Sophia set her coffee cup down with a clatter. No! She would not sully her feelings for prosaic purposes. If she made love to Jean-Luc it would be for no reason other than genuine desire. And it was very much a question of if, for even if she wanted to, after last night there was no certainty that he would feel the same, she reminded herself, picking up her coffee again.
‘I think the powder-blue half-pelisse, with the white promenade dress would be a good choice for today,’ Madeleine said, holding up the garments for her inspection. ‘Monsieur Bauduin has ordered the carriage for ten. He is taking you out to see more of our beautiful city?’
‘No. I mean, yes.’ Sophia set down her cup. ‘And, yes, that combination will work perfectly.’
‘You could wear the pale blue muslin with this pelisse, but I think...’
‘No, the white is perfect. You have excellent taste, Madeleine. Thank you.’
‘It is my job, madame, and you make it very easy for me. When Monsieur Bauduin engaged me, I had no idea that I would be working for such a very beautiful mistress. To be honest, I was very surprised to be engaged by the master of the house and not the mistress. It is very unusual, but yours is a most unusual love match, no?’
‘Yes.’ Sophia smiled thinly. She liked Madeleine, and did not like lying to her. ‘I didn’t realise you had heard the story of how we met.’
‘Monsieur’s valet regaled us all with it. He had monsieur’s permission, rest assured. Some of the servants were a bit dubious—it seems monsieur had not even mentioned your name. But now all is clear. Such a coup de foudre, of course he wanted to keep you secret, in his heart, until you were reunited.’ Madeleine sighed and clasped her hands to her bosom. ‘I think it is trés, trés romantic.’
‘Yes.’ Sophia busied herself with a second, unwanted cup of coffee. Jean-Luc hadn’t told her he’d disseminate their invented history to the servants. She understood why, but it made her uncomfortable.
‘Madame...’ Madeleine too was looking uncomfortable. ‘I hope you will forgive me for being so bold, but I cannot help but notice monsieur does not...’ She indicated the pristine bed. ‘I am a married woman myself, madame. I know that even when one is in love as you are, the nature of—to some, it is a shock. If there is anything I can do to help, if you wish to talk...’
‘No! There is nothing—I am perfectly—you must believe me, Madeleine, there is nothing to be concerned about.’
Her dresser looked unconvinced.
‘Nothing at all,’ Sophia said firmly. ‘Now, if you would be so good as to fetch me some hot water, I do not wish to keep my husband waiting for his breakfast.’
* * *
The hôtel particulier which belonged to the Montendre dynasty had been closed up at the height of the Terror by the Duke, when he realised he had left it too late to escape Paris. Provision had been made for its maintenance if he were arrested, until such time as either he was released, or, if the worst should befall him, it was subsequently reclaimed by his son. This much Jean-Luc had managed to establish from the firm of lawyers engaged by the Duke to act as trustees, he informed Sophia over breakfast, ‘Though the whereabouts of the son and heir are entirely a matter of indifference to them. They are paid on an annual retainer, as are the skeleton staff of the hôtel, and all seem content to continue with this arrangement indefinitely.’
‘So if the long-lost son did turn up, it would be an inconvenience to them?’ she asked.
‘It would, but after all this time they don’t believe it will happen.’ Jean-Luc set aside his half-finished plate of eggs. ‘They assume he must be deceased, and they are very likely correct in that assumption, though naturally, they don’t wish to be proved so, for that would put an end to their stipends.’
‘Which is why they have been obstructive, presumably?’
Jean-Luc grinned. ‘Fortunately, I can be very persuasive.’
‘And money talks,’ Sophia added acerbically. ‘As do servants. Madeleine told me this morning that you had shared our romantic history with your valet, who then told the entire household.’
‘Best to put a stop to gossip before it begins. Not that I think our servants would gossip beyond the confines of the hôtel, but—as I said, it’s best not to take the risk.’
