Before the Storm by Melanie Clegg Page A

didn’t quite meet her dark eyes. ‘Also, don’t forget that I am saving her from ruin. Imagine if you will, the dire consequences to Miss Wrotham had I been at liberty to walk away from her.’
    Sidonie gave a hollow laugh. ‘How very noble of you, Monsieur le Comte,’ she said. ‘How heroic.’
    ‘Come now, don’t be like that,’ he implored. ‘I am doing the best that I can, mademoiselle. I can’t promise that I will be the perfect husband that she craves, but I have offered her my protection and intend to always treat her with respect.’
    Sidonie gave him a long, measuring look then turned her face away. ‘All of this is of no consequence at all,’ she said after a moment’s pause as she gathered her disordered thoughts. ‘Your dealings with Miss Wrotham are none of my business and I did not ask to meet you in order to discuss your personal affairs.’
    ‘So why did you ask to meet me then?’ They had come to stand at a wall that overlooked Buckingham House, the stately chief residence of Queen Charlotte, a square rather squat pale stone building with a symmetrical facade lined with gleaming rows of tall windows.  
    As they watched, the great iron gates swung open and a royal carriage lumbered out to be instantly mobbed by waving, cheering people. ‘Astonishing how you all adore your royal family so much,’ Jules murmured as they watched this display. ‘If this was Paris, they would have been showered with rotten vegetables by now.’
    ‘It wasn’t always so,’ Sidonie reminded him. ‘Do you remember the time that we saw the Queen go past on her way to the Opéra? The cheers were deafening that day.’ She sighed, remembering the scene as the glossy black and yellow royal carriage had rolled down the Rue de Rivoli and they had caught a glimpse of Marie Antoinette smiling and waving inside, dressed in blue and silver silk and gauze with beautiful lace tumbling from her elbows and bosom and fabulous jewels flashing at her plump white throat.
    He nodded, a smile stealing onto his handsome face. ‘That was just seven years ago wasn’t it? A long time but short too when one thinks about how much everything has changed since.’
    ‘I want to ask you a favour,’ Sidonie said, abruptly ending the reminisces before they had properly had a chance to flourish.   ‘I do not like to do so, but fear that I have no choice.’ She looked directly at him. ‘It is about the ball that Lady D’Eversley proposes holding for Venetia.’
    Jules looked surprised and also somewhat disappointed to be brought back to the present. ‘The ball?’ he enquired. ‘Is that all? What of it?’
    Sidonie took a deep breath. She had underestimated just how much she would hate asking Jules for help and was beginning to wish that she had never arranged to meet him. Even seeing Clementine and Eliza disappointed once again must surely be infinitely preferable to standing in St James’ Park in front of someone that she rather despised, asking them for help. ‘The thing is that my charges, Venetia’s friends, will not be invited to the party and I want you to find a way of getting them on to the guest list.’
    Jules looked rather confused. ‘Why me? And why have they not been invited?’ He pulled a blue and white porcelain snuff box decorated with a pattern of cornflowers out of his pocket and frowned as he scattered some on to his wrist in a practiced manner. ‘Venetia has not said anything to me about this.’
    Sidonie shook her head. ‘It probably has not occurred to her that her friends might be excluded,’ she replied. ‘People of a generous nature, such as Miss Wrotham, rarely comprehend or predict just how ungenerous others are capable of being.’
    ‘So why haven’t they been invited?’ Jules asked, still frowning. As someone who had always been invited everywhere ever since he had first appeared in society, the concept of not being overwhelmed with invitations and attention was a difficult one to