From Courtesan to Convenient Wife

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I will say that you have returned to England to nurse your former companion. Is that not a plausible explanation?’

  ‘Very plausible.’

  ‘Good! Then, when time has passed, I will say that you had come to the conclusion that you could not settle in France and wished to remain in England. It would mean painting you in an unfavourable light, though.’

  ‘Tell people whatever you wish. It cannot be any worse than—’

  She broke off abruptly. What they say already. So obvious a conclusion to that sentence that there could be no possible alternative. But Jean-Luc did not finish it for her. Instead he pressed her hand, and there was something in those dark brown eyes, sympathy or pity or—whatever it was, it made her feel uncomfortable, so she looked away, fussing with the strings of her reticule.

  ‘Did you have successful shopping trip, ma mie?’

  A finger under her chin gently forced her to meet his gaze. ‘It depends how you define successful. I suspect I have spent a great deal of your money.’ Which, she thought sardonically, was the goal of every woman in her former situation, though it was one she had never shared. One of the things, she suspected, that had kept her under Hopkins’s protection for so long, and had made him most reluctant to give her up. She had a much more precious use for his largesse.

  ‘Welcome back.’ Jean-Luc was eyeing her quizzically. ‘Do you realise you do that? Something I say, or some remark you make, sends you to a place far away. Not a very pleasant place, either, judging from your expression.’

  And he had done it again, Sophia thought, irked with herself. The man saw far too much. She really must be more on her guard with him. She pinned on her brightest smile. ‘I can think of no place more pleasant to be now, however, than Paris.’

  * * *

  A tour of the town house had been the plan for the next morning, but Jean-Luc had a change of plan. ‘I thought you would prefer a tour of my city instead,’ he said to Sophia over breakfast.

  ‘Oh! I was thinking only yesterday that I would like nothing better,’ she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. ‘But...’ Her face fell. ‘As your wife, surely my priority should be to explore my new home?’

  ‘Paris is your new home. And though I am undoubtedly biased, for me, Paris is the most bewitching and beautiful city in the world. I wish to introduce you to it.’

  His thoughtfulness touched her. She executed a deep curtsy. ‘Then your wish is my command, Husband.’

  * * *

  ‘To be perfectly honest,’ Jean-Luc said, as he tooled the small, open one-horse carriage out of the stables and on to the main road, ‘the best way to see Paris is on foot. Our streets are very narrow, for the best part, but I wanted you to get a sense of the layout of our city. This is the Rue de Grenelle, in the Faubourg St Germain district. As you can see, there are a number of hôtels particuliers here. Some of them have been abandoned since the Revolution, but the Restoration has seen many reclaimed and restored to their former glory.’

  ‘What happened to the family who previously owned your hôtel?’

  ‘The are domiciled in England, with no plans to return—they left long before the Terror. Naturellement, I know them because they buy my wine.’

  ‘Naturellement,’ Sophia said, with one of her genuine smiles. ‘I presume your wine has an excellent reputation then?’

  ‘Premier Cru, of course,’ Jean-Luc said. ‘This is the Rue du Bac, which is the main route from the Left Bank to the Tuileries. Many carriages with insignia travel down this street every day, as the King’s nobles make their way to the palace to pay court.’

  ‘What makes your wine the best?’

  ‘Just between us, I would not claim that it is absolutely the best. Many of the châteaux keep their finest vintages for their own consumption. People buy my wine and cognac and port and madeira because they know they are buying quality, and that they will get the same quality every time. The Bauduin name is one of the most prestigious in the wine trade, not only in France but in all of Europe. I do not adulterate wine, pass off poor quality spirit for cognac, or put new wine in old barrels. Those who do business with me do so because they trust me.’

  ‘A man of principle. I can see why you are so successful. Do you have offices here? Or warehouses? Perhaps you could tell me a little of your business? A wife should not be entirely ignorant of her husband’s activities.’