‘You think of everything.’ No, not quite everything. Sophia thought, biting her lip as she recalled the rest of her conversation with Madeleine.
‘What is it, ma mie? You have that look of yours, the one where you are thinking dark thoughts and wondering whether or not to share them with me. If it is about last night...’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘I went too far,’ he continued, heedless, ‘I know I did. I knew that with you there would be no such thing as simply a kiss—not for me, anyway. I should have stopped long before...’
‘No.’ She leaned across the table to touch his hand. ‘No, I won’t let you take the blame, that’s not fair. I knew, you see, that you would stop any time, and I chose not to ask you to. I wanted you to continue, even though I did not know...’ Her face was hot, but she was determined to carry on. ‘Even though I was not aware of the—the strength of my reaction. In fact, I had no idea, and it—it took me aback.’
Jean-Luc laughed gruffly. ‘Your English way of talking is some times—it took you aback? That is something of an understatement, no?’
‘Just a little.’ She was obliged to smile. ‘I was angry this morning. Not with you,’ she added hastily, ‘but with—you see I really didn’t know I could experience such release.’ And she had thought she’d known it all. Why had no one told her? There had been opportunities, in the early days when she had been forced to ask so many mortifying questions, yet none of the so-called experts she had consulted had seen fit to enlighten her about that.
‘And now you do,’ Jean-Luc said. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. ‘I’m your husband, Sophia. You can tell me anything, ask me anything.’
‘You are not really my husband. And even if you were, I can’t, because even if you wanted to, which you probably won’t...’
‘But how will we know, if we don’t discuss it, whatever it is?’
He was smiling, but he was not teasing her. There was tenderness in his expression. ‘The fact of the matter is that I don’t want last night to be the first and the last time,’ she whispered. ‘I know that the terms I insisted on forbid us to...’ She paused to take a deep breath. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I trust you enough to want to amend my terms. If you are amenable, that is.’
Jean-Luc exhaled sharply. ‘Amenable? You can be in no doubt what I want. Ah, but of course you can, being you,’ he added, studying her carefully. ‘I think that your experience in affairs of the heart has been unsatisfactory, ma belle, am I right?’
‘To put it mildly, which is why I want...’
‘As I do.’ He pressed her hand. ‘Very much, but it would be a mistake to get too far ahead of ourselves. It is a leap, not just of faith, from what happened between us last night, to sharing a bed.’
‘I know what size of step it is. I told you, I’m not an innocent.’
‘But you are. You may not be a virgin, but you have no experience of making love. And now you are thinking, what an arrogant man my husband is, thinking that he can tutor me, but that’s not what I’m saying.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘That to learn together, to make the journey slowly, to discover what pleases you, and what pleases me, would be so much more enjoyable.’ His expression became serious. ‘And for you, knowing that at any point you could call a halt, I think that is important, yes?’
‘Yes.’ She forced down the lump which had risen in her throat. ‘And I know that you would. You see, I can trust you.’
Jean-Luc pulled out his watch with a groan. ‘You do pick your moments. The carriage will be at the door in five minutes.’
‘I need only three to get ready.’ Sophia jumped to her feet, catching him unawares and pressing a kiss to his lips. ‘I do not forget the reason you brought me here. A journey of a different kind for you. This could be a significant step, a momentous day.’
* * *
The Montendre town house, Sophia noted, was on a grand scale, a palace rather than a hôtel particulier, and one of the most opulent on the very opulent Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. They were expected. As Jean-Luc drew the horses to a halt, the huge gates were opened by a liveried servant. Another awaited at the front door, ready to take charge of the carriage. And another stood at the top of the shallow flight of stairs.
‘Welcome to the Hôtel Montendre, Monsieur Bauduin, Madame Bauduin. I have been instructed to show you around. You understand, there has been no one staying here since the Duke and Duchess were taken?’
