“No?” Mrs. Pennant challenged. “To my mind, he seemed more than a little smitten with you.”
Sophie felt herself wince at her relative’s misjudgment. “On the contrary. You saw how swiftly he departed the moment my engagement was announced.”
Her aunt’s sharp eyes studied her. “No doubt he was discouraged by your preference for Dunmore.”
She had most emphatically not preferred Dunmore, Sophie reflected sadly. It had been a wonderful dream, to imagine having a future with Jack. But now she had to try and put him out of her mind and her heart. A task that would be impossible, since memories of him would stay with her forever—
Mrs. Pennant interrupted her dejected thoughts by waving a bony hand in dismissal. “Very well, then … If I cannot reverse your decision, let us discuss another subject entirely. I intend to set out on Thursday for Paris, and I wish you to accompany me.”
At the startling revelation, Sophie raised her eyebrows. “Paris? Why ever would you want to travel there?”
“To purchase the latest fashions for your trousseau, for one thing. You will make a beautiful bride no matter what your attire, but if you are to join the nobility, you should be properly gowned, and it falls to me to fund it.”
“Aunt, I don’t need the latest fashions.”
“Even so, if you insist on going through with this ill-advised marriage, I will show my support. I won’t have it said that I am a nip-cheese.”
Sophie frowned as she mentally calculated the travel time to Paris. At least a day to drive from Berkshire to the English coast, part of another to sail across the Channel, and then several more days through France.
“Paris is a significant distance from here. Will your health allow you to make so long a journey?”
The elderly lady responded with an acerbic smile. “Despite my myriad aches and pains, I am not on my deathbed yet, my girl. Moreover, I have a fancy to see Paris before I go, and I need a companion. And finally, a change of scenery should help to raise your spirits. For the past two days you have been moping around, looking forlorn, as if you had just attended your own funeral.”
Was her despondency so very obvious? Sophie wondered. She had tried to conceal her feelings but evidently had made a poor job of it.
“I doubt Mama will be able to go, in her fragile state,” she protested more weakly.
“It is just as well, since your mother is not invited. As soon as our guests depart tomorrow, you and I will begin making preparations for our trip. By this time next week we should be in Paris.”
Realizing that more debate would prove futile, Sophie merely nodded. When Eunice Pennant’s mind was made up, she invariably got her way.
Not surprisingly, her aunt’s prediction came to pass exactly as estimated. By the time the ho
use party disbanded on Tuesday, their plans were set for their trip to Paris.
Dunmore seemed crestfallen at the thought of being apart from Sophie so soon after their engagement, claiming that he wished to show off his beautiful betrothed in London. Having no desire to be put on display, however, Sophie was relieved to be spared all the pomp and commotion, and even more relieved to put some distance between herself and her discernibly ardent fiancé. Her father, of course, was displeased by her prospective absence, but Oliver bit back his objections when Mrs. Pennant insisted that Sophie have a trousseau befitting a duchess.
And so it was that a week after leaving Pennant Hall, Sophie found herself in the heart of civilized Europe, in a vibrant city rich in history and culture and architecture. Although the journey had been leisurely, Mrs. Pennant was wearied by so much travel and took to her bed as soon as they arrived at the elegant Hôtel Portois in the Rue de Rivoli.
They had hired a suite of rooms—two bedchambers and a parlor—and the first afternoon Sophie spent alone in the parlor, feeling melancholy and restless. Since Napoleon’s final defeat the previous year at the Battle of Waterloo, the British upper classes had flocked to Paris for the sights as well as the exquisite fashions. Yet Sophie couldn’t summon much enthusiasm or excitement for the promised shopping trips and countless fittings by a French modiste.
She found little pleasure, either, sitting by the hotel window, gazing out at the tree-lined avenue, which bustled with carriages and riders and pedestrians. Indeed, she felt almost numb inside. Was this how it would be once she was wed? Chaffing to escape the confines of her life, struggling to hide her dissatisfaction, feeling no joy or much of any emotion at all but depression?
The following day Sophie woke and dressed with the same pall hanging over her, despite the fact that it was a beautiful June morning and the first day of summer.
Her aunt was still abed when Sophie sat down for breakfast at a small table in the parlor. She had just been served by a hotel footman when a light rap sounded on the door. Since they were not expecting any callers, she nodded permission for the servant to answer.
A moment later, Sophie gave a start at hearing a familiar male voice behind her. The visitor sounded so much like Lord Jack that her heart leapt. Yet she must have been mistaken, since he was speaking French like a native-born Frenchman.
Eagerly, she glanced over her shoulder just as Jack strode into the parlor. A thrill of happiness surging through her, Sophie rose abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. “You!”
Jack paused a few feet away, and for the span of a dozen heartbeats, she stood speechless, drinking in the sight of him.
“I thought by now your aunt would have prepared you for my arrival,” he finally said in a wry tone, “but I can see I have caught you by surprise.”
Shock was a more fitting description. And joy. Rightfully or wrongly, she had the overwhelming feeling that her life had begun again.
“What … how …?” she managed to stammer.