Page 21 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

FOOTPADS AND brEECHES

Moments later

‘M ais , where is the champagne, ma chérie ?’ Lu Lu asked groggily as Sophie attempted to prop her up. ‘And why is this chaise longue so short?! I understand Versailles could not be refurbished in quite the same style but alors , I think some of my hats have more padding!’

‘Please accept my apologies,’ Sir Weston muttered drily.

‘Sir Weston!’ Lu Lu exclaimed. Her eyes narrowed as she shook back her hedgerow hair. ‘But, why are you here? I told you I—’ She paused to pull her cloak tightly around her small person. ‘I told you I would not be seen in your company anymore,’ she pronounced sharply.

Sophie swung her gaze from Lu Lu to Sir Weston’s smug indifference in disbelief. Could Sir Weston also be the dishonourable stupide at Versailles?

‘Did you see Sir Weston at the ball, Lu Lu?’ Sophie asked, scowling.

‘Not all gentlemen are made equally. Some are more honourable than others.’

‘I had the misfortune to do so, oui !’ Lu Lu glared. ‘And then I learned he had the manners of– what do you Fairfaxes call it?– a pigwidgeoned dunderhead!’

Sophie turned back to Sir Weston with rage snaking up from the pit of her stomach. How she could have ever believed him the most proper of gentleman was fast becoming a mystery of unknown proportions. He was the very opposite: a duplicitous libertine who thought nothing of deceiving and insulting others in the pursuit of his own ends– which, she was increasingly convinced, was Rotherby’s ruin.

‘How dare you insult my friend!’ she accused.

‘Oh come, come Sophie,’ he wheedled. ‘It was just a little kiss. It was Le Grand Bal Masqué de Versailles after all!’

‘Oh is that all it was?’ Lu Lu remonstrated, waving her fan in Weston’s face so furiously that Sophie would have laughed in any other circumstances. ‘You, sir, are no gentleman!’

‘No, he is not,’ Sophie seethed, feeling as though she had never seen the world so clearly.

‘He is a cad and a trickster and a libertine! In fact, he is all the things he would have had me believe of Lord Rotherby.’

‘Absolutement, ma chérie !’ Lu Lu said emphatically.

Sophie withdrew the miniature crossbow from her pocket and levelled it at Sir Weston.

‘I have not given you leave to use my given name, sir,’ she challenged. ‘And I do not require your escort or the protection of your name. Stop the carriage at once!’

‘Why?’ Sir Weston laughed. ‘Because of that toy ?’

‘It is not a toy,’ Lu Lu declared indignantly. ‘She shot my dear Dominic with it, and I sincerely hope she shoots you too. But, is that why we are here, ma chérie ?’ she added fretfully, turning back to Sophie. ‘Because you wish to marry this… toad ? Non, non, non! You must not marry this one when it is as plain as a pikestaff you’re already in love with my Dominic?—’

‘I said as much!’ Sir Weston cut in savagely.

‘I am not marrying anyone, Lu Lu!’ Sophie countered forcibly. ‘Particularly someone with the moral compass of the amphibian you describe. But mostly because noblemen seem only to choose marriage when faced with scandal or a vendetta– not because they are in love.’

They were words Sophie never expected to hear from her own mouth and, briefly, Lord Rotherby’s voice reached through her thoughts.

‘Even the strongest of attachments rarely last a lifetime.’

She swallowed, feeling a wave of intense sadness threaten to engulf her. Lord Rotherby might be a liar and a libertine, but he’d also been right. Whatever she’d expected from the marriage mart had been entirely nonsensical and had she but taken his advice at the start, she might have saved herself a mountain of heartache.

‘I am not marrying anyone,’ she repeated, levelling the crossbow with renewed intent. ‘Stop the coach!’

‘Do see sense, Sophie— I mean, Miss Fairfax,’ Sir Weston amended hastily. ‘Consider what you are saying. Think of your sisters and the Fairfax family name. You have no money, no prospects and no gentleman of honourable standing will take you now. I am your only hope for respectability. And Madame Dupres’s company will be no salvation if you are not married to me before tomorrow is done. You will be considered damaged goods Sophie– a ladybird no less!’

‘Well, I’d rather be a ladybird outside this coach,’ Sophie growled, fumbling for the window latch, ‘than a buffle-head within it!’

‘Sophie! Ma chérie! ’ Lu Lu shrieked. ‘You cannot mean to stop here. We are in the middle of nowhere, and consider my new primrose silk slippers. They were not made?—’

‘Hush, Lu Lu!’ Sophie said crossly, just as another cry echoed through the night.

She paused, frowning.

‘Yes, there is someone in pursuit,’ Sir Weston smirked.

