Page 17 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)
Chapter Seventeen
REVOLUTIONARIES AND RUMOURS
The following day
I f Madame Marie-Louisa Dupres was suspicious about the slim parcel Sophie clutched to her chest the following day, she was far too distracted to mention it. And once they reached the shop of Madame Montmartre, modiste to Parisian gentility , she was much too enraptured by the dove-grey cloak with ermine trim in the window to loan it any special attention.
Indeed, it was only when Sophie continued to carry it with her into the tiny shop that Lu Lu looked at her slightly askance, though it soon became clear that Lu Lu hadn’t been entirely honest about the Versailles ball either.
‘I have heard it called many things already,’ the petite modiste chattered, gathering and pinning a fine cream satin in swathes around Sophie’s waist. ‘A ball, a soirée , an assemblée… it is not easy, you know, for many families will be absent…’
She paused and eyed them from beneath her long, perfectly pared eyelashes, giving Sophie a sudden image of the tiny Frenchwoman at the head of a baying crowd, a torch in one hand and a tape measure in the other.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Lu Lu agreed carefully. ‘It has not been that long and I understand the King has called it a commémoration, which seems a sympathetic approach, n’est ce pas ? Though I believe Versailles will always be a museum now.’
‘ Mais oui ,’ the modiste said with a brief nod. ‘In truth, it is hard to envisage otherwise. Despite the restoration of the House of Bourbon, there are too many ghosts at Versailles.’
The modiste’s eyes gleamed again as Sophie listened, unable to help comparing this visit to her last in Bath. All she’d had to think about then was an impromptu parasol fight, not a ghost palace scarred by revolution, bloodshed and turmoil. She turned to observe herself in the gilt-edged glass, suddenly homesick for her sisters and afternoons by the parlour fire.
And yet she could not deny the skill of the petite modiste either.
She turned to the right, and then the left, admiring the new satin gown Lu Lu was insisting upon. It was cut in the new Romantic fashion, with her waist cinched in, her skirt a wide bell, and with gigot sleeves cut so wide that she looked more a heroine from one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels than Miss Sophie Fairfax of Knightswood Manor, recently disgraced. It was everything she tried to capture in her own designs, and so much more flattering than her old Empire-line gowns.
‘I can just imagine a pelisse to go over this,’ she suggested quietly, when Lu Lu disappeared to take a closer look at the dove-grey cloak.
‘ Mais oui? Quelle couleur? And how high the waistband?’ the modiste asked through a mouthful of pins, stabbing a mannequin with considerable violence.
Sophie reached for her package of pelisse designs.
‘Well perhaps… like these?’ she replied, spreading them out on the modiste’s small threads table.
For a few seconds the modiste said nothing, and merely gazed at Sophie’s careful designs, reworked over several evenings, in the back of one of Lu Lu’s old sketch books.
‘These are good, non?’ She frowned, pinning a wrapped satin rose on Sophie’s bodice before adding another lace frill to one of her sleeves. ‘I have a cousin in Rouen who designs for several English ladies,’ she added, with a curious glance, ‘though she has never mentioned clients presenting their own designs before.’
‘Well, they aren’t for me, exactly,’ Sophie replied, feeling a faint flush start to creep up her neck, ‘but I was just wondering if you might be interested…’
‘ Mais oui, oui , don’t worry, I understand!’ the modiste replied urgently, sweeping up all Sophie’s designs as footsteps approached. ‘I have to say, your artistry’—she paused to tap Sophie’s designs—‘is very impressive.’ Then she winked again, quite deliberately. ‘I will study these as a matter of urgency and let you know. Et maintenant , how did you find the cloak, Madame Dupres? Is she not a beauty?’
She spun to face Lu Lu as Sophie stared, certain her first attempt at finding employment had not gone as intended at all.
‘Ah, you look très belle, Sophie !’ Lu Lu exclaimed, still wearing the cloak.
‘It is too expensive,’ Sophie mumbled, wondering what the etiquette was for reclaiming personal sketches from a volatile revolutionary.
‘La! We do not count cost for Versailles,’ Lu Lu reprimanded. ‘You are my guest, and besides, the gown is entirely suited to the occasion. Now for the domino, if you please, Madame Montmartre? I will draw the curtain so we may see the two together.’
Sophie watched as the modiste swiftly wrapped a voluminous black silk cloak around her shoulders, before fitting a theatrical mask to the upper half of her face. The effect was quite magical, despite everything, and she suppressed a small thrill as she stared at her reflection.
‘Exquisite,’ a low tone offered suddenly.
Startled, Sophie spun to peer around the numerous mannequins and piles of fabric to the threshold of the small shop. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, but the space was cluttered with every kind of tool for dressmaking, and the rain outside was heavy.
‘Dominic, you wicked creature! Sneaking up on us like that!’ Lu Lu exclaimed, clapping her hands together. ‘But doesn’t she look like a young Parisian noblewoman? Now, ma chérie , you will need to watch your step for she will truly be the belle of the ball!’
‘I have no doubt about that,’ Lord Rotherby replied, doffing his hat with a faint smile.
Sophie gazed at his dampened hair, recalling his abrupt exit from the Tuileries Palace, before realising the shop had fallen silent.
‘What brings you here, Lord Rotherby?’ she asked coolly.
She felt the modiste glance from her to his lordship with a suspicious frown. Sophie inhaled quickly, feeling the visit get more complex by the second.
‘Business,’ he returned abruptly. ‘Please do excuse my intrusion, ladies. Madame Dupres’s butler was kind enough to furnish me with your location, and I come only to confirm news which I hope may have already been shared.’
At this, Lu Lu looked horror-stricken, while Sophie’s hopes sank fully into her new silk slippers.
