Courting Miss Vallois (8 page)

‘Excellent. The company is not always the best, but the variety of entertainments more than makes up for it.' Oberon put his hand on the back of her chair and leaned down to whisper, ‘I hope you received the small floral tribute I sent to the house.'

A delicate pink blush stained her cheeks. ‘Yes, the roses were beautiful, thank you.'

‘My pleasure. They will always pale in comparison to you, of course, but I wanted you to have a token of my affection and esteem.'

Robert drummed his fingers on the table. So, Oberon had already begun sending gifts. He should have known. The wolf would waste no time in getting the hunt underway. Damn him.

‘And how fares your luck at the tables tonight, Silver?' Oberon asked, straightening. ‘You should know, Miss Vallois, that Silver has the luck of the Irish when it comes to cards. In fact, he's something of a legend in the gambling hells of London. There's not many who'll wager against him.'

‘It's all in the turn of the card,' Robert said, his voice cool. ‘Most games are pure luck.'

‘Speaking of luck, Butterworth was wondering how you were faring in that matter we were speaking of the other day.'

Robert purposely kept his eyes down. ‘You should know better than to ask.'

‘Fair enough. Are you going to ask me how I go on in
my
endeavours?'

‘Which endeavours would those be, Mr Oberon?' Lady White demanded, returning to the card table. ‘I'm sure we would all like to know.'

Oberon's mouth thinned. ‘You'll forgive me, but they are of a private nature and not meant to be shared.'

‘Then I wonder at you bringing them up at all. Especially in front of Miss Vallois, with whom you can have only the slightest of acquaintance.'

Robert reached for the deck of cards and slid them across the table. Point to Lady White. She obviously had no qualms about giving Oberon a set-down in front of others. Unfortunately, he was nothing if not adept at turning a floundering situation to his advantage. ‘You are right to admonish me, Lady White. Miss Vallois, pray forgive my poor manners. Perhaps I can make it up to you by offering to take you to an entertainment tomorrow evening. I understand
Don Giovanni
is playing to great reviews at the Covent Garden Theatre.'

‘The theatre!' Lady White said huffily. ‘In my day, such things were not considered suitable entertainment for a young lady of refinement. Have you secured the Longworths' agreement to the outing?'

‘Not yet, though I have no reason to believe Lady Longworth would withhold it,' Oberon said. ‘I hear tell that as a girl, she saw Mary Robinson play Perdita and was much moved by the performance.'

‘Of course she would be moved.' Lady White deftly shuffled the cards. ‘Mrs Robinson gave an outstanding performance. Pity she was such a trollop. Made a com
plete fool of herself over the Prince, and he no better.' She cut the cards and began to deal. ‘The theatre can offer a most enjoyable experience if the performers are worth their salt. My sister once entertained thoughts of a career on the stage. Nearly put my father in the grave. But she was very good at that sort of thing.'

‘Acting, my lady?' Miss Vallois enquired. ‘Or of provoking her father?'

The question was so unexpected that Robert burst out laughing. Even Lady White chortled. ‘So, there is spirit beneath that pretty exterior. Good. I cannot abide humourless people. So, shall you go to the theatre with this rapscallion, do you think?'

Robert raised his head in time to see an impish smile lift the corners of Miss Vallois's mouth. ‘Yes, I think I shall. If Lady Longworth does not object.'

‘I don't suppose she will if you take that handsome brother with you,' Lady White said. ‘No doubt he would enjoy a good love story. He's the stuff of which they're made.'

Oberon was quietly fuming. ‘I thought it would make a pleasant evening for Miss Vallois and myself,' he said stiffly.

‘I'm sure you did. But if I were in Lady Longworth's shoes, I would much rather have Miss Vallois go with a large contingent of friends.' Lady White levelled a keen glance in Robert's direction. ‘You should go too, Mr Silverton. Do you good to get out. And take that delightful sister with you.'

‘I might just do that,' Robert said, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Jane adores the theatre.'

‘Excellent. The more the merrier, eh, what?'

Robert risked a quick glance at Oberon, whose hopes
for a romantic evening were now well and truly shattered, and tried not to laugh. ‘As you say, Lady White. The more the merrier indeed.'

 

Not surprisingly, Lady White and Miss Green took four of the next five hands and though Robert knew the woman cheated, he couldn't bring himself to expose her. Not when he was so in charity with her for having totally disrupted Oberon's plans. He thought he would have been ambivalent about the man's intentions to court Miss Vallois, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realised how wasted she would be on such a man. A man without sensitivity or the capacity for love. A man to whom winning meant everything…

He heard a noise—and looked down to see that he had snapped the stem of his wineglass in two.