‘If we stop now, you risk our lead, and either Lord Rotherby will be your husband, or Damerel will return you to your brother who, if I am to believe his reputation, will ensure your disappearance from polite society for good.’ Sir Weston’s eyes glittered. ‘Surely, marriage to me is preferential to that?’

‘Doubtful,’ Lu Lu muttered.

Sophie drew a deep breath, determined not to let Sir Weston glimpse her inner turmoil. She knew he was speaking the truth; her fate would be unrequited love or Thomas’s convent. She could not bear either, and yet remaining in the same space as him was impossible too.

With fresh determination, she forced the sash window open, letting in a blast of cold night air.

‘ Arrêtez! ’ she yelled at the driver, and had the satisfaction of feeling the coach lurch to a violent standstill.

‘I choose me!’ she exclaimed, wiping the smile from Sir Weston’s face. ‘And I hope you’ve a plausible story for whoever is in pursuit, because neither Rotherby nor Damerel are known for their restraint. Lu Lu?’

Sophie jumped out onto the lonely heathland roadside and turned to grasp Lu Lu’s reluctant hand.

‘ Eh non! This road is not safe for a walk, mademoiselle ,’ the beleaguered coach driver said.

‘ Ma chérie , my slippers!’ Lu Lu wailed.

‘Consider the mistake you are making, Miss Fairfax!’ Sir Weston hissed.

‘On the contrary Sir Weston,’ Sophie replied, ‘ you are the only mistake here, and Madame Dupres will be far safer with the driver and me, than incarcerated with you for another second!’

‘ Eh non! ’ the coach driver repeated, sidling back. ‘No ladies with me!’

Sophie drew herself up proudly.

‘I am Miss Sophie Fairfax of Knightswood Manor in Devonshire, and I’ll not travel another second inside your coach with a cad and libertine! Either we get out or he does, and he is most certainly not sitting with you.’

It was at this exact same moment that a barouche and pair emerged over the crest of the hill behind them.

‘Regarde!’ Lu Lu shrieked in profound relief. ‘We are rescued, ma chérie! There is no need for you to be Gaspard Bouis or Dick Turpin with that ridiculous crossbow anymore.’

She shuddered and began waving a white lace kerchief at the barouche, which appeared to be bowling along at a great pace.

‘We are not rescued,’ Sophie hissed, grabbing Lu Lu’s lace kerchief. ‘For we do not need rescuing! Inside, now!’ she ordered Sir Weston, who scowled before retreating into the coach. ‘And you, sir, will make room for us on your seat,’ Sophie instructed the coach driver, who cursed as she pushed Lu Lu up onto the seat and tucked a thick blanket around her. ‘There,’ she said consolingly to her friend, who already had the look of one facing the gallows, ‘this will be so much better than travelling inside with that… person !’

Then the driver called to his horses, which sprang forward with fresh purpose.

It became almost immediately clear that riding atop the Fairfax chaise around the grounds of Knightswood in broad daylight, was entirely different to riding atop the worst-sprung coach along the Chartres road at midnight, but Sophie was determined to make up for lost time. And even if Lu Lu was pressing her lace hanky to her mouth in a distinctly discouraging fashion, she was convinced the cool night air was far better for her than the stuffy coach with that lecherous libertine ogling their every move.

In truth, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she’d managed the whole odious situation quite credibly, and in the past minutes the chasing barouche had even fallen out of sight again.

She exhaled raggedly. She was so done with gentlemen masquerading as libertines, libertines masquerading as gentlemen, and everything in between. She’d ruined it all, and the only thing she could do to give those who remained a chance, was disappear. Her life ahead wouldn’t be the one she dreamed of but, as Lord Rotherby had pointed out at the beginning, dreams only ended in disappointment anyway.

It was just as she was contemplating this likely fate as a ruined debutante, doomed to haunt potted roads between medium-sized French towns forever, that a lone rider loomed out the darkness ahead of them.

‘It’s past midnight,’ Sophie frowned, as the coach driver cursed colourfully.

‘We are doomed, ma chérie ,’ Lu Lu moaned into her hanky, ‘quite doomed! This road is haunted by revolutionaries. We will now face la guillotine with the rest of Versailles…’

‘That was nearly thirty years ago, Lu Lu,’ Sophie remonstrated, ‘and we will not face la guillotine for a few pigwidgeoned dunderheads!’

She swallowed painfully. Somehow, using Matilda’s favourite phrase made her chest ache all the harder.

And yet the rider did not move, forcing the coach driver to slow to a standstill on the deserted Chartres road, in the middle of the black night.

‘You ladies had best leave this to me,’ the coach driver said.

‘I think not.’ Sophie replied, gripping the crossbow beneath her domino. ‘ Bonsoir! ’ she called.

