Courting Miss Vallois

by Gail Whitiker

  ‘I know. A lady bought it for her daughter, but when the daughter didn’t like it, the mother bought something else and told me I could keep the silk as payment. But if you’d rather me wear the muslin—’

  ‘No, no, the blue will look marvellous against your complexion,’ Lavinia said, putting the cream gown aside. ‘Perhaps I should let you make your own gowns. This is every bit as good as what we get from Madame Delors, and unlike her, you really are French. However, getting back to Lady White, you should know that besides being unconventional, she is the very devil at cards. I have played with her countless times and have yet to win more than a dozen hands.’

  ‘Don’t tell me she cheats?’ Sophie said in delight.

  ‘Outrageously, but she does it so well it is nearly impossible to catch her at it. Is Antoine going with you?’

  ‘He told me he was.’ Sophie’s smile widened. He hadn’t intended to—until he’d heard that Jane Silverton was also going to be there. Then he had suddenly changed his mind and agreed that a card party given by an eccentric hostess would make for a highly diverting evening. He might have missed the carriage ride, but it seemed the lady had intrigued him enough that he was not about to miss a second opportunity to spend time with her.

  For that, Sophie decided she could put up with Robert Silverton’s reserve, Mr Oberon’s arrogance and the slight-of-hand dealings of their hostess for as long as was necessary.

  Chapter Six

  Lady White was, in all respects, an Original. Thin as a rail, she wore unrelieved black against which her snowy white hair appeared wonderfully dramatic. Her lips and cheeks were heavily rouged and she wore a heart-shaped patch next to her mouth. She was also draped in a king’s ransom worth of diamonds and gold.

  ‘My husband always said jewellery was meant to be worn,’ Lady White explained as she strolled arm in arm with Sophie and Antoine through the elegant rooms of her town house. ‘And at my age, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be around to show it off. Best do it now while I still have a skeleton to hang it on!’

  Then she laughed. Not the delicate tittering of a society matron, but the full-bodied laugh of a woman who enjoyed life. Sophie liked her immensely.

  ‘Tell me, how is it I haven’t seen you before, Miss Vallois?’ Lady White asked. ‘You’re far too beautiful to be missed. The young men can scarcely stop gawking at you.’

  Sophie laughed, moved to wonder if she had been singled out for the lady’s special brand of attention or if she spoke this bluntly to everyone. ‘Thank you, my lady, but my brother and I are only recently arrived in England.’

  ‘Ah, yes, to stay with the Longworths. Excellent family. I knew Nicholas as a boy. Devil of a lad. Always falling into some kind of scrape or another, but he turned out well enough. And dear Lavinia. Such a charming woman. You don’t see love like theirs very often. It’s all about money and land now. Women marry for social position and men to beget an heir. Oh, get away with you, Walter!’ Lady White said when a gentleman ventured too close. ‘Miss Vallois isn’t interested in you.’

  As the crestfallen youth slunk away, Lady White whispered in Sophie’s ear, ‘A second son with four unmarried sisters. Definitely not the type of suitor you wish to encourage. Unlike this fine strapping young man beside you.’ Lady White raised her lorgnette and peered at Antoine through the lens. ‘Lud, but you’re a fine-looking man. Why ain’t you married?’

  The question could have been offensive, but Antoine just laughed. ‘I have been involved in my studies, my lady.’

  ‘To be a doctor.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Quite an occupation. Constantly surrounded by the sick and dying.’ Lady White shuddered. ‘Haven’t the stomach for it myself, but thank God there are those who do.’ She stopped to touch the patch next to her mouth. ‘They don’t train doctors the same way in France as they do here.’

  ‘I understand there are differences, yes.’

  ‘But the body’s the same, is it not? Whether one finds oneself on this side of the Channel or the other.’

  ‘I’ve always thought so,’ Antoine said with a straight face. ‘But not having examined any bodies on this side of the Channel, I cannot say for certain.’

  Lady White stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. ‘By God, I like the cut of your jib. If I was forty years younger, I’d give these young fillies a run for their money. In fact, I still might.’ She gave him an audacious wink. ‘Think about it, lad. I’ve money enough to keep us both in the style to which a handsome young buck like you should be accustomed.’