Jean-Luc reassured the man that they understood perfectly well. In the drive across the city, he had been business-like, going over the little they had learned of the Montendre family and the questions which he hoped they would find answers to. He seemed not in the least nervous, while Sophia struggled to hide her own increasing tension. So much depended upon this visit, not least, the termination of their marriage. Which was the last thing which should be occupying her mind at this moment in time, she chastised herself, as Jean-Luc asked the servant whether there was anyone on the premises who had personally served the Duke and Duchess.
‘No, not a single one,’ the man replied. ‘Some went with them to their fate, alas, and the others left Paris in order to avoid doing so. As far as I am aware, the château in Bordeaux is a ruin. Though the Duke made provision for a small staff here, he left limited funds for upkeep. The roof leaks like a sieve and the whole place is in dire need of repair. Now, would you like to begin your tour with the state rooms?’
‘Actually, I wonder if it would be possible for us to inspect the place unaccompanied,’ Jean-Luc said, slipping a coin into the servant’s already outstretched hand.
‘I see no reason why not, monsieur. If you have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them. The bells in the main rooms are still in working order. You only have to ring to summon me.’ The servant bowed and withdrew.
‘I had hoped there would be some survivors from the Duke’s time,’ Jean-Luc said, looking bitterly disappointed. ‘Never mind, let us see what we can uncover.’ He produced a scroll of paper tied with a dusty red ribbon. ‘A plan of the hôtel I managed to acquire at considerable expense,’ he said, unrolling it on the huge circular table which was the only piece of furniture in the reception hallway. ‘As you so rightly said this morning, money talks. Come and take a look.’
* * *
It was a melancholy and dispiriting experience, Jean-Luc thought, as he and Sophia climbed the stairs to the third floor. On first impression, the vast, ornate, interconnected state salons were awe-inspiring, seemingly palatial with their gilded cornicing, hand-painted wall coverings and brocade curtains. Some of the floors were marble. Others had oak floorboards. All were elaborately inlaid, the Montendre crest appearing repeatedly, not only on the floors but on the pediments above doors and windows, in the plasterwork, and in the very few pieces of dusty furniture that remained, presumably because they were too heavy and too large to sell. The portraits which had been taken down had left their ghostly outlines on the walls. On closer inspection, dark brown stains could be seen in the cornicing where water had made ingress. There were cracks and cobwebs everywhere. Many of the windows had been boarded over.
‘The caretaker didn’t exaggerate when he said this place was in dire need of repair,’ Jean-Luc said, pulling up a rotten piece of floorboard in the window embrasure of one of the bedchambers.
‘It must have been very beautiful in its day,’ Sophia said, brushing a cobweb from the bonnet of her hat, ‘though I must confess, I wouldn’t like to live here. I would need that map with me at all times, to stop me from getting lost.’
‘I don’t know. It has a certain something.’ Jean-Luc pulled back the shutters, sending several startled spiders scuttling off. ‘Look at those gardens.’ They were at the rear of the house, looking out over what once must have been a magnificent garden. An ornate fountain, now filled with filled with leaves rather than water, stood at the centre of a network of geometric paths, the outline of the formal beds still barely visible. ‘It’s reminiscent of Versailles on a much smaller scale.’
‘Decrepit magnificence,’ Sophia said. ‘Do you think ghosts haunt these halls and corridors?’
‘I wish they did. Then we could talk to them, ask them a few pertinent questions. We haven’t even come across a single portrait. I had hoped we’d at the very least get a likeness of the elusive Duke and his wife.’ Jean-Luc pulled the shutters back across the room. ‘Come on, we’ve still got the attics to investigate. Perhaps we’ll find a helpful ghost lurking up there.’
‘There are no such things as ghosts, you know,’ Sophia said.
He had pulled out the map again, was casting an eye over the layout of the attics. It was the tone of her voice rather than the words which caught his attention, a terrible yearning that tugged at his heart.
