The Pearl Brooch by Logan Katherine Lowry

Author:Logan, Katherine Lowry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Time Travel
Publisher: Katherine Lowry Logan
Published: 2019-02-10T16:00:00+00:00

24

Paris (1789)—Sophia

Eight men swiveled in unison when Thomas escorted Sophia into the dining room, a room already thick with tension. All but Lafayette, who was in uniform, were wearing lace cuffs, knee breeches, frockcoats, and big wigs—the flamboyant Macaroni style of dress. Their clothes reminded her of walking onto the set of Hamilton following the show, and a line of lyrics popped into her mind:

He knows nothing of loyalty / Smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty.

Dressing like fake royalty was preferable to dressing like a starving artist. How did she let herself get talked into this? With paint stains on her dress, and oh, my God… She caught her reflection in the mirror.

Too late now. So let’s get this party over with quickly.

She would socialize, eat, and before the gathering got down to business in the American fashion, she would excuse herself. There was a painting to finish, and the clock was ticking toward the Cinderella hour—midnight. The brooch was in her pocket, and soon it would turn up the heat.

Leaving Thomas would be harder than it had been when she left sweet, talented Leonardo.

But leaving Pete had been a hundred times harder. Oh, Pete. The man was never far from her thoughts. Maybe this time, this year, when she returned home, she’d look him up. Even if he was happily married with a slew of kids, it was time to know for sure, and permanently let him go.

Thomas stood over her protectively while Lafayette introduced her to Pierre Samuel du Pont de Nemours; Antoine-Pierre-Joseph-Marie Barnave; Alexandre-Théodore-Victor, comte de Lameth; Henri François Lucretius d’Armand de Forest, Marquis de Blacons; Jean Joseph Mounier; Marie-Charles-César de Faÿ, comte de la Tour-Maubourg; and Pierre Nicolas d’Agoult.

They all kissed her hand and smiled flirtatiously.

“Excuse my appearance,” she said, smoothing down the front of her dress. “I’ve been in my studio since early this morning. When the general extended an invitation to join you for dinner, I had only a moment to wash off the paint.”

Monsieur du Pont clasped her hand again. “Even with paint, you would be the most extraordinary woman at my salon. I hope you’ll accept an invitation to dine at your convenience.”

“I’d be delighted. Thank you.” She’d heard the monsieur’s name mentioned in some context recently and wondered if he was the du Pont who emigrated to America and started the Du Pont dynasty. As for the other men, none of their names were familiar, except comte de Lameth.

Didn’t Marguerite buy used dresses from the comtesse de Lameth’s maid? Good thing Sophia wasn’t wearing one of the secondhand gowns, although not even the comtesse would recognize them after Marguerite’s skillful alterations.

The comte de Lameth slipped her hand out of du Pont’s grasp, asking, “What do you paint, mademoiselle?”

From the outermost edge of her peripheral vision, she watched Thomas fall into his default stance—arms folded. “Portraits, landscapes, architecture. Whatever the client commissions.”

Moving in closer, