‘So whatever their income was, wherever it came from, it dried up?’
‘In about 1800. When I first started working, my parents were very poor.’ He set down his empty glass. ‘I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I don’t know that any of this adds up to anything, save my ignorance, their desire, perhaps to cover up some disreputable past, but...’
‘You think it is something?’
‘It is not nothing,’ he said wryly. ‘I’m not saying that I am this Duc de Montendre’s son, I am still quite sure that I am not, but am I truly the son I think I am? And if not, what does that mean? Does it even matter? I only wish that I had thought to ask some of these questions while my parents were alive, that is all. This damned de Cressy woman, if she had not come along with her silly story, I wouldn’t even have thought—but now it is too late, the damage is done. I feel as if I had a picture of my life, and now it has been torn up, and I can’t make the fragments fit together into anything I recognise.’ He swore softly. ‘That sounds ridiculous. I think I have had too much wine.’
‘Is there much to be gained by discovering the truth, Jean-Luc? If your parents came to Cognac to escape some sort of scandal, don’t you think it would best to let sleeping dogs lie? You might discover something that might taint your memory of them.’
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I doubt very much that there is anything sordid or scandalous in my parents’ past. But if there is, I have to know, otherwise I will feel that I am living a lie.’
* * *
Living a lie. An hour later, lying wide awake in bed, Sophia realised that was exactly what she was doing, except the lines between their performance as husband and wife and the reality of their relationship as Sophia and Jean-Luc were now so blurred, she could hardly distinguish them. Tonight, when Jean-Luc had placed the turquoise necklace around her neck, she had felt certain she was turning a corner, finally putting her past completely behind her. Standing by his side, telling and retelling the story of their whirlwind romance to their guests, she had almost convinced herself that it was true. It had been so easy to cling lovingly to him, to gaze at him adoringly, to have him kiss her hand and her cheek. She wasn’t aware that she was acting. She had always had to try so hard before, to pretend. With Jean-Luc, there was no pretence required.
Save that she maintained not a pretence, but a lie. A monstrous one, that with every passing day grew ever bigger. She curled her hand around the turquoise necklace which she’d been unable to bring herself to take off. A gift, for no other reason than that he wanted to please her. No man had ever bestowed such a gift on her. She had never known any man like Jean-Luc. Who had come to care for her. As she had come to care for him.
She would not be so foolish as to care too much—but how much was too much? He liked her. He trusted her. He thought he knew her. He did not want to live a lie, but she was forcing him to. He thought her married, for heaven’s sake. She had to tell him. Before it was too late—though what the devil that meant, she wasn’t sure. But she owed him the truth. Their marriage was well established now, she had served her purpose. If he chose to send her away, to tell everyone that her imaginary companion was desperately sick, then it would make no difference.
Sophia’s hand curled more tightly around the turquoise stone. ‘Please let him allow me to stay. Please let him...’ What? Forgive her? Tell her he understood? The depths of her own folly struck her forcibly. She knew there could be no more excuses. Tomorrow, she would confess all. And most likely by tomorrow afternoon she would be on her way back to England.
Chapter Ten
‘Maxime has just turned up, anxious to speak to me. It had better be important enough to warrant disturbing our breakfast.’
Sophia stood up. ‘He will no doubt wish to speak to you in confidence. I will leave you to it.’
‘Please sit down and finish your meal. I am happy for you to hear whatever he has to say,’ Jean-Luc said firmly. He turned to the servant. ‘Have Monsieur Sainte-Juste brought here, and set another place at the table.’ He poured a cup of coffee and helped himself to some eggs. ‘You are very quiet, Sophia, is something bothering you?’
Something was terrifying her. From dawn, she had been rehearsing her confession in various forms, none of them satisfactory. She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved that Maxime’s visit would force a postponement or frustrated, as the delay would only add to her anguish. ‘I am just a little tired, it was a very late night,’ Sophia muttered, realising that Jean-Luc was eyeing her with concern.
