Courting Miss Vallois

* * *

It was late the following afternoon when Sophie finally stepped down from the carriage into the quiet of the respectable English street, and as far as she was concerned it wasn’t a moment too soon. Her serviceable brown jacket and skirt were hopelessly creased, her halfboots were covered in dust, and there was a stain on the palm of her left glove from having touched something black and oily. Added to that, the unsettling events of the previous evening had made it impossible to sleep, leaving her feeling overly tired and decidedly on edge. If it weren’t for Antoine, she would have climbed back into the carriage and turned the horses in the direction of home.

A long row of tall, white houses stretched before her, each with four stone steps leading to a shiny black door. From the centre of each door, a brass lion roared a warning to those who came near, and to either side and above, rows of windows glinted in the last rays of sunlight. A square ran the length of the street, bordered by trees newly covered in green, and in front of each house, black wrought-iron posts stood waiting to receive horses and carriages.

It was a far cry from the crowded Rue de Piêtre and the three small rooms she and Antoine called home.

‘Buy some sweet violets, miss?’ asked a young girl passing by with a tray. She was petite and dark haired, and the sweet smell rising from the flowers brought back bittersweet memories of home. Mama had always loved violets …

‘Non, merci, ’ Sophie murmured, forgetting the girl wouldn’t be able to speak French. Forgetting they weren’t in France. They were in England, and suddenly it all seemed like a huge mistake. What in the world had made her think this was the right thing to do? Too much time had passed. They should never have come—’

Upon my word, Sophie, is it really you?’

And then it was too late. The past caught up with the present and the moment of reckoning was at hand. Sophie looked up to see the door standing open and a swarm of black-coated servants emerge, like bees flying out of a hive. A couple stood on the top step, and while the beautiful woman in the exquisite silk gown was not known to her, the man … oh, yes, she knew the man. There might be lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there before, and traces of grey peppering the dark, wavy hair, but his eyes were still the clear bright blue of a summer sky and his smile was still as warm as an August day in Provence. She would have recognised him anywhere. ‘Lord Longworth,’ Sophie said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. ‘It has been … a long time.’

‘A very long time.’ Nicholas Grey started down the stairs. ‘So long I scarcely recognise the beautiful young woman you’ve become. And I’m not sure exactly what to say except … welcome to England, dear Sophie. And may I say how very, very happy I am to see you again.’

It was almost like coming home. Sophie stepped into his embrace, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘No happier than I, for you look much better than when last we parted.’

‘I dare say it would have been difficult to look worse. But even the deepest of cuts and bruises heal and I am pleased to say I had exceptionally good care.’ Nicholas glanced at the young man standing quietly on the street behind her, and slowly extended his hand. ‘Antoine. I was afraid you would not remember who I was. Or choose not to come if you did.’

‘Under the circumstances, you would be a hard man to forget,’ Antoine said, his greeting more reserved than his sister’s, but his tone cordial as he shook the viscount’s hand. ‘I take it your memory is fully restored?’

‘It is, though it was several months after the accident before I could claim a complete recovery.’

‘I have learned that injuries like yours often induce temporary memory loss.’

‘So it would seem.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘I understand you are apprenticed to a surgeon in Paris.’

Sophie glanced at him in surprise. ‘To Monsieur Larocque, yes, but … how could you know that?’

‘I suspect there is very little Lord Longworth doesn’t know about us,’ Antoine said. ‘No doubt he has had us thoroughly investigated.’

‘Antoine!’

‘No, it’s all right, Sophie,’ Nicholas said quietly. ‘I regret that such duplicity was necessary, but it would serve no purpose to lie and I will not insult your intelligence by doing so. Yes, I hired someone to find you and they did what was necessary in order to uncover your whereabouts. But the investigation was discreet and nothing of its undertaking made public. So unless you told anyone of your reasons for coming to England, I can assure you that no one here knows.’

It was a moment before Antoine said, ‘I told the gentleman to whom I am apprenticed that I was coming to visit an old friend, and that time was of the essence given the precarious state of his health. However.’ he looked at Nicholas and began to smile ‘.you appear uncommon well for a man on his deathbed, my lord.’

In full understanding of the situation, Nicholas chuckled. ‘I’m glad I was able to hang on until your arrival.’ He reached up to scratch his ear. ‘Am I in imminent danger of expiring?’

‘Not imminent, but the prognosis isn’t good.’ ‘In that case, I suggest we go inside before I take a turn for the worst.’

‘Thank heavens,’ Lady Longworth said. ‘I thought the entire visit was to be conducted on our doorstep.’

Making a sound of disgust, Nicholas said, ‘Forgive my abominable manners. Sophie, Antoine, my beautiful wife, Lavinia, who, I can assure you, has been as anxious about your arrival as I.’

