Courting Miss Vallois

by Gail Whitiker

  ‘Excellent idea, Lady Longworth,’ Lady Chiswick said. ‘You’ll find the entrance through there, Miss Vallois. I’m sure a few minutes will be all you need.’

  Sophie inclined her head, grateful for the opportunity to escape. But as she headed towards the French doors that led out into the garden, she knew she needed more than air. She needed to get out of this house. Now…before anything dreadful happened. She hadn’t told anyone of her reasons for leaving Mrs Grant-Ogilvy’s employ. Accusing the eldest son of inappropriate behaviour was never a recommended course of action for a servant. After all, what an Englishman did on his own property was nobody’s business but his own. Sophie had been told that more than once. Fortunately, Eldon hadn’t succeeded in ravishing her. She’d been too quick for him. And several well-placed jabs from her elbow had been enough to cool his ardour, as had the veiled threat that she carried a pistol and knew how to use it.

  But the fear that one day he might catch her off guard had eventually forced Sophie to turn in her notice, and she had left that very day. As expected, Mrs Grant-Ogilvy had been furious. She’d vowed that Sophie would never find work with a decent family again, and had gleefully predicted that she would be on the streets within a week—which, of course, she hadn’t. With several good clients bringing her custom on a regular basis, and the small amount of money Antoine brought in, they were able to get by. She didn’t need the pittance Mrs Grant-Ogilvy paid her, and she certainly didn’t need her snooty disdain—

  ‘Miss Vallois?’

  Sophie looked up, startled to see Robert coming towards her. ‘Mr Silverton. What are you doing out here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing.’ He walked along a winding path illuminated by candles set in metal boxes. ‘Shouldn’t you be inside mingling?’

  ‘Probably, but the room grew unbearably hot.’ Sophie frowned. ‘I vow English hostesses vie with one another to see who can squeeze the greatest number of people into their houses.’

  ‘It is an ongoing competition,’ Robert agreed. Stopping before her, he rested his foot on the stone bench. ‘I was taking a walk in the lower garden, wrestling with my thoughts.’

  Wrestling with his thoughts? Sophie stared into the dark waters of the ornamental pond, convinced that his thoughts couldn’t be half as troubling as hers. For one thing, he wouldn’t be worrying about a proposal of marriage from an unwanted suitor, complete with thinly veiled threats of retribution should she refuse. He also wouldn’t be troubled by the knowledge that her hostess was related to her former employer, and that the latter might well be in the house tonight. And he certainly wouldn’t be worrying about the fact that he had discovered her here, alone in a moonlit garden, with thoughts running through her mind that were both sweet…and forbidden.

  ‘I wasn’t aware you were here,’ she said, adding feebly, ‘I didn’t see Jane inside.’

  ‘Jane didn’t come with me.’ He looked pained for a moment. ‘We had words the other morning and she decided to stay home.’

  ‘Words? I find it hard to imagine you and Jane having an argument.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it does happen. I am not the perfect brother Jane would have you believe.’

  ‘We are none of us perfect,’ Sophie said distantly. ‘I am constantly amazed by the number of mistakes I make. I thought as I got older they would diminish.’

  His laughter was as soft as the night air. ‘We all like to think we improve with age, but somehow, I suspect it’s more wishful thinking than anything else. But I cannot imagine a lady who wishes to float down the Amazon in a boat, or ride in a hot-air balloon, being overly concerned with mistakes.’ He straightened, then came to sit down beside her. ‘Jane thinks you’re marvellous.’

  ‘She does?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’re the closest friend she’s ever had. People tend not to want to associate with those who are afflicted in some way,’ he said quietly. ‘I suppose it’s the law of the jungle. Only the strong survive. The weak are weeded out and destroyed.’

  ‘You mustn’t speak of her that way!’

  ‘Who better? I know first-hand how cruel people can be, having seen examples of it all my life. Her chances for happiness are few.’

  ‘I think you worry needlessly, Mr Silverton—’

  ‘Robert, please.’

  Her heart did a silly little flip. ‘Robert. Your sister is a beautiful young woman with a warm and giving nature. She will be loved for those reasons alone.’