‘And a very taxing occasion since so much was riding on the soirée being a success. So we will hear what Maxime has to say, and then you will go back to your bed, and I will have your dresser bring you a tisane, and—ah, Maxime, please join us.’
‘Would you like coffee, Monsieur Sainte-Juste?’ Sophia asked, ‘Some breakfast, perhaps? We have eggs, and some very good cheese, and...’
‘I thank you Madame Bauduin, coffee will suffice.’ The lawyer made his bow, then took a seat beside Jean-Luc. Maxime took a sip of hot coffee. Jean-Luc waited patiently. The lawyer’s expression was grave. Sophia’s anxiety found a new focus as she watched him finish his coffee and pass his cup over for a refill. ‘Merci.’ He took another sip. ‘I hear that your soirée went swimmingly last night. I was sorry to miss it.’
Jean-Luc drew his friend a sceptical look. ‘No, you weren’t, Maxime. You hate parties. And besides, I seem to remember you had another engagement. Dinner, I think you said.’
‘Yes. Dinner. With my sister, actually. And—and Mademoiselle de Cressy. The two have become very good friends.’
‘Indeed?’
Jean-Luc smiled. It was his I am waiting patiently smile, Sophia knew, which preceded his I’m not going to say anything until you do ploy. The one that even she found difficult to resist.
Maxime’s restraint lasted an unimpressive thirty seconds, by her count, before he spoke. ‘I feel obliged to escort them, every now and then,’ he said. ‘My sister likes to think herself sophisticated, but she is—well, it does no harm, does it, to have a brother around to keep an eye on things?’
‘Since I don’t have a sister, how am I to answer that?’
Maxime drained his coffee cup for a second time. Sophia filled it for a third. The lawyer took a deep breath. ‘Jean-Luc, I have to inform you that Mademoiselle de Cressy is—’
‘Very pretty, and I am sure very distracting company, but I presume you did not come here to discuss Mademoiselle de Cressy.’
‘You are, for once, quite mistaken. I came here to tell you that we now have incontrovertible proof that she is indeed the daughter of the Comte de Cressy. I am very sorry. I know it is not the news you were hoping to hear.’
‘You are absolutely certain?’
‘The agent I sent to Switzerland was very thorough, to the extent of bringing back with him one of the staff in service to the Comte and Comtesse de Cressy until Juliette was obliged to let him go, when her papa died.’
If Jean-Luc noticed Maxime’s use of the familiar Juliette, he made no comment. Her husband’s expression, Sophia thought, watching him nervously, was grim.
‘So Mademoiselle de Cressy now knows that her story has been verified?’ he asked.
Maxime looked affronted. ‘Certainly not. I arranged for the servant to identify her without her knowing, but I must say, Jean-Luc, I think it only fair that Juliette—’
‘You work for me, Maxime, not Juliette, as you so fondly refer to her. I hope that the time you are spending in her company while chaperoning your sister is not clouding your judgement.’
The lawyer drew himself up. ‘Jean-Luc, that was unworthy of you. I am very much aware of where my loyalties lie and my duty too. While you are in dispute with Mademoiselle de Cressy, I cannot possibly be more than a friend to her. As for Juliette, I am sure she has no thoughts save to marry you.’
‘My sincere apologies.’ Jean-Luc was immediately contrite. ‘You did not deserve that. This news has come as a major shock.’
Which admission was a surprise to Sophia. ‘But you always knew it was possible that she was telling the truth about herself.’
‘I did,’ he answered tersely, ‘but it appears I hoped more than I realised, that she would turn out to be a fraud.’
He picked up his coffee cup only to find it empty. Sophia got up to pour him a fresh one, earning herself a grateful smile. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean that the rest of it is true,’ she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingertips.
Maxime cleared his throat. Embarrassed, Sophia returned to her seat. The lawyer was eyeing her curiously. She had forgotten he was in the room. He was probably worrying that she was taking her role as Jean-Luc’s wife too seriously. He might even be concerned that she would be difficult to dislodge when she was no longer required. He knew she was, unlike Juliette, a genuine fraud, so to speak.
