The Sheik's Son (3 page)

“Of course not. But she will marry and have children, and I do not understand what good her many languages and philosophy will do her then.”

“She will be an excellent mother and raise intelligent children.” Jean Pierre knew better than to engage with his mother. Though he had not been instrumental in the day-to-day education of his daughter, she had a quick mind and he had allowed it to grow. As she was now an adult, there was no going back. “Let’s leave at 7. Inform Sophie and have the carriage readied.”

Eugenie nodded but inwardly was vexed at her son. She did not agree with him. Though Sophie was an educated woman, she felt he need not encourage her. If her granddaughter had any true sense at all, she would accept Alphonse and marry, she thought. She climbed the stairs to tell Sophie, who—as she expected—was excited at the prospect.

Sophie pulled on her cotton shift, a simple outer garment that she also used for sleep. She rolled on her silk stockings and placed the two garters on each thigh to hold the stockings in place. She wore a gown in the popular polonaise-style.

The cream-colored silk gown had a scooped neckline and a fitted bodice with delicate lace along the elbow-length sleeves and neckline. Her tight corset ensured a defined waist while the full skirt was draped in front and then pulled back to reveal a delicately decorated petticoat with hand-embroidered floral designs. It was one of her favorite gowns. She decided to wear her ivory-colored silk shoes with the square heel.

She sat before her vanity table to prepare her toilette. She kept her face pale but applied rouge to her cheeks and left her eyes bare. She darkened her eyebrows and used a red pomade on her lips. She pinned her long hair back but kept one long curl to coil down her back.

As a French woman, Sophie enjoyed fashion and looking her best, but she was glad she had not lived during the time when fashion was excessive, with Queen Marie Antoinette’s extravagant wigs and gowns.

As time had passed, Marie Antoinette had become increasingly unpopular with the French people and by 1785, the style of dress was more subdued, except at court. After giving birth to three children, the queen began to dress in a simpler fashion and had abandoned her more flamboyant wigs.

***

Sophie joined her father and grandmother downstairs. Her father was elegantly attired in black breeches, a white waistcoat and hose, and a chocolate-colored coat over the waistcoat. His hair was powdered and clubbed.

Her grandmother was dressed in the same style as she, but Eugenie’s gown was a striking vibrant lapis blue with a revealed petticoat of white. She had a wig of the older style, a little large and powdered blue-grey.

They set off in the carriage and made the short journey to the salon. The French finance minister, Jacques Necker—a friend of Jean Pierre—was their host.

As the trio made their way into the salon, Jacques’ wife, Suzanne Curchod—Madame Necker—took Sophie under her wing while Eugenie was amazed when she spotted an old friend of hers and joined her.

Madame Necker hosted her own salon, where Parisian society gathered to discuss the arts and literature, as well as to gossip and flirt. She was well educated and fostered a love of the intellect and those who inspired it.

“My dear Sophie,” Madame Necker said with a smile as she clasped the younger woman around the shoulders and moved her to the great fireplace, where two men were deep in conversation.

“Madame Necker,” Sophie returned graciously.

“Please call me Suzanne, Sophie,” she asked gently.

“Suzanne.” Sophie accepted the informal name.

She knew of the older woman and was thrilled that her father had invited her come to the salon. She was inside the intellectual world of a Paris salon and it was thrilling.

Madame Necker introduced Sophie to the two gentlemen who sat before the grand fireplace: historian and writer Jean-François Marmontel, and playwright, writer and critic Jean-François de La Harpe.

“
Messieurs
,” she said softly but with some slight force.

They both nodded to her.

“I very much enjoyed
Didon
, Monsieur Marmontel. My father took me to see it at the Paris Opera,” Sophie said to the older gentleman.

Marmontel smiled at the beautiful young woman and the mention of his musical tragedy, in which he had supplied the words to Niccolo Piccinni’s music.

“Thank you, my dear,” Marmontel said, warming to Sophie. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Madame Necker smiled as she saw the two men take a sudden interest in Sophie. They would soon see her intelligence and worth, as she had done. Though Madame Necker did not realize it, Jean Pierre had spoken to her husband on several occasions about his daughter. She had not attended a salon gathering before, but her father was extremely proud of her and wanted her to partake of whatever Paris society had to offer.

Madame Necker moved to sit across from the two gentlemen and Sophie sat beside her as the hostess smoothed the lime green silk of her skirt and glanced at the men. Sophie noticed that the woman was dressed exquisitely, with her hair delicately powdered and a small amount of rouge on her cheeks and her lips. She exuded a sophisticated aura of refinement.

“What were you discussing before we interrupted?” Suzanne asked them politely.

La Harpe shrugged his shoulders and spoke lightly. “We were speaking of a new pamphlet circulating. That is all.”

Madame Necker brightened up at once. “Oh, yes? A new pamphlet? What is the subject?”

Pamphlets were produced in great quantity across France and printing establishments were many in Paris. The pamphlets ranged in topic from finance to public administration to essays on political concerns; many were anonymous, libelous and sometimes pornographic.

A new pamphlet circulating the streets was typical fodder for the salons, and Madame Necker was curious about its content.

“It appears that we have another bluestocking in our midst,” Marmontel replied as he sipped his favorite red wine.

“Oh yes? How do you know it is a bluestocking? Is she named on the pamphlet?” Suzanne asked.

Marmontel shook his head and turned his head slightly as several people entered the salon. He watched Madame Necker’s adult daughter Germaine enter with several men, one whom he recognized as the Duke of Dorset and the English ambassador to France. Several other younger men, not known to him, had joined them as well.

Germaine was educated and had attended many of her mother’s salon assemblies as a child. She was influenced by the intellectuals who frequented the meetings and had become a writer herself. Marmontel watched Madame Necker and Germaine exchange a smile and returned to the conversation.

“I think from the tone of the pamphlet it is quite obvious it is written by a woman, and the author’s name itself is a joke,” he said.

La Harpe, who had been quiet until now, nodded to his friend and smiled. “Indeed.”

“I’m intrigued, my friend,” Madame Necker replied. “Pray tell us the name and the pamphlet’s contents.”

Sophie was only half listening to the conversation as she surveyed the salon and its people. Men and women were in small groups throughout the large salon room and everyone was dressed in their finest silks and satins.

Some women, including her grandmother, did not seem at all interested in their surroundings and even seemed to snub the salon. Others, like her father, were engrossed in conversation; a small group of men was speaking heatedly about some topic unknown to her.

“It was of women’s rights,” Marmontel began.

“Yes?” Madame Necker said excitedly.

A new pamphlet always generated a certain amount of buzz in the Paris salons.

“It discussed women and their only expectations—to give birth and marry,” he finished.

“I trust not in that order,” La Harpe said drily.

Madame Necker ignored him. “How exciting!”

“She also touched on the subject of education and women,” La Harpe supplied.

Madame Necker smiled brightly. This was a subject dear to her heart as she had ensured her own daughter Germaine was educated. At that moment, Germaine herself joined their foursome after overhearing much of their discussion.

“Are you speaking of the new pamphlet by Jean Inconnu?” Germaine asked.

Sophie was jerked out of her reverie of people-watching as the younger woman joined them. ”What?”

Marmontel smiled at the mention of the author’s name. “Exactly, Mademoiselle Germaine. Need I say more, Madame Necker? Jean Inconnu? Jean
Unknown
? Come now.”

Madame Necker had to admit that a pamphlet written about women’s rights and education and signed “Jean Unknown” did not sound like a man. It sounded like a woman who wanted to write and do so anonymously.

Sophie could feel her heart beat faster as she began to listen to the small group speak. Earlier, she had heard vaguely the words “pamphlet” and “women’s rights” but had not paid that much attention.

She had been focused on a couple at the far end of the room who were engaged in mild flirting. The woman was clad in a pale blue gown with a blue powdered wig, while her hand rested familiarly on the man’s orange silk-clad shoulder. The man did not seem at all concerned about the attention and seemed to enjoy it.

Meanwhile, her father was seated with a group of men engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion, judging by their raised voices and hand gestures.

When she heard the name Jean Inconnu, there was no mistake. The group was discussing her very own pamphlet.

“I am pleased and I cannot wait to read it for myself,” Madame Necker added.

“I’m sure you’ll agree wholeheartedly with the pamphlet,
Mère
,” Germaine leaned down and kissed her mother on both cheeks.

“
Bonsoir, chere
,” she greeted her daughter.

Germaine joined the group even as Sophie felt her heartbeat race. She always knew that there was a chance Monsieur Blanche would publish her pamphlet. In truth, her writings were sparked after her grandmother had angered her and pushed her again and again with the idea of marriage. Finally, she had taken pen to paper to vent. Now she sat in an esteemed Paris salon as those around her discussed her very pamphlet. It was beyond exhilarating.

She was excited to hear more from these influential people and their thoughts on her words when another figure approached their group.

This man was dressed in a purple velvet coat, cream-colored waistcoat and purple satin breeches. His hair was lightly powdered and clubbed with a black satin ribbon. He had a high forehead, dark eyebrows and viewed the younger women with interest. He held in his hand a glass of champagne.

“I wanted to give my regards to our hostess,” the man said, eyeing Germaine and Sophie while nodding to the two men.

Marmontel cast a sly glance to his friend La Harpe and was the first to speak to the man. “Good evening, Dorset.”

Dorset spoke to him in turn and took Madame Necker’s hand and kissed the back of it.

“Monsieur Le Duc,” she murmured and then introduced him to her daughter, whom he knew, and they exchanged pleasantries.

“This is Sophie Gauvreau. She is new to our salon. Her father is Jean Pierre Gauvreau, a lawyer with the prestigious Ferme générale. Sophie, this is John Sackville, the Duke of Dorset,” Madame Necker said, introducing them.

“Mademoiselle Gauvreau,” Dorset eyed the auburn beauty with obvious interest and kissed the back of her hand, though he seemed to release it with some reluctance.

“
Monsieur
.” She pinkened at his familiar touch and glanced at her hostess and her daughter.

The two women were speaking again of the pamphlet. Though she wanted to join in, the Duke seated himself next to Sophie and steered the conversation away from the mysterious pamphlet and began asking her questions about herself.

Sophie was at first annoyed. She had been so excited to hear about her small, insignificant pamphlet from the lips of these well-known people. But the Duke was engaging and seemed intent of capturing her attention, so she allowed herself to be drawn in.

He mentioned the word “cricket” and Sophie frowned.
Cricket?
She wondered what he was talking about.

Madame Necker and Germaine smiled as the Duke began to speak of his only true love, the game of cricket.

“My dear, you must join me for our next game. In fact, I insist.” Dorset was taken with Sophie’s beauty and made it clear he would enjoy seeing more of her.

“Of course I would be delighted. I will need to ask my father,” she concluded.

Dorset waved his hand. “I will invite your father as well; that is no obstacle.”

Germaine joined in. “Do we also get an invitation?”

Dorset seemed in a particularly friendly mood. “Of course, Germaine. You and your delightful mother add style and beauty to any gathering.”

Germaine smiled at the compliment. “And that delicious secretary of yours? Will he be there?” she asked.

“Fairfax? I imagine so.” He nodded.

Germaine smiled at the thought of the sexy secretary. She had seen him at several of her mother’s salons and had always been giddy with anticipation. He was a handsome devil. “Please count me in.”

Dorset smiled. “Excellent. It will be a merry day indeed.”

The duke moved away to join another group and Sophie was saddened when the conversation steered away from her pamphlet.

Chapter 3

Sophie could hardly contain herself on the carriage ride home. Her father and grandmother relayed trivial things that they had seen and heard at the salon, but she could only temper her excitement that the words she had written on a piece of paper were now on the lips of Parisians. She could barely stifle her pleasure.

The next morning Marie handed her a note from Monsieur Blanche. He wrote to let her know that he had published her cousin’s pamphlet and that he had received a great response from it. He was very curious to know if her cousin had written anything else and if he could meet him in person to discuss additional pamphlets.

Sophie thought long and hard about her response. She wasn’t sure if Monsieur Blanche knew the true identity of her “cousin” or if he indeed wanted to discuss further writings. In any case, she planned her next step carefully.