‘Of course I’ve been anxious. But you must both be weary after your long journey,’ Lavinia said. ‘Why don’t we retire to the drawing room? I’ve asked Banyon to set out refreshments.’ She extended a slender white hand to Antoine. ‘Vous ne viendrez pas avec moi, monsieur?’

The young man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your accent is perfect, madame. Avez-vous été née en France?’

‘No, I was born in England, but my first husband was French and we lived in Paris for several years after we married. It will be delightful to have someone to speak the language with again.’

‘I am surprised you do not speak it with Lord Longworth,’ Sophie said. ‘I remember his French being very good.’

‘Alas, that was over three years ago,’ Nicholas said. ‘And given that I seldom use the language any more, I am beginning to forget many words and phrases.’

‘Understandable. Even my own French is not as good as it once was.’ Lavinia turned to Antoine, a hint of mischief lurking in the depths of those lovely eyes. ‘I look to you for help in that regard, monsieur.’

‘Ce serait mon plaisir,’ Antoine replied, and though he did not smile, Sophie thought she detected a slight thawing of his reserve. Good. If the beautiful Lady Longworth had the ability to make her brother less suspicious of the situation, so much the better. She watched them walk into the house, quietly chatting in French, and found herself alone on the steps with Nicholas.

‘Tu es … très belle, mademoiselle,’ he complimented her. ‘And I am sorry my accent is so poor compared to my wife’s.’

‘Your accent is fine,’ Sophie said, wondering why Nicholas still seemed so ill at ease with her. He was a great man—a viscount in the British aristocracy. He had a beautiful wife, a lovely home and was clearly a man of means.

And yet, perhaps it was only to be expected. The last time they had seen each other, she had been a naïve girl of sixteen living on a farm in the French countryside and he an Englishman fighting for his life. She had struggled to make him understand what was happening to him and had done her best to keep him alive by feeding him soup smuggled from the kitchen, and by wrapping his wounds in bandages made from her own petticoats. For that, he had called her his angel of mercy and had gripped her hand when the fever had raged and the terror of his own anonymity had settled in his eyes.

Perhaps that was the problem, Sophie reflected. He was no longer a man on the brink of death and she was no longer the child he remembered. Maybe now that she was here and so little like the person he’d left behind, he was regretting his invitation, wishing he’d left things as they were. So much had changed in both their lives.

‘Lord Longworth—’

‘No,’ he interrupted gently. ‘Let there be no formality between us, Sophie. You are the young lady who saved my life and to whom I will always be indebted. I would ask that now, and in the future, you call me Nicholas.’

She looked up at him and tilted her head to one side. ‘Is such familiarity permitted in England?’

‘I see no reason why not. You are a good friend, and good friends always address one another by their Christian names.’

‘D’accord, then Nicholas it shall be. As long as I am Sophie to you.’

‘You will always be that, even though I now know your full name to be Sophia Chantal Vallois.’

Sophie raised one eyebrow. ‘You have done your homework.’

To her amusement, he actually looked embarrassed. ‘I fear so.’ Then, his expression changed, becoming serious. ‘Our first meeting seems … a very long time ago now, Sophie. Almost as though it were another lifetime. And there are still parts of those three weeks I don’t remember. But I sincerely hope I did nothing to hurt you, or say anything to which you might have taken offence. A man in pain often lashes out at those around him, and I would hate to think I had scarred the child I left behind with a callous remark or a thoughtless word.’

So, that was the reason for his reserve, Sophie reflected. It had nothing to do with the people they were now, but rather with the impression he had made all those years ago. ‘You did nothing wrong, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘Even in the depths of pain, you could not have been more vaillant. And if some of your memories of that time are dim, it is probably not a bad thing. It allows you more room for the good memories. For the ones that are worth remembering.’

‘I’d like to think so.’ He looked at her and a smile trembled over his lips. ‘What about you, Sophie? Have you happy memories of the last three years?’

Sophie knew that he wanted her to say yes. She could see in his eyes, the hope that her life had not been an ongoing series of struggles and hardships, and perhaps one day she would tell him the truth. But not today. ‘I have many happy memories, but I’m quite sure this is going to be one of the happiest.’

Chapter Three

‘Are you sure I cannot offer you more tea, Sophie?’ Lavinia asked. ‘Or another scone? Cook was most insistent that you try both the orange marmalade and the raspberry jam.’

‘Merci, non, I have already eaten too much,’ Sophie demurred, sitting back on the loveseat. Nearly an hour had passed since she and her brother had sat down with their hosts in the elegant rose drawing room, and in keeping with the spirit of the day, the formalities had long been dispensed with. ‘If I continue like this, I will not fit into my clothes.’

‘Nonsense, you could do with a little extra weight,’ Lavinia said. ‘Don’t you think so, Nicholas?’