Page 16 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)
Chapter Sixteen
A PATH OF SELF-DESTRUCTION
The following day
I t was exactly one day and three whisked raw eggs later that the letters came. All were marked urgent, and all were scrawled in great haste by hands she knew.
Sophie stared at them, her head still woolly from the night before, her spirits as low as they’d ever sunk. She’d spent the remainder of the evening glued to Lu Lu’s side, drowning her path of self-destruction with the amply flowing champagne, while her fond companion regaled her with stories of cotillions, quadrilles and waltzes, including two with her very delightful and proper English acquaintance. A few more enquiries confirmed that the neat-stepper in question was, in fact, her distant relation, Sir George Weston; and if it seemed a coincidence that in all Paris, Sir Weston had chosen to attend the very same soiree as herself, Sophie contented herself with the fact that at least Aurelia’s outburst seemed to have gone largely unnoticed.
In truth, if it wasn’t for the persistent ache around her toes, and intense thumping in her head– the former the result of Lu Lu’s tightly fitting ball slippers, the latter the result of Lu Lu’s generous hand– she might have considered she’d handled herself with considerable Fairfax style and aplomb. Yet this made little sense of her anxious heart every time she recalled Lord Rotherby’s exit from the Tuileries later that night, without so much as a glance in her direction.
Frowning, Sophie made haste to break the seals and spread the sheets before her.
Knightswood Manor, Devon
12th March 1821
Dearest sister,
I trust this letter finds you well and adjusting to your new life as Lady Rotherby.
I must own to being taken by surprise by the news of your sudden flight, but as Lord Rotherby has since written to explain the swiftness of your mutual attachment, I have attributed any confusion on my part to the mysteries of the heart, and only wish you both well.
As a happy aside, since you have saved me the expense of numerous public announcements, a tedious engagement party, and another interminable family wedding, I have been able to offer Lord Rotherby a not inconsiderable dowry, which I hope will be to his satisfaction.
Perhaps you will write to your sisters and brothers soon, as I am sure they are keen to hear news of your happy nuptials, directly from your hand.
Your brother,
Thomas
Sir Thomas Fairfax
A dark scowl passed across Sophie’s face as she screwed Thomas’s letter into a tight ball. It was so predictable of her eldest brother to ignore her letter and treat Lord Rotherby’s account as truth, so long as it accorded with his Monstrous Marriage Masterplan . Phoebe maintained that he was vastly improved, but Sophie suspected it was only the change in her sister’s marital state that had prompted his improvement. As far as she could see, he was only concerned with notching up another husband for another sister. So much for riding to defend her honour– he couldn’t wait to shake Lord Rotherby by the hand!
Seething, she threw Thomas’s letter into her bedchamber fire and drew the second letter forwards. She turned it over and observed the Damerel seal with mixed feelings. Phoebe might be traversing the continent on her honeymoon, but as the eldest Fairfax girl, she was also fiercely protective of her siblings. Of all people, Phoebe would be the one to understand– and judge– her the most. She broke open the seal with trepidation.
Florence
12th March 1821
Dearest Sophie,
Alexander and I were most concerned to receive your letter detailing your current situation and plan to be in Paris within the sennight.
In the meantime, I urge you to remain where you are in as quiet a fashion as possible, for the viscount intends to call on Lord Rotherby, without delay.
Your loving sister,
Phoebe
Viscountess Damerel
Sophie eyed the second letter with misgiving, her mind in a new whirl. It was short but to the point, with several large blots conveying her sister’s anxiety better than all the words in the world. And while she’d half expected Thomas’s indifference so long as the Fairfax name was not sullied, she knew Viscount Damerel would not suffer from the same shortcomings. He took his position as new brother to the Fairfax brood very seriously, meaning there was every chance he would call Rotherby out for his behaviour.
Sophie pictured her sister’s husband measuring his paces before facing Lord Rotherby’s deadly pistols, and closed her eyes briefly. It would be a more even match than Thomas or Fred– if Fred ever challenged anyone to a duel– but hadn’t Lord Rotherby said he never missed?
And if Rotherby did lose, what then? The viscount would be forced into exile for killing a gentleman, and Phoebe would never talk to her as long as she lived. Sophie swallowed as she drew the last letter forwards, conscious this was no longer about protecting her honour as much as protecting her family from ripples of her scandal.
Inhaling deeply, she broke open the last letter and laid the single page on the table in front of her.