‘What will we do now?’ she asked Jean-Luc, flustered.
‘Before you reach any conclusions,’ Maxime interrupted, ‘I have more news to impart regarding the marriage contract.’ He produced a parchment from a document bag and untied the ribbon which bound it. ‘One of the signatories is, as you know, Henri Grunot. I have finally been able to gain access to the records at the Conciergerie—that is the prison on the Île de la Cité, Madame Bauduin, where the majority of those arrested were held before they were sent to the guillotine. Prior to their trial and execution they would have been in one of the many prisons scattered throughout Paris. To cut a long story short, the records confirm the story you were told at the Hôtel Montendre. Henri Grunot, occupation listed as valet to the Duc de Montendre, was convicted on the same day as his master, and both were executed that same day. The Duchesse de Montendre’s summary trial was held two days later, and she went to the guillotine the following day.’
‘Mon Dieu,’ Sophia said, ‘it is barbaric.’ She had been in their home. She had walked through the rooms where they had lived. The clothes in the trunks must have belonged to the Duchess. This was no longer a story. It was horribly, tragically real.
‘It is a piece of our history which we must be ashamed of for ever,’ Maxime said, ‘but we cannot deny it happened. The only thing we can do is ensure it never happens again. However...’ he gave Sophia another of his thin smiles ‘...I did not come here to lecture you on the bloodthirsty history of France. The other witness, Jean-Luc, I have been able to trace him to Bordeaux. He is a lawyer, which is very good news for you. Even if he is not alive, his papers will be preserved. It is likely to be a family firm too. What I’m trying to say is, there’s a good chance that we have a witness. Or at the very least, someone who is related to the witness.’
‘At last. That is excellent work, Maxime. Thank you.’
The lawyer rolled up the marriage contract. ‘You will need this, assuming that you intend to go to Bordeaux?’
‘As soon as it can be arranged. Since Mademoiselle de Cressy has now been proven to be one party to that cursed marriage contract, it is absolutely imperative that I prove I am not the other.’
Maxime got to his feet. ‘And do I have your permission to inform Juliette of the latest turn in events?’
‘And how do you think Juliette will take the news?’ Jean-Luc asked sardonically.
‘If you’re asking me if it’s going to make her more determined to pursue her claim, then all I can say is that she’s shown no sign whatsoever of relinquishing it.’ Maxime frowned. ‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but from her point of view, the contract was made in good faith between her father and his closest friend. She feels she has a duty to honour it.’
‘Though she might not feel so honour bound were she less poverty stricken.’
Maxime flinched. ‘Perhaps not, but she is more or less destitute, Jean-Luc, her situation truly dire. As a gently bred young woman, marriage is her only option.’
‘That is as may be, but I am not a viable candidate. I already have a wife.’
‘Not in the eyes of the law.’
‘But in the eyes of Paris and Mademoiselle de Cressy I do, and that’s what matters,’ Jean-Luc said firmly.
‘Have you considered the possibility—Jean-Luc, what if your trip to Bordeaux proves inconclusive either way?’
‘If I cannot prove that I am not the Montendre heir, nor can she prove that I am. As far as I am concerned that will be the end of the matter.’
‘What if she does not accept this?’
Jean-Luc shrugged. ‘Whether she accepts a settlement as a gesture of goodwill is up to her, but I repeat, her claim would not be enforceable without cast-iron proof. And as my lawyer, I would expect you to persuade her that was the case. In the meantime, I trust you will ensure that Mademoiselle de Cressy continues to honour our agreement by keeping her own counsel? Good. I have no idea how long we will be away, but I will keep you informed of any significant developments.’
He shook Maxime’s hand, bidding him good morning. His polite smile faded as soon as the door closed behind him. ‘Now we know why Mademoiselle de Cressy was so convincing.’
