The Sheik's Son Read online

  Sebastian did nothing to soothe Sophie’s jealousy and calm her. It was best they remained apart, for both their sakes.

  Chapter 15

  Sophie had spent several evenings at home with her family and Marc. He was a quiet man who was educated and subdued.

  He was still handsome, with red hair graying at the temples, and seemed quite taken with Sophie. But he was also still in mourning. He mentioned his wife in each conversation and was quick to point out what she had liked and disliked about a certain meal, music or any subject matter that came about. Sophie did not think he was ready to remarry and Jean Pierre had to agree.

  Her grandmother found a young man in his early 30s who was the grandson of a dear friend of hers. He was handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and blond hair. His name was Luc and he was wealthy and well regarded. Eugenie was ecstatic that her granddaughter wished to marry and even happier to see her good friend’s son be considered.

  Luc was dashing and charming and had many female admirers. He was quite the womanizer but had received pressure from his family to marry. He didn’t want to marry, but had been introduced to Sophie at a concert and had found her exceedingly lovely. He could well imagine bedding the beauty several times to breed her and then take up with his favorite mistress again.

  He could never picture himself with one woman but knew he could play the part for awhile. He was solicitous and polite to Sophie’s family and complimented her on her clothes and hair. It was an accepted practice that men of a certain class kept mistresses and only bedded their wives for heirs. He did not think Sophie would mind and was not at all concerned that it would be a problem.

  Meanwhile, Sophie was beginning to understand the true state of France, and as a result, was being pulled into a dark world that she was barely able to comprehend. Since her time spent at the chateau she had begun to educate herself about the situation in France and was becoming more knowledgeable on the subject.

  The first thing she had discovered was that she lived a truly privileged life that was very different from the majority of the French people. The majority lived in poverty, as Madame Necker had mentioned in one conversation.

  She also discovered that since the 1750s, many had believed that the constitution of France was no longer working. France was based upon an absolute monarchy. As the enlightened thinking came to a head, so did the view that the monarchy was no longer functioning. The new bourgeoisie class sought a voice and new words began appearing, such as “public opinion,” “nation,” and “citizen.”

  Sophie’s heart beat faster. The more she educated herself, the more she agreed with the bourgeoisie’s thinking.

  In 1771, the Parlement of Paris had refused to cooperate with the nation’s chancellor, René Nicolas Charles Augustin de Maupeou. He had tried to exile Parlement and create a replacement. But the chancellor never gained national support for his changes and the new King Louis XVI had responded by reversing all the changes. The king had shown exactly what everyone feared—that Parlement was weak and bowed down to the king’s wishes.

  Madame Necker had also been correct when she spoke of France’s support of the American War of Independence. The equivalent of the state’s entire income for a year had been spent to support the war effort.

  Sophie brushed her hair back away from her face to avoid the ink that seemed to stain everything. Madame had been right. Sophie had not doubted her friend, but she had not thought it to be so serious. She felt sick when she read in other pamphlets tales of starving children and about the extravagances of the queen’s wardrobe, the court and the general lavish wastefulness at Versailles. She closed her eyes. She wanted to write a pamphlet. She wanted to add her voice to those of her fellow writers.

  She decided she would not publically chastise the monarchy but merely point out the discrepancy and the need for equality. She would move from equality between the sexes to equality for all people. Equality must exist for everyone. The large lower class could not exist to solely support the upper classes and their excessive way of life. It was not correct.

  She pondered how to phrase it. Sophie wished she could speak to Madame Necker about what she was learning but she had gone to England for a month. It was vexing. Her dearest friend, Lizette, was not interested in such affairs and her father would not want his daughter delving into such subjects.

  She would write a rough draft of her thoughts and read it several times before she submitted it to Monsieur Blanche. She didn’t even know if he would publish it. If both Madame Necker and Sebastian were to be believed, this new pamphlet would be too revolutionary and perhaps even the printer would not want to print it. She would write and see what ideas formed on the page. Once she was certain of the contents, she would send it to the printer.

  ***

  Etienne had entered a sort of heaven and hell on earth. He had become increasingly tantalized and tortured by his good friend’s sister, but it was of his own doing. He tried to keep his distance but he was also spending a great amount of time thinking of her and wanting her.

  Since the chateau they had not been together, but he wanted to be with her. He ached to be with her. That Leila felt the same way was more than obvious, but there was no chance of anything happening. If they went out to a concert or ball, she was always accompanied by her brother. If she went out shopping or on an errand, she was with her maid. They were never alone. Etienne was both relieved and troubled. He wanted to approach Sebastian, but what could he say? That he wanted to marry her? That he wanted her as his mistress? It was all too complicated.

  ***

  Sebastian had spent much of the day with Dorset. They reviewed papers and discussed several matters, but Sebastian was only half listening. Although being the ambassador was a prestigious position, Dorset was little more than a representative of his sovereign. It was the reason Dorset had become obsessed with the cricket game and women. He had too much time on his hands. They all did.

  The evening before, he had bedded Juliette and he had been unnecessarily rough and quick. He had not been rough in the sense of hurting her, but there had been no affection, just lust.

  She seemed to understand and said nothing. She had not risen to the rank of Paris brothel madam by stupidity. Juliette was a wise woman who knew when to speak and when to hold her tongue. She also kept an eye on Sebastian as she poured two glasses of wine and handed one to him. She waited for him to speak first. If he did, she would offer her advice.

  “I have met someone,” he started cautiously.

  “Yes?” she asked in a tone that bade him to continue.

  “I’m not sure what I feel for her.”

  “I see,” she said in a quiet tone. She had never expected anything between them to grow, but a slight twinge of jealousy was beneath the surface.

  “Is this insensitive?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to be,” he told her honestly.

  “No, Bash. Not at all.” She shook her head. “I’ve known you for several years and understand our relationship. That was very clear.”

  He nodded.

  “But I’m not sure what you want from me. Am I to be your confessor?” She smiled.

  “No. There is nothing to confess.”

  “Ah. A virgin. Much like the mythical unicorn,” she teased him.

  He smiled. “Yes. The mythical virgin. And this one has a brain as well.”

  Juliette settled back into the settee as Sebastian reclined on the bed. “You are of the right age. If she is suitable to your family, have you thought of marriage?”

  Sebastian looked deep into the dark red wine and contemplated the question. Marriage. It was a question he had asked himself again and again. What would his father think? He had often assumed that his father would want him to marry an Arab girl. They had never discussed it, but he had thought it to be so.

  He knew his mother would want him to be happy and find love. He felt that whatever background the young woman was from, his English mother would not mind. Sophie had everything to be desir
ed in a young bride. She was healthy, young, lovely, intelligent and from a good family. There was an undeniable spark between them, which would only help what would naturally follow: children.

  “Yes, Juliette. Marriage has been a question I have asked myself.”

  “Well, then the next step would be to approach your family. This, of course, assumes that the young woman in question feels as you do."

  Sebastian wondered. She had said that she was not mistress material and he agreed. But they had never discussed marriage. Would the auburn-haired intellectual marry him?

  ***

  Sophie rubbed her eyes and looked over the sheets of paper covered with writing that she had spent much of night composing. Her fingers were stained with ink and her quill pen needed sharpening. She was also running low on ink, she noticed.

  She stretched her arms above her head and watched as the carriages moved through the street and pedestrians strolled by. She took the sheets to the window seat and read them again. The words were not revolutionary, she decided. She wrote about everyone coming together for a single, united France. She wrote that everyone should have a purpose, a sense and every man and woman should be valued. She spoke about the monarch’s flagrant misuse of funds and the bloated spending at Versailles. There was no revolution in these words, only common sense.

  Later in the afternoon, before her father returned, she handed the sheets of paper to Marie, who nodded in understanding.

  ***

  When Marie returned from the printer she had no news to give her young mistress. Monsieur Blanche had been very busy and asked that she leave the work. Marie had complied. After that Sophie forgot completely about the possible new pamphlet as she helped her grandmother plan the ball in her honor.

  ***

  Eugenie was the perfect person to plan an event as her attention to detail was superb and she had lavish taste. Her son was more than willing to pay the costs of the ball as the thought of his daughter married was a new and thrilling idea. He wanted her settled and happy, and the thought of grandchildren made him smile. Sophie had been a sweet-natured baby and he had no doubt that she would be a loving mother.

  Their home in Paris was equipped to handle a luxurious ball, though they would need additional kitchen staff and footmen to help the day of the event. At the back of the Gauvreau home was a large ballroom with a balcony that led out to their intimate garden. It would be decorated with candles and lanterns and, as her grandmother was particularly fond of flowers, any flat surface would hold a bouquet.

  She knew her granddaughter and son liked music so she made certain that the orchestra was to be given the sheet music for several of their favorite songs. The ballroom floor was polished to a shine to make certain that dancing would be a pleasure.

  The choicest cuts of various meats were to be served, and Eugenie knew that her longtime cook would not disappoint. The cook was also a master baker and many of their dinners included fruit tarts, jellies and cakes. Wine and champagne would be in abundance and coffee and tea would be served if desired. It was to be a lovely event to honor her granddaughter.

  ***

  Sophie stood on the small pedestal as the dressmaker and her assistant poked and prodded her like a straw doll. Her grandmother looked at Sophie quietly and would only make a noise if she was very unhappy or very pleased.

  “Bon,” she had said several times in acceptance of the gown’s cut and color.

  “Mademoiselle?” asked the Parisian seamstress, known far and wide for her frocks.

  “I’m sorry. What was the question, Madame Darbonne?”

  Eugenie looked over at her granddaughter and admonished her. “Sophie! You are not Madame Darbonne’s only customer today. You are miles away. Pay attention.”

  Sophie was thinking of her pamphlet and what had become of it. But she shook her head and replied, “I’m sorry, madame.”

  The seamstress, an older woman, was used to cranky middle-aged women, skittish young brides and overbearing elderly women. The exchange between the grandmother and granddaughter was nothing new.

  “My dear, never mind. Do you like the fabric? We can change it.”

  Sophie drew a hand across the cream-colored silk with intricate brown embroidery at the scooped neckline, elbow-length sleeves and along the hem. It was a beautiful dress.

  “Fit for the queen herself,” murmured Sophie, smiling.

  “Mais non,” the seamstress said. “I don’t charge nearly enough for our queen.”

  “You charge enough,” Eugenie added drily.

  “Yes, Madame Gauvreau, I do. But I sew and design quality gowns,” insisted the seamstress.

  “Your gowns are the finest,” Eugenie admitted.

  Madame Darbonne and her assistant used pins to bring in the waist and add a touch here and there to the gown, and then asked Sophie to step out of it.

  “Monsieur Gauvreau is ever generous,” the seamstress replied.

  “Yes.” Eugenie beamed. Her son was her pride. “He has always been so. He has always given Sophie whatever she asked, though as you see, Sophie is not spoiled.”

  “It is a shame he never remarried.”

  Sophie and the young assistant had moved behind a screen to allow her to dress in privacy.

  “Yes. I often wondered why he did not. I know he loved Danielle, but it has been more than twenty years. Such a long time,” Eugenie pondered.

  “Perhaps once mademoiselle marries, he will follow suit,” Madame Darbonne suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Eugenie admitted.

  ***

  “That is strange, is it not, Grand-mère? That father never remarried,” Sophie asked as they took the carriage home.

  “Not really. He was very much in love with your mother. When she died, a part of him died as well. Your father is constancy itself. It is rare in a man.”

  “I would not wish him to be alone the rest of his life,” Sophie said quietly.

  “Nor I.” Eugenie touched her granddaughter’s hands, which were lying in her lap.

  ***

  The duke had received an invitation to Sophie’s ball and gladly accepted. She did not want to appear rude so she invited Sebastian and his friend Etienne. She also invited his sister Leila in an effort to include the young woman, who had few friends in Paris.

  She invited Madame Necker and her husband, Germaine, and Messieurs Marmontel, La Harpe and Comte de Buffon. She knew her grandmother and father would invite many more people but she was happy to include her own friends and acquaintances. Lizette and her father were also included in Sophie’s list of invitees.

  It was a week before the ball when she realized her pamphlet had been published, and she learned of it from a most unusual source.

  Her grandmother had been out calling upon her friends and had returned with a crumpled-up piece of paper.

  “What is that?” Sophie asked as she sat in the salon window seat reading.

  “Rubbish. Absolute rubbish.” Eugenie crushed the paper even more and left it on the desktop.

  Sophie smiled and heard her grandmother mount the stairs to her room. Sophie left her book overturned and went to the desk. She smoothed the paper out and read the words “Equality for All.”

  She went on to read the words she almost knew by heart and felt her own thump inside her chest. Her words were upon the printed page but this time she had taken the next step. She was writing about equality for all, the lavish spending of the court and the lower classes starving while the greedy king dined on pheasant.

  “Rubbish.” Her grandmother had rejoined her and nodded as Sophie excused herself.

  My god, she thought. What had she done? She noticed her hands were shaking and snatched up her book to calm herself.

  ***

  Dorset watched as Sebastian opened one letter after another and moved to look out over the green park across the street from their office.

  “I think these French are absolutely insane,” Dorset muttered.

  Sebastian hid a smile
. Though he was not overly fond of the French, he found their music, food and women to be extremely enjoyable.

  “What now?”

  “You think these French would be open to ideas and beliefs, yet I can tell you that is not the case.” Dorset shook his head.

  “What ideas and beliefs?” he asked as he sliced open another letter.

  “The ideas of freedom and equality.”

  Sebastian smiled. “I didn’t realize you supported the Americans. Isn’t that treasonous?”

  “Don’t be absurd. The American upstarts were bound to rebel. Who can control a people an ocean away?” Dorset said sternly.

  Sebastian couldn’t argue with that.

  “No, this is different. These French want equality. They want the excess of their king to cease and a true ruling government,” Dorset said.

  “Who has said this?” Sebastian said quietly.

  “Some pamphlet I’ve just read being passed around.”

  “A pamphlet?”

  “Yes. And now I’ve heard some idiot inspector wants the writer found and interrogated,” he said.

  “Do you have the pamphlet?” Sebastian asked.

  “No, but everyone in Paris is reading it. What a strange country,” he snorted, still gazing out the window.

  Sebastian shook his head. She wouldn’t have done it. Surely she would not have gone ahead and written about what he had expressly called revolutionary.

  Sebastian thought for several long minutes, staring at the duke’s back, and closed his eyes. Of course she would have. He knew her enough to realize that of course she would have educated herself, become intrigued with the new information and written about it. Damn her.

  ***

  The Paris police force was formed in 1667 and was overseen by a lieutenant general of police. The current lieutenant was Louis Thiroux de Crosne, who had been in the position since 1785. Underneath the lieutenant were various police commissioners, and each commissioner was assigned police inspectors. Paris was divided into numerous districts and each commissioner was in charge of one.

  Inspector Vennard was assigned to the district under Commissioner Tondreau. When he had received his latest assignment, he had not expected it nor wanted it. A treasonous pamphlet was circulating Paris and he was tasked with finding the writer. He had not been particularly pleased; the assignment seemed boring, and at best, chasing some overzealous intellectual would not win him any accolades.