‘Death is final, no trace remains,’ she said, turning away, making it clear she was speaking to herself. ‘I wish that it were otherwise.’
And then she gave herself a little shake. And she flashed him her brittle smile. And he knew better than to ask her what she had been thinking, who she had been thinking of, though he longed to know. Her husband? Her father? She had not cared for either men, as far as he was aware. But absence, he supposed, gilded many memories.
Jean-Luc rolled up his map and took her arm, pulling Sophia tightly against his side as they left the room, which was all the comfort he dared offer. ‘One conclusion we can draw,’ he said as they made for the service stairs. ‘is why there has been no pretender claiming the Montendre title. No one in their right mind would take this financial millstone on.’
The attics were, like the rest of the palace, built on a very grand scale, and similarly all but empty. Only one room, at the furthest end, contained a number of boxes and trunks. All of which, save one, contained woman’s clothing.
‘Shoes,’ Sophia said, inspecting one trunk. ‘Gloves. Petticoats. Goodness, look at this lace. Sleeves and jackets. These must be decades old. Stoles and scarves. Feathers. Oh, and look at this, Jean-Luc. How lovely.’
He turned from his inspection of the final trunk to find her standing beside him, holding a gown against herself. It was dark red velvet trimmed with gold thread. The sleeves were full, slashed to reveal a gold under-dress. There was nothing at all familiar about it, yet he had the oddest feeling. ‘It’s probably infested with moths.’
‘No. I think there must be some sort of pomander in the boxes. Here, smell.’
Before he could turn away, she thrust the dress at him. His stomach lurched. And then he remembered. ‘Bergamot,’ he said, with relief. ‘Maman had a little bottle of it, though she rarely wore it.’
‘I’m not surprised. It’s very expensive.’
Jean-Luc shrugged. ‘We were comfortably off at one time, I thought I mentioned that.’
‘You did. What happened to change your family circumstances?’
‘I’ve no idea. Investments gone wrong, perhaps.’
Sophia bit her lip. She did that when she was pondering. ‘Whatever the cause, I had to leave school go into the business—but you know all that,’ Jean-Luc said impatiently, ‘and it’s hardly pertinent. I don’t know why you’ve brought it up.’
He turned away, squatting down by the trunk to pick up a sheaf of papers that looked to be part of a set of household accounts. He made a show of examining them, confused by the nervous churning of his stomach. He heard the rustle of silk and damask as she folded up the gown, the soft sigh of the trunk being closed, and then felt her hand resting ligh
tly on his shoulder. ‘I think we have seen enough. We have found no evidence,’ she said.
His relief was inexplicable. He smiled up at her. ‘Nor any ghosts.’
* * *
The manservant was waiting for them in the reception hall with a decanter and glasses. ‘One of the last bottles from the Duke’s estate,’ he said, pouring the wine. ‘See what you think, Monsieur Bauduin, would it be worthy of your own prestigious cellars?’
Jean-Luc took a cautious sip, quickly setting the glass aside. ‘I’m afraid it’s corked, but thank you, I appreciate the gesture.’
‘It was the gardener who recognised your name,’ the servant said. ‘I didn’t make the connection with the celebrated Bauduin vintners. It is a pity the wine has deteriorated, but not surprising since there is no Duke in situ and our long-lost heir is highly unlikely to turn up now.’
‘What will happen to the place?’ Sophia asked, following Jean-Luc’s lead and setting her own glass down untouched. ‘If the heir never appears to claim it?’
‘The annuity that pays our wages will run out eventually. Then I suppose the place will be closed up completely and left to fall into ruin. It’s a real shame, but it’s not exactly an uncommon story, though most of the other neighbouring town houses have been reclaimed. With these titled families, there’s usually a third cousin twenty times removed happy to come forward, but the Montendre family pretty much all went to the guillotine. Save the boy.’
‘And nothing is known of his fate at all?’ Jean-Luc asked.
From Courtesan to Convenient Wife Page 12