Courting Miss Vallois (9 page)

Only Mr Oberon appeared unmoved, his attention fixed more often on her than it was on the actors on the stage below.

‘Are you not enjoying the performance, Mr Oberon?' Sophie asked when at last she could no longer ignore the intensity of his stare.

‘I have seen the opera before, Miss Vallois, but it does not compare to the enjoyment I am having in watching you.'

‘But surely your lack of attention dishonours the talent of the composer.'

‘Nothing could do that. But in watching you, I see the joy of one who is hearing the music for the first time. That, in itself, is a pleasure to behold.'

‘I think the
story
of Don Giovanni is equally entertaining,' Lady Annabelle observed. ‘The composer obviously wishes us to take a message from it.'

‘Indeed. That a man should settle for just
one
lady,' Mr Silverton said darkly, ‘instead of casting his nets so wide.'

Oberon seemed impervious to the slight. ‘That is what we all aspire to do, but the trick is to find that one woman who surpasses all others. One who captures our
heart in a way no other can. Don Giovanni never found his lady whereas I…' he stopped to gaze at Sophie ‘…am hopeful of finding mine.'

A sudden burst of applause drew Sophie's attention back to the stage, and, grateful beyond words for a chance to look away, she likewise began to applaud. What in the world was the man about? To make an admission to a lady in private was one thing, but to say such a thing in a crowded theatre box was quite another. Especially with Mr Silverton glowering at him the entire time. What if he thought her flattered by the man's unwelcome attentions?

Unfortunately, once the cheers came to an end and the theatre began to empty, Sophie knew she would have to make her way back downstairs. But how was she to do that without Mr Oberon claiming her hand like an overbearing master?

To her surprise, it was Lady Annabelle who again came to her rescue. Timing her exit so that she stepped out of the box at the same time as Mr Oberon, Lady Annabelle casually slipped her arm through Mr Oberon's and proceeded to ask his opinion on some of Mozart's other works, in particular his horn and his violin concertos that were becoming so popular. Sophie was quite sure Mr Oberon had no idea he had been manipulated. Why Lady Annabelle had done it was anyone's guess, but at least it had spared Sophie a potentially awkward descent to the vestibule below.

On a happier note, she was pleased to see Antoine helping Jane navigate her way past the chairs, holding her arm in a manner that was neither condescending nor familiar, and Jane was clearly enjoying the attention. Her pretty face was even more flushed than before and
Sophie felt sure it had nothing to do with the heated confines of the theatre.

‘It would seem my sister is not immediately in need of my help, Miss Vallois. Perhaps you are?'

Sophie turned to see Mr Silverton holding out his arm. Surprised but pleased, she placed her fingers lightly on his sleeve. ‘Thank you, Mr Silverton. Are you all right now?'

‘All right?'

‘You went very quiet earlier. I wondered if I had said something to upset you. Or if Lady Annabelle had.'

It was as direct a question as she could ask—and she was relieved to see him smile.

‘No. I was simply…lost in thought.' He turned his head and met her gaze. ‘But forgive me for not having told you that you are the most beautiful woman in the room, and that you have been on more than one occasion.'

His voice was low and sincere, and as she fell into step beside him, Sophie marvelled that she had ever thought him lacking in any way. His face might not have the classical perfection of Mr Oberon's, but to her, he would always be the more handsome. In his evening clothes, his stature was enhanced rather than diminished, and when he smiled, his entire face lit up, his eyes coming alive with warmth and tenderness.

How would he gaze upon a woman he cared for? Sophie mused. A woman he loved.

The thought was unexpected—as was her resultant confusion when she realised that, just for a moment, she had pictured herself as that woman. Ridiculous, of course, because Mr Silverton didn't see her that way. To him, she was just a stranger—an unknown woman
he had encountered at a coaching inn. One his beloved sister had all but bullied him into taking on a carriage ride and one a meddling hostess had insisted he accompany to the theatre. It was laughable to see herself in the role of the woman he might revere, for while passion could flare in the blink of an eye it took time for true affection to grow. And love…?

Sophie sighed. Love took the greatest time of all. It was impossible to be in love with someone you had only just met. With someone you were quite sure did not like you.

With someone, she admitted, like Robert Silverton.

 

The party dispersed shortly after, and though Robert would have liked to have spent more time with Sophie, he noticed that Jane's colour was still unusually high and decided to order their carriage straight away. He couldn't risk letting Jane wear herself out, knowing it often took days before she was fully recovered.

