‘But it is my fault, I should not have left you alone, though I did not imagine—mon Dieu, that he could think for a second that placing an order for wine entitled him to molest my wife!’
Sophia lifted her head. She freed herself from his embrace for the last time, for he would not want to touch her after what she was about to tell him. ‘Jean-Luc, it’s not what you think. Sir Richard and I, we are already acquainted.’
‘You know him? But that makes it even worse, why would he...?’
‘I know him.’ Something in her voice alerted him. He went very still. Her throat was dry, but she no longer felt sick, only a dull, aching sense of loss. It was over. She met his gaze without flinching. ‘I was his mistress.’
* * *
He must have surely have misheard, Jean-Luc thought, but the expression on Sophia’s face gave him pause. She was ashen, but there were no traces of tears, and she continued to hold his gaze. ‘His mistress? I don’t understand.’
‘You will, in a moment. I know it is early, but I think we are both going to need a stiff drink,’ she said, getting up to pour them both a cognac.
He took his, setting it down on the table by the sofa. When Sophia downed hers in one swallow, his heart sank. When she sat down opposite him, he knew that whatever she was about to tell him, he didn’t want to hear.
‘I convinced myself it was for the best, not to tell you the truth,’ she said. ‘I knew you would be appalled and disgusted, and who could blame you? I knew you would hate me, and I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Sophia! I could never, ever hate you. If you only knew...’
He reached for her, but she shrank away from him. ‘Don’t. You won’t want to touch me, not after you hear what I have to say.’
She wrapped her arms around herself, obviously girding her loins. Jean-Luc reached for his cognac, bracing himself.
‘When my father died,’ Sophia began, ‘he left us penniless. I think I told you that? And Felicity, I told you that too, didn’t I, that the only way to extend her life was to send her here, to a reputable spa. I tried to persuade my father to provide the funds. He made a series of empty promises, but he never made good on any of them. His money was earmarked for more important things, such as advancing his political career. He never did believe that Felicity’s life was worth preserving.’
‘While it was his own which was not,’ Jean-Luc said viciously.
‘Well, he made a good job of destroying it in the end, and as a result he left us with almost nothing.’
‘Had you no relatives who could help? Your mother’s family?’
‘My father estranged all of them. To be fair, Mama’s sister did offer to take us in, but she lives in Yorkshire, and my sister needed a better climate, not a wetter and colder one.’
‘And so you married? Or have I got that wrong? I thought you said you were Hopkin’s mistress?’
‘I told you I was not an innocent, and you assumed that meant I must have been married. I didn’t contradict you. In fact I did try to marry. Like Juliette, I had no dowry, I had nothing to offer save my looks and my bloodline.’
‘I’ve just realised that I still don’t even know your surname,’ Jean-Luc said.
‘No. I have always been Simply Sophia to you.’ For the first time, her voice wavered. It took a Herculean effort not to wrap his arms around her. ‘My name is Lady Sophia Acton. My father was Lord Jasper Acton. He served in various positions in both the Duke of Portland’s government and that of Spencer Perceval.’
‘Sacré bleu! I knew you must be gently born, but I had no idea...’
She shrugged contemptuously. ‘Being gently born, Jean-Luc, is the equivalent of being born to be useless, if one is a female. I was not exactly a prize catch. I had no dowry, and I had my sister to care for. If it were not for her I would never have considered such a marriage—but then my story would not end with my sitting here, telling you all this. I would not have met you.’ She stared down at her lap, lacing and unlacing her fingers. ‘I’m sorry, this is turning into a very convoluted tale.’
‘Take all the time you want.’ Jean-Luc poured them both another glass of cognac. He was no longer apprehensive but angry. Whatever she had done, it was clear her motives were utterly altruistic. He hated, loathed that she should have suffered, but what was the point in telling her so. All he could do was listen, and once he understood, try to make it better.
Sophia took a small sip of her brandy, but set the glass to one side, taking a deep breath. ‘To cut a long story short, Frederick, my second cousin, offered for my hand. I was honest with him, I thought he’d value that. I did not pretend to return the love he claimed to have for me, but I promised to make him the best wife I could, provided he agreed to send Felicity to Menton and pay for her treatment.’
‘And how did this Frederick take your candidness?’
‘I thought he appreciated it,’ Sophia said, with a mocking smile. ‘You are thinking that was naïve of me, I can tell.’
‘I suspect he would have preferred to go to the altar under the illusion that you had chosen him for the same reasons he had chosen you,’ Jean-Luc said drily. ‘I presume that this love he avowed for you preceded the death of your father? That the proposal he made to you was not his first?’
‘That is very astute of you.’
‘No, Sophia, it is very obvious. He knew he was not worthy of you. He took advantage of your circumstances. You were honest with him, but he chose to delude himself.’
She sighed. ‘He deceived me too. The date of our marriage drew nearer, and still he had not set up the trust fund for Felicity’s convalescence. When I pressed him, he told me that he was concerned that when the fund was put in place I would renege on my promise to marry him. I was shocked that he’d even consider me capable of such dishonesty, but none of my protestations swayed him. He demanded tangible proof of my intentions.’
Jean-Luc set his cognac glass down, afraid it would shatter in his hand, he was gripping it so tightly. ‘He wanted you to pre-empt your wedding vows as some sort of obscene test of good faith,’ he said, striving to keep his tone even.
Sophia nodded.
Let her have broken the engagement, he thought. But her face told him the truth. ‘You agreed.’
She nodded again. ‘For Felicity’s sake. I felt I had no option. And then, afterwards, he told me...’
‘That there were no funds for your sister. But because he had seduced you, you would still have to go through with the marriage.’
‘He didn’t seduce me,’ Sophia said scrupulously. ‘I acceded to his request.’
‘He lied to you.’ The suppressed rage in his voice made her shrink. ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you. I am so—it is so—I want to eradicate the whole ghastly episode, make it so that it never happened.’
‘But it did, and one thing you have learned of late, Jean-Luc is that there is no escaping the past.’
‘But it is done now, Sophia. Your husband is dead, no?’
‘No. I never married him, you see.’ She lifted her eyes from her hands, her expression defiant. ‘Are you shocked?’
He laughed gruffly. ‘I am surprised, though I should not be. You told me, didn’t you, over dinner that first night in Paris.’ He searched his memory for her words. ‘Lies offered in exchange for promises, I think you said. No marriage could flourish under such conditions. I thought you spoke from experience. I thought that your marriage had been a bitter one.’
‘When in fact it was simply non-existent, despite Frederick’s best efforts. He begged and he cajoled and he threatened. I called his bluff. He called mine, and broadcast my deflowering to anyone who would listen.’
‘Salaud!’
‘My thoughts precisely. I had lost my one asset, and my sister’s days were numbered. And then Sir Richard Hopkins came calling.’
And now Jean-
Luc felt sick again, but across from him Sophia’s expression almost broke his heart. Such shame mingled with defiance. He wanted to hug her. He wished he had thrown Sir Richard head first down the stairs, breaking his aristocratic neck. He didn’t need to know the tawdry details, he understood her meaning completely, but he could see that she needed to confess, and he hoped that doing so would be cathartic. ‘Go on.’
‘He offered to act as my protector and establish me as his mistress. He knew that I had no experience, but he was willing to teach me.’
He could not disguise his revulsion. Such a dilettante, with Sophia in his clutches. His beautiful, innocent, selfless Sophia. Now, he was finally beginning to understand the enigma that she was.
‘Whatever else he was,’ she said, ‘he was very generous, Felicity was able to live in comfort, and I was permitted to visit her once a year.’
‘At a cost, I suspect,’ Jean-Luc said grimly, for another piece of the puzzle had fallen into tragic place. ‘There is no such thing as a free gift, no?’
‘I thought so, until I met you.’
Which remark should have warmed his heart, but instead made him even more furious. Sophia was heroic, but so far her life had been a tragedy. ‘So for two years you were his...’ Victim, was the word which sprang to mind.
‘Mistress,’ Sophia said. ‘His own little bird of paradise, he called me, which was apt enough, I suppose, for he kept me in a gilded cage, in the form of an apartment on Half Moon Street. He would visit me there. It suited me,’ she added hastily, noting his exclamation of disgust. ‘I told Felicity that I had married Frederick. The fewer people who knew that I had sold myself, the better.’
‘Do not talk of yourself in that way.’
‘What other way is there to describe it?’ she demanded harshly. ‘I could not claim that Hopkins seduced me. He paid me. I gave myself to him.’
‘And every time, it felt like a violation, that is what you said. He callously took advantage not just of you, but your desperate situation.’
‘I know, and I despise him for it,’ Sophia said bitterly, ‘but I hate him even more for breaking his promise.’
‘What promise?’
‘To keep his mouth shut.’ Sophia jumped to her feet. ‘I terminated our arrangement when I went to Menton to share Felicity’s last months with her. When I returned to London, he offered to take me back into his bed. I had completely misjudged the costs of everything associated with my sister’s demise. I was in dire straits, but not that dire. I refused. He took it very badly. His punishment was to broadcast my activities and laud my accomplished technique. This generated many offers of varying degrees of disgustingness which I rejected out of hand. And then, out of the blue, The Procurer arrived with your offer. So there you have it. The sad and sorry tale of my fall from grace.’
She picked up her cognac, draining the glass. Jean-Luc ran his fingers through his hair. The extent of her bravery, her endurance, her determination to do her best by her beloved sister could not be quantified. The treatment meted out to her, the sheer injustice of it, and her stoicism in the face of it, there was nothing and no one to compare with her. All of this he would explain to her, he would force her to see how wonderful she was, but at this moment he could think of only one thing to say.
He removed the cognac glass from her hand. He put his arms around her. ‘I love you so much.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I love you, Sophia.’
‘You can’t.’ She struggled free of his embrace, using the sofa to create a barrier between them.
‘I know you want your freedom, I understand that. Mon Dieu, who could not understand that, after all you have been through. I did not mean to speak yet...’
‘Please, I beg you, don’t speak at all. You can’t possibly love me, Jean-Luc, I’m not fit to be loved by you. Weren’t you listening to me? I know what I’ve done. I know that it’s shameful and disgusting. It was shameful and disgusting, but I would do it again if I had to.’
‘You will never have to. Sophia, I love you. I want to marry you, to marry you for real, I mean. I did not intend to declare myself, not until I have dismissed this claim of Mademoiselle de Cressy’s but...’
‘Ironically, Juliette is the perfect wife for you.’
‘No. The real irony is that my pretend wife is the perfect wife for me.’
‘I couldn’t be less perfect, and when you reflect on it, you will see that I am right. I would bring such dishonour to your noble family name, a name you have only just reclaimed for yourself.’
‘Sophia...’
‘No, listen to me,’ she interrupted desperately. ‘You have to listen to me. You would be ruined by association with me, which is bad enough, but it is not the worst aspect of it. No matter what you think you feel for me now, it won’t last. Every time we make love, you will be thinking, did she do this with him, did she do that, and I couldn’t bear that, not after it has been so perfect.’
‘Sophia, when you make love with me, do you think of my other lovers?’
‘Of course not, but it’s not the same. They were your lovers. I was Hopkins’s courtesan.’
‘Not any more. You are my lover.’
She flinched. ‘It is over. My past will fester in your mind, eroding all that is precious between us. It will taint everything it touches. You would come to find me revolting, and then you would resent me, and eventually you would hate me. When you have had a chance to think through all I have told you, you will thank me for refusing to let me ruin your life, I know you will. Please, don’t say any more, I beg you.’
‘I am saying what is in my heart, Sophia.’
‘Tomorrow, you will know in your heart that it was a mistake.’ He made to protest, but she shook her head violently. ‘Please, no more. It’s bad enough that I have spoiled things between us. Regardless, I will continue to assist in whatever way I can. We will maintain the charade of our marriage until such times as you judge it appropriate for me to take my leave.’
He wanted to sweep her into his arms, to tell her over and over and over until she believed him how much he loved her, but she looked so fragile, and she was in the right of it too, in a sense. His mind was reeling. Though he was certain of his love for her, he was not at all certain he could persuade her, and he was beginning to doubt the strength of her feelings for him.
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘We both need time to reflect.’
‘Thank you. I will leave you alone with your thoughts. You will come to see that I am right.’
She turned away, shoulders slumped. The door closed behind her, and Jean-Luc picked up his notes from the floor, tearing every single page of his very lucrative wine order for Sir Richard Hopkins into tiny pieces. It did not make him feel better, but as he dropped the pieces into the grate and watched them burn, the one thing Sophia had not said struck him.
I don’t love you. Those words would have put an end to his declaration once and for all, but she had not said them. The world, which had seemed so bleak, was once again a blaze of southern sunshine. If Sophia loved him, he would find a way for them to be together. All he needed was a plan.
But first he had unfinished business with a certain English aristocrat.
Chapter Fourteen
‘This is where Louis VII married Eleanor of Aquitaine,’ Jean-Luc informed Sophia the following morning, as they entered the huge Gothic Cathédrale Saint-André. ‘More importantly, as far as I am concerned at least, it is where my parents were married.’
The cathedral had that familiar smell of ancient stone, candle wax and incense, but unlike churches in England, there was a mellow warmth to this one, a welcome sense of sanctuary and peace, an intimacy at odds with the austere, massively vaulted interior. Sophia felt some of the tension generated by yesterday’s traumatic revelations and her long sleepless night, begin to ease as she walked up the hug
e central aisle at Jean-Luc’s side. She loved him, of that she was utterly certain, and though it was her heart’s desire to be by his side for ever, she loved him far too much to ruin his life by being selfish.
Did he love her? The question had tormented her throughout the long, lonely hours of darkness. It mattered not, she’d told herself time and time again, but she could not bring herself to believe the lie. If he loved her even a fraction as much as she loved him, how happy she could be. If he loved her, if he truly loved her, then surely nothing else mattered? If he loved her...
And on it went, until she returned full circle. His love would wither and die when the full price he must pay for it became apparent. He would not want to touch her. She was tainted, damaged goods, a social pariah. And from that, nothing but misery could spring. No, she could not inflict herself on him. Better to cling to the notion that he did not love her, than torment herself in the future over what might have been.
Jean-Luc would be glad that she had rejected his declaration yesterday. Though what he was actually feeling right now, she had not the remotest idea, Despite studying him covertly over breakfast and on the short stroll to the cathedral, she could not discern his mood at all. Her confession did not seem to have disgusted him. So far. As for her rejection—far from being angry or even depressed, he bore an air of suppressed excitement.
Which, when he led her to one of the side chapels, where a huge tome had been set on a table, she thought she finally understood.
‘Monsieur Fallon organised this,’ Jean-Luc said, pulling what Sophia surmised must be the Parish Register towards him. ‘Monsieur Fallon, I am rapidly discovering, despite being both verbose and pedantic, is a man capable of pulling strings in this city. I look forward to doing a good deal more business with him.’
He rapidly flicked through the ledger until he reached the appropriate year, and then began to turn the pages more slowly, running his finger down the columns, coming to a halt at one particular entry. ‘See here, Sophia.’
‘“Baptism, 2 July 1788”,’ Sophia read. ‘“Nicolas Frances Henri Maximillian, Marquis de Montendre, son of Nicolas Charles Frances Claude, Duc de Montendre, Born 2 June 1788.” My goodness, that is you.’
From Courtesan to Convenient Wife Page 20
