Page 9 of A Sham Betrothal
“Do you think my grandmother is in a very bad state?” Sophie asked her.
Mary thought for a moment, clasping her strong fingers over a worn apron. “She’s not fallen ill like this before in England. I don’t know if it’s the dirty city we’re living in or the long voyage that provoked it, but I admit to having some cause for worry.”
Sophie nodded. She had attempted to force her thoughts into a more positive direction ever since she’d brought her grandmother home the night before, but she could not help but feel anxious. Her grandmother was her only family; and in some ways, Mrs. Twisden’s protection and good name had kept at bay the necessity for Sophie to choose between marriage, finding a position somewhere, or settling on the small property she had inherited with scarcely the means to live upon it. For Sophie, this visit to Paris was supposed to be her last moment of lightheartedness before she would be forced to think about her future. Now, even this was being cut short in the direst way. She had not even seriously contemplated what course to follow.
Another knock sounded at the door, and Sophie shot a dark look at Mary.Sheldon again!He could not leave well enough alone. She put her hand up to the maid, her lips set firmly.
“No, Mary. For once, I will open the door. It is Mr. Cholmsley coming back with more well-meaning advice,and if I was too kind in my refusal before, I will not be so now. I shall send him off in no short order.”
“Your grandmother won’t like me drinking tea with you and sitting while you open doors. She’ll think I’ve gone above my station, and she’ll be right.”
Mary’s look of distress caused Sophie to soften. “I promise to be mistress of the house again. Just humor me now, for I cannot bear to have him set foot inside for the second time in one day. I will be more effective than you in refusing him admittance.”
She strode out of the sitting room and into the corridor, where she opened the front door with more force than was necessary. Outside on the cobblestone street stood Basile Gervain and Zoé Sainte-Croix. Sophie’s hand dropped to her side as she stared at them in surprise. Basile extended his leg and bowed, and Zoé curtsied.
At the gesture, Sophie recollected her manners and returned the curtsy, then stepped back. “Forgive me for my lack of a proper welcome. I am only surprised to see you, that is all. But won’t you both come in?”
“You are very kind,” Zoé replied. “I hope we are not coming at an inopportune time.”
“Not at all.” Sophie smiled at her and brought her eyes to Basile, touched that he had visited, fearful of what he would think of their humble lodgings. “You are both aware that my grandmother is ill, but she is resting in her room.”
“Did you have a doctor come by to look at her?” Basile asked as he followed her and Zoé into the sitting room. Mary was collecting the teapot and cups, and she stopped to curtsy to the visitors before carrying them out of the room.
Sophie watched her go, somewhat at a loss for how she should entertain her guests. “It was a MonsieurPichon that attended to her, and I almost wish I had not had anyone come. He brought nothing in the way of medicine. At least nothing that I recognized to be beneficial. He bled her and then told me I should prepare for her funeral. If he is to be believed, there is no fear of my appearing at asoiréein colors again, for my entire wardrobe will need to be fitted with blacks before the week is out.”
She exhaled audibly, then attempted a smile, which she knew was weak. But if she allowed herself to give way to fears, it would paralyze her for action.
The marquis raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know this Monsieur Pichon, but it does not sound as though he was in the slightest bit helpful.”
“He most certainly was not.” Sophie realized with a start that her guests were still standing, and she gestured to the chairs in a circle around the unused fireplace. “Please have a seat.”
She clutched her hands on her lap and found her fingers trembling. Her guests seemed to miss nothing and watched as she slipped her hands to the side underneath her skirts. She smiled as brightly as she could.
“May I offer you something in the way of refreshments?”
They glanced at each other before Zoé replied. “We do not wish to trespass upon your time, not with your grandmother unwell. We merely came to see how we might be of service.”
“You are very kind.” The gesture was just what she needed, although if Sheldon should make good on his threats, she could hardly ask them for help returning home—or to bury her grandmother should the doctor’s grim words come true. “I…I think there is nothing to do at the moment, but your kind solicitation brings me great comfort.”
They sat awkwardly, listening to the sounds of the clock ticking in the corner and the muffled noises in the kitchen as Mary began washing dishes. Zoé stood then, and Basile followed.
“I fear we must be on our way, but here is my card,” Zoé said. “You may call upon me for anything you might need.” She glanced at the marquis, who gave no immediate indication of wishing to leave. At last he nodded and brought his gaze back to Sophie.
She gestured for them to accompany her to the door. How terrible it was. She could not welcome them in a hospitable way as she would have liked. At the moment, they seemed her best hope for friendship in Paris, but with her grandmother as ill as she was, Sophie was likely doomed to spend the whole of her stay here in the apartment, coaxing her back to health. She refused to think of the possibility that her grandmother might die.
This would surely be the last time she would see the marquis and his friend. By the time her grandmother was well, they would likely have forgotten all about her.
When they reached the corridor, Mary was standing with the door open. Zoé retied her bonnet, although she had only just taken it off and stepped out onto the street. Basile turned back to Sophie and caused her heart to grow still by another one of his direct looks.
“I would send you a doctor of my acquaintance if you do not object. He has seen to my mother and sister in the past, and I believe you might trust him.”
Sophie could scarcely conceal her surprise. She had suspected Basile was considerate, but as his predominant qualities were ones of humor and mischief, his kindnesswhen it mattered spoke volumes. She managed to articulate her acceptance.
He gave a nod. “As it is late in the day, I will have Monsieur Comble come tomorrow. And then, if you will not find it incommodious, we will visit again the day afterwards to see how your grandmother fares?”
Sophie darted her eyes to Zoé, who was watching Basile with a strange look on her face. She wondered if Zoé loved him—how could she not?—or if they had some sort of an understanding. It would make sense that they did. After all, they were of the same quality, whereas Sophie’s family had steadily come down in the world. She dragged her eyes back to Basile and found his still on her.
“I would be most grateful for your kind attention,” she replied, forcing herself to look at them both in equal measure. She would not allow either of them to suspect that she might have even the smallesttendrefor Basile.