He waited with Oberon on the road, as servants hailed carriages for their elegant lords and ladies, and sharp-eyed lads of eight or nine watched for unsuspecting victims.

‘I think your sister would have preferred to be escorted home by Vallois,' Oberon commented, oblivious to it all. ‘They seem to have struck up a friendship.'

Keeping his eye on the street, Robert said, ‘Be that as it may, Jane and I came together and we will leave that way.'

‘Pity. That would have left me free to drive Miss Vallois home and I would have enjoyed that very much.
Since you were determined to spoil my evening with her, it was the least you could have done.'

The idea was so preposterous that Robert actually laughed. ‘I did not spoil your evening. It was Lady White's suggestion we all come together.'

‘You
could
have said you and Jane were otherwise engaged.'

‘But we were not. And it wouldn't have mattered regardless. Lady White suggested Miss Vallois invite her brother and you saw as well as I did how pleased she was by the idea. At that point, I judged there was nothing wrong with my joining the party. And with inviting Lady Annabelle.'

‘You take a great deal upon yourself, Silver,' Oberon said distantly. ‘If I didn't know better, I would swear you didn't trust me to behave properly with Miss Vallois. But we both know that makes no sense. If I hope to earn the lady's affection, what would be the point in compromising her beforehand?'

A muscle twitched in Robert's jaw. ‘In my experience, there is often a great deal of room between intention and action.'

Oberon grunted. ‘I'm not sure I like your tone. I thought you would have been pleased with the way I've been courting Miss Vallois. I am still considering offering her marriage, you know, and I believe the Longworths would approve. Why would they turn down the chance of their young friend becoming a viscountess?'

Tell him what you know! Tell him what she is and put an end to this once and for all.

But Robert couldn't bring himself to say the words. Too many questions needed to be asked and too many people's lives would be affected by the answers. He
had to be sure of his facts before he said anything. Especially to a man like Oberon.

‘They will wish her to marry the man she loves,' Robert said. ‘Although Miss Vallois told me to my face that she has no desire to be wed.'

‘No desire be hanged! All young women wish to be married, Silver. She was obviously just being coy. And if it's love she wants, I'll make her love
me
,' Oberon said confidently. ‘I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it.'

‘I take it you've found no impediment to marrying her?' Robert forced himself to ask.

‘I've made no specific inquiries, but I've seen nothing in her conduct that leads me to believe she is anything but what she seems.'

The remark was disquieting. Oberon
never
took anything at face value. In his search to uncover the truth, he turned over every rock, uprooted every tree, until those secrets were ferreted out and exposed. His all-too-ready acceptance of Sophie led Robert to believe that none of that mattered any more. That Oberon didn't care for the consequences…and he found that even more disturbing. It suggested an attachment that wasn't healthy. An attachment that bordered on…obsession.

‘Well, as you said yourself, she could be an heiress or an actress,' Robert said casually. ‘But if your father requires that you marry a lady of title or fortune, you will have to look elsewhere. Miss Vallois has neither.'

‘It matters not since on the day she becomes my wife, she acquires both. My father, for all his lofty intentions, cannot stop me from marrying whom I please.'

‘And if his displeasure takes the form of a threat of disinheritance?'

Oberon's smile turned into a sneer. ‘As it happens, I have discovered a few things about my father's past he would rather not be made known. Some…youthful indiscretions, if you will, that would be embarrassing for all concerned.'

Robert stepped back as a young boy ran past. ‘I'm surprised he told you of them.'

‘Oh, you can be sure he did not. But letters kept for the wrong reasons often become an excellent source of information for those who know how to use them. I doubt my mother or the lady in question would appreciate the errors of their youth being made public after all these years.'

Robert stared at the man standing next to him as though he were a stranger. So, the son would blackmail the father with letters written years ago about an affair that would be damaging to all. Oberon knew his world well. A peer might be above the law, but he was not above being cut by good society. The fact Oberon would
use
that information to wilfully destroy his father's reputation and those of several other people, said a great deal about his character—or lack thereof.

‘Tell me, Silver, why are you suddenly so interested in my courtship of Miss Vallois?' Oberon asked. ‘Surely it cannot be that you have developed feelings for the lady yourself? You, who've sworn off matrimony and despise all things French.'

‘I do not despise all things French, and my reputation is such that I have nothing to
offer
a lady,' Robert said. ‘But I do not wish to see Miss Vallois hurt.'

‘Then you have nothing to worry about for I have no intention of hurting her. Now, why don't you send your sister home and join me for some serious gambling?
There's money to be made on greenheads who don't know a trump from a tart.'