Paris
16th March 1821
Dear Miss Fairfax,
Please forgive the direct nature of this letter. I am only emboldened to write by what I perceive to be the nature of your current predicament. If I have misunderstood in any way, please burn this missive and think not on it again.
As I understand it, the engagement between yourself and Lord Rotherby does not have your consent, and you are therefore labouring under the heaviest obligation. I would not usually presume to involve myself in such private matters, but I am convinced I know the true nature of the gentleman to whom you find yourself committed, and it is with no small amount of imperative that I say I empathise wholly with your caution.
I share neither Lord Rotherby’s income nor his luxurious style, but I can offer you protection from his unwanted attentions if you agree to be my wife. Once wed, I would propose travelling on to Venice for a suitable time, before a quiet return to England when the opportunity arises.
Should this proposition be of interest and comfort to you, please let me know without delay, and I will make the necessary arrangements.
Your most faithful servant,
George.
Sir George Weston
Sophie stared in silent shock at Sir Weston’s neatly penned letter, each word as carefully turned out as his person. It was the most correct offer of marriage she’d ever received, and one that undoubtedly sprang from the greatest consideration too, so why did it make her feel so very wretched?
She closed her eyes wearily and pictured the perfect Sir Weston, in his perfect morning suit, eating his perfect breakfast, before penning his perfect letter. It was a picture she’d daydreamed about before Josephine started to wax lyrical about him, but now it was accompanied by such discomfort.
She frowned, barely understanding herself.
‘Weston is not all he appears to be. You must accept my word that this is truth.’
And yet Sir Weston seemed equally as determined to convince her of Rotherby’s villainy too.
Why did two gentlemen, who shared a blood tie, detest each other so vehemently? Could their relationship have anything to do with it?
Sophie stared at Sir Weston’s offer, imagining Lord Rotherby’s reaction, and a strange heaviness crept into the pit of her stomach. He seemed to dislike him so much, and yet he was complex and unpredictable too.
She paused to recall the moment Rotherby had described his father’s treatment of his mother and unborn sister, and swallowed. His childhood had been so unlike her own, that she was no longer surprised he considered himself heartless. How could anyone wish to have one after such an ordeal? And yet… She flushed, recalling his kiss in the Tuileries gardens. It was the kind of kiss that belonged to a real flesh and blood hero, not a heartless rake with a dark past.
‘I left London because I was falsely accused of villainous behaviour that I will disprove. You must accept my word that this is truth.’
Her thoughts hardened.
Lord Rotherby may have had a terrible father, but he still hadn’t divulged the real reason he left London, and no matter how much he protested his honour, his reputation suggested very differently.
She drew in a deep breath and forced all traitorous thoughts to the back of her mind. She had no more desire to marry a respectable gentleman for escape, than she did a rake for the appearance of respectability– and both would mean Lord Rotherby had won his wager. Furthermore, she had even less desire to be the cause of a duel that resulted in her new brother-in-law’s untimely demise.
Which left her squarely with her own plan.
Sophie eyed herself severely in the looking-glass. Now was not the time to be addle-pated.
* * *
‘Mais non, ma chérie !’ Madame Marie Louisa Dupres squeaked when Sophie explained, in halting sentences, why she could no longer presume upon her goodwill. ‘This is a madness, certainly! You have no family, no connections, no wardrobe to call your own… I will not allow it! And besides, my Dominic would never forgive me.’ She paused as a frown passed across her pretty face. ‘If I let you go jaunting across Paris looking for… how is it you say… a position … without so much as a backward glance, he won’t just be angry, he’ll be furious. Enormously furious,’ she emphasised in a stricken tone. ‘He?—’
‘Believes a little music and dancing should be sufficient to distract a newly betrothed debutante?’ Sophie quizzed in Lord Rotherby’s own words from the Tuileries .
‘Mais, ma cherie, it was just to distract you from your situation,’ Madame Dupres flushed.
‘But that’s just it!’ Sophie urged.
‘I don’t want to be distracted from my situation, I need to do what I can to salvage it! And even if my reputation is in tatters, I don’t accept that a mariage de convenance is my only option. I wagered I’d not settle for anything less than a love match, and I’d rather have none at all than compromise.’
Lu Lu regarded her as though she’d finally taken leave of her senses.
‘ Mon dieu! So is it you wish to design les pelisses or teach les mathématiques ?’ she asked, fanning herself as she sank down on her favourite peach damask chaise.