  ‘I wish that were the case, but at eight-and-twenty, Jane’s chances of marrying well are non-existent and at this stage, her chances of marrying at all are slim. Had she a sizeable portion, I might hold out more hope,’ Robert said, ‘but much of what we had went to pay off Father’s gambling debts. And while we manage well enough, Jane will always be dependent on me for her living. I don’t begrudge that for a moment, but I would have liked her to know the sweetness of a husband’s love and the joy of holding her own children in her arms.’

  Sophie had to turn away lest she reveal too much of her own longings. ‘What kind of husband would you wish her to find?’

  ‘One for whom she can feel a deep and abiding love, and who will love her deeply in return. He must respect rather than pity her, for Jane would hate that above all. And he must take her as she is and not look to change her.’

  ‘Do you believe such a man exists?’

  ‘I have to. For her sake, if not for mine.’ Robert reached for her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. ‘But thank you for being her friend. It means a great deal…to both of us.’ Then, turning it over, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss into her palm.

  Sophie inhaled sharply. The caress was unexpected…and disturbingly intimate, as was the warmth of his breath on her skin. The air suddenly thickened and grew hot. And when he looked at her…ah, the way he looked at her…

  ‘Miss Vallois?’ called a voice from the house. ‘Where are you, child? Miss Vallois?’

  Sophie gasped, all but wrenching her hand back. ‘Lady Chiswick!’

  ‘Does she know you’re out here?’ Robert asked.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  His expletive made her blush. ‘Then it’s best she not find us alone. We don’t need both of us being shunned by good society. Come, I’ll take you back inside.’

  Unfortunately, barely had they stood up before Lavinia, Lady Chiswick and Mr Oberon appeared in the doorway. ‘Miss Vallois!’ Lady Chiswick cried in horror. ‘Alone in the garden with a man? What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘Well, well, if it isn’t my old friend,’ Mr Oberon murmured. ‘Enjoying a moonlight rendezvous in the garden. How terribly romantic.’

  ‘It wasn’t a rendezvous!’ Sophie said, glad for the darkness that hid her blush. ‘Mr Silverton and I met quite by—’

  ‘Mr Silverton?’ Lady Chiswick wheezed. ‘Robert Silverton?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Robert said, frowning. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘There most definitely is.’ Lady Chiswick’s eyes went as hard as bits of stone. ‘How dare you show your face in my house, sir! You were most definitely not invited.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, he was,’ Mr Oberon said smoothly. ‘By your husband. I delivered the invitation myself.’

  The lady turned an alarming shade of red. ‘My husband does not extend invitations to my gatherings, Mr Oberon. And even if he was foolish enough to do so, Mr Silverton should have had the decency to decline.’ The lady’s voice dropped to a sepulchral tone. ‘He is guilty of the most unconscionable behaviour towards my goddaughter—’

  ‘Goddaughter?’ Lavinia said…and then gasped. ‘Oh, dear Lord. Lady Mary Kelsey is your goddaughter?’

  ‘Yes, she is, and she has been treated abominably by this man! I want you out of my house, sir. Now!’

  ‘But, surely you are being too harsh, Lady Chiswick,’ Lavinia said, quickly drawing the glass doors closed behind them.

  ‘Do not try to placate me, Lady Longworth. If a member of your family had been tre
ated in such a manner, you would feel as I do. My poor Mary did nothing to deserve the treatment she received at this man’s hands.’ She pointed a bony finger at Robert. ‘Leave my house at once, sir!’

  ‘Le bon Dieu, how can you be so cruel?’ Sophie said, shaken by the woman’s ferocity. ‘Mr Silverton is a gentleman—’

  ‘He is a bounder, Miss Vallois, and you would do well not to waste your time defending him!’

  ‘Miss Vallois is not defending me.’ Robert’s quiet voice cut through the night like the blade of a scimitar. ‘She is speaking from the goodness of her heart and without knowledge of what happened.’ He turned to glare at Oberon. ‘Unlike some people who know very well.’

  ‘No, he is not a bounder,’ Sophie said emphatically. ‘He would not have ended his engagement to Lady Mary unless he had a very good reason.’

  ‘A good reason?’ Lady Chiswick was close to apoplectic. ‘There is no good reason except that he is a selfish and fickle man!’

  Sophie’s temper flared. ‘He is none of those things! He is fine and decent and—’

  ‘Miss Beaudoin? What on earth are you doing here?’

