Page 18 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Eighteen

MIRRORS, MASKS AND MAYHEM

Three days later

T he morning of Le Grand Bal Masqué de Versailles arrived very swiftly, bringing two distinctly unexpected things.

The first was a further letter from Phoebe, announcing her imminent arrival in Paris along with the Viscount Damerel, who, she wrote, intended to call on Lord Rotherby without delay. Sophie eyed her sister’s hurried scrawl with deep foreboding. She already feared a meeting between the viscount and Lord Rotherby, but she could barely bring herself to imagine a meeting with Phoebe. Her sister had left her on the brink of social success, and now she was almost destitute, with the scandal of the season brewing over her name.

The second was an expensive, scented box, containing folds of cream satin wrapped around the most delicate gold filigree mask she’d ever seen. It was breathtaking, and for a few moments Sophie did little but gaze at the swirling design and gleaming rhinestones, inset to reflect the flicker of candlelight. It was entirely different to the carnival mask Madame Montmartre had provided with the domino, and she was perplexed, until she spied a short, handwritten note also hidden within the silk:

Wear this, so I shall I know you.

‘Oh, mademoiselle, it must be from an admirer,’ Veronique, Lu Lu’s dresser gushed as she dressed Sophie’s natural ringlets à la Chinoise. ‘You will spend the whole evening guessing, until he reveals himself!’

Sophie felt quite certain she knew the identity of the sender already and suppressed a brief sense of disappointment. Of course it made perfect sense for Sir Weston to send something by which he could identify her. How else was he to know her amidst the crowd?

She placed the mask back into its box and forced a smile. It was just the sort of gift she’d have adored in her old life, and yet it was far too close to her new one now– a life of masks and whispers, where nothing was quite as it seemed. She closed her eyes and wished she could leave this very second; starting again in Rouen felt like her only chance of escaping the scandal and living honestly.

Or escaping Lord Rotherby, and living dishonestly?

A sudden ache fanned out from her core. There was no doubt she was escaping Lord Rotherby, but how could a marriage of unrequited love be more honest than making her own way and trying to forget him? She forced her thoughts to the very short, very properly worded letter of confirmation she’d received from Sir Weston:

Your wish is my command, Miss Fairfax. I will make the necessary arrangements and look for you at Versailles.

She frowned as she glanced down at her new cream satin gown, with a delicate fabric rose sewn into the layers at her waist. She’d never worn such a fine dress, even in London, and yet all she could think was that the only link between her old life and her new, was a gentleman who talked like an etiquette book.

‘C’est magnifique, mademoiselle,’ Veronique said, clapping her hands. ‘ Et maintenant, with the domino, like so, and your new mask…’ She stepped back to admire her handiwork, a smile of satisfaction spreading across her face. ‘ Vous êtes très, très belle ,’ she whispered, her eyes dancing as she guided Sophie to the looking glass. ‘ Regardez! ’

Sophie stared, and had to agree that Veronique had completely outdone herself, for the lady looking back was no longer Miss Sophie Fairfax, but Madame Marie-Louisa Dupres’s mysterious and elegant friend, passing through Paris for just a few days.

She pulled her domino drape over the expensive satin and adjusted the delicate filigree mask beneath her hood. She was part debutante, part deception, part something she didn’t even know yet. She had a plan and was a hair’s breadth from making her escape, so why then did she feel so hollow?

‘ Bon chance ,’ she whispered to herself, though the words echoed coldly.

* * *

The journey to Versailles turned out to be unlike any Sophie had undertaken before. Not only did the distance necessitate several liveried outriders, but Horace also managed to take charge of the whole ensemble.

‘For the guvnor said I should drive you meself,’ the disgruntled tiger said with a scowl, squeezed into a comical affair of mustard and green velvet.

One glance at Lu Lu’s penitent smile only confirmed Sophie’s suspicion that she’d had little choice but to accept the tiger’s assistance. Yet when they joined the cavalcade of coaches, phaetons and barouches making their way out of Paris, she was relieved he held the reins.

‘ Mais oui . He has overtaken the dreadful Comtesse d’Avignon with her enormous hair!’ Lu Lu giggled as their coach lurched and swung around another.

Sophie gazed at her charismatic friend, her black domino contrasting starkly with her voluminous gown of primrose silk, and wished she could capture the moment. In truth she was a vision, with her sparkling ebony hair draped luxuriously against her creamy skin, and her cherry lips smiling mischievously beneath her mask.

