would find Catherine’s scheming amusing were it not for the subject of her games. She still had important work to do, and it was far easier to accomplish it as the Italian Countess Tessaro. She could not risk Gaston ruining everything she had built over the years—including the walls around her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
These beings have no other calling but to cultivate the idea of beauty in their persons, to satisfy their passions, to feel and to think.
—Charles Baudelaire,The Painter of Modern Life
Gaston had seenLord Walford from afar on numerous occasions. When he walked, it was clear he’d once been a soldier. The rigid deportment of the military rarely left a man. Tall and broad, he might be taken as foreboding if it weren’t for the smile that constantly broke his stern expression. And his friend Bentley brought Lord Walford’s smile to the surface frequently. Gaston, on the other hand, found Bentley frivolous and shallow. Of course, it had worked in his favor. Gaston had chosen these rooms for just such a connection, and it had taken little effort to ensure Bentley passed on his new address to the Walfords.
Liverpool had been quick to follow through on his promise of establishing Gaston’s new identity. It was always easier to stick as close to the truth as possible. He was now officially an émigré who had fled with his father during the revolution and sought refuge with the Count d’Artois in Edinburgh. The ties to exiled royalty would help allay suspicion brought about by the sudden appearance of a strange Frenchman. The count was sequestered at Hartwood House in Buckinghamshire, laid up with gout, so he was not currently in society to refute the claim. As long as Gaston kept a low profile, his lie should go undetected.
“So you’ll join us tomorrow evening?” Lord Walford asked, leaning on Bentley’s doorframe, ready to depart.
“It would be my pleasure.” Gaston was truly pleased at how quickly he’d managed to enter Sophie’s inner circle.
“Thank goodness,” Lord Walford said, the grin cutting across his face once again. “Lady Walford would not forgive me if I did not secure your attendance. Prepare yourself. The women are overly curious about you.”
“I’m afraid they will be sorely disappointed, my lord.” Gaston was not concerned about any woman except one.
“You underestimate how easily they are amused,” he said, thrusting out his hand. “Please, call me Walford.”
“Walford,” Gaston repeated, Walford’s solid confidence evident in his grip. One could tell a lot about a man by his handshake.
