Page 51 of Love Unraveled
Gaston stared at the sign. “Madame Moreau’s. A modiste?”
“Oui,” she said, renewed excitement percolating through her veins.
“Do I get the pleasure of watching a fitting?” He wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously, and Sophia laughed.
“I promise the evening will be filled with unexpected delights,” she said and tapped on the locked door.
Grace opened it and smiled apologetically. “Madame Moreau remains with her last client. She begs your patience and asks if you’ll wait in the small salon.”
“Non,” Sophia said. “We will wait in her private rooms.”
The girl nodded, her expression unchanging, then turned and led them to the back warehouse, past bolts of fabric to where two seamstresses continued to work side by side, an oil lantern lighting the small corner. Both women looked up, then jumped to their feet.
“My lady,” they said in unison.
“Sit, sit,” Sophia said, and the women obediently dropped back onto their chairs. “Let me see.” She held out her hand and took the dress, tracing the delicate pearls being sewn into the lace edging. “Your work is exquisite, Lucia, but it is hard in this light, no?”
Lucia thanked Sophia for the praise but did not comment on the lighting.
“Grace, two more lanterns here.” Sophia turned her attention back to the women. “If it is not enough, get more. I will have some delivered tomorrow if need be. Do not strain your eyes. They are your windows to the world, no?”
Sophia walked past them, toward the stairs. Sensing Gaston was not behind her, she turned around. He was standing where she’d left him, watching her. “Allez,” she said, and mounted the steps without turning to see if he’d obeyed her command to come.
Like many shopkeepers, Jocelyne lived in her building. Her rooms were not spacious, but they were well appointed. Sophia had insisted she have any luxury she required, and Jocelyne had taken full advantage of it. Sophia entered the door to the left and untied her cape, dropping it over a chair before taking a seat. Gaston remained in the doorway.
“Quoi?”
“What?” Gaston repeated. “Who was that person I saw downstairs, concerned about workers’ lighting in a stranger’s shop?”
“Do you think I do not care for others?” she asked, vexed he thought so little of her.
“Sophie did,” he said quietly. “I was not sure about Sophia. She seemed a little more demanding. Definitely more commanding.” He took a step into the room and paused, a slow smile spreading on his face. “I am happy to see the bighearted Sophie, who once led a young boy away from the rabble, is still there.”
Sophia had forgotten what it was like to have someone in her life who truly knew her. All of her. But she could not let the emotions rolling through her overwhelm her. Not now. She wanted to enjoy her surprise fully. She gave a dismissive shrug. “I am merely sensitive to people’s sight. My eyes are growing old before their time.”
Gaston’s smile dropped, his eyes dark with concern as he grabbed her shoulders gently. “Sophie, you are going blind?”
“What?Non.” Her heart opened even more at his worry. “But I need to wear glasses to read. Wretched things. I’d not wish them on anyone.”
Gaston burst into laughter and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “Oh, Sophie, how I’ve missed you.”
“Gaston?”
They both swung around at the sound of his name.
Jocelyne stood in the doorway, the color washed from her face. “Gaston,” she repeated blankly. “Is it you?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices call’d her from without.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Mariana”
Gaston was surelylooking at a ghost. Jocelyne’s home had been set on fire, and all within it had perished. He had verified the information himself, visited the shell that remained, sifting through the ashes for some memento of a family he’d loved. He’d been wild with fury. The mob had robbed them of their lives even though they’d been supporters of the revolution. No one had been safe in those dark days.
