The elderly lady appeared only a trifle guilty and offered no apology. “Because you would have objected, of course.”
“Did you plan all along for us to convene with him in Paris? If so, you two must have been plotting against me even before he left Pennant Hall.”
“We were,” she said readily. “After he departed for London, we communicated by letter and special messenger. I do not regret my machinations,” Mrs. Pennant added curtly when Sophie frowned. “I have never concealed my desire to spoil your nuptials to Dunmore. And I was particularly delighted to aid Lord Jack after learning he is heir to a prince.”
“He is not the heir yet,” Sophie corrected. “What is more, he dislikes the very idea of claiming the throne.”
“But his likelihood of being a suitable match for you has improved drastically. In truth, I had intended for us to travel on to Navartania with him to meet his father and investigate his royal prospects for ourselves. I even held out hope that by the time we returned to England, you could be a princess.”
Sophie still could not credit that her aunt would go to such lengths or have such fantastical aspirations for her. “You cannot be serious.”
“Indeed I can—but the
point is moot now. I overestimated my stamina and am much too fagged to drive any farther. The thought of spending one more day in a coach, no matter how well-sprung, makes me shudder. And regrettably, you cannot travel halfway across France without me.”
Sophie felt only slightly remorseful at her aunt’s complaint. “It serves you right if your connivances led to exhaustion. You should never have attempted this arduous journey in the first place.”
Mrs. Pennant harrumphed. “You might show some gratitude, my girl. I came all this way for your sake.”
How was it that her aunt was making her feel guilty? Sophie wondered. “So now you are placing the blame on me?”
“You should see that everything I have done has been for your own good, Sophie. I fear I haven’t the strength to attend your fitting with the modiste this morning, however. Fortunately, we needn’t cancel your appointment. Carhill will go with you.” With an eye to safety and comfort, Mrs. Pennant had brought a large retinue with her from England, including her own coachman, several strapping footmen, and her dresser, Mrs. Carhill.
Sophie gave a soft huff. “I see no reason for any fittings. Purchasing my trousseau was only an excuse for you to bring me to Paris.”
“Perhaps. But whether you marry a duke or a prince, you will need wedding clothes. And I do not intend to waste this expensive trip. I hope to feel better by week’s end so that I may resume my duties as your chaperone. Until then you will have to make do with Carhill.” Mrs. Pennant sent Sophie a speculative glance. “As long as we are here in Paris, we should make the most of it. I intended to invite Lord Jack to accompany us to the opera this evening, but in my weakened state, I don’t believe I can manage it. However, he can escort you without me.”
Sophie issued an immediate protest. “You are forgetting that I am betrothed, Aunt.”
“Pah, it is perfectly proper for him to attend you if I give my permission.”
Sophie shook her head, filled with dismay at the thought of being alone with Jack. With only his brief call this morning, he’d rekindled all the blind yearning she felt for him. How much worse would it be if she spent the entire evening with him—or, heaven forbid, the entire week?
Furthermore, she had started to suspect her aunt of feigning fatigue in order to throw her together with Jack. How could she defend herself when they were both actively scheming against her?
“That is an extremely poor idea—” Sophie began before being interrupted.
“You cannot languish at a hotel with an old lady,” her aunt insisted. “Paris is a magnificent city, even if the Frogs built it.” She paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Make certain to lay out my writing implements on the parlor desk. As soon as I finish breakfast, I shall write to Lord Jack and beg off from the trip to Navartania, but ask that he take you to the opera tonight as planned.”
At Sophie’s grimace of distress, Mrs. Pennant waved a dismissive hand. “Ring for Carhill, my dear. I won’t have you missing your appointment. That modiste was outrageously expensive and nearly impossible to engage on such short notice.”
Sophie bit back a retort, yet as she exited the bedchamber, she showed her frustration by shutting the door with a deal more force than was strictly necessary.
In actuality, however, she was not as much vexed by her impotence as unnerved by her vulnerability. She would do everything possible tonight to keep Jack at arm’s length and discourage his attempts at seduction, but she had absolutely no faith in her ability to resist him or her own foolish longings.
Jack’s own frustration at having all his carefully laid plans demolished was compounded tenfold by Sophie’s outright rejection of his strategy. She clearly didn’t comprehend the enormity of his decision to travel to Navartania, or understand that for him, reconciling with his father was tantamount to bargaining with the devil.
He loathed the very thought of embracing the coward he blamed for his mother’s death. In the past, his only reason for approaching the prince would have been to exact revenge. Confronting Raoul de Villars for his shameful desertion had been a deep-seated ambition of Jack’s for almost as long as he could remember.
But he realized he might have to set aside his longtime hatred for the man, so he could appease Sophie’s father with a royal title if necessary. He wasn’t willing to let her go without a fight.
He was also driven by a sense of urgency, since time was a critical factor. And with her aunt bedridden, he had no choice now. Sophie would never travel with him on her own; her love for her parents wouldn’t allow her to defy propriety so brazenly and jeopardize her noble marriage.
No, he had to change course immediately.
Sophie would not be happy with his new plan, Jack knew. In fact she might well be outraged. As he left his own hotel room and headed for the livery stables, though, he ignored the prodding of his own conscience.
Desperate situations called for desperate measures, and this one was beginning to qualify as desperate.