‘Thank you, but I've no interest in fleecing innocent young men who haven't the brains to stay out of the hells.'

‘'Pon my word, sir, that almost sounded like a lecture, and I am not of a mind to take a lecture from you. Act the hero if you must, but don't forget—I
know
the games you've played. I was a willing participant in many of them.'

‘Be that as it may, the past is the past. Leave it where it belongs.'

‘Leave it where it belongs? Oh, that's ripe coming from you!' Oberon said as his carriage drew to a halt and the footman hurried to let down the stairs. ‘A man who still hates
all
Frenchmen because
one
shot his brother in the back. You're the one living in the past, Silverton. Not me.'

Oberon climbed up into the carriage and the moment the door closed behind him, the coachman whipped up the team. Robert stepped back as the stylish equipage passed, his thoughts as dark as the night that swallowed it up. So what if Oberon thought he'd lingered too long in the past? He was the
first
one to admit that Michael's death had prevented him from moving on. It was the reason he had delayed his return to society. The reason he hadn't looked for a wife until a little over a month ago. Anger had plunged him into an abyss of bitterness and despair from which he'd thought there was no escape.

But there
was
life after death, and eventually, his world had begun to right itself. He had emerged from the darkness to pick up where he'd left off, resuming
his place in society. Doing the rounds of the civilised gentleman. And if some of the shadows remained, they were no longer a source of despair. He was able to work around them.

And then Miss Sophie Vallois had arrived. Sophie, with her quicksilver smile and her sparkling blue eyes. She had marched into his world and splashed colour on to a drab grey canvas. She had challenged and provoked him. Stimulated and disobeyed him. And she had made him laugh at the idea of a lady wanting to float down the Amazon in a boat. No wonder Jane was her slave. Even old Lady White couldn't get enough of her. She truly was a breath of fresh air.

And if he continued on his present course, he would lose her. It was as simple as that. Oberon intended to do everything in his power to make her see him as an ideal husband, and the only person who stood in his way…was Robert. Because he alone held the ace. Sophie had handed it to him in the theatre tonight. All he had to do now was to decide if, when and how to play it.

T
he sky was grey and overcast when Sophie and her maid set out for Oxford Street the next morning. Not the best time to venture out perhaps, but with Lavinia's birthday the following day, Sophie had no time to waste. She had to pick out a gift today.

Fortunately, she knew what she wanted to buy. The last time she and Lavinia had been out together, they had paused to admire a selection of fans displayed in a shop window. Lavinia had pointed out one in particular and Sophie had agreed it was exquisite. Then, when an acquaintance had hailed them, the fans had been forgotten—until this morning, when Sophie had returned to the shop to buy it.

Now, with the gift tucked safely in its case, she set out for her next destination—only to be forced into the doorway of a gentlemen's clothier when the clouds finally burst and the promised rains came pelting down.

‘Miss Vallois, what on earth are you doing out in such dreadful weather?'

Startled, Sophie turned to find herself face to face with Robert Silverton, who was just emerging from within. ‘Shopping, as it happens.' Goodness, did the man draw on some secret elixir that made him appear more handsome every time she saw him? ‘But I think we will have to cut it short. This rain doesn't look like it's going to let up any time soon.'

‘Then perhaps I could offer you a ride home?' He glanced apologetically at her maid. ‘Unfortunately, my carriage only has room for two.'

‘Don't you worry about me, sir,' Jeanette said. ‘A bit of rain won't hurt me. But I'd hate to see Miss Sophie get her fine clothes all spattered with mud. You go on. I'll make my own way home.'

‘Here, take a hackney.' He pulled out a coin and pressed it into the maid's palm. ‘My conscience will not allow me to see you walk home through a downpour like this.'

Jeanette blushed and bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, sir. I'll take those parcels, miss, and put them in your room without her ladyship seeing.'

‘Thank you, Jeanette.' Sophie gratefully handed them over, then dashed into the street and quickly climbed into the waiting carriage. ‘This is very good of you, Mr Silverton,' she said as they got underway. ‘We should both have been drenched had you not come along.'

‘I'm glad to be of assistance.'

‘How is Jane this morning?'

‘She was in good spirits when I left, though I was concerned about her last night. She is prone to chills, and when I saw how flushed her cheeks had become, I feared she might be coming down with something.'

Suspecting it had more to do with her reaction to
Antoine than it did to an illness, Sophie nevertheless said, ‘I could mention it to Antoine. He is not an apothecary, but perhaps he could suggest a tonic.'

