The Sheik's Son(43)

Comte de Buffon was much impressed with the auburn-haired beauty who seemed to be a great new favorite of Madame Necker’s. Her father was a lawyer with the Ferme générale and she had been well educated.

“I missed the discussion on birth and marriage, I understand,” he remarked.

Marmontel and La Harpe eyed the comte before Marmontel spoke. “It was nothing.”

“A new pamphlet being circulated, comte. ‘Marry Carry and Bear.’” Madame Necker explained to the newcomer. “With your extensive work on natural history, we thought you would have enjoyed the discussion.”

Buffon accepted the cup and saucer of coffee and nodded. “Yes, I’ve read it.”

“What did you think of it?” Germaine asked.

He shrugged. “It seemed very straightforward to me.”

Madame Necker smiled. “Well, it would. But then, you aren’t the average man, comte.”

Buffon smiled. “Natural history is a subject dear to my heart. But to write a pamphlet on a woman marrying, carrying and bearing a child seems a tad redundant.”

“Redundant?” Sophie asked as Madame Necker eyed her with interest.

“Yes, my dear. This is nothing new. In fact, quite the opposite,” he said.

“I think you are missing the point, monsieur. The pamphlet was not merely discussing the anatomy of a woman but the fact that women are so much more than that,” Sophie said, defending the pamphlet.

“I dare say they are,” Buffon nodded.

“Women are thinking beings just as men and as such, deserve the same consideration.” Sophie became heated in her words.

Buffon looked to Madame Necker and smiled. “A protégé of yours?”

“Not at all. Mademoiselle Sophie accompanied her father to my salon one evening. She has been educated and knows her own mind,” Madame Necker replied.

“Indeed she does.” He eyed the beauty with interest.

“I saw the most hideous play last week in Paris. Did I mention it to you, Marmontel?” La Harpe turned to the other man.

Buffon watched Sophie’s face as Madame Necker whispered softly, “I think there is something much more than meets the eye with that one.”

Buffon was surprised at the words. “Yes? You think so?”

“Yes I do. But I don’t know exactly what yet.”

“You intrigue me.”

“But as I said, I’m not certain yet.”

***

“Checkmate,” said the duke to Leila as they sat in the corner of the room with the large chess game.

Leila played tolerably well though she was no match for him. He had enjoyed playing with her as her dress was cut low and she leaned over each time she moved a piece. But he had watched her make too many poor moves and thought it best to end the game.

Sebastian and Etienne had joined the group inside the large salon as their billiards game was at an end.

“Mademoiselle Sophie?” Dorset asked, gesturing to the game.

“Gladly,” she said in acceptance as she watched Sebastian move into the room. She refused to make small talk with him.

Dorset returned the pieces to their original places as she sat before him. “You look absolutely lovely, my dear. That color suits you very well,” he said, admiring her pink gown.

“Thank you, monsieur.” Sophie accepted the compliment.

Eugenie eyed the duke and Sophie at the chess table and deemed the situation acceptable. She returned to her embroidery and sherry.

Germaine settled next to Sebastian, who was trying not to watch Sophie and concentrate on the conversation around him.

Etienne watched Leila move away from the chess table and towards him.

“Leila,” he nodded to her. He would behave as any man would towards his best friend’s sister but nothing more. He vowed that her games were at an end.

“Etienne. I told my brother how kind you were in Paris taking me to the play and concert,” she said absently.

“I could do no less,” Etienne said as he looked at Leila and then to Sebastian.

“Of course, the maid was along as well,” she pouted.

“It is proper to have your chaperone,” Sebastian noted and Etienne nodded in agreement.

“I suppose.”

Madame Necker asked what the gentlemen were drinking and both requested a brandy.

Eugenie yawned delicately and was the first to retire. She kissed her granddaughter on the cheek and left. It was nearing midnight when the three intellectuals made their way upstairs.

Sophie won the first game and Dorset the second.

“You’re a skilled player, my dear.”

“My father enjoys chess and he taught me.”

“Well, he taught you very well. Too well,” Dorset exclaimed as his king was cornered and the game was at an end.