She exhaled beneath her own intricate gold filigree affair. Lu Lu had offered friendship when she’d needed it most, yet tonight she would have to deceive her. It was a sombre thought as the coach lurched forwards again, speeding them towards her very last ball, for while she could hope to live quietly in the provinces, there was no doubt the ton would never accept Miss Sophie Fairfax again.

It was nearly two hours later, when their coach finally pulled into the grandest courtyard she’d ever seen in her life. Sophie peered out of the coach window at the dusk-bathed palace, and was briefly lost for words.

‘Ah, the first time you see Versailles… It is special, is it not, ma chérie ?’ Lu Lu smiled from the seat opposite.

Sophie nodded wistfully, wishing her sisters were there to witness the shimmering horseshoe-shaped palace, alight with more flickering lanterns than she could count. It was truly a palace of dreams, set in an immense and extravagant park, featuring fountains, follies and pale, gleaming statues.

‘It is indeed very grand, just as the Sun King intended,’ Lu Lu added as a liveried footman handed them from their coach. ‘But wait until you see the Hall of Mirrors, ma chérie. C’est magnifique! ’

Sophie nodded again, suddenly grateful for her domino as she glanced back at the long line of coaches behind them. She was not expecting to know anyone other than Sir Weston and Lu Lu, but there was always a chance some of the London ton might be in attendance at an event as grand as this. Then she turned to gaze at the formal wings and entrances to the palace and gardens, that were untouched by the ravages of revolution. The whole park still echoed with the voices of the rich and powerful, and briefly, she recalled Madame Montmartre’s reservations. She frowned fleetingly. It was true there was a strange excitement lacing the air, almost as though the palace was not yet ready to forget its recent history.

‘Well then, Versailles, we are a pair, for we have both fallen from grace,’ Sophie whispered, collecting her skirts. ‘But maybe tonight we can begin again.’

Then she swept into the torch-lit Cour d’Honneur, with her head held as high as any fallen ghost.

* * *

Sophie had never seen anything as elaborate and ostentatious as the Palace of Versailles, despite Napoleon’s recent occupation. Each successive apartment was filled with more flickering chandeliers, rich gold-thread wall hangings and marble busts depicting Roman deities and emperors that Josephine would have known in a heartbeat. Yet, despite the new King’s will for the palace to shine like the crown jewel it once had, the scars of the revolution were still there, in the damaged walls and gilded moulding that seemed too fragile to have survived.

‘ Regarde, ma chérie! ’ Lu Lu exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the history around her, ‘a champagne fountain!’

‘ Bienvenue, mesdames ,’ a footman in a black mask said, handing them both a glass.

Lu Lu beamed in delight, while Sophie accepted warily, conscious her friend had not exactly proven herself to be a responsible escort at the last gathering. Yet even she could not deny the atmosphere was intoxicating, as though the palace herself recalled grand balls of the past and was permeating the air with their echo. She took a delicate sip, and was alarmed to find herself surrounded by masked guests almost immediately, vying for their attention.

‘La! Monsieur , I have told you already I don’t dance with peacocks,’ Lu Lu said, rapping one gentleman with a jade cloak and excessively sculpted hair.

‘Let me guess,’ another murmured behind Sophie. ‘Helen of Troy, perchance?’

He circled in front of her while Lu Lu gurgled with laughter.

‘Not even if you’re Achilles himself,’ Sophie said flatly, side-eyeing Lu Lu who’d been distracted by another Casanova with a dish of sweet cherries.

‘Ah but you would certainly be my Achilles’s heel!’ He grinned, lifting her fingers to his lips.

‘Appealing!’ Sophie replied with a good-natured smile. ‘Though I aspire to slightly more than being the back end of a foot, demi-god or not! Lu Lu,’ she hissed in the next breath, grasping her friend’s arm and dragging her away before she committed every faux pas known to polite society.

‘ Non, non, ma chérie! ’ Lu Lu protested, giggling, ‘I was just starting to have some fun!’

She paused to throw a last cherry at her willing accomplice, before Sophie pushed her up some wide, stone steps.

‘Achilles’s heel indeed , ’ she muttered, before catching Lu Lu’s eye and starting to chuckle.

‘It is a compliment, ma cherie,’ Lu Lu replied, her eyes dancing, ‘and just the beginning I warrant!’

It was a good while later, after they’d toured many more impressive apartments brimming with drunken revellers, amorous couples and the occasional lost soul, that Sophie felt her spirits begin to fall. How she would find Sir Weston in a palace containing two thousand rooms and half of Paris– most of whom seemed intent on behaving as though they belonged within the pages of a forbidden novel– was a real concern. Briefly, she found herself wondering what Lord Rotherby would make of it, before collecting her thoughts.