‘Thank you, but Jane has no need of a doctor, especially a—'

He clamped down hard on the words, but not soon enough to prevent Sophie from sliding a startled glance his way. What had he been about to say? That he didn't want Antoine involved because he was still learning his profession? That he was not experienced enough to treat his sister? ‘If you are concerned about Antoine's skills, I can assure you—'

‘This has nothing to do with ability,' Robert assured her. ‘I watched your brother in action. I know how talented he is.'

‘Then why did you not finish what you were about to say?'

She waited a long time for his answer. Finally, he said, ‘Because to do so would be to reveal something about my past I have no wish to talk about. Or to explain.'

He looked at her then, and Sophie caught a glimpse of a shadow that dwelt in his soul. Of an old wound slowly healing. But what had that to do with his reluctance to accept help from Antoine? Her brother was no more a part of Robert's past than she was. Until a week ago, they'd all been strangers to one another. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that the root of Robert's animosity lay buried in that past.

Had it something to do with the fact that Antoine was not well born? Sophie hadn't meant to divulge that particular piece of information, but she had been so flustered by her sudden awareness of Robert that the
words had inadvertently slipped out. And once they had, there was nothing she could do to take them back. But Robert hadn't learned that truth until last night, and his reluctance to shake Antoine's hand had been evident from the first, when all he'd known about him was that he was French and that— Sophie blanched.
Mère de Dieu,
surely that wasn't the problem? Robert didn't want Antoine to help his sister…because he was French?

Non, c'était impossible!
The war was over. Napoleon had been banished. There was absolutely no reason for Robert to harbour feelings of resentment simply because he and Antoine had been born on opposites of the Channel!

And yet, how else did she explain the tension she felt every time the two men were together? A tension that
had
been there the first time they'd met. She'd never forgotten Robert's hesitation when it came to shaking Antoine's hand. And while he might be willing to compliment her brother's skills when it concerned patching up a gunshot wound, she couldn't forget that he had been brusque, almost to the point of rudeness, when he'd spoken to Antoine outside Nicholas and Lavinia's house that morning…

‘You've gone very quiet, Miss Vallois,' Robert observed. ‘Have I said something to offend you?'

How did she answer that? If what she suspected was true, he most definitely
had
offended her. But if she was mistaken…

‘Do you
like
my brother, Mr Silverton?' she said, knowing the question had to be asked.

She watched his expression change, saw the shutter come down. ‘I really don't know him.'

‘But you went to his aid the night a man was shot. And you have been in his company on at least two other occasions. Surely that is time enough to know whether you like a man or not.'

‘On the contrary, it is barely enough time to form even a fleeting impression.'

Sophie quickly turned away, struggling for the right words; not sure what the right words were any more. ‘That day you came to take me driving…when you spoke to Antoine. He offered Jane a compliment and you all but
demanded
that he speak English to her.'

‘Of course, because we are in England,' Robert said quietly. ‘If we were in France, I would have expected him to speak French, as I would myself.'

To anyone else it might have seemed like a reasonable excuse, but Sophie wasn't fooled. Robert had refused Antoine's help because he was French.

How did she respond to something like that? What was she supposed to say? To find out that a man, of whom she'd thought so highly, should be prejudiced in such a way came as a huge disappointment. While she could understand one man hating another given sufficient cause, to despise an entire nationality over a matter that was clearly restricted to him alone, demonstrated a narrowness of mind of which she could not approve.

‘I am surprised at your willingness to be seen with me,' she said quietly, ‘given that your dislike of the French is so all encompassing.'

He shot her a dark look. ‘I said nothing about disliking the French.'

‘You didn't have to. It is the
only
reason you could have for saying what you did.' She turned to face him. ‘Why else would you not allow Antoine to offer even the
slightest assistance to your sister, even after admitting that he is very good at what he does?'

Robert's jaw tensed, but he returned his attention to the road. ‘I would prefer we speak no more about this.'

‘But I
must
speak of it! You resent my brother because he is French, yet you are unwilling to tell me why.'

‘And
you
seem unwilling to accept that certain matters
are
private and not open to discussion with those not personally involved.'

‘Not personally involved? You are speaking of my
brother
, Mr Silverton! That
makes
it personal!'

Sophie hadn't realised they were home until Robert drew the carriage to a halt in front of Eaton Place. But she refused to wait for him to help her alight. She pushed open the door and started to get out.

‘Miss Vallois, let me—'

‘I will accept nothing from you, sir!' Sophie said as she climbed down. ‘I would not wish to give offence by
forcing
you to take the hand of a Frenchwoman!'

