“Sophie won’t like you making decisions behind her back.”
“Of course I’m not!” Eugenie replied, indignant.
“Mother,” he cautioned.
“I’m concerned for her. I met Alphonse by chance at a ball. They danced together and she introduced us. I remember him as a child. He hasn’t changed that much, still somber and quiet.”
Jean Pierre waited for her to continue.
“He was quite taken with her. He told me so. He said he had always admired her and that she had grown into a beauty,” she said, smiling.
“Yes. She looks very much like her mother.” Jean Pierre glanced at a small painting on his desk. Danielle had been only 18 at the time of their engagement, so full of life and promise.
“I would like you to talk to her. She will listen to you,” Eugenie said.
Jean Pierre would have liked to agree with his mother, but he did not. Sophie had a strong will and a mind of her own. She was intelligent and, had she been a man, she would have brought Paris to heel. As it was, he was concerned about her future and knew that time was not on her side. She should marry. He agreed with his mother, though he was reluctant to speak to Sophie, who would not like the fact that they were discussing her future without her.
Jean Pierre sighed. “I will speak to her, Mère,” he told his mother gently. “But Sophie does have her own mind and she knows it well.”
Eugenie stood and moved around the desk to lay a hand on her son’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said, kissing him on his cheek.
Eugenie knew she had achieved much, so she said no more. She smiled at her son; though his hair was graying at the temples, he was still attractive, with soft brown eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He had never remarried after Danielle’s death and she had often wondered why. She eyed the small painting on his desk and moved away again, leaving him alone in his library.
Danielle had been a sweet child eager to please her young husband and make a good wife. She had married at 18 years old and became pregnant right away. Jean Pierre had been delighted and thrilled at the prospect of a young wife and child. He had picked out several names, including naming the unborn babe after his father or grandfather. But after the baby girl had been born and Danielle had died after a night of agonizing pain, he had lost interest in everything.
His mother had joined his small household in Paris to raise the young baby girl. Jean Pierre had taken his young wife’s death very hard and had found solace in drink. A year passed before he regained his footing and it was only his profession as a lawyer with the prestigious Ferme générale that had given him some stability.
The Ferme générale collected duties on behalf of the king under contract and many in its employ became very wealthy in doing so. As a young lawyer, Jean Pierre had done extremely well for himself.
Though his work and those who collected taxes were not popular, imposing various taxes on land, salt, wine and tobacco, his lucrative position allowed him a comfortable life and his daughter and mother benefitted from it as well.
He had never remarried after Danielle’s death because he never wanted to. Danielle had been an angel, pure and innocent, and he had been very much in love for the brief time they had been joined in matrimony. Once she had died, a part of him died as well.
When his mother joined his household, he had truly felt a burden lifted from his shoulders. He loved his daughter as any father would, but he did not know how to raise a small infant and did not want to learn. He knew in his mother’s hands Sophie would be well loved, and so she was.
Sophie exhibited a quick mind and intelligence from an early age and Jean Pierre indulged her. He did not want to argue with his mother over these trivial details, but he also knew his mother was from another era. She did not understand that Sophie may yearn to be a wife and mother, as was natural, but she also yearned for more. In that respect, she was like her father.
He climbed the stairs to Sophie’s bedroom, which overlooked the Seine River. The comfortable home allowed him to entertain those he worked with, but it was also intimate enough for the family to enjoy their time alone. He engaged a cook, two maids, two footmen and a butler. When his mother held a formal dinner party, they would often bring help in for that evening.
Jean Pierre knocked softly on Sophie’s door and she called out permission to enter.
He saw his daughter bent over her desk, writing in a quick manner. Her handwritten words skimmed over the papers, and he closed the door behind him.
“Sophie.”
“Yes, Father, please—one moment.” She was in the middle of a great thought and took care to make sure the entirety of it was captured on the linen paper. Satisfied, she placed the quill pen down upon her desk and turned to her father.