‘So now you must leave Paris on a long trip which, if Maxime is correct, may not even prove to be conclusive.’
‘We must leave Paris, I’m not going without you. As to Maxime—he is a lawyer, they are trained to be pessimists. But it is as I told him: if, after Bordeaux, we have exhausted all avenues of enquiry, Mademoiselle de Cressy will be forced to accept that no proof is proof enough. I am anxious to be rid of that woman from my life.’
‘And this woman too,’ Sophia said, forcing a smile.
‘Ah, this woman is a very different matter.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘I am not remotely anxious to be rid of you, ma belle. You must know that.’
Were any words ever so bittersweet? They warmed her heart, but they terrified her too. She could not afford to let him care too much. One certain way to prevent that would be to confess to her scandalous past as she had planned, but how could she possibly do that now? He needed her by his side while his future was uncertain, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being forced to continue to play his wife, when she had destroyed the trust that had blossomed between them.
Sophistry, Sophia? No, she told herself firmly. The contract she had signed with The Procurer obliged her to remain with Jean-Luc until he dismissed her. Until he could rid himself of Juliette de Cressy, he could not dismiss her. Why estrange him, make an endurance test of the time they had together by telling him the sordid truth, when she could instead be a support to him? A wife to him. Why pretend that she didn’t care, when she did? Why not make the most of it, for heaven’s sake, when it would be over soon enough?
‘I don’t intend to leave your side any time soon.’ Smiling up at her husband, Sophia buried her guilt in the corner of her heart she reserved for such things. It was becoming a crowded spot.
City of Bordeaux
As Jean-Luc had predicted, their triumphant introduction into society had resulted in a rash of invitations to the newlyweds from friends and business colleagues, delaying their departure for almost two weeks. But eventually, they quit the city, leaving the business in the charge of Jean-Luc’s secretary and Mademoiselle de Cressy seemingly happy under Maxime’s care.
A scheduled meeting with one of Jean-Luc’s established customers was reorganised to take place in Bordeaux rather than Paris. ‘I can’t put him off,’ he had informed Sophia just before they boarded the coach, looking harassed. ‘He’s getting married, and he wants me to stock the cellars of his new country estate from champagne to cognac, as well as to supply some more exclusive vintages for the celebration of the nuptials. It’s a distraction I could well do without, but business is business.’
* * *
Th
ough the wine business was the furthest thing on either of their minds as they finally arrived in the bustling port of Bordeaux in the late afternoon five days later. The trip south, made at speed in a private carriage, had been so very different from Sophia’s prior experience of the journey, that until she stepped out of the carriage on to the Place Royale, she had not thought of that earlier, tragic procession south. Now, the beauty and symmetry of the square, the buildings extending on either side like welcoming arms as they ran down to the bank of the Garonne River, jolted her memory. Though it had only been an overnight stop, the city had made an favourable impression on her. She had never been back, for her other journeys, including that last return to England, cloaked in such grief she barely registered her surroundings, had been made via Lyon.
Standing on the cobblestones of the huge square, facing out to the wide, sedately flowing river, Sophia closed her eyes, breathing in the warm air, which did not quite have the distinctive sweetness of the true south, but was so very different from Paris. Despite the heat, she shivered. Fifteen—no, sixteen months since she had been here. Almost ten now, since...
‘Sophia? Our hotel is just a short walk away. The streets are too narrow for the carriage.’
‘Would you mind sending the bags on ahead? I’d like to get some fresh air.’
‘But of course. I would like to stretch my legs too. We’ll walk along the quayside, if you like.’ Jean-Luc instructed the coachman, then slipped her hand into his arm.
The quays were relatively quiet, the work of the day done, the warehouses closed up, the ships at anchor creaking in the light breeze. ‘A great deal of my time was spent here when I first started in the wine trade,’ Jean-Luc informed her. ‘Though our offices were in Cognac, all of the wine from the region was shipped from here.’
From Courtesan to Convenient Wife Page 15