‘He would enjoy it immensely of course,’ she said to herself, ignoring the ache within.

‘Pardon?’ Lu lu enquired, fluttering her silk fan at a new admirer.

‘Nothing.’ Sophie shook her head, determined not to get maudlin.

‘ Oh ma chérie ,’ Lu Lu exclaimed excitedly, ‘we should go to the Galerie des Glaces! It is supposed to be a wonder, especially at night, and we can see the fireworks from there too.’

Sophie smiled briefly at her excitable friend.

‘It sounds wonderful,’ she replied, retrieving Lu Lu’s fan from another passing admirer. ‘Let us go at once.’

Unfortunately, while the Hall of Mirrors felt like a very good place to look for Sir Weston, it seemed half of Versailles was on their way there too. Indeed, once they’d shaken off the attentions of an overly familiar musketeer, they only had to join the steady thrum of people moving through the palace to find themselves, finally, in the infamous Galerie des Glaces itself.

For a moment, Sophie stood amidst the blur of noise, letting her gaze run up and down the long walls of grand candle-lit mirrors, before travelling upwards to the impressive Sun King himself. The effect was truly magnificent, and she caught her breath, wishing Josephine was there to share the moment.

‘ Il est incroyable, n’est ce pas? ’ Lu Lu murmured, before making her way towards a new table laden with glasses and champagne.

Sophie nodded, trying to memorise every detail so she could capture its likeness one day. Unlike Phoebe, who’d always yearned for heroic adventure, Sophie had only ever dreamed of touring the galleries and museums of European cities. But if she lived out her life in Rouen, it was unlikely she would ever visit such places.

‘It is breathtaking, isn’t it?’ a languid tone offered, making Sophie start and spill her champagne. ‘Though I am caught by its meaning every time. What do you see, mademoiselle ? Is it incroyable as Madame Dupres says , or do paintings offer some truth too?’

In a heartbeat, Sophie was back in The British Institution, only this time there was a dart burrowing straight into her chest. She caught her breath; she hadn’t expected to see him, and now all she could think was that it was the last time. She fought to collect her scattered thoughts, knowing Lord Rotherby’s discovery of her amidst the crush could put her entire plan in jeopardy, that it would be doubly hard to slip away with Sir Weston now.

‘I believe there is little truth here,’ she returned, ignoring the pounding in her ears. ‘It is impressive, but to me, the greater part is about … position and control.’

Clenching her fingers, she kept her gaze fixed on the painting, trying not to think about his faint cologne, or golden skin that somehow seemed to exude a warmth that wrapped itself around her whenever he was near. She had only words to persuade him to take his attentions elsewhere, and quickly, despite the confusion flooding her veins.

He moved then to face her and, although he was masked, she perceived the shadow in his eyes at once. The dart twisted, and instantly she wanted to tell him she didn’t mean it, that she knew he’d tried as much as any heartless rake was able. But instead she was silent, while everyone else receded, until they were quite alone in the vast and shimmering hall.

‘An excellent observation, Miss Fairfax,’ he said, his jaw tight. ‘Though I, for one, believe position and control can sometimes mask?—’

He broke off, letting a poignant silence envelop them, as Sophie mapped every tiny muscle in his lower face, trying to commit them to memory.

‘My father would force me to watch while he slit the throats of animals he’d hunted. He drank, he gambled, he whored and he beat. Yet all this I overlooked, for the sake of our blood tie, until the night he killed my mother and unborn sister.’

He smiled as the roar of the room returned.

‘I do not intend to interrupt your evening,’ he said with a nod. ‘I only wanted to inform you I had a letter from your esteemed brother-in-law the Viscount Damerel today.’

Sophie felt a sudden coldness reach through her. She hadn’t anticipated her brother-in-law contacting Rotherby before he reached town.

‘He would like an urgent meeting, which is understandable, and I will attend of course.’ He broke off to stare at her. ‘In truth, how you manage to look quite so downcast wearing a mask of gold filigree is impressive,’ he added in a softer tone, ‘though I flatter myself it is the perfect match with your gown tonight. You really are quite breathtaking, Sophie.’

There was a moment’s silence.

‘Did you…? Was it you who…? Thank you,’ she faltered, her mind in a new whirl.