Even through the rain, she saw him flush. ‘Don't be ridiculous!'

‘I am not the one being ridiculous!' Sophie said, fully aware that she was. For the first time in years, her temper was getting the better of her—and the stupid reasons why made her even more angry. ‘I am not the one who has condemned an entire nation for reasons of which you will not speak.'

‘I told you. The matter is personal and extremely painful.'

‘Very well. Then let our acquaintance be at an end so you will not be forced to think of it every time you look at me! Good day, Mr Silverton.'

She was halfway to the front door when his words stopped her in her tracks. ‘My brother was murdered. By a Frenchman. They found him in a deserted barn, ten miles outside Paris.'

The words, torn from his throat, caused Sophie to turn around, the sudden pounding of her heart deafening in her ears. ‘How do you know…he was murdered?'

‘He'd been bound hand and foot. Someone had put a sack over his head, and his hands were bloodied, as though he'd been fighting. He'd been shot once, in the back of the head. At close range. I don't think I need tell you the kind of damage a bullet fired that close to a person's body can do.'

Sophie pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to shut out the horrific images.
‘Mère de Dieu!'

‘He went to France to fight for England, Miss Vallois. If necessary, to die a soldier's death. Not to be butchered by a man who hadn't the courage to face him. Only a coward shoots his enemy in the back,' Robert said bitterly.

From somewhere deep within, she found the courage to whisper, ‘How do you know…it was a Frenchman?'

‘Because they found a note stuffed in Michael's pocket. A note, covered in his blood, and hailing Napoleon Bonaparte as the future Emperor of England. No Englishman would write something like that, or shoot a compatriot in the back. I cannot forgive that of your countrymen. God knows I've tried. I'm sorry if that offends you, but you asked for the truth.'

Yes, she had. And as she stood looking back at him, mindless of the rain, Sophie was totally at a loss to find the words that would make sense of such a tragedy. What did you say to a man from whom so much had
been taken, and in such a brutal fashion? What could she say that would exonerate her countryman? And why had she not been able to accept that, whatever Robert's reasons for despising the French, they were deeply personal and not meant to be shared?

Drawing his own conclusion from her silence, Robert flicked the whip and the horses set off, the carriage disappearing into the dull, grey morning.

Sophie didn't move. She stood where he'd left her, rain streaming down her face, the wind tugging at her cloak. She should have let him keep his secrets. She had no right to demand answers to questions that were none of her business. And she had been wrong to lash out at him simply because he refused to satisfy her curiosity. He was right. She had intruded where she didn't belong. And only time would tell if he would ever forgive her for that.

 

It came as no surprise that Robert made no attempt to contact her over the next few days. Why
would
he, given the nature of what had passed between them? Bitter words, spoken in anger, were never easily forgotten, and the petty accusations she had flung at him now seemed exactly that.

How ironic that
both
of them should have been so ill served by her countrymen. Robert's brother had been brutally murdered by a Frenchman, and
she
was staying at the house of a man who had likewise been shot and left for dead by one. Perhaps the French as a whole were a hot-blooded mob who preferred to make peace with swords and gunfire than with cool heads and clear thinking. Only look at the bloodiness of the Revolu
tion. How many innocent people had been put to death during that dreadful time?

Even she and Antoine had not escaped their ire. They had been forced to leave their home when the sentiments of their neighbours had turned against them. When the man she was to have married had betrayed her.

It still hurt to think about that painful time. In her youthful naïveté, Sophie had believed herself in love with Gismond D'Orione. Their parents had agreed that when the time came, they would be married, and there had never been anyone else in her life but Gismond. She had grown up with him. Gone for walks with him. Experienced her first kiss with him. And because she'd loved him, she hadn't thought twice about telling him about Nicholas.

But Gismond had been afraid. He'd told his father about Sophie finding a wounded Englishman in the road, and about Antoine saving his life, and then his father had told others until eventually, the entire village knew. And when their father had found out, she and Antoine had had no choice but to leave. And so they had, stealing away in the middle of the night without telling anyone of their plans. Antoine had said it was better that way. Safer. They had packed a few clothes, taken some bread and cheese and disappeared into the darkness.

Sophie had never heard from Gismond D'Orione
or
her father again.

It did not make for pleasant memories and when the butler appeared to say that Mr Oberon had called, she was almost glad of the diversion. Even Lavinia seemed more kindly disposed towards him than usual.
‘Mr Oberon, how nice of you to call,' she said, putting aside her magazine.