‘Good Lord, Robert, whatever is the matter?' Jane asked, coming up to him. ‘If looks could kill, there would be several dead bodies strewn about the floor. Or perhaps…just one,' she said, following the direction of his gaze. ‘What has Oberon done now?'

‘Nothing. I just don't care for his attentions towards Miss Vallois.'

‘Are they inappropriate?'

‘He has invited her to the theatre.'

‘A trifle bold, but hardly reprehensible. Which play?'

‘Don Giovanni.'

‘Oh, how splendid! I've heard it is a very good performance.'

‘Would you care to join us?'

‘Us?'

‘I plan on going as well.'

Jane looked at him in surprise. ‘Surely that was not Mr Oberon's idea.'

‘No. Lady White suggested we make up a party when Oberon was foolish enough to invite Miss Vallois in front of her.'

‘I am amazed he would be so careless—or so obvious in his attentions.'

Intrigued, Robert said, ‘Why should he not be obvious?'

‘Because as lovely as Sophie is, I doubt she is well enough born for his father's liking,' Jane said. ‘I hear tell he is keeping a very close eye on his son, and on the ladies with whom he is keeping company.'

‘I didn't think his father cared so long as Oberon married
someone.
'

‘That may have been the case in the beginning, but Lady Jennings told me Lord Mannerfield is growing more and more concerned about his son's wayward nature,' Jane confided. ‘He is afraid Monty will be trapped into marriage by some penniless fortune hunter who uses her wiles and her beauty to ensnare him. Word is he is hoping his son marries a title, or a lady with a fortune of her own, neither of which Sophie has.'

‘That's true, but I'm not sure how much Oberon cares about that any more. He talks about her incessantly, and you and I both know how single minded he can be when it comes to getting something he wants.'

‘But are you sure it's marriage he has in mind, Robert? After all, he was the one who initiated the mistress wager, and we both know he won't give up his stallion without a fight.'

‘No, but he stands to lose a great deal more if he doesn't marry,' Robert said. ‘And his conversations to
this point lead me to believe he is considering Miss Vallois.'

‘Well, unless she is secretly the daughter of a French count, I doubt his father will look kindly upon the match,' Jane said bluntly. ‘You should do everyone a favour by finding out where she comes from. And if her birth is not what it should be, you should tell Mr Oberon she is not suitable to being his wife. Either that, or court the lady yourself.'

‘I
beg
your pardon?'

‘Well, why not? I've seen the way you look at her, Robert. And while she may not possess wealth or a title she has everything else a man could ask for in a wife.'

‘Have you forgotten that she's not
looking
for a husband?' Robert said. ‘She'd rather explore the pyramids in Egypt, or float down the Amazon on a raft.'

‘Boat,' Jane said, laughing. ‘And, no, I haven't forgotten, but you don't really think she's serious about that, do you?'

‘Who knows? The French think differently than we do. But, even if I was interested, what have I to offer her? A tarnished reputation? The knowledge that she would be cut by good society if she were to associate with me? Higher-placed gentlemen than myself have left the country after being given the cut direct, and Oberon tells me Lady Mary is now thinking of suing me for breach of promise. That won't win me any allies.'

‘Then
tell
people why you jilted her, Robert!' Jane implored. ‘They can't forgive you if they don't know why you did it. I know Lady Mary isn't blameless or you would never have broken it off.'

No, he wouldn't, Robert acknowledged. But after overhearing a conversation between his then fiancée
and several of her closest friends, the reasons had become painfully clear. Imagine telling people that your future sister-in-law was repulsive and fit only to live in an institution. Imagine coldly laying out your plans for removing her to the country so that you might never be in the same house at the same time. That was the nature of what he'd heard, and once he had, Robert had known he couldn't go through with it. As his wife, Mary would have had total control of the household and all who lived in it. If she'd wanted to make Jane's life miserable, she could have done so without argument from anyone.

And so, he had brought it to an end…and kept silent as to his reasons. He had no wish to denigrate Lady Mary in the eyes of society, but neither was he about to risk Jane being made to suffer for an error in
his
judgement.

‘It doesn't matter,' he said. ‘Better I be the one to deal with the fallout than her.'

Jane crossed her arms in annoyance. ‘You are too good, Robert. You are in disgrace because of her.'

‘Exactly. And if I was to show an interest in Miss Vallois now, she would be tarred with the same brush. Ignored by virtue of her association with me. She deserves a better chance at a future than that.'