She looked into his unsettled eyes, feeling her world contract. All this time, she’d believed Sir Weston had sent the mask so he would know her, and they could slip away before anyone noticed. But if Lord Rotherby had sent the mask, not only had she created entirely the wrong impression, she had little means of being identifiable to Weston amongst hundreds of guests.

She closed her eyes and tried to steady her thumping heart, aware that even Lu Lu seemed to have disappeared.

‘You’re welcome,’ Lord Rotherby replied, eyeing her intently. ‘I was hoping that by wearing it… that perhaps… it might indicate a change of?—’

‘Rotherby? I’d know that jaw anywhere.’ The tone was jovial and came out of nowhere. ‘What the deuce ails you, sir? Heard you had to skip London because of some damned faro nonsense. Refused to believe any of it, of course, yet no one knew where you were, and then you turn up here like the devil himself. Well, sir, I’m delighted to see you and no mistake!’

To Sophie’s utter astonishment, Rotherby paled beneath his mask before turning to greet the newcomer, a large hook-nosed gentleman with dancing eyes and a kindly face.

‘O’Reilly!’ Rotherby exclaimed, though Sophie could sense his instant guard. ‘Thank you, old friend. It’s good to see you too. Tis a pity a few others aren’t so ready with their belief, but I’m confident I’ll clear the air soon. Anyway, what of Mrs O’Reilly?’ His tone warmed a little. ‘I trust you are both enjoying the continent? Versailles is quite the spectacle, is it not?’

Suddenly, and as if on cue, the windows overlooking the gardens lit up as though a thousand stars had fallen, while an orchestra far below burst into life. Sophie watched as the waterfall of light reached across Lord Rotherby’s face, accentuating its contours, and in that moment he’d never looked less assured. His lips were pressed and white, his dark eyes wary, while a tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed with strain. Her gaze narrowed as fresh rivulets of doubt invaded her thoughts.

Then another burst of fireworks followed the first, once again lighting the crowd, but this time he was smiling again, as though he had not a care in the world.

‘Aye, that it is, though give me Burgundy over champagne any day of the week!’ O’Reilly bellowed, earning a reproving look from one of the footmen. ‘I’m glad to hear you’re making progress though,’ he added in a lower tone. ‘Never did like that other fellow, a shade too smooth for me! Do me a favour and give him a trouncing when you’ve cleared the cloud, eh?’

He turned to smile benevolently at Sophie.

‘Your pardon, miss, I didn’t mean to interrupt, and my Flo will be giving me a trouncing if I leave her much longer. A pleasure to meet you, and look after the boy, eh? Turns out he needs it.’

Then he wrung her hand with such a broad grin that Sophie decided she liked him twice as much as she already did, before he disappeared into the crowd. She drew a deep breath and looked at Lord Rotherby, who regarded her warily.

‘Did you leave London because of some kind of gambling scandal?’ she ventured, recalling his feverish words when she nursed him.

‘Roseby and O’Sullivan are JPs… Sir Giles and Weston too strait-laced… it’s a damnable matter… marked during the game… it has to be one of us.’

She stared at his inscrutable expression, and knew at once she was right. It was just the sort of scandal that could destroy a nobleman’s life, let alone his pride. And she wasn’t naive when it came to matters of honour– her own father had gambled Phoebe’s hand in marriage and left the instruction in his will– but this was worse. Marking cards during a game was cheating, and gentlemen shot each other for far less.

For a moment Lord Rotherby said nothing, then when he spoke, it was as though they were strangers again.

‘As I have said before,’ he replied tautly, ‘my reason for leaving London are private, and I’d thank you not to inquire into matters that don’t concern you. O’Reilly is a very old and loyal friend who knows me well. Unfortunately, as is often the way in life, not everyone shares the same degree of faith?—’

‘With good reason, sir! And I’d thank you to unhand my sister-in-law while your name is steeped in scandal!’

Sophie glanced up in sharp disbelief, certain her straining nerves had to be mistaken, but her flickers of hope expired instantly. The new gentleman was masked, but she would know his tall, distinctive profile anywhere, and he was glowering.

‘Viscount Damerel!’ she whispered, flushing to the roots of her ringlets. ‘How… fortunate to see you! But pray, where is my sister?’

‘Phoebe awaits you at Madame Dupres’s residence,’ he replied tersely, ‘because we were not informed of this excursion– as we have not been informed of many things, it appears. As a result, it has taken time to find you, and I am only here because half of Paris is in attendance at this debauched affair.’ He turned to level a brooding glare at Rotherby. ‘But now I can see, sir, that the rumours surrounding your departure must be correct, for not content with ruining yourself, it seems you must also drag my innocent sister into your scandal! Have you no honour at all?’