  ‘I thought women were not interested in commerce. Maman actively disapproved of my taking up the wine trade.’

  ‘But why? You had to earn your living.’

  ‘She would have preferred me to continue my education for a few more years. I attended a monastery school, which meant living away from home during term time.’

  ‘Goodness, those kind of establishments don’t come cheap.’

  ‘Which explains why my education was terminated at the age of twelve. Maman’s ambitions for me were beyond her means.’

  ‘And that’s when you went into the wine business?’

  ‘And broke Maman’s heart, though I loved the business from the start, the almost magical alchemy of turning grapes into fine wines. I was industrious and had a good head for figures. My employer took me under his wing. I became his protégé and it grew from there. The fact that I was so successful relatively early allowed me to look after my parents. With hindsight, it was clear to me that they had lived beyond their means when I was younger, spending money they didn’t have on my education, for a start. At least I managed to ensure that their later years were spent living in comfort.’

  ‘No wonder your father was proud of you.’

  ‘Unfortunately Maman, to her dying day, saw it differently. She lamented the fact that I was involved in business and not some loftier endeavour. If she had lived to see me settled in the hôtel, then perhaps she would have finally come to terms with my choice of career.’

  ‘She clearly loved you very much,’ Sophia said, surprising him by laying her hand on his arm. ‘Is your place of business near here?’

  ‘No, it is on the river, much further downstream. I will take you, one day, on a tour of the halle aux vins. It is a new building, one of the more practical improvements which Napoleon managed to complete, along with the quays and the water supply.’

  ‘So he was not wholly a monster, then?’

  ‘That is how the English would like us to view him—or more particularly, your Duke of Wellington,’ Jean-Luc said wryly. ‘Here, they say he was a man whom no one liked but everyone preferred. He was certainly better for France than those he replaced and, I think, better than the King who has replaced him, over there in the Tuileries, which you’ll see in a moment, when we cross the Pont Royal. But if you look to the right you will see...’

  ‘Notre Dame?’ Sophia exclaimed as he pulled over from the traffic to allow her a better view. ‘I thought so. It is one of the few landmarks I recognised when I arrived.’ She gazed around her wide-eyed as they crossed the grey choppy channels of the Seine. ‘It is a beautiful city, I can see why you love it. There is something about a river running through a city, isn’t there—and all those bridges. So much life. So many people bustling about, from a myriad of different walks of life.’

  There was that rare sparkle in her eyes, her real smile curving her mouth. ‘You are not someone who prefers the pastoral serenity of the countryside then?’

  ‘I’ve had very little experience of it.’

  ‘So you have spent most of your life in London?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The smile was still there, but there was an immediate wariness in her eyes. Jean-Luc turned the subject. ‘During the Revolution, when the churches were deconsecrated, Notre Dame was used as a vast wine cellar.’

  ‘Really? It must have held a positive lake of wine. It would have been quite a sight. Did you ever see it?’

  ‘I wish I had, but the church was restored
to its proper use long before I came to Paris.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘The first time, I think I would have been about sixteen, so 1804. By then, my employer was becoming very frail, and was not fit to travel on business.’

  ‘That is very young, to have to shoulder so much responsibility.’

  ‘I relished it, and when he died, he left it all to me.’

  And you turned wine into gold.’

  Jean-Luc laughed. ‘You could say that. Many people claim that a fine Sauterne, from Graves, near Bordeaux is like drinking liquid gold.’

  ‘Bordeaux is not far from Cognac, I think?’

  ‘You know that region?’

  ‘I have passed through the city.’

  ‘You have friends there, acquaintances? Is that how you come to speak French so well?’

  ‘No.’

  And just like that, she was lost again, though it was not bitterness this time he saw in her beautiful eyes, but sadness, a yearning that squeezed his heart with compassion. ‘Sophia?’