‘Pelisses,’ Sophie assured, suppressing a smile. ‘Truly, I would pity anyone who had to learn les mathématiques at my hand.’
‘But is it really true you do not hold any tendre for my Dominic at all, ma chérie ?’ Lu Lu coaxed again in disbelief.
‘Can you not see yourself married, even one little bit? I must confess to having been tempted by the prospect again of late, and while Dominic can be headstrong, he is certainly a very fine catch, n’est ce pas ?’
Sophie gazed into her friend’s large opal eyes, wondering if her new temptation was responsible for their sparkle. Briefly, she recalled Phoebe’s doing the same, despite all her protests about the viscount, before Lord Rotherby’s dark and unsettled gaze crept back into her thoughts. She frowned and was momentarily tempted to tell Lu Lu everything; to confess she could barely hold a thought around him, that he was the most frustrating, stubborn and tantalising person she’d ever known; that she longed to be free of him and yet could think of nothing worse too.
But none of those words came out. Instead, there was only a heavy silence, before Sophie cleared her throat.
‘You know Lord Rotherby is running from a scandal himself, don’t you?’ she asked quietly, Horace’s words reaching through her thoughts:
‘Tis a serious matter, but suffice to say the guvnor weren’t responsible of course. He was jus’ coming to Paris for time to sort ’t out.’
‘ Mais oui , though Dominic does not tell me quite everything,’ Lu Lu replied with a frown. ‘But whatever this scandal is, he is not guilty! My Dominic is a gentleman– a wild one, to be sure, but honourable and very kind too.’
Sophie stared at the troubled Lu Lu, wondering how well she truly knew her Dominic. She pictured him teasing her in Almack’s, his fury on board his yacht, his treatment of Sir Weston at L’Auberge de Notre Dame and the way her refused to tell her anything about his own scandal. And then finally, the moment in the Tuileries Garden which had very nearly weakened her…
Sophie’s thoughts whirled. The truth was, she had no idea who he was, except perhaps a master of disguise.
‘ Ma chérie? ’ Lu Lu entreated, reaching through Sophie’s thoughts. ‘At least stay until Le Grand Bal Masqué de Versailles? It will be the ball of the Parisian season. All the best families will be there. And who knows, perhaps even a surprise for a young lady looking for a mariage d’amour ?’ she coaxed.
‘Versailles?’ Sophie frowned, ‘I thought the King resided at the Palais des Tuileries?’
‘Oh, he does!’ Lu Lu nodded enthusiastically. ‘It is just that the south wing of Le Cour Royale has recently been finished, and there hasn’t been a ball since you know who was banished, so it will be quite the spectacle! It could be just the thing to help you salvage your situation, ma chérie ,’ she pleaded winningly, ‘and besides, do you not wish to see Versailles?’
Sophie could think of few royal palaces she yearned to see more. Unlike les mathématiques , she’d always enjoyed history, and had spent considerable time studying the Palace of Versailles as a centre of art and culture, as well as royal power. However, the revolution had changed so much, and despite the restoration of the King, she was well aware that Versailles had fallen from favour.
‘It is also a masked ball,’ Lu Lu added with a mischievous smile, ‘so you need not be known, unless you wish it, and there will be music and fountains and fireworks. It really will be la soirée de l’année !’
Sophie smiled faintly, wondering if Lu Lu’s excitement was driven purely by the promise of entertainment. She’d mentioned her temptation a few times in passing, and wondered if she intended to try and persuade the neat-stepping Sir Weston to attend the ball. A faint wave of guilt reached through her as she recalled his letter; she had no desire to shatter any illusion her whimsical friend might have, particularly when she’d been nothing but kind. Yet in truth, it was also just the sort of prestigious ball Sophie would have moved mountains to attend in her old life– and could well be her last before she disappeared.
She closed her eyes briefly at the thought. How she, the most sensible of the Fairfaxes, had arrived at such a place was almost comical; and yet here she was all the same, with her life in tatters but her dreams still intact– and no one was more surprised than she by how fiercely she would protect them.
Sophie nodded as she picked up her teacup.
‘On one condition,’ she said, eyeing Lu Lu intently over the rim of her chocolate.
‘ Mais oui, ma chérie ,’ Lu Lu beamed with a flourish, ‘please, just name it.’
‘Let there be no more mention of les mathématiques !’