His tone was low but condemning, and any hope of a reasonable discussion died instantly. Sophie knew her brother-in-law well and every line of his body was taut with hostility, while his eyes glittered in a way she’d only ever seen once before… when duelling with his brother.

‘I beg your pardon, Damerel?’ Lord Rotherby challenged in an ugly tone.

He stepped towards the viscount, his hand moving to his sword hilt, threateningly.

‘I have in no way disgraced my name nor have I dragged your sister into anything– though Lord knows she has provoked me beyond all endurance!’ he added, his eyes glittering.

‘Charmed, I’m sure, when you’re forever trying to coerce me,’ Sophie shot back.

‘If that’s true I ought to cut your liver out right here!’ Viscount Damerel growled.

‘No, what I meant was?—’

‘Be my guest. Many have tried!’ Rotherby replied glacially. ‘But even you should know her fate was sealed the moment she chose to meet me outside Rotherby House.’

‘It wasn’t my finest decision,’ Sophie agreed swiftly, ‘but I still think this can be resolved another w?—’

‘You, sir, are a cad and a rogue!’ Damerel snarled. ‘I demand satisfaction, and will free Miss Fairfax from all obligation. Choose your weapon!’

‘I really think Phoebe would not be at all happy—’ Sophie tried again, glaring at her brother-in-law.

‘Is that a challenge?’ Rotherby hissed.

‘It is a promise, sir!’

Sophie swung her gaze from Viscount Damerel to Lord Rotherby and back to the viscount in utter disbelief. Each was eyeing the other with such a murderous expression that she would have been tempted to laugh, had they not been wholly serious.

And this was only compounded by the fact that the fireworks in the gardens were beginning to pale beside the drama in the room. Whispers began to echo through the large hall, as guests turned away from the windows and towards the tense scenes unfolding behind them.

‘Then let us dispense with the formalities and get on with it!’ Damerel hissed, drawing his sword so swiftly that for a moment it seemed to be over before it had begun.

But Lord Rotherby was more than ready, and met his advance with a stinging defence that made the entire room gasp.

‘With pleasure!’ he ground out, forcing Damerel back with a series of menacing strikes that made several of the ladies swoon instantly.

Sophie scowled at their drooping forms, wondering if they knew what a disservice they were doing to the rest of their sex.

‘Ten francs on the scarlet domino!’ a gentleman called from the back of the crowd, prompting a flurry of similar wagers.

She glowered at the watching crowd, before spinning to cast an imploring look at the duellers, yet they seemed to have forgotten her existence already.

She bristled furiously. So much for protecting her reputation, they were intent on making her the talk of Paris! And yet, they were already halfway along the Hall of Mirrors, their feints and parries drawing a chorus of gasps and heckles from the mesmerised crowd.

Several times, a lunge nearly found its target, and several more times a lightning manoeuvre deflected it, prompting the crowd to acknowledge their skill appreciatively. Then a series of furious strikes drove Damerel backwards, forcing him over a drinks table and knocking a champagne bowl into the arms of a nearby footman. The whole room gasped as Rotherby snatched up the ice tongs and used them to deflect Damerel’s sword, before they, too, were thrust into the arms of the gaping footman. And then they were back to it, driving each other harder than ever.

Sophie clenched every muscle she possessed as she followed their glinting blades in the candlelight. It was just like Damerel to defend her honour whether she liked it or not, and just like Rotherby to choose swords over reason. She scowled harder, wracking her brain for a way to stop the fight that didn’t involve throwing herself between them.

‘For I may be a Fairfax, but I have never pretended to be Phoebe!’ she muttered savagely beneath her breath.

‘ Le combat est trop serre! ’ one lady moaned. ‘It is too close… they will die!’

Seconds later, several crowd members began chorusing their support, glaring at Sophie as though she had the power to stop it, and yet the duellists’ fevered brows and unrelenting strikes said very differently.

Frantically, she cast her gaze around the room, but there was nothing but suspicious stares and judgement. Rotherby and Damerel were intent on murdering one another, the crowd were pointing and whispering, and by breakfast her name would be just as synonymous with scandal in Paris, as London too.

In truth, she could think of only one very sensible and proper person who could possibly make a difference now. Gritting her teeth, Sophie picked up her skirts and spun, cursing all gentlemen and their vainglorious ideas to eternity.