A bottle of olive oil was jammed precariously into the overflowing basket, and Sophia rejoined him. ‘I’m having the most wonderful time.’
Jean-Luc laughed, and couldn’t resist planting a kiss on her lips, which were slick with olive oil. ‘You astonish me.’
‘There’s only one thing more we need to do, to round off this perfect morning. If you will indulge me.’
‘How could I refuse. What is that you desire?’
‘A cup of coffee. I’m told the best stall is over there, in the corner with the red awning, and I’m told that the best way to drink coffee at this time in the morning is with a glass of pastis.’
‘True, if you have a stomach lined with iron.’
‘All one requires is the stomach of a Frenchwoman. I insist.’
‘You will regret it.’
‘I will if I don’t sample it at least once.’ She handed him her basket, smiling up at him. ‘When one discovers a wonderful new experience, one is compelled to relive it. Tu comprends?’
There was a blush on her cheeks, and a glow in her eyes that squeezed his heart and stirred his blood. ‘If you are referring to this morning, Sophia, then I both understand and heartily concur.’ He tucked her hand into his arm, pulling her close. His wife. There was no need to think about the moment when she would leave. Their wild goose chase would take them weeks yet, more likely months, maybe even longer. Which should be a very worrying thought, but instead was oddly reassuring.
* * *
Sophia’s evening gown for the soirée comprised white figured gauze layered over a white-satin underdress accessorised with white slippers, long, tightly fitting white gloves and a white spangled scarf. She had been afraid, she told Madeleine, that people would take her for a ghost, but as ever, her dresser was proved correct when, her toilette complete, Sophia stood in front of the mirror. The simplicity of the gown accentuated her figure, the neutral colour made her hair seem more golden in contrast, her lips more coral pink, and her eyes a brilliant blue.
She had always been ambiguous about her beauty, for so few cared to look beyond it. Ultimately, it had served its purpose, but she had come to think of it as a mask behind which she could hide her true nature. Tonight should be no different. She was playing Madame Bauduin, it was simply another part, but it didn’t feel like it. Sophia and Madame Bauduin had somehow inextricably become the same person, and Madame Bauduin wanted her husband to admire her.
It was clear, from his expression as she joined him in their parlour half an hour before the first guests were expected, that he did.
‘Ma belle.’ He made a sweeping bow, lifting her hand to his lips. ‘You look captivating. I will be the envy of every man in Paris.’
Sophia dropped a little curtsy, delighted beyond measure. ‘And I shall be the envy of every woman,’ she said. ‘You look very dashing.’ Which wasn’t quite true, but she had no words to describe the way his dark, striking looks made her heart skip a beat and her pulses flutter. Like her, Jean-Luc had opted for simplicity, and it made the most of his lean, muscled figure. His tailcoat and breeches were black. His waistcoat was white satin embroidered with silver thread. ‘One could be forgiven for thinking we had co-ordinated our attire,’ she said, ‘we are a perfect match.’
‘That is because we are,’ Jean-Luc agreed, ‘though there is something missing from your own toilette, Madame Bauduin.’
He pulled a velvet box from his pocket. Sophia instinctively recoiled. ‘No. Thank you, please do not be offended, but I cannot accept a gift. There is really no need.’
His smile faded to a frown. ‘Actually, there is. It will be expected that I buy my wife jewellery as a wedding present, and it will be expected that you wear that present on the night of the first party we host together.’
‘Of course.’ Still Sophia could not bring herself to open the box. ‘So it is part of my costume? I will of course return it when I leave.’
He sighed, setting the box down on the table. ‘No, it’s a present. Not from Monsieur Baudin to Madame Bauduin but from Jean-Luc to Sophia. And regardless of what assumptions you are making, it comes with absolutely no strings attached.’
‘I wasn’t making any—’ But his straight look forced her to cut short the instinctive denial. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought—I didn’t think, that’s the problem.’
‘I believe you, Sophia. It is clear that your marriage has tainted your view of the world, but it is very wearing to be constantly judged by another man’s standards.’
Guilt made her feel quite sick. ‘Mon Dieu, Jean-Luc I am so sorry.’ It was the first time he had complained, the first time he had shown her that her behaviour hurt him. How patient he had been with her. How ungrateful she must have seemed, and selfish too, so concerned about her own feelings that she hadn’t considered his. Was this Hopkins’s true legacy? No! A thousand times no! ‘I am truly sorry,’ Sophia said, ‘but I owe you more than an apology. I will endeavour to judge you on your own merits from now on, I promise you.’
‘Perhaps I ask too much of you, to break such an ingrained habit in such a short period of time. We have known each other for less than three weeks. though I must admit that I feel as if it has been a great deal longer.’
‘So do I.’ She caught his hand between hers, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Stop apologising. All I ask is that you remember that I only ever have your interests at heart. I simply want to make you happy.’
It was the tenderness in his voice that touched her heart. ‘At the risk of sounding pitiful, it has been some time since anyone has aspired to do that.’
‘And at the risk of sounding like a domineering husband, I recommend that you choose your company more carefully in future.’
She smiled weakly. ‘You are categorically not a domineering husband.’
‘Then what kind am I?’ His smile was teasing.
‘A very caring one. But I hope by the end of tonight to have made you a proud one too,’ Sophia said. ‘I’ve never organised a party on quite this scale before.’
‘It will be a triumph, Sophia. I have no doubts.’
‘Thank you.’ The velvet box still sat unopened on the table. If boxes could look reproachful, this one was making a good fist of it. She picked it up. ‘May I?’
He shrugged, pretending to consult his watch, but she knew he was watching her. There was, however, no need to simulate her pleasure when she viewed the contents. A large oval turquoise, set with diamonds, hanging from a simple white-gold chain with earrings to match. ‘It’s perfect,’ Sophia said, quite overcome. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
‘Not quite.’ Jean-Luc fastened the necklace around her neck, kissing her nape. ‘Nothing could match your eyes. This is the closest I could find.’
‘I love it.’ She slipped the earrings into place, standing on tiptoe to admire the effect in the mirror. ‘You couldn’t have picked anything more understatedly beautiful.’ Or more of a stark contrast to the ostentatious baubles with which Hopkins had adorned her. Which came at a price, and which had been amongst the first things she had sold. And what was she doing, thinking of Hopkins at a time like this!
Sophia turned around. ‘Thank you.’ She reached up to kiss him, just as the doorbell rang, making her jump. ‘Oh, goodness, our first guests are here already. How do I look?’
‘In need of this.’ He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her. ‘Now,’ he said with a wicked smile as he released her, ‘you look absolutely perfect.’
* * *
‘Monsieur and Madame le Foy, may I present to you my wife, Sophia?’
‘Madame la Comtesse, may I have the honour of presenting to you my wife, Sophia?’
‘Chevalier, may I have the honour...?’
‘Mademoiselle, it would be an honour...’
For almost two hours Sophia stood by J
ean-Luc’s side to welcome their guests in person. Every invitation, it seemed, had been accepted, and several hundred had been issued. She knew that, because she had written them out herself. She was relieved to see not one familiar face among the throng. Jean-Luc, on the other hand, not only knew every single guests name, he had that rare knack of making them all feel as if their presence was crucial to the success of the soirée.
He was also extremely adept at whispering just enough background information into her ear as each guest approached. ‘Fellow vintner, wife who has just had had their first child.’ ‘Widow, likes to buy wine, not so keen to pay for it.’ ‘Very rich, prefers quantity over quality, collects antique maps.’ ‘Loves cognac, her pug dog and her butler, in that order.’ ‘Breeds canaries, reputed to be worth her weight in gold. Given her extremely generous proportions that makes her very rich indeed. The man hovering at her side is her nephew, who hopes to inherit. The gold, not the canaries.’
Several times, Sophia had been hard put not to laugh, but Jean-Luc did not once betray himself. She was astounded by the breadth and variety of his acquaintances. As he steered her around the assembled company, she was even more impressed by his effortless charm, his ability to act as a social conduit, introducing merchants to countesses, chevaliers to wine growers.
The rooms were crowded, but a crush was avoided by using the courtyard as an overflow, which Sophia had organised to be lit with strings of lanterns. Slipping from his side to check on preparations in the kitchens, she returned to find Jean-Luc engaged in convivial conversation with a gaggle of their younger guests. If, by some twist of fate, he proved to be the Duc de Montendre, then he would, she thought, fit seamlessly into the role. For a man who had never hosted a soirée before, he was making a most excellent fist of it, effortlessly putting people at their ease.
He was a natural host. Unlike her father, who loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice, Jean-Luc was content to let others hold forth. He had no need to boast and to bluff in order to stamp his authority on a conversation.
‘Your husband is a most singular man, Madame Bauduin, if you do not mind me saying so.’
Sophia turned to find herself addressed by the fabulously wealthy canary breeder who, was wearing a white confection that made her look like a galleon in full sail. ‘That depends on what you consider to be the source of his singularity, Madame Rochelle,’ she replied.
‘Ah, a new wife who leaps to the defence of her husband. That bodes well for a long and successful marriage. I merely meant that your husband was a merchant with an aristocratic air. A man whose fortune is matched by his face. It is rare to find such a combination. I should know.’ Madame Rochelle’s face creased into a smile. ‘Come, Madame Bauduin, there is no need for you to look so politely blank. It is my experience that suitors find my wealth to be very slimming.’
‘It is my experience that wealth is in the eye of the beholder,’ Sophia said.
‘Ha! That is very good, you won’t mind if I appropriate it?’ Madame Rochelle raised her glass. ‘I think you will do very well for our Jean-Luc. We are very fond of him, you know, and of his wine.’
‘I am very fond of him myself.’
‘An understatement I hope, ma belle?’ Jean-Luc slipped his arm around her waist. ‘I have missed you. Have you persuaded Madame Rochelle to give us a pair of her precious canaries as a wedding present?’
Madame Rochelle tapped him on the arm with her fan. ‘Two love birds in this hôtel is quite enough. You have done well with your English wife, Jean-Luc. I heartily approve.’
He bowed with a flourish over her outstretched hand. ‘I am very grateful for your approval, for you are the very arbiter of taste, madame.’
Which remark elicited a trill of laughter. ‘You may not think it to look at me, but it’s true,’ she said to Sophia. ‘It is a little secret which your husband is one of the few privy to, that I have a regular little piece in a certain monthly magazine read by almost every lady present, telling them what to buy and where to buy it. I write under a nom de plume, of course.’
‘And may I ask how my husband came to be privy to such information?’ Sophia asked, amused.
‘Oh, I told him. I hoped that he would manage to source for me a certain wine of rare vintage, and in exchange, I would use my magazine column to advise all of Paris to buy their wine from Bauduin’s.’
‘I will hazard a guess that he refused the deal.’
‘You are quite correct. Though he did, some months later, send me a crate of the wine as a gift. A most generous gesture from a most generous man. I envy you, Madame Bauduin, as does every female here. Now, before I embarrass Jean-Luc any further, I see that your butler is about to announce supper, and if your wonderful canapes are anything to go by, then that is a treat I will not wish to miss.’
* * *
It was very late. The last of the guests had, most reluctantly left, and Jean-Luc had dismissed the servants, telling them to leave the clearing up until the morning. Picking up a bottle of champagne and two glasses, he joined Sophia in the courtyard, where she was sitting on her favourite bench beneath the covered terrace.
‘That was a triumph, thanks to you,’ he said, pouring Sophia a glass of the cold sparkling wine. ‘You charmed the ladies and had the gentlemen eating out of your hands. No one doubted our story, I knew they would not, the moment they set eyes on you. We will be besieged with invitations tomorrow.’ He raised his glass to her, unable to resist pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. ‘To Madame Bauduin. The most perfect pretend wife a man could ask for.’
She smiled back at him, raising her glass in return. ‘To Monsieur Bauduin, the most perfect pretend husband.’
He sat down beside her, sliding his arm around her, quietly pleased when, after only the tiniest hesitation, she let her head rest on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his chin. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breathing. The night was still, warm for early June, scented with the lilac which was coming into bloom on the parterre. He sipped his wine, enjoying the peace and quiet after the noisy hubbub of the party. ‘It is good to have the house to ourselves again, isn’t it?’
‘Have a care, Jean-Luc, lest you become one of those men who is forever advocating the delights of domesticity. Thus is Paris’s most confirmed bachelor fallen from grace.’
‘I was never a confirmed bachelor. I simply hadn’t met the right woman. Now I have, I will be happy to advocate the delights of domesticity to any man who cares to listen.’
‘Our guests have left, Jean-Luc. You may cease your performance.’
He tightened his arm around her. ‘It requires surprisingly little effort, don’t you find?’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I enjoy being your husband.’
She sat up. ‘Pretend husband, Jean-Luc. There is a world of difference.’ She made a face. ‘Perhaps that’s why it is so enjoyable.’
‘Was it so very terrible, your marriage, Sophia?’
She blanched. ‘Jean-Luc.’ She cleared her throat, took a sip of her champagne. ‘Jean-Luc, I was not...’
It was obvious she was bracing herself to deliver a revelation, and suddenly he found he didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight. He shook his head, placing a fingertip over her mouth. ‘No. We agreed only hours ago that comparisons are odious. I should not have brought the subject up. Forgive me.’
He could sense her ambivalence and was mightily relieved when finally she shrugged, forced a smile, set her glass down on the paving and took his hand in hers, turning his signet ring over and over, emulating of his own habit. ‘Where did you get this? It looks very old.’
‘My father gave it to me. I’ve always assumed it belonged to his father though actually...’ He frowned. ‘I don’t believe he ever said as much. There was an inscription on it once, on the inside, but it has faded too much to make out more than a few letters.’
Sophia ran her fingers over the worn
contours of the gold. ‘It feels as if there was once a setting, perhaps for a stone.’
‘I’ve never noticed.’ He did as she had done, noting the odd little nodules. ‘You could be right.’
He poured himself another glass of champagne. Sophia, refusing a refill, snuggled back on to his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Aren’t you tired?’
‘Not in the slightest.’ She slid an arm across his stomach. ‘Look at the stars up there. It’s so peaceful, it’s difficult to believe we are in the heart of Paris.’
‘When I first moved here from Cognac, I couldn’t sleep for the constant noise of the city. Which was just as well, since I had to work all hours to establish myself.’
‘Do you still have a place of business in Cognac?’
‘Certainement. It is where the business was founded. I would not dream of closing it. Besides, we buy most of our wine from the Bordeaux region. I visit there at least two or three times a year.’
‘It was a portentous day for you then, when your parents became so poor they had to send you out to work.’
He laughed gruffly. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Why did Maman send me to a school they could not afford, do you think? There was a perfectly good school in Cognac.’
‘Not good enough for her son, obviously.’
‘She always did want the best for me. Was it as simple as that?’ He drained his champagne. ‘I can’t help thinking there is more to it, Sophia. It is another thing I don’t understand, another thing I’ve never questioned until now, the issue of money. Where did it come from, the money to pay for my schooling almost seven years? I don’t know. My parents never worked, they didn’t farm, they were not in trade. What did they live on, and why did it dry up? Again, I’m in the dark. In my younger days there was plenty. When I came home from school there was always a celebration. When I returned, there were new clothes and new books. And then there was less food. And less clothes, and no books, and then my clothes were patched and mended. And then there was no school.’
From Courtesan to Convenient Wife Page 14