  No one had heard the French doors open, but the commanding voice that rang across the terrace instantly silenced all arguments. Sophie just closed her eyes. She had no need to turn around to see who the newcomer was. She would have recognised that imperious voice anywhere!

  ‘What is the meaning of this, Eudora?’ Mrs Constance Grant-Ogilvy demanded of her sister-in-law. ‘What is Miss Beaudoin doing here and why is she dressed like that?’

  The woman’s enunciation would have put an Oxford scholar to shame, and for the first time that evening, Lady Chiswick seemed completely flummoxed. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Constance. This is Miss Sophie Vallois. She and her brother are here as guests of Lord and Lady Longworth.’

  ‘Sophie Vallois? What are you talking about, the girl’s name is Chantal Beaudoin and she is a French seamstress,’ Mrs Grant-Ogilvy informed her. ‘I employed her to teach the girls French.’

  ‘Well, well, it would seem we have a case of double identity,’ Mr Oberon murmured. ‘Perhaps we should give the young lady a chance to explain herself.’

  Lady Chiswick drew herself up. ‘Well, Miss Vallois. What have you to say for yourself?’

  Sophie pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling it pitch and roll a thousand times worse than when she’d been on board ship. ‘I—’

  ‘You don’t have to answer that, Sophie,’ Lavinia said. ‘It’s nobody’s business but your own.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, Lavinia.’ Sophie knew she had no recourse. She had to be honest. ‘Mrs Grant-Ogilvy is not mistaken. I am Sophie Vallois, but I was using the name Chantal Beaudoin when she hired me.’

  ‘Then you did work for my sister-in-law,’ Lady Chiswick hissed. ‘And you admit to changing your name. Why?’

  ‘I really don’t think that matters,’ Robert said, stepping forward. ‘It is enough that Miss Vallois told you the truth.’

  ‘On the contrary, I should think the reasons for pretending to be someone else always matter,’ Mr Oberon said silkily.

  ‘Stay out of this, Oberon,’ Robert snapped. ‘You’ve already said quite enough. Miss Vallois, allow me to take you home.’

  ‘Not without answering my question!’ Lady Chiswick barked.

  Robert dismissed her with a glance. ‘With your permission, Lady Longworth?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Silverton, but I think it’s time we all left.’ For once, Lavinia’s eyes were as cold and as hard as ice. ‘I suddenly find the atmosphere oppressive and the company…suffocating.’

  Lady Chiswick gasped. ‘Well, I never!’

  Robert walked up to Sophie and held out his arm. ‘Miss Vallois?’

  His voice was soft, the way it had been when they’d been alone in the garden. In silence, Sophie tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, feeling the much-needed strength of his body beneath her fingers. Warm. Firm. Reassuring. And with Lavinia on her other side, they walked across the terrace and into the house.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Robert whispered as they passed through the crowds of milling guests. ‘Keep your head up and don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.’

  Sophie nodded, reminding herself to keep breathing. Thankfully, the further they moved into the house, the fewer people turned to look. Obviously, Mrs Grant-Ogilvy’s voice had only carried so far, but by the time they reached the street, Sophie was trembling. Nicholas was already there with the carriage and she let herself be bundled inside, felt a warm rug placed over her knees. As the carriage drew away, Sophie turned to see Robert standing alone on the street and felt her heart break at the expression on his face. It was all out now. Her make-believe castle was in ruins. The dragon had come—and he had come breathing fire.

  Antoine and Lavinia were still in the breakfast parlour when Sophie finally came down the next morning. She had passed a restless night and barely touched the breakfast tray Lavinia had sent up. Her stomach was in knots, her mind spinning like a top. So much had happened. Mr Oberon’s shocking revelations and equally disturbing proposal. Lady Chiswick’s embarrassing discovery of her and Robert on the terrace, followed by the nightmarish appearance of Mrs Grant-Ogilvy.

  And Robert, kissing her hand in the garden. Robert, walking strong and confident beside her. How fiercely she clung to that memory. To the remembrance of him putting his hand over hers and squeezing it gently during that long, endless walk. If it hadn’t been for him…

  ‘Sophie! Good morning,’ Lavinia greeted her. ‘Banyon, fresh coffee and toast, if you please.’