‘With whom? Your good friend, Montague Oberon?' Jane snapped. ‘Seducer of woman and gambler par excellence?'

‘That's enough, Jane,' Robert said. ‘Cynicism doesn't become you.'

‘And martyrdom doesn't become you!'

‘I'm not trying to be a martyr. But if I am not willing
to involve myself in Miss Vallois's life, I'm better off out of it.'

Robert glanced across the room to where Oberon and Sophie were engaged in a private conversation, and thought about what Jane had said.

Find out where she comes from; if her birth is not what it should be, tell Oberon she is not suitable to be his wife.

Even if it was that simple, there were still consequences to making known such information. The first being the irreparable damage it would do to Sophie's reputation. If she was discovered to be low born, doors would be closed in her face. She would not be entertained by good society and her chances for making a good marriage would dry up faster than a puddle in the desert. He wasn't willing to inflict that on anyone.

Not even a French girl who didn't appear to like him all that well regardless.

T
he vestibule of the theatre was already buzzing by the time Sophie and Antoine arrived for the performance of
Don Giovanni
the following evening, but she had no trouble in picking out the figure of Mr Silverton in the crowd. He seemed to tower over those around him, his broad shoulders emphasised by the excellent cut of his evening jacket, his snowy white cravat arranged in simple but elegant folds. Mr Oberon stood closer to the door, equally well dressed, but with a superiority of manner that would always set him apart from lesser mortals. ‘Ah, Miss Vallois,' he said, coming forwards to greet her. ‘What a radiant vision you present. A most fitting tribute to this elegant temple.'

Sophie only just refrained from rolling her eyes. ‘You are too kind, Mr Oberon. I think you remember my brother, Antoine?'

‘Of course.' Oberon gave him a curt nod. ‘I am so pleased you could join us.'

Antoine's greeting was equally cool.
‘Mon plaisir.'

‘And here is Silverton come to add his sparkling wit,' Mr Oberon said. ‘But where is Jane? I understood she was coming too.'

‘Yes, here I am,' Jane called. ‘I was just waiting for Lady Annabelle.'

It was then that Sophie noticed the exceedingly lovely young woman walking by Jane's side. She was taller and more slender than Jane, with perfect skin and finely formed features. Her hair was a shade of gold that glistened in the candlelight and her gown of pale pink satin was of the first stare. Pearls glowed warmly at her ears and throat, and her movements were blessed with effortless grace, making Sophie feel like an impostor at the ball—or a cuckoo in a nest of swans.

‘I hope you don't mind,' Mr Silverton said, ‘but I took the liberty of inviting Lady Annabelle Durst to join our party. Apparently she is very fond of Mr Scott's plays.'

‘Not at all,' Mr Oberon said. ‘How could we mind so beautiful a lady joining our party?'

‘You are very kind, Mr Oberon,' Lady Annabelle said in a low, melodic voice. ‘But when Mr Silverton and I met at Lady Chesterton's musicale this afternoon, he told me several of you were attending the performance this evening and I was bold enough to ask if I might come along.
Giovanni
is one of my favourite operas.'

‘As it is mine,' Mr Oberon said. ‘Pray allow me to make known the rest of the party to you, Lady Annabelle. This is Miss Sophie Vallois and her brother, Mr Antoine Vallois.'

Lady Annabelle nodded pleasantly at Sophie and then turned to greet Antoine. ‘Monsieur Vallois. I
understand you and your sister are visiting from Paris. How long do you intend to stay?'

‘My sister is remaining for the Season, but I am only here until next week.'

‘What a shame. You will scarcely have time to see any of London's many attractions.'

‘I will see as many as I can,' Antoine said, ‘and let Sophie tell me about the rest when she returns.'

‘I am sure she will do an excellent job, but it is never the same as seeing the sights for oneself. Would you not agree, Mr Silverton?'

‘I've found that nothing is ever as good as experiencing life's pleasures first-hand, Lady Annabelle.'

When the two exchanged a smile, Sophie was astonished to feel a tiny pinprick of jealousy—a reaction that both shocked and troubled her. She had no feelings of affection for Mr Silverton. His conduct towards her had been anything but encouraging, and given that
her
plans did not include marriage, it made no sense that she should be jealous of the way he looked at another woman. But jealous she was, and the fact the two spoke to one another with such ease only heightened Sophie's awareness of being an outsider. Mr Silverton might have been cut by polite society, but he was still more a part of it than she would ever be.

