The next morning, Sophie forced herself to think through the situation. Yes, her husband had deserted her bed for that of a courtesan. But the important thing was to stay on good terms, because otherwise the unborn babe would be doomed to the kind of childhood she had had. And it would be best if no one guessed that she cared a fig about Patrick’s whereabouts. A show of jealousy on her part would start the kind of loathsome gossip that trailed after her parents.

“Dearest Maman,” Sophie wrote on her best stationery. “I trust that you and Papa are enjoying a pleasant sojourn in the country. Your account of Mrs. Braddle’s spring fête was very amusing. Patrick is remarkably busy these days, and so we cannot join you, but thank you so much for your invitation. London is still rather thin of company, but I have been spending a good deal of time with Madeleine Corneille, who is the daughter of the Marquis de Flammarion. You must meet Madeleine as soon as you return to London. I am persuaded that you will find her as delightful as I do. Henri is very well, and I thank you for asking about him. He is excited about beginning the term at Harrow. Patrick will drive him there next week. I will do my best to find the glassware that you desire and have it sent immediately.” She signed the letter, “Your loving daughter, Sophie.” It was not without a qualm that she sealed the letter and gave it to a footman. If her mother had any idea that she was carrying a babe, she would arrive in London by nightfall.

Eloise read the letter with a tiny frown. Sophie rarely mentioned her husband in her frequent missives, and Eloise couldn’t decide whether she was simply getting a bee in her bonnet about it, or whether her daughter’s marriage had somehow gone awry.

“George,” she said that night at dinner, “what do you know about Patrick Foakes?”

George gaped at her. “Eh, my dear?”

“Does Foakes frequent the muslin company?”

Eloise always could be counted on to call a spade a spade, George thought to himself. He chose his words carefully. “Foakes got up to some shenanigans when he was young, m’dear.”

“I’m not interested in his youth,” Eloise replied impatiently. “Do you think that he has set up a mistress on the side?”

Given George’s knowledge of the ton, it would be a very unusual thing indeed if Patrick was not supporting a mistress. His pause answered Eloise’s question.

“Well, I knew it,” she said, half to herself. “I advised Sophie to marry a rake, didn’t I? What a fool I was!”

George jerked his head at the footman, and then appeared at Eloise’s elbow, drawing her up. “Eloise, love, perhaps Sophie takes after her mother.”

Eloise looked up at him, perplexed.