  She blinked, and it was gone, as if she had raised a stage curtain, to reveal a new backdrop. ‘I—I spent some months in the south last year. Do you like art, Jean-Luc? Is it true that the walls of the Louvre hang empty, now that many of the works that Napoleon appropriated have been returned to their rightful owners?’

  And that, he understood, was the end of the matter. Sophia was the mistress, he was coming to learn, of the carefully crafted answer, followed by the carefully crafted deflection. So he turned the carriage on to the bridge, and he let the vista divert her thoughts. Which, not surprisingly, it did. She leaned forward, throwing questions at him and pointing, her eyes once again alight with interest.

  Laughing, Jean-Luc pulled over on the other side of the Seine, to give her a view of both palaces. ‘That is the Tuileries on the left. What you see in front of us is the Pavillon de Flore, the part of the Louvre which joins the Tuileries. The main entrance, which is the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel is behind there. We can drive round to take a look, or we can go for a stroll in the gardens. Which would you prefer?’

  ‘Oh, the gardens, if you please.’

  ‘So you do like to walk, even though you are not a country maid?’ Jean-Luc asked, making a show of finding a safe spot to leave the carriage. He helped her down, handing the reins and a coin over to an eager urchin. ‘I know London pretty well. I have a pied-à-terre in Jermyn Street.’ She smiled blandly. ‘Near St James’s Park,’ Jean-Luc continued doggedly, ‘and Green Park, which I prefer since it is less manicured and more open. What about you?’

  ‘I am more interested in this park—these gardens,’ Sophia said, and he gave up, offering her his arm, which she duly took after hesitating for only a moment. ‘Are we likely to encounter any of your friends or acquaintances?’

  ‘The chances are slim, at this hour, but in the evening, these pathways are full of people taking a constitutional. You will have noticed the air is considerably fresher here.’

  ‘I confess I have,’ Sophia said. ‘Paris is not the sweetest smelling of cities,’ she added, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘That is putting it very politely, though in the years since I first made it my home, considerable improvements have been made, believe me.’

  ‘And how long is that?’

  ‘Ten years, since my father died.’

  ‘Though you acquired your town house only four years ago.’

  ‘I lived in lodgings before that, in a much less salubrious location down by the docks. My house was very far from grand when I bought it. You’ll see when I show you around, that there’s still a deal of work to be done. One wing is still almost entirely derelict. I’d be interested to know what you think should be done with it.’

  ‘You wish my advice? For all you know, I might have execrable taste.’

  ‘On the contrary, I know you have impeccable taste. You married me, did you not?’

  Sophia smiled up at him uncertainly. ‘I hadn’t realised we were playing our allotted parts, but you’re right, when we are in public, it is best we make a habit of it.’

  ‘I was not acting, I was simply making a joke. I’m sorry if it was ill judged.’ Jean-Luc urged her over to a wooden bench set off the main path, covering both her hands in his. ‘You are supposed to be my wife. My much-loved wife. Whose opinions matter to me.’

  ‘I know. It is just that Paris is so very beautiful, and you have been so kind as to show it to me. I suppose in my excitement I forgot that it was actually your notional wife Sophia you were sharing with and not me.’ She managed a very feeble smile. ‘I won’t forget again.’

  ‘But I want you to forget,’ he said. ‘When you forget, when you relax and are yourself, that is when you are most convincing because your true nature shines through. I prefer you when you are yourself, Sophia.’

  ‘Oh. Do you really?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m here to play your wife, you didn’t hire me to be myself. I’m not even sure that I know how—’ She broke off, biting her lip.

  ‘To be yourself?’ She did not answer, but she did not contradict him. She looked so very lovely, and so very vulnerable, on the verge of tears yet determined not to give way to them. What had happened to her? What dark secret was she hiding?

  ‘Who is Sophia?’ he asked, gently teasing. ‘I will start with the obvious. You are a breathtakingly beautiful woman. When you arrived on my doorstep the other day, I thought, this Procurer, she is a sorceress, for she has conjured up the woman of my dreams.’