 

A few minutes later, the party made its way up the sweeping staircase, stopping to admire the Ionic columns and the elegant Grecian lamps hanging from the ceiling. Sophie pretended to study the elaborate décor, but her eyes lingered more often on Mr Silverton and Lady Annabelle than they did on the gilt-covered woodwork. Mr Oberon might be the strutting peacock, but
Mr Silverton was definitely the hawk, darkly handsome in black and white, his waistcoat embroidered with silver thread.

At the top of the stairs, prior to entering the ante-chamber, the party drew to a halt. Sophie noticed Jane cast a covert glance at Antoine, only to look away as her brother stepped forwards to take her arm. ‘May I escort you in, Jane?'

‘Yes, of course.' She placed her gloved hand lightly upon his arm. ‘Thank you.'

Antoine, catching Sophie's eye, started in her direction, but was intercepted by Mr Oberon. ‘Miss Vallois, I wonder if I might have the honour—'

And just as smoothly,
he
was intercepted by Lady Annabelle. ‘Pray forgive the intrusion, Mr Oberon, but I really must ask Miss Vallois about her gown.' She stepped forwards and slipped her arm companionably through Sophie's. ‘It is simply perfection. You must have brought it with you from Paris.'

‘In fact, it is one of Madame Delors's designs,' Sophie said, relieved to see Mr Oberon step back.

‘Madame Delors? I would never have guessed. I shall have to pay her a visit this very week,' Lady Annabelle said. ‘Mama is insisting I have three new gowns made before the Wistermeyers' ball next month and I was at a loss to know where to go.'

And so, they proceeded into the box: Mr Oberon leading the way with Mr Silverton and Jane following, Lady Annabelle and Sophie coming next, and Antoine bringing up the rear. Fortunately, there was more than enough room for the six of them to be seated comfortably and for a few minutes there was jostling as everyone selected their chairs. In the end, Antoine sat
beside Jane in the second row with Lady Annabelle on his right, while Sophie sat in the front row between Mr Oberon and Mr Silverton. And it truly was splendid. Slender pillars heavily encrusted with gilt separated the boxes, and from a bracket that extended over the top of each pillar hung a glorious cut-glass chandelier.

Even more decorative than the trim, however, were the ladies and gentlemen who occupied the boxes. Sophie saw the flash of diamonds and rubies, heard the rustle of expensive silks, and wondered how the crowds in the two-shilling gallery must feel at seeing such wealth and opulence all around them. There didn't look to be an empty seat in the place.

‘Do you like opera, Miss Vallois?' Mr Silverton asked.

Sophie turned her head to smile at him. ‘I really cannot say, never having been to one before.'

‘I remember seeing Edmund Kean play Shylock,' he said. ‘It was a stunning performance. Lady White is correct when she says that much depends on the skill of the performers.'

‘If you don't mind, I would rather
not
hear Lady White's name mentioned this evening,' Mr Oberon muttered. ‘As far as I am concerned, the woman has already said a great deal too much.'

Sophie quickly looked down, but not before catching a flicker of a smile on Mr Silverton's face. Had his good spirits to do with Mr Oberon's antipathy, she wondered, or to the unexpected presence of the beautiful Lady Annabelle Durst?

A sudden flurry of activity in the box next to them heralded the arrival of a family well known to Mr Oberon, and when he excused himself to speak with
them, Sophie took a moment to glance back at her brother and Jane. They were talking quietly between themselves, Jane looking young and carefree in a becoming gown of pale amethyst silk with clusters of violets tucked in her hair and a delicate strand of pearls around her throat. Her cheeks were unusually flushed, and when she laughed at something Antoine said, Sophie couldn't help but be aware of how happy they seemed to be in each other's company.

‘Has your brother made any mention of when he is returning to France?' Mr Silverton asked quietly.

Sophie turned back to find his warm brown eyes fixed on her. ‘He has not mentioned a particular day, though I believe he intends to leave next week.'

‘He is dedicated to his profession.'

‘He is dedicated to
learning
his profession. At the moment, he is apprenticed to a local surgeon and very grateful for the opportunity.'

‘It can't be an easy life. Calls at all hours of the night. Injuries of a wide and often heart-wrenching nature. It takes a special kind of dedication to do what he does.'

‘That, and a talent for healing,' Sophie admitted, thinking of some of the truly awful things Antoine had encountered. Filthy hospital wards. Soiled linens. Unsanitary food. It was a wonder he hadn't contracted something himself. ‘I am not so blessed.'

‘Perhaps not in that area, but you have gifts aplenty in others.'