  Sophie glanced at her brother, half-expecting to see him make a bolt for the door. Instead, he bowed and said, ‘You do me a considerable honour, Lady White, but I fear I must decline.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you might. The good ones always do. Still, I hope you’ll play cards with me.’ She rapped him on the chest with her fan. ‘I’ve a mind to find out if your wits are as sharp as your looks.’

  ‘I would be delighted.’ Then, in a courtly gesture that was years out of date, Antoine took the lady’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Je suis très heureux de faire votre connaisance, madame. Vous êtes une Originale.’

  Lady White blinked, and then to Sophie’s surprise, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, you wretched boy. Now you’ve gone and made an old lady cry and I may never forgive you for that.’ She drew a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. ‘But bless you for having had the kindness to say so.’ She blew her nose, tucked her hankie behind her fan and then, with a smile and another loud sniff, moved off to greet her other guests.

  ‘Goodness, Antoine, you may wish to think carefully before rejecting her offer,’ Sophie whispered. ‘You would never have to work again if you agreed to become her—’

  ‘Thank you, Sophie, I think the less said about it, the better.’ But clearly the idea of becoming the cher ami of such a woman was more than even Antoine could keep a straight face for, and after a moment, they both burst out laughing.

  They were still chucking about it a few minutes later when Robert and Jane Silverton came over to join them. ‘What are you two having such a jolly time about?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Lady White,’ Sophie said. ‘You were right in saying she is a treat. She says what she thinks and worries about it later.’

  ‘I’m not so sure she does worry,’ Mr Silverton said. ‘I don’t think she cares a whit what anyone thinks.’

  ‘Well, I think she’s marvellous,’ Sophie said. ‘You have to admire a woman who has the courage to speak her mind.’

  ‘Even though society is likely to condemn her for doing so?’

  Sophie slowly turned to look at him. As always, Mr Silverton was impeccably turned out. His double-breasted coat, cut square across the front and decorated with a row of gilt buttons, fit him to perfection. Beneath that, a fine cambric shirt clung to a broad chest and around his neck, a perfectly tied, perfectly white linen cravat. A powerful man, in the civilised clothes of a gentleman. Were his thoughts a reflection of the same? ‘It takes courage to fly in the face of convention, Mr Silverton,’ Sophie said. ‘Especially in a society so rigid about what it will and will not allow.’

  ‘Are you saying French society is more lenient than English?’

  ‘No. I’m just saying that in general, women do not benefit from its strictures. The only women who possess any kind of freedom are those who are titled in their own right, independently wealthy or widowed. It seems very unfair.’

  ‘Well said, Miss Vallois,’ Jane said with approval.

  ‘And you, Miss Silverton?’ Antoine asked. ‘Do you mind being criticised?’

  ‘One always minds to a certain degree, but fortunately, I am not as closely scrutinised as others. My affliction absents me from the rest of the pack.’

  Antoine glanced at the cane in her hand. ‘How did you come by your injury?’

  ‘An unfortunate childhood accident. A badly broken foot even more badly set.’

  ‘But it does
not prevent you from getting about.’

  ‘Nothing could do that,’ she told him. ‘I am most determined when I set my mind to something.’

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ Mr Silverton said. ‘Shall we play cards?’

  Sophie wasn’t sure how it happened, but a few minutes later, she found herself at a whist table, partnered with Robert Silverton against Lady White and a young lady by the name of Miss Penelope Green. Antoine and Jane had moved away to play vingt-et-un at another table.

  ‘I hope your brother is skilled at cards, Miss Vallois,’ Mr Silverton said as the hand was dealt. ‘My sister is a Captain Sharp of the female variety.’

  ‘Antoine plays well enough,’ Sophie said, picking up her cards. ‘It is my skills as a partner you may find lacking.’

  ‘Nothing to it, my dear.’ Lady White raised her arm, causing a battery of bracelets to jangle. ‘You simply try to take as many tricks as you can by remembering which cards have already been played. That’s why I like this game. It requires the use of one’s brain. I’m not sure you young whelps know how to do that.’

  Sophie said nothing, but when she raised her eyes and met Mr Silverton’s over the top of her cards, she saw that he was grinning broadly. ‘I shall endeavour to do my best, Lady White.’

  ‘You’ll have to if you expect to escape this table unscathed.’ Lady White turned up a card. ‘Hearts are trump. Your lead, Mr Silverton.’

  Over the course of the evening, Robert learned quite a few things about Miss Sophie Vallois. He learned that while she was blessed with beauty and refinement, she also had a lively sense of humour and a tendency towards speaking her mind. He learned that when she was silent, it was not because she could think of nothing to say, but because she preferred to weigh her words before offering them up for public discussion. She never forced herself into a conversation, but when asked a question, responded with wit and intelligence. In short, it was hard to find anything to criticise about the lady, yet he still found himself maintaining a distance.

  ‘Are you enjoying your time in London, Miss Vallois?’ he asked after Lady White and Miss Green had excused themselves to partake of refreshments.

  ‘I am. It is, of course, very different to the life Antoine and I lead in France.’

  Assuming she referred to the customs and language of the two countries, Robert said, ‘Have you always lived in Paris?’

  ‘Only for the last two years. Before that I lived near Bayencourt.’

  ‘I’m not familiar with the town.’

  ‘It’s a small village in the north of France. My father was born there.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘In Provence.’ Miss Vallois smiled. ‘Mama always said she would never move to the north, but when she met my father, that was that. I went to Provence with her when I was ten and liked it very much. The lavender fields were beautiful.’

  Robert nodded, picturing a young girl running through the lush purple fields. He imagined a slender figure in a white dress, with silver-blond hair flying out behind and laughter ringing across the fields. It made for an engaging scene. ‘You speak English exceptionally well for someone who’s never been outside France,’ he observed.

  ‘I was employed for some time by an English lady who hired me to teach French to her daughters. In turn, I was tutored in English with particular emphasis on pronunciation and diction. I was forbidden to roll my r’s, drop my h’s, or say zat instead of that. The lady was something of a…’ She looked to him for help. ‘A termagant?’

  ‘A termagant.’ Robert smiled. ‘Yes, it is the same in both languages.’ So, she had been a governess. That, he supposed, explained her polished manners and her refined way of speaking. ‘I would venture to say if their French is half as good as your English, you did an exceptional job.’

  Miss Vallois wrinkled her nose. ‘I fear I did not. The eldest daughter was not interested in learning the language and took pains to tell me so on a regular basis. But the younger one was very sweet and more than made up for her sister’s deficiencies.’ She looked at him with renewed interest. ‘Have you ever been to France, Mr Silverton?’

  The question stabbed at his heart. ‘Briefly. I held a commission in the cavalry, but sold it when my eldest brother was killed.’

  ‘Yes, I’m so sorry. I cannot imagine what that must have been like,’ Miss Vallois said. ‘If I were to lose Antoine, it would be like losing a part of myself. I don’t know that I would ever feel whole again.’

  Robert stared at her, aware that in a few simple sentences, she had summed up exactly how he’d felt at the time of Michael’s death. He’d been shattered, his world cast into darkness by the death of the one person he’d been closer to than anyone else. ‘There are still times I don’t feel whole. Even now, when I walk into a room, I expect to see Michael there. To be able to walk up to him and laugh over some amusing and totally inconsequential event.’

  ‘Were you close growing up?’

  ‘Inseparable. He was only two years older than me so we shared many of the same interests. He taught me how to ride and he was there when I took my first bad spill in the field.’ Robert’s mouth twisted. ‘It was my first time hunting and, caught up in the excitement, I tried to take a gate at full tilt. I don’t remember hitting the ground, but I remember Michael picking me up and carrying me back to the house. He called for the surgeon and stayed with me while my arm was set.’

  ‘That must have been painful.’

  ‘It was, but it hurt a great deal less than my father’s indifference.’ Robert tried to keep the resentment from his voice. ‘He was more concerned about my horse. Said I could have ruined a prime bit of blood. I wanted to lash out, but Michael put his hand on my good arm and said it wasn’t worth it. Told me I’d only regret it in the morning. And, as always, he was right.’ Robert stopped, swallowing hard. ‘I never expected Michael to die in the war. When the letter came informing us that he’d been killed, I thought it must be a mistake. I didn’t want to believe it. To me he was…indestructible.’