‘Oh, ma chérie , please forgive me. I was so thrilled about Versailles, and then Madame Montmartre, and the divine cloak… And now you and Dominic will both be so cross, and it’s all my fault…’
Lu Lu’s hand flew to her mouth, while her eyes were so wide and guilty that Sophie forgave her instantly.
‘ Alors ,’ she rallied valiantly. ‘I will tell him what we agreed, ma chérie . Dominic,’ Lu Lu said sternly, ‘Miss Sophie is not to be told what to do. She must be allowed to salvage herself, no matter if her reputation is in tatters!’
Sophie closed her eyes, while the modiste looked on with suspicion.
‘Miss Fairfax is in tatters?’ the modiste asked, frowning, her hands on her hips.
‘Oh hush, madame,’ Lu Lu chastised, ‘I have it on good authority you still take orders south of the Seine, so I’ll have no Cheltenham tragedies or Canterbury tales from you!’
At this, the modiste pressed her lips together defiantly, while Sophie drew a breath.
‘What news?’ she asked Lu Lu quietly.
‘Why, ma chérie , only that dear Dominic has located an English pastor he wishes you to meet in Chartres,’ she replied with a nervous smile. ‘But really, we have many other things to think about just now because it is Le Grand Bal Masqué de Versailles very soon, oui ?’
Sophie lifted her gaze slowly, while the modiste muttered something about heroic ladies and wicked m’lords beneath her breath.
‘The truth is, my dear Miss Fairfax,’ Lord Rotherby replied seriously, ‘that while a mask will serve you for now, the moment anyone removes it, you are defenceless, which is why we must proceed with my plan, with all speed, as soon as possible.’
Sophie felt herself pale as she took in Lord Rotherby’s unflinching expression.
‘I exist in a space where no one gets hurt.’
And yet she would now, no matter what happened.
‘I will go with you to Versailles, Lu Lu,’ Sophie replied steadily, ‘but I shall not presume on you any longer than the week’s end, and I will certainly not be travelling on to Chartres with Lord Rotherby.’
It was Madame Dupres’s turn to pale, as Lord Rotherby’s frown deepened.
‘As you wish, ma chérie . You see, Dominic, she likes les mathématiques far too much to be with you.’
‘No, it is not for les mathématiques , Lu Lu,’ Sophie corrected in a low voice, ‘or for any reason other than I cannot envisage a life beside his Lordship.’
She closed her eyes briefly then, partly to stop his shadowed greens whispering words that sent a hollow ache through her core, but mostly because she’d lied. She could envisage a life with Lord Dominic Rotherby so easily, and yet how could she bestow her heart when he could give her none?
She drew a breath, and forced a tone she was far from feeling.
‘And my mind is quite made up.’
* * *
17th March 1821
Paris
Dear Sir Weston,
Sophie paused to chew the end of her quill, wondering again how a visit to a modiste could have changed so much. Yet the location of the pastor meant she’d run out of time, and she wouldn’t put it past Lord Rotherby not to bundle her off en route from Versailles.
Silently, she let her eyes drift to Sir Weston’s previous letter:
I share neither Lord Rotherby’s income nor luxurious style, but I can offer you protection from his unwanted attentions if you agree to be my wife.
She swallowed, and continued writing.
I thank you for your recent correspondence, which was such a comfort to receive. In truth, while it goes against every natural feeling to presume upon your kindness, I find myself in such a fix that…
She paused again, recalling Josephine’s brief infatuation.
‘He seems to be exactly what a real gentleman should be…’
She’d said as much herself, and Lu Lu clearly thought him a gentleman of great character and kindness, all of which made a nonsense of her finer sensibilities now. She swallowed and forced herself on. Sir Weston had offered her the hand of friendship, and right now she needed it if she was to make it away safely. Her recent attempt at finding work had also made her realise that her best chance most likely lay in a quiet town, outside the city. Briefly, she recalled Madame Montmartre’s reference to a dressmaker cousin in Rouen and was conscious of a quiet spark of hope. Perhaps there, at last, she might find a place in which she could live and work for a while.
If you are intending to attend Le Grand Bal Masqué de Versailles,
She wrote, hoping Lu Lu had been successful in persuading him to attend.
I could meet you there– it will be busy, and most everyone distracted…
Sophie exhaled, hoping Lu Lu would forgive her for borrowing her delightful English gentleman friend for a short while; she wanted so much to tell her everything, but her relationships with Rotherby and Sir Weston made it too much of a risk. She also wished, with every bone in her body, that she could wait for Phoebe. But if the viscount and Rotherby were to duel, it could be disastrous for them all, whereas a sister who’d quietly disappeared would swiftly be forgotten by the ton.
Wanly, she imagined Lord Rotherby’s face when he learned of her flight. He would be incandescent, not least because he would presume she was leaving to marry Sir Weston– one of the very good reasons why she never could, he wouldn’t survive the week. Yet a female travelling alone in the small hours of the morning wouldn’t do either.
Your offer is the greatest kindness shown by one friend to another, but our hearts are not engaged, and I always said I would marry for love alone…
Sophie didn’t allow herself to read the letter back. Her path was set now and while she’d never regained her sketches from Lu Lu’s excitable modiste, she was certain she could come up with new ones– she was still a Fairfax after all, even when a million miles from the rest.
Briefly, she closed her eyes and pictured Matilda encouraging Duke Wellington across the library floor with shouts of ‘Banish Boney!’, in her most convincing general’s voice. Her eyes misted as she swallowed, and then she addressed the letter before she could change her mind.
As far as she could see, Le Grand Bal Masqué de Versailles was her very last chance.