Courting Miss Vallois

by Gail Whitiker

  ‘No, and…Papa wasn’t at all pleased.’ Why was she so flustered all of a sudden? Heat was rising in waves, and even now, her heart was beating too fast. ‘He…wanted Antoine to stay home and help in the fields.’

  Mr Silverton smiled. ‘The fields?’

  ‘Yes.’ Goodness, why hadn’t she brought her fan with her? ‘The idea was that…Antoine would take over once Papa got too old, but Antoine never had any interest in farming. Even as a boy he wanted to help people.’

  Sophie was about to say more, when Lady Annabelle suddenly leaned forwards to whisper in her ear. ‘Forgive my boldness, Miss Vallois, but I do believe your brother is rather taken with Miss Silverton. They seem to be caught up in their own little world.’

  Sophie moved uneasily in her chair. Had Mr Silverton overheard the remark? She knew he wasn’t fond of Antoine, in which case he wouldn’t be pleased at the idea of Antoine and Jane striking up a friendship. ‘Perhaps I should ask Jane to sit up here,’ she said quickly, slanting a quick glance at Mr Silverton. ‘The view of the stage is that much better.’

  But he wasn’t listening. He was staring straight ahead, his mouth grim, his brow furrowed as though deep in thought. Sophie bit her lip. Obviously, he had heard, and it was clear he wasn’t pleased about it.

  Fortunately, Lady Annabelle’s laughter bubbled up like sparkling champagne. ‘You can ask her, Miss Vallois, but I have a feeling that tonight, the company in the box has far more appeal for Miss Silverton than the play.’

  Robert was dimly aware of the sounds swirling around him. Of Lady Annabelle’s bell-like laughter. Of a low murmur of conversation from the box next to them. Of a whistling sound from the stage below. But none of it mattered because what Sophie had just told him caused everyone and everything else to fade into insignificance.

  ‘…Antoine never had any interest in farming…’

  How simple a statement, yet how utterly destructive…because it meant Sophie was not well born. She was the daughter of a farmer, a man who laboured in the fields on someone else’s land. Her skills with the language had been learned from an English woman who employed her to teach French to her daughters, and her manners and refinement were likely sprung from the same source. Apart from her stunning natural beauty, Sophie Vallois had absolutely nothing to recommend her. And the ramifications of that were inescapable.

  Oberon would never consider taking her as a wife now. When he found out the truth, one of two things would happen. He would either stop paying attention to her and look for a well-bred lady to be his bride. Or, he would realise that the object of his obsession, now never to be his bride, would in fact make an enchanting mistress.

  It was the latter possibility that had Robert gritting his teeth. Oberon was a master at seduction. He had dazzled lonely widows, shamelessly sweet-talked virgins, and skilfully compromised married women, all in the pursuit of his own pleasure. He didn’t give a damn about reputations and once he knew marriage to Sophie was out of the question, his efforts would be aimed in an entirely different direction. He would pay court to her, much as he was doing now, but his coup de grâce would be an assignation rather than a proposal of marriage.

  He would compromise her. One night was all it would take. One carriage ride into the darkness. And with her reputation in tatters, she would have no choice but to return to France, either to keep house for her brother or to find work in a rich man’s home. Oberon might offer to set her up in the house he kept in Kensington for just such a purpose, but how long would it be before his interest in her waned and the next lovely face stepped forwards to take her place? To a man like that, the chase was always more exciting than the capture.

  No, the damage was well and truly done. Sophie’s unintentional slip had certainly cost her the coronet of viscountess. Only time would tell if it would jeopardize something more valuable.

  Despite the undercurrents swirling around her, Sophie thoroughly enjoyed the performance of Don Giovanni. Its central character was the quintessential rake, a man who lived to seduce women, and it was his inability to settle on only one that eventually condemned him to an existence in hell. She alternately laughed and gasped, or held her breath in anticipation of the unrepentant Lothario’s eventual descent into the underworld. Certainly the crowd seemed to enjoy it. Only once during a poorly enacted scene did a handful of orange peelings make their way on to the stage. Otherwise, the boisterous crowd heartily approved of the drama.

  Only Mr Oberon appeared unmoved, his attention fixed more often on her than it was on the actors on the stage below.

  ‘Are you not enjoying the performance, Mr Oberon?’ Sophie asked when at last she could no longer ignore the intensity of his stare.

  ‘I have seen the opera before, Miss Vallois, but it does not compare to the enjoyment I am having in watching you.’

  ‘But surely your lack of attention dishonours the talent of the composer.’

  ‘Nothing could do that. But in watching you, I see the joy of one who is hearing the music for the first time. That, in itself, is a pleasure to behold.’

  ‘I think the story of Don Giovanni is equally entertaining,’ Lady Annabelle observed. ‘The composer obviously wishes us to take a message from it.’

  ‘Indeed. That a man should settle for just one lady,’ Mr Silverton said darkly, ‘instead of casting his nets so wide.’

  Oberon seemed impervious to the slight. ‘That is what we all aspire to do, but the trick is to find that one woman who surpasses all others. One who captures our heart in a way no other can. Don Giovanni never found his lady whereas I…’ he stopped to gaze at Sophie ‘…am hopeful of finding mine.’

  A sudden burst of applause drew Sophie’s attention back to the stage, and, grateful beyond words for a chance to look away, she likewise began to applaud. What in the world was the man about? To make an admission to a lady in private was one thing, but to say such a thing in a crowded theatre box was quite another. Especially with Mr Silverton glowering at him the entire time. What if he thought her flattered by the man’s unwelcome attentions?

  Unfortunately, once the cheers came to an end and the theatre began to empty, Sophie knew she would have to make her way back downstairs. But how was she to do that without Mr Oberon claiming her hand like an overbearing master?

  To her surprise, it was Lady Annabelle who again came to her rescue. Timing her exit so that she stepped out of the box at the same time as Mr Oberon, Lady Annabelle casually slipped her arm through Mr Oberon’s and proceeded to ask his opinion on some of Mozart’s other works, in particular his horn and his violin concertos that were becoming so popular. Sophie was quite sure Mr Oberon had no idea he had been manipulated. Why Lady Annabelle had done it was anyone’s guess, but at least it had spared Sophie a potentially awkward descent to the vestibule below.

  On a happier note, she was pleased to see Antoine helping Jane navigate her way past the chairs, holding her arm in a manner that was neither condescending nor familiar, and Jane was clearly enjoying the attention. Her pretty face was even more flushed than before and Sophie felt sure it had nothing to do with the heated confines of the theatre.

  ‘It would seem my sister is not immediately in need of my help, Miss Vallois. Perhaps you are?’

  Sophie turned to see Mr Silverton holding out his arm. Surprised but pleased, she placed her fingers lightly on his sleeve. ‘Thank you, Mr Silverton. Are you all right now?’

  ‘All right?’

  ‘You went very quiet earlier. I wondered if I had said something to upset you. Or if Lady Annabelle had.’

  It was as direct a question as she could ask—and she was relieved to see him smile.

  ‘No. I was simply…lost in thought.’ He turned his head and met her gaze. ‘But forgive me for not having told you that you are the most beautiful woman in the room, and that you have been on more than one occasion.’

  His voice was low and sincere, and as she fell into step beside him, Sophie marvelled that she had ever thought him lacking i
n any way. His face might not have the classical perfection of Mr Oberon’s, but to her, he would always be the more handsome. In his evening clothes, his stature was enhanced rather than diminished, and when he smiled, his entire face lit up, his eyes coming alive with warmth and tenderness.

  How would he gaze upon a woman he cared for? Sophie mused. A woman he loved.

  The thought was unexpected—as was her resultant confusion when she realised that, just for a moment, she had pictured herself as that woman. Ridiculous, of course, because Mr Silverton didn’t see her that way. To him, she was just a stranger—an unknown woman he had encountered at a coaching inn. One his beloved sister had all but bullied him into taking on a carriage ride and one a meddling hostess had insisted he accompany to the theatre. It was laughable to see herself in the role of the woman he might revere, for while passion could flare in the blink of an eye it took time for true affection to grow. And love…?

  Sophie sighed. Love took the greatest time of all. It was impossible to be in love with someone you had only just met. With someone you were quite sure did not like you.

  With someone, she admitted, like Robert Silverton.

  The party dispersed shortly after, and though Robert would have liked to have spent more time with Sophie, he noticed that Jane’s colour was still unusually high and decided to order their carriage straight away. He couldn’t risk letting Jane wear herself out, knowing it often took days before she was fully recovered.

  He waited with Oberon on the road, as servants hailed carriages for their elegant lords and ladies, and sharp-eyed lads of eight or nine watched for unsuspecting victims.

  ‘I think your sister would have preferred to be escorted home by Vallois,’ Oberon commented, oblivious to it all. ‘They seem to have struck up a friendship.’

  Keeping his eye on the street, Robert said, ‘Be that as it may, Jane and I came together and we will leave that way.’

  ‘Pity. That would have left me free to drive Miss Vallois home and I would have enjoyed that very much. Since you were determined to spoil my evening with her, it was the least you could have done.’

  The idea was so preposterous that Robert actually laughed. ‘I did not spoil your evening. It was Lady White’s suggestion we all come together.’

  ‘You could have said you and Jane were otherwise engaged.’

  ‘But we were not. And it wouldn’t have mattered regardless. Lady White suggested Miss Vallois invite her brother and you saw as well as I did how pleased she was by the idea. At that point, I judged there was nothing wrong with my joining the party. And with inviting Lady Annabelle.’

  ‘You take a great deal upon yourself, Silver,’ Oberon said distantly. ‘If I didn’t know better, I would swear you didn’t trust me to behave properly with Miss Vallois. But we both know that makes no sense. If I hope to earn the lady’s affection, what would be the point in compromising her beforehand?’

  A muscle twitched in Robert’s jaw. ‘In my experience, there is often a great deal of room between intention and action.’

  Oberon grunted. ‘I’m not sure I like your tone. I thought you would have been pleased with the way I’ve been courting Miss Vallois. I am still considering offering her marriage, you know, and I believe the Longworths would approve. Why would they turn down the chance of their young friend becoming a viscountess?’

  Tell him what you know! Tell him what she is and put an end to this once and for all.

  But Robert couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Too many questions needed to be asked and too many people’s lives would be affected by the answers. He had to be sure of his facts before he said anything. Especially to a man like Oberon.

  ‘They will wish her to marry the man she loves,’ Robert said. ‘Although Miss Vallois told me to my face that she has no desire to be wed.’

  ‘No desire be hanged! All young women wish to be married, Silver. She was obviously just being coy. And if it’s love she wants, I’ll make her love me,’ Oberon said confidently. ‘I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it.’

  ‘I take it you’ve found no impediment to marrying her?’ Robert forced himself to ask.

  ‘I’ve made no specific inquiries, but I’ve seen nothing in her conduct that leads me to believe she is anything but what she seems.’

  The remark was disquieting. Oberon never took anything at face value. In his search to uncover the truth, he turned over every rock, uprooted every tree, until those secrets were ferreted out and exposed. His all-too-ready acceptance of Sophie led Robert to believe that none of that mattered any more. That Oberon didn’t care for the consequences…and he found that even more disturbing. It suggested an attachment that wasn’t healthy. An attachment that bordered on…obsession.

  ‘Well, as you said yourself, she could be an heiress or an actress,’ Robert said casually. ‘But if your father requires that you marry a lady of title or fortune, you will have to look elsewhere. Miss Vallois has neither.’

  ‘It matters not since on the day she becomes my wife, she acquires both. My father, for all his lofty intentions, cannot stop me from marrying whom I please.’

  ‘And if his displeasure takes the form of a threat of disinheritance?’

  Oberon’s smile turned into a sneer. ‘As it happens, I have discovered a few things about my father’s past he would rather not be made known. Some…youthful indiscretions, if you will, that would be embarrassing for all concerned.’

  Robert stepped back as a young boy ran past. ‘I’m surprised he told you of them.’

  ‘Oh, you can be sure he did not. But letters kept for the wrong reasons often become an excellent source of information for those who know how to use them. I doubt my mother or the lady in question would appreciate the errors of their youth being made public after all these years.’

  Robert stared at the man standing next to him as though he were a stranger. So, the son would blackmail the father with letters written years ago about an affair that would be damaging to all. Oberon knew his world well. A peer might be above the law, but he was not above being cut by good society. The fact Oberon would use that information to wilfully destroy his father’s reputation and those of several other people, said a great deal about his character—or lack thereof.

  ‘Tell me, Silver, why are you suddenly so interested in my courtship of Miss Vallois?’ Oberon asked. ‘Surely it cannot be that you have developed feelings for the lady yourself? You, who’ve sworn off matrimony and despise all things French.’

  ‘I do not despise all things French, and my reputation is such that I have nothing to offer a lady,’ Robert said. ‘But I do not wish to see Miss Vallois hurt.’

  ‘Then you have nothing to worry about for I have no intention of hurting her. Now, why don’t you send your sister home and join me for some serious gambling? There’s money to be made on greenheads who don’t know a trump from a tart.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’ve no interest in fleecing innocent young men who haven’t the brains to stay out of the hells.’

  ‘’Pon my word, sir, that almost sounded like a lecture, and I am not of a mind to take a lecture from you. Act the hero if you must, but don’t forget—I know the games you’ve played. I was a willing participant in many of them.’

  ‘Be that as it may, the past is the past. Leave it where it belongs.’

  ‘Leave it where it belongs? Oh, that’s ripe coming from you!’ Oberon said as his carriage drew to a halt and the footman hurried to let down the stairs. ‘A man who still hates all Frenchmen because one shot his brother in the back. You’re the one living in the past, Silverton. Not me.’

  Oberon climbed up into the carriage and the moment the door closed behind him, the coachman whipped up the team. Robert stepped back as the stylish equipage passed, his thoughts as dark as the night that swallowed it up. So what if Oberon thought he’d lingered too long in the past? He was the first one to admit that Michael’s death had prevented him from moving on. It was the reason he had delayed his retu
rn to society. The reason he hadn’t looked for a wife until a little over a month ago. Anger had plunged him into an abyss of bitterness and despair from which he’d thought there was no escape.

  But there was life after death, and eventually, his world had begun to right itself. He had emerged from the darkness to pick up where he’d left off, resuming his place in society. Doing the rounds of the civilised gentleman. And if some of the shadows remained, they were no longer a source of despair. He was able to work around them.

  And then Miss Sophie Vallois had arrived. Sophie, with her quicksilver smile and her sparkling blue eyes. She had marched into his world and splashed colour on to a drab grey canvas. She had challenged and provoked him. Stimulated and disobeyed him. And she had made him laugh at the idea of a lady wanting to float down the Amazon in a boat. No wonder Jane was her slave. Even old Lady White couldn’t get enough of her. She truly was a breath of fresh air.

  And if he continued on his present course, he would lose her. It was as simple as that. Oberon intended to do everything in his power to make her see him as an ideal husband, and the only person who stood in his way…was Robert. Because he alone held the ace. Sophie had handed it to him in the theatre tonight. All he had to do now was to decide if, when and how to play it.

  Chapter Eight

  The sky was grey and overcast when Sophie and her maid set out for Oxford Street the next morning. Not the best time to venture out perhaps, but with Lavinia’s birthday the following day, Sophie had no time to waste. She had to pick out a gift today.

  Fortunately, she knew what she wanted to buy. The last time she and Lavinia had been out together, they had paused to admire a selection of fans displayed in a shop window. Lavinia had pointed out one in particular and Sophie had agreed it was exquisite. Then, when an acquaintance had hailed them, the fans had been forgotten—until this morning, when Sophie had returned to the shop to buy it.