As if afraid of having said too much, Mr Silverton quickly turned away, but Sophie found her gaze lingering on his profile. Was it her imagination or did his voice seem warmer tonight? Several times he had made a point of touching her when they were together. Noth
ing to which she could object. A hand at her waist to guide her. A light touch on the arm to draw her attention to something she hadn't noticed. And sitting together here, she was very conscious of his thigh close to hers; of the heat of his body warming her through the thin fabric of her gown—

‘—to become a doctor?'

Belatedly, Sophie realised he was asking her about Antoine. ‘Forgive me, Mr Silverton, my mind was elsewhere.'

‘I was just asking if your father approved of your brother's decision to become a doctor. It is not the usual choice of occupation for the eldest son.'

‘No, and…Papa wasn't at all pleased.' Why was she so flustered all of a sudden? Heat was rising in waves, and even now, her heart was beating too fast. ‘He…wanted Antoine to stay home and help in the fields.'

Mr Silverton smiled. ‘The fields?'

‘Yes.' Goodness, why hadn't she brought her fan with her? ‘The idea was that…Antoine would take over once Papa got too old, but Antoine never had any interest in farming. Even as a boy he wanted to help people.'

Sophie was about to say more, when Lady Annabelle suddenly leaned forwards to whisper in her ear. ‘Forgive my boldness, Miss Vallois, but I do believe your brother is rather taken with Miss Silverton. They seem to be caught up in their own little world.'

Sophie moved uneasily in her chair. Had Mr Silverton overheard the remark? She knew he wasn't fond of Antoine, in which case he wouldn't be pleased at the idea of Antoine and Jane striking up a friendship. ‘Perhaps I should ask Jane to sit up here,' she said quickly,
slanting a quick glance at Mr Silverton. ‘The view of the stage is that much better.'

But he wasn't listening. He was staring straight ahead, his mouth grim, his brow furrowed as though deep in thought. Sophie bit her lip. Obviously, he
had
heard, and it was clear he wasn't pleased about it.

Fortunately, Lady Annabelle's laughter bubbled up like sparkling champagne. ‘You can ask her, Miss Vallois, but I have a feeling that tonight, the company in the box has far more appeal for Miss Silverton than the play.'

 

Robert was dimly aware of the sounds swirling around him. Of Lady Annabelle's bell-like laughter. Of a low murmur of conversation from the box next to them. Of a whistling sound from the stage below. But none of it mattered because what Sophie had just told him caused everyone and everything else to fade into insignificance.

‘…Antoine never had any interest in farming…'

How simple a statement, yet how utterly destructive…because it meant Sophie was not well born. She was the daughter of a farmer, a man who laboured in the fields on someone else's land. Her skills with the language had been learned from an English woman who employed her to teach French to her daughters, and her manners and refinement were likely sprung from the same source. Apart from her stunning natural beauty, Sophie Vallois had absolutely nothing to recommend her. And the ramifications of that were inescapable.

Oberon would never consider taking her as a wife now. When he found out the truth, one of two things would happen. He would either stop paying attention
to her and look for a well-bred lady to be his bride. Or, he would realise that the object of his obsession, now never to be his bride, would in fact make an enchanting mistress.

It was the latter possibility that had Robert gritting his teeth. Oberon was a master at seduction. He had dazzled lonely widows, shamelessly sweet-talked virgins, and skilfully compromised married women, all in the pursuit of his own pleasure. He didn't give a damn about reputations and once he knew marriage to Sophie was out of the question, his efforts would be aimed in an entirely different direction. He would pay court to her, much as he was doing now, but his
coup de grâce
would be an assignation rather than a proposal of marriage.

He would compromise her. One night was all it would take. One carriage ride into the darkness. And with her reputation in tatters, she would have no choice but to return to France, either to keep house for her brother or to find work in a rich man's home. Oberon might offer to set her up in the house he kept in Kensington for just such a purpose, but how long would it be before his interest in her waned and the next lovely face stepped forwards to take her place? To a man like that, the chase was always more exciting than the capture.

No, the damage was well and truly done. Sophie's unintentional slip had certainly cost her the coronet of viscountess. Only time would tell if it would jeopardize something more valuable.

 

Despite the undercurrents swirling around her, Sophie thoroughly enjoyed the performance of
Don Giovanni.
Its central character was the quintessential
rake, a man who lived to seduce women, and it was his inability to settle on only one that eventually condemned him to an existence in hell. She alternately laughed and gasped, or held her breath in anticipation of the unrepentant Lothario's eventual descent into the underworld. Certainly the crowd seemed to enjoy it. Only once during a poorly enacted scene did a handful of orange peelings make their way on to the stage. Otherwise, the boisterous crowd heartily approved of the drama.