  She blushed. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  Jean-Luc shook his head, smiling. ‘It is the truth, but it is the formidable person behind that captivating face who truly interests me.’

  ‘There is nothing remotely formidable about me.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you. You are intelligent. You are perceptive. You are a most excellent listener. You are brave—no, don’t interrupt me when I’m complimenting you. Consider this, Sophia—how many women would have the courage to do as you have done, to come to France alone, to take on this role—’

  ‘A great many, if they were offered such a large fee,’ she interrupted drily.

  ‘Though very few I think, would be up to the part while you—not only have you embraced it, you have offered to do more, to help me. So that is another thing about you—you like to be useful. You have an enquiring mind. There—that is a good many things I know about you already, after only a brief acquaintance. But enough to state with certainty that I do indeed like you, Sophia.’

  Her fingers tightened around his. ‘I, on the other hand, don’t know what on earth to make of you, but I find I like you too, Jean-Luc, and can say so with equal certainty. It seems such an odd thing to say to a man I barely know, but I do.’

  They had drawn closer to each other on the bench. Her knee was brushing his. Her smile lit her eyes. Her skin was flushed with the late spring sunshine. Around them, people strolled, the trees rustled softly in the breeze, the birds sang, and yet for this one perfect moment they were entirely alone. ‘If you really were my wife,’ Jean-Luc said, ‘if you were my heart’s desire, just arrived from England, I would kiss you right now.’

  Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. ‘Here? In a public park?’

  ‘This is Paris. Public parks are designed expressly for the purpose of kissing.’

  ‘Then it is a pity that we are unable to put this unique design feature to the test.’

  Dear heavens, was there anything so tempting. But she could not possibly be inviting him to—though she was leaning towards him, and when he dipped his head towards her, she did not pull away, and her lips were so tempting. With a supreme effort of will, Jean-Luc pulled himself back, cursing under his breath. She was only just beginning to trust him. He pressed a very poor substitute o
f a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. ‘I think we’d better resume our walk.’

  * * *

  They strolled the length of the Tuileries Gardens and back, Jean-Luc describing the many changes he had witnessed in the last ten years. He was talking to set her at ease, she knew that, requiring only that she nod and smile occasionally, for which Sophia was extremely grateful. She couldn’t fathom her contrary reaction. Jean-Luc was kind and thoughtful and understanding. He liked her, for goodness sake. She should be happy, not tearful. She was in Paris, living in the most luxurious of town houses, with a charming man who made no demands on her save that she cling to his arm and act the besotted wife. When set against what had been expected of her before, this was—well, there was simply no comparison. So why was she so emotional? Why couldn’t she draw a clear line between herself and the performance he expected of her? Why, indeed, had she volunteered to cross that line, and to play significantly more of a role in his life than he expected?

  Because he liked her! Because she liked him. Because he didn’t expect or demand more than she was prepared to give. Because he seemed genuinely interested in her, her thoughts, her ideas, her opinions. Because, in essence, he was quite utterly different from any other man she had ever met. Would it be so wrong of her to do as he bid her, to be herself with him? If the result was that she was a more convincing, then that was to be welcomed. Of course she could never confide in him, her shameful history would revolt him, but if she could find a way to do as he asked, and be more herself—yes, it was a very attractive proposition.

  ‘What have I said to make you smile?’

  And Jean-Luc, Sophia thought, allowing her smile to broaden, was a very attractive man. ‘I’m in Paris,’ she said, ‘reunited with my dashingly handsome husband, and the sun is shining. I have every reason to smile!’

  He stopped abruptly and pulled her into his arms. ‘Since, as you rightly point out, we are in Paris, the sun is shining, and I have been reunited with my beautiful wife, there is only one thing to be done.’

  Her pulses leapt. She couldn’t breathe. ‘What is that?’