The City of Love: A Medieval Time Travel Romance (Eternity Rings Book 1)

by Paige Elwood

  “Edouard asked us to, and he’s our friend,” said Madame Petellier.

  “Yes, but taking a stranger into your home is quite a favor,” Sophie persisted. “What did he tell you?”

  “Simply that you needed our help. We love Edouard dearly, and if he says you need our help, then we help you. It is that simple.” She glanced around the table at her daughters, who nodded emphatically. Sophie took a sip of the wine. Perhaps it would help.

  “How old are you, Sophie?” Delphine asked, breaking the silence that had descended over the table.

  “That’s quite rude, Delphine,” Madame Petellier admonished.

  “It’s ok,” Sophie said, relieved to move back onto some kind of normal conversation. “I’m twenty-five.”

  “Are you not married yet?” Isabeau said, shocked.

  Sophie laughed. “Not yet. I’m not sure I would like to get married, actually.” Wow, way to rub it in, she thought.

  “But how will you live without a husband?” Alice’s eyes were wide saucers at the idea of not getting married.

  “I have my friends, I have my work. I don’t feel that I need a husband for anything.” Sophie shrugged.

  “You work?” Delphine asked, incredulously. “Like a peasant woman?”

  “I do.” Sophie said, her cheeks heating, “Most women do in my… land. It’s not a strange thing there.”

  “What do you do for work?” Isabeau asked.

  Sophie thought carefully. She could hardly talk about the internet. And vintage boutiques were probably not a thing in this time. “I have a shop that sells clothing for ladies,” she settled on finally.

  “You’re a seamstress?” Alice asked.

  “I don’t actually make the clothes.”

  “How can you sell them if you don’t make them?” Delphine’s brow furrowed.

  “I buy them from other people, and I sell them for more money.”

  Alice wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t people simply buy them straight from the seamstress themselves?”

  I wish you’d stop asking so many questions, Alice, Sophie thought, hoping that she’d only rolled her eyes in her mind. She gritted her teeth and answered as politely as she could, “It’s just a different way that we do things where I’m from.” She wished she’d not mentioned it.

  “So, you work, and you don’t want a husband?” Alice’s eyes were wide. “It’s so improper.”

  Sophie simply shrugged, but in her head, she resented Alice’s shocked and slightly condescending tone. Oooh, it’s so improper!

  “What about love?” Delphine asked.

  “I haven’t found a man I love,” Sophie replied.

  “You don’t have to love them,” Isabeau said to Delphine. “You just have to be able to tolerate them. The rest comes later,” she said with an air of certainty.

  “But you are not married?” Sophie asked. “Any of you?” She looked around at the three girls. Ha! Time for you to squirm, she thought.

  “Alice and I have suitors and will be wed soon. Delphine is just turned seventeen and will be looking for a suitor very soon.” Isabeau said.

  “And you don’t think you need to love someone to marry them?” Sophie asked.

  “Marriage is a partnership, and arrangement,” Isabeau said. “I do like my fiancée, I have a nice time on our outings and he is very suitable. I’m lucky to be marrying him. Love is something we may grow into later.” She sipped her wine.

  Sophie felt a little sad at Isabeau’s matter of fact dismissal of true love, but something in the attitude rang true to her. If these women weren’t expecting all the trappings of ‘true love’ and agonizing over whether they loved someone, then it would be difficult to be disappointed, or unhappy with your relationship. Viewing it as more of a mutually beneficial personal arrangement made a lot of sense.

  Of course, in her own time Sophie didn’t need to be in a marriage or even a relationship. She wasn’t a social pariah in her time for being an unwed woman at 25 years old. In fact, most people didn’t marry until 30 if they married at all. There was something of a preoccupation with love that Sophie found irritating. People frequently made references to things like Romeo and Juliet, yet in the cold light of day they were simply two foolish teenagers who barely knew each other and got a lot of people killed, themselves included.

  The servants cleared the dinner plates and platters and brought out an enormous custard tarte. Sophie surprised herself by managing to eat a small slice, despite her full stomach. It was delicious too.

  “How do you know Edouard?” Sophie asked Madame Petellier, hoping to learn something that would help her make sense of this whole situation.

  “I was good friends with his mother,” she replied

  “What was she like?” Sophie asked, remembering Edouard’s tale of his mother enjoying walking the Parisian streets.

  “She was very beautiful, inside and out.” Madame Petellier smiled, remembering her friend.

  “Edouard must miss her terribly.”

  “He does, we all do, she was a wonderful woman. I made her a promise that if anything happened to her I would make sure that Edouard was looked after. His father is very busy. She made me the same promise about my daughters.” She smiled at her three girls around the table.

  “You must have been very good friends,” Sophie said.

  “We were.” Madame Pelletier’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She quickly blinked them away.

  While the servants cleared away the dessert dishes, Isabeau asked Sophie if she would like a tour of the house. “That would be amazing,” she said.

  They started on the ground floor, and the girls showed her the parlor and the drawing room. Both rooms were grand and lavishly decorated, with more tapestries adorning the walls. They moved on to the library, where there were wall-to-wall bookshelves crammed with books, and some sturdy-looking desks. It smelled like clean leather and old pages.