‘ Bonsoir . You have come from Versailles, non ?’ the rider called out.

Sophie frowned at the lean figure, just visible in the gloom ahead.

‘Versailles?’ she challenged, wishing her sisters were there to witness her accent. ‘ Mais non. We’re just ordinary sans-culottes , escorting this ordinary coach and its ordinary passengers?—’

‘Somewhere warmer,’ Lu Lu interjected, glaring at Sophie.

‘Indeed?’ the rider drawled, leaning forwards on the pommel of their saddle. ‘And there I was thinking you might be ladies from Versailles who’d run into a spot of bother. But since you’re so very ordinary …’

Sophie frowned, sure there was something familiar about the voice. Then the rider shrugged before swinging a burgundy silk-lined velvet cloak over their shoulder with such decided style that Sophie’s suspicions were redoubled… before she realised.

‘Madame Montmartre!’ She gasped, her eyes as round as saucers. ‘I’d recognise one of your exquisite cloaks anywhere!

‘ Ah merci, Mademoiselle Fairfax.’ The petite modiste grinned. ‘They are trop elegant for a common footpad, n’est-ce pas ?’

Sophie gazed in admiration as the modiste trotted forward, while Lu Lu stared in silent shock. And yet now she’d identified her, the figure couldn’t possibly be anyone else. From her dark, expressive eyes to the daring cut of her riding breeches, the lone rider was clearly the revolutionary modiste.

‘But your breeches , Madame Montmartre!’ Lu Lu half wailed, half exhaled in admiration.

The modiste inclined her head most graciously.

‘I made them myself,’ she said, ‘for I do not see why the gentlemen need have all the trousers to themselves.’

Sophie briefly recalled Phoebe saying something quite similar.

‘ Ma chérie , those breeches are too divine!’ Lu Lu said, elbowing the coach driver out of the way to get a closer look. ‘And is that silk? Your shirt?’

‘ Oui . A silk shirt and woollen cloak– for the cooler nights,’ the modiste clarified, only too happy to share the secrets of her outfit with a favoured customer.

‘La, I must have my own,’ Lu Lu replied longingly.

‘I would be only too happy to oblige,’ Madame Montmartre replied, her pearly teeth catching the moonlight. ‘Which is the reason I am here.’

‘To take our orders?’ Lu Lu frowned doubtfully.

‘Non, non, though I would be happy to another time,’ she beamed. ‘I came because I overheard the plot against Mademoiselle Fairfax, and I believe in freedom above all things. Vive la révolution! ’

For a second, no one said a word.

‘Do not attempt to negotiate,’ came a muffled shout from within the coach. ‘Revolutionaries are cunning criminals!’

‘I think you have some great stupide inside, oui ?’ Madame Montmartre said. ‘Maybe I should just shoot him.’

‘A very kind offer,’ Sophie said quickly, beginning to think she’d underestimated Madame Montmartre significantly, ‘but we left two gentlemen in Versailles intent on committing murder in my name and I’ve no desire to add to the body count.’

Briefly, a memory of the duellists in the flickering lantern light reached through her thoughts, prompting a fresh surge of dread.

‘Aha! Versailles! You see, it is exactly as I said,’ Madame Montmartre replied, sitting up to show off her silk ruffle shirt to its fullest advantage and making Lu Lu stare. ‘When you were in my shop,’ the modiste continued conspiratorially, ‘I thought to myself, this lady who does not wish to be married, she is giving me a message though her brilliant designs’—Sophie glanced at Lu Lu, aware things were starting to get a little awkward—‘and then when I met your Lord Rotherby, who I could tell was not going to take non for an answer, I understood… et voilà , here I am.’

Sophie blinked, feeling sure she’d missed something.

‘Pardon?’ she asked faintly.

‘I am here, to rescue you.’

For a second, there was no sound other than the wind barrelling across the sparse heathland, and some muffled laughter from within the coach.

‘ Et maintenant , you do not have to marry your Lord Rotherby, no matter how handsome he is and how many filigree masks he buys– though that is always nice of course– for you can join la révolution with me.’

Sophie blinked, knowing she ought to say something, but failing entirely. It was one thing choosing life in a provincial town as a dressmaker, and quite another to be strong-armed into a band of fashionable revolutionaries.

Thankfully, at that same moment, the barouche pursuing them barrelled over the hill at what Fred would have called a spanking pace. Madame Montmartre responded immediately, rearing up on her horse while brandishing her pistol in the air.

‘And now, I will show you what true fraternité looks like!’ she exclaimed. ‘I will intercept this murderous gentleman and find you again in Chartres, where mes amis , we will arrange everything, oui ?’

Then she galloped past without a backward glance, while the driver cursed and urged his horses forward.