  ‘I don’t think we ever really believe that someone we love will fall. I suppose that’s the best part of the human spirit,’ Miss Vallois said. ‘The unshakeable belief that the worst will never happen to us or to those we care about. I sometimes wonder if we would venture into the unknown at all if we did not hold that belief true.’

  ‘Indeed. We are fragile in body, yet indomitable in spirit,’ Robert murmured. ‘And how fortunate that is the case.’

  He hadn’t expected her to reach out. But when he felt the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm and looked up to see compassion in the depths of those remarkable blue eyes, he knew the sympathy she offered wasn’t feigned. Whatever she thought about him as a person was secondary to her need to offer reassurance and warmth. He found that strangely comforting.

  ‘Ah, Silver, thought I’d find you here,’ Oberon said, blundering in and destroying the mood. ‘And Miss Vallois. I’m so pleased you decided to heed my advice and come.’

  ‘Mr Oberon.’ The lady slowly withdrew her hand. Robert was surprised at how keenly he felt its loss. ‘As it turned out, Lady Longworth had not made other plans and agreed that it would make for a pleasant evening.’

  ‘Excellent. The company is not always the best, but the variety of entertainments more than makes up for it.’ Oberon put his hand on the back of her chair and leaned down to whisper, ‘I hope you received the small floral tribute I sent to the house.’

  A delicate pink blush stained her cheeks. ‘Yes, the roses were beautiful, thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. They will always pale in comparison to you, of course, but I wanted you to have a token of my affection and esteem.’

  Robert drummed his fingers on the table. So, Oberon had already begun sending gifts. He should have known. The wolf would waste no time in getting the hunt underway. Damn him.

  ‘And how fares your luck at the tables tonight, Silver?’ Oberon asked, straightening. ‘You should know, Miss Vallois, that Sil
ver has the luck of the Irish when it comes to cards. In fact, he’s something of a legend in the gambling hells of London. There’s not many who’ll wager against him.’

  ‘It’s all in the turn of the card,’ Robert said, his voice cool. ‘Most games are pure luck.’

  ‘Speaking of luck, Butterworth was wondering how you were faring in that matter we were speaking of the other day.’

  Robert purposely kept his eyes down. ‘You should know better than to ask.’

  ‘Fair enough. Are you going to ask me how I go on in my endeavours?’

  ‘Which endeavours would those be, Mr Oberon?’ Lady White demanded, returning to the card table. ‘I’m sure we would all like to know.’

  Oberon’s mouth thinned. ‘You’ll forgive me, but they are of a private nature and not meant to be shared.’

  ‘Then I wonder at you bringing them up at all. Especially in front of Miss Vallois, with whom you can have only the slightest of acquaintance.’

  Robert reached for the deck of cards and slid them across the table. Point to Lady White. She obviously had no qualms about giving Oberon a set-down in front of others. Unfortunately, he was nothing if not adept at turning a floundering situation to his advantage. ‘You are right to admonish me, Lady White. Miss Vallois, pray forgive my poor manners. Perhaps I can make it up to you by offering to take you to an entertainment tomorrow evening. I understand Don Giovanni is playing to great reviews at the Covent Garden Theatre.’

  ‘The theatre!’ Lady White said huffily. ‘In my day, such things were not considered suitable entertainment for a young lady of refinement. Have you secured the Longworths’ agreement to the outing?’

  ‘Not yet, though I have no reason to believe Lady Longworth would withhold it,’ Oberon said. ‘I hear tell that as a girl, she saw Mary Robinson play Perdita and was much moved by the performance.’

  ‘Of course she would be moved.’ Lady White deftly shuffled the cards. ‘Mrs Robinson gave an outstanding performance. Pity she was such a trollop. Made a complete fool of herself over the Prince, and he no better.’ She cut the cards and began to deal. ‘The theatre can offer a most enjoyable experience if the performers are worth their salt. My sister once entertained thoughts of a career on the stage. Nearly put my father in the grave. But she was very good at that sort of thing.’