‘No, no I am not!’ Sophie interrupted furiously. ‘I am extremely dishonourable and dubious and there is absolutely nothing to be done about it– the pastor really must know the truth.’
‘Well,’ the pastor blustered, his eyes bulging, ‘in all my years, I have never heard such a confession spoken so glibly. For my part, I cannot imagine anythinglessheavenly than a marital union between a tap-hackled ne’er-do-well and common adventuress! I bid you goodnight.’
‘In truth, sir,’ Sophie called after him, ‘the relief is all ours!’
Then she turned back to face Sir Weston with a look of triumph, but the victory was short-lived for no sooner had the disapproving parson disappeared, than the yard filled with the sound of more horses and ostler calls. She swallowed, knowing the brightening morning would bring a flurry of visitors to the hotel, and with them the very distinct likelihood of real news.
‘Mon dieu!Who now?’ Madame Montmartre exclaimed, rushing to the window.
‘I could guess at a few,’ Aurelia said with a smirk.
A fresh wave of suspicion stirred with Sophie.
‘Did you tell someone you were following us?’ she demanded.
‘Oh no, well… not exactly,’ Aurelia replied, breaking a pastry apart. ‘Although I suppose Imayhave dashed off a letter to your brother, Thomas, before I left England, to let him know you were Lord Rotherby’s newcourtesan. Come to think of it, he wrote back most promptly saying he’d been informed otherwise, but that he was making all haste to Paris, and if Rotherby didn’tescort you down the aisle, he would take the greatest pleasure in persuading him to wed you at the tip of his own sword! La, what a thought! I’d giveallmy pin money to watch anyonetry to force Dominic to do anything he didn’t want. And, now I think of it, I may have left a message about yourexcursion to Chartres for the charming viscountess too. She’s newly arrived in Paris and most keen to see you, as I understand it, so really it could be any one of your delightful brood. How exciting!’ She popped a morsel of croissant in her mouth.
Sophie listened in disbelief, subtly aware that there was something new in her tone– a note of regret perhaps– yet what did it matter? She'd done everything she could to protect her family, all for Aurelia to bring them directly after her.
‘How could you?’ she accused shakily.
‘And now the two English ones will kill one another,’ Madame Montmartre pronounced in an awful voice.
‘That would certainly change my plans,’ Sir Weston said, just as a familiar voice filtered through the draughty window.
‘Excuse me, but is there an English miss here? It’s of the utmost importance I speak with her.’
‘Phoebe!’ Sophie whispered hoarsely, her head spinning.
Her sister sounded grave and alone, and suddenly the full horror of discovering whether she’d ruined Phoebe’s life, as well as her own, was more than she could bear. She cast a stricken look around the room before rushing to the door. She could already hear Phoebe at the front entrance, talking to the landlord, and a wave of homesickness threatened to topple her. She wanted nothing more than to run towards her sister, to throw her arms around her and bury her face in her warmth and protection.
Except Phoebe might not offer her warmth and protection ever again– and she would rather live her whole life apart than spend a second watching her beloved sister’s heart break.
Which left Rouen.
Her chest pounding, Sophie sprinted as though her life depended on it, through the corridor and steamy kitchen and out of the back door into the fresh spring air. Then she let herself out of a small yard, slipped down an alley and emerged onto a town road where, to her wretched relief, a public coach was boarding.
‘Rouen?’ she panted, just as the coach driver was closing up.
He frowned at her crumpled Versailles gown, before she proffered her gleaming crossbow fare, a question in her eyes.
‘Oui,’ he replied with a shrug, opening the door for her.
With a last big effort, Sophie climbed up and squeezed into a corner of the rickety contraption, beside an elderly farmer with a basket of goods.
‘Oignon?’ he offered kindly.
At which point, she thought only of Phoebe, and promptly burst into tears.
ChapterTwenty-Three
ONE CONSUMMATE ACTRESS
Several pot-holes later
Sophie very swiftly realised that the hideously overgrown road to Rouen was only partly responsible for her misery. That the greater part of her despondency stemmed from the realisation that, while leaving her sister behind was one of the hardest things she had ever done, facing her would have been even worse.
‘Actrice?’ a small boy with bright copper hair enquired.