  ‘No, just…coffee,’ Sophie said. ‘Thank you.’

  The elderly servant nodded and withdrew. Lavinia turned back and her expression was deeply concerned. ‘Did you get any sleep at all?’

  ‘Not much,’ Sophie admitted. ‘But then I don’t suppose any of us did.’

  ‘That wretched Lady Chiswick,’ Lavinia said, fuming. ‘And that insufferable Mrs Grant-Ogilvy. I wanted to knock their heads together!’

  Sophie managed a smile as she sank into a chair. Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed at seeing the usually unflappable Lavinia in a state of such high dudgeon. But given the situation, it was hard to imagine laughing at anything. ‘Thank you, Lavinia, but Mrs Grant-Ogilvy was perfectly within her rights to question me. I was Chantal Beaudoin when I worked for her, so her confusion is understandable. Imagine if you were to see Banyon dressed in formal attire, pretending to be someone else and hobnobbing with lords and ladies at a society gathering. I dare say you would have had something to say too.’

  ‘But you were there as our guest,’ Lavinia said. ‘You weren’t pretending to be someone else.’

  ‘Mrs Grant-Ogilvy thought I was.’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Antoine said unhappily. ‘After we left Bayencourt, I thought it would be safer if we changed our names. People were looking for Sophie and Antoine Vallois, not Chantal and Henri Beaudoin. And, when the months passed and nobody came, I saw no reason to change them back. I only did so after Sophie left Mrs Grant-Ogilvy’s employ so it would be easier if she wanted to find work.’

  Sophie closed her eyes, feeling a return of the headache that had plagued her for the past three hours. She couldn’t help wondering how Robert was feeling this morning. He had been humiliated too. What he was thinking now? Was he remembering the events of last night and wishing he’d never met her? Or was he remembering, like her, the sweetness of that kiss…?

  ‘Is Nicholas home?’ She pushed the memory away, aware that it hurt too much. ‘I should speak with him as soon as possible.’

  ‘He’s in the library, but won’t you have something to eat first?’

  Sophie glanced at the plates of food set out along the sideboard and shook her head. Even if she had any appetite for food, it was more important that she speak to Nicholas. A piece of toast and a helping of eggs wasn’t going to make explaining last nigh
t’s débâcle any the more palatable.

  Nicholas stood up as soon as she entered, the lines on his face reflecting the depth of his concern. ‘Sophie, dear girl. How are you?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ Sophie admitted as she closed the door. ‘You don’t look to have slept much.’

  ‘What little sleep I did get was punctuated by uncharitable thoughts of those two dreadful women!’ he growled. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened last night. I would have done anything in my power to have prevented it.’

  ‘There was nothing anyone could have done, Nicholas. Who was to know that Lady Chiswick was Mrs Grant-Ogilvy’s sister-in-law? And Lady Mary Kelsey’s godmother? Certainly not you or I.’

  ‘No, and I suppose we must be exceedingly grateful that Lady Annabelle Durst and a friend happened to be in the garden when you and Robert were discovered,’ Nicholas said, ‘or the consequences would have been considerably worse.’

  Sophie’s brow furrowed. ‘Lady Annabelle was in the garden?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you see her?’

  ‘No. And Rob—Mr Silverton made no mention of her being there.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t know. But apparently, after we left Lady Chiswick’s last night, Lady Annabelle made sure everyone knew that she had been in full sight of you and Mr Silverton the entire time, and that nothing inappropriate had taken place.’

  It was almost too much to believe. Once again, the lady had come to her rescue. Sophie was beginning to wonder if Lady Annabelle wasn’t some kind of…fairy godmother!

  ‘I don’t care as much for myself,’ she said, ‘but I do regret the embarrassment this will surely cause you and Lavinia. Soon all of London will know that I was employed by Mrs Grant-Ogilvy, pretending to be someone else, and that I had the audacity to mingle with guests at the home of her sister-in-law. To say nothing of poor Mr Silverton’s disgrace at the hands of that dreadful Lady Chiswick.’

  Nicholas sighed. ‘Lady Chiswick has never been one of my favourite people, but she was perfectly within her rights to ask him to leave, Sophie. He should never have gone there in the first place.’