  “Do you read, Sophie?” Alice asked.

  “I do,” Sophie said, picking up a book and cracking it open. She understood most, but not all, of the words, even though they seemed to be English. She marveled at how the language had evolved, before she closed the book and smiled. “Thank you, maybe I can read some of these tomorrow.”

  As they were leaving the library, Sophie’s eye was drawn to a burgundy leather tome that was nestled on a shelf of brown leather books. She went across and plucked it out. It was the same book she’d purchased in the market at Notre Dame, except that this looked newly printed. The pages were crisp, the leather unmarked and unworn. She flipped it open and started to scan the first pages.

  Alice, whose eyes had widened when she’d picked up that particular book, swiftly took it out of her hands. “Sorry, Sophie,” she said. “I’m reading that one and I thought I had lost it. Thank you so much for finding it!”

  “What is it about?” Sophie asked, her curiosity piqued.

  “Oh, it’s just a silly fairy tale,” Alice said. “More of a children’s tale. There are much better stories I could tell you.”

  “I like that one,” Delphine said, and her sisters glared at her.

  “I’d really like to know this one. Delphine, could you tell me the story?” Sophie asked the younger girl.

  “Perhaps another day,” Delphine said, catching the warning looks from her sisters.

  They ascended the stairs, and Alice and Delphine showed Sophie their bedrooms. They pointed out the servant quarters but did not visit. The whole house, aside from the library and kitchens, had the tapestries hanging from the walls. In most of them, the dark-haired young man danced, or walked, or held hands with a woman, but rarely the same one.

  “The tapestries, they seem to tell a story,” Sophie said, trailing her hand over one of them that depicted yet another ball.

  “It’s the same story,” Delphine said, practically bouncing with excitement.

  “It’s your imagination, Delphine,” Isabeau snapped. “They are just tapestries. The artist made whatever p
ictures came into their head.”

  “Who made them?” Sophie asked.

  “Maman bought them from a trader. They were a good price,” Alice said.

  “Have you always lived here?” Sophie changed the subject, sensing she’d get nowhere asking about the tapestries.

  “Yes, it was Papa’s family home, and he inherited it when he and our mother were married,” Alice said. “We were all born here.”

  “Where is your father?” Sophie asked.

  “He died of consumption several years ago,” Isabeau said, sadly.

  “So, no men live here?” she asked.

  “Not in this house, and some noblemen don’t live in Paris, they live further out in the countryside in their duchies.” Isabeau said. “Like Edouard sometimes does,” she added.

  “He’s a duke?” Sophie asked, incredulous.

  “His father is, so he will be one day,” Isabeau said. “For the time being he is still called ‘Duc,’ but he is not really a Duke until he inherits the title from his father.”

  So, Edouard was real French royalty, Sophie thought. No wonder he seemed so self-assured. She imagined he must have women throwing themselves at him all the time. Perhaps that explained his lukewarm reaction when she tried to kiss him. Her cheeks heated at the memory of the embarrassing kiss. She’d never had anyone respond so unenthusiastically to a kiss before.

  “But they live in Paris some of the time?” she asked.

  Isabeau nodded. “The city is where the parties and the palace are, so everyone has a home here as well as out in their duchy.”

  Sophie yawned. “You have had a long day,” Isabeau said. “You should get some rest.”

  Sophie agreed. She was bone-weary now, the strange events of the day taking their toll on her. Hopefully, when she awoke she’d be home again. Isabeau reminded her which room was hers, and she struggled out of the complicated dress. With that accomplished, she climbed under the blankets on the bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

  She dreamed of walking along the streets of Paris. In the dream, the time was unclear and there were elements of both her own time and the time she’d found herself in. Medieval blacksmith shops nestled next to bustling cafes, yet in her dream this seemed perfectly normal.

  She was holding onto a strong hand, and she felt both safe and excited at the feeling of her hand in his. This was right, she thought. It was the reason she was here. She turned to look at the man beside her, but before she could see his face clearly the dream dissolved into darkness.

  Chapter 16

  Edouard paced the floor in his father’s lavishly furnished office, his movement causing the candles in the candelabras to flicker as he passed them. He was vaguely aware that his father was talking to him. At him, perhaps, but Edouard’s mind kept going back to that kiss. He’d made a mistake in not responding, but it had caught him off guard. He hoped he hadn’t offended her too much. He forced his attention back to his father.

  “You’re my only heir, I need to make sure you can fulfill the duties of a Duke when I’m gone,” the Duke continued, running a hand through the greying mop of curls on his head.

  “What will it matter to you when you’re gone?” Edouard threw his hands up in frustration. He knew he wasn’t being completely fair, but his father just didn’t understand why Edouard could not leave Paris right now.

  The Duke banged his fist against the large wooden table, making the empty pewter goblet jump. “Don’t speak to me in that manner!” A mottled red crept up his cheeks that matched the color of his tunic. His brown eyes, almost a mirror image of Edouard’s own, were narrowed in anger.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Edouard said. “I just can’t go traveling out of the country right now.” He prayed he could get his father to listen.

  “What is it that you have to do that is so important? Your ball can wait until you return.” His father continued, impatiently. His father was a serious man who didn’t always approve of Edouard’s interest in holding lavish balls and having a good time. To the Duke, duty and honor were the only things that mattered. He strolled to the sideboard and refilled his goblet with wine. Edouard was always in awe at the powerful way he moved, his broad shoulders still straight and firm despite his advancing age. “I have found a woman who can break my curse,” Edouard said, immediately regretting the words, but it was the only way to explain the seriousness of the situation.

  His father sighed, but it was a sound of relief more than frustration. He rolled the goblet between his palms, making a clinking sound as his ring struck the pewter. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I am,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. Was he sure? Should he get his father’s hopes up like that? Would she agree to stay in this time?

  The Duke grasped him in a hug. Edouard stiffened, unused to such displays of affection from his father. “That is wonderful news!” his father exclaimed. “And if she is the one to break the curse, I suppose you shall marry? You do also have a duty to continue the family name. Legitimately,” he added.

  Edouard bristled at his father’s reference to his past behavior. “She does not yet know of my curse, or that she can break it.”

  His father shrugged h is broad shoulders. “Then perhaps you can go to Spanish court and earn her affections when you return.”

  Back to business, as always, Edouard thought. It wasn’t that he was thoughtless, or callous. He was just single-minded.

  He’d never remarried after Edouard’s mother had died, even though there had been suitable women who would have married him quite happily. For all of his sternness, Edouard knew that his father had truly loved his mother. Her softness and femininity had rounded out his sharper edges, and he couldn’t bear the idea of replacing her after she was gone.

  Unfortunately for Edouard, without any female influence around his father had been a strict parent, and one that was difficult to please. Perhaps, in some way, that was why he’d rebelled so much as a younger man. His father seemed impossible to please, and he was only half the man his father was. He didn’t feel able or capable of taking over as Duke when he was gone.

  “She is not staying in France for long, I need to court her now or I will lose the chance,” Edouard explained.

  “She is not French?” His father looked incredulous.

  “No, she is… English,” Edouard said. She’d said she wasn’t English, that she was… American. He didn’t understand that, but she spoke a kind of English and it was the best way he had of describing her.

  “Is she even a noble?” his father asked.

  “No,” Edouard said. “I do not believe that matters. The curse did not specify.”

  “It matters to me,” his father said. “However, if you are certain she is the one to break the curse, and it’s my only chance for an heir, I suppose we can be relaxed about that matter.”

  “Thank you, father,” Edouard said. He wasn’t certain at all, but he couldn’t leave France right now. This could be his only chance to break the curse.

  “I will postpone this trip, but I cannot put it off forever,” his father warned.

  “Understood,” Edouard said, and excused himself. First things first, he needed to make sure the ball he was planning was spectacular enough to impress Sophie. He wanted her to have something to enjoy in this time, to show her the pleasures of this life.

  He left his father’s office and went looking for the housekeeper, Madame Etier, before she retired for the day. He found her in the kitchen, inspecting the enormous room and ensuring it was clean and tidy, ready to start again in the morning. The enormous cauldrons sat empty atop the embers of the day’s fires.

  “I need your assistance planning the ball at my home in the city,” he announced. She had been their housekeeper since his mother and father had married, and she’d helped him plan many grand balls.

  She smiled delightedly, putting down the pot she had been polishing. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “It must be the most spectacular bal
l we have ever thrown. I need to impress a young lady.” He gave her a mischievous grin.

  “Do you think she might be the one?” she asked, eyes widening.

  “She very well might.” He smiled, thinking of Sophie’s warm brown eyes. He could get lost in those eyes.

  “Well, in that case, we have no time to spare!” she said. “We must create a menu and find the best musicians, and you must have a new tunic from the tailor!”

  She threw up her hands. “So much to do in so few days!” She patted his hand. “Do not worry, we will make it the best ball that France has ever seen!”

  Edouard poured them both a goblet of wine, and they sat in the kitchen and discussed the details: decorations for the hall, a grand banquet and the musicians to appoint for the ball. By the time they had finished making the plans it was very late. Madame Etier yawned.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I should not have taken so much of your time.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, laying her hand on his. “It’s my pleasure to help you. Although it is late now, and I believe we should both retire for the evening. We can set to work tomorrow putting the plans in place.”

  Edouard thanked her and headed to bed. Alone in his bedchamber, he thought of that night in Notre Dame when his own life had changed suddenly and dramatically. It would all be resolved soon. He needed to trust in the power of the rings. As if sensing his thought, the ring around his neck became warm. He closed his hand around it, letting the warmth seep into his palm.

  He remembered the warmth of Sophie’s lips on his own and cursed himself for not responding as she expected. He’d once been so sure of his effect on women, that he could charm anyone he wanted and there would be no consequences. Now he found himself with nothing but the consequences to consider. He must take this slowly, do it right. Anything else would be too risky.

  He gazed out of the window across his duchy, resting his hands on the window ledge. He was too far from Paris tonight to see Notre Dame, and yet he could almost feel its presence as if it were watching him, judging him, waiting for him to break the curse—or fail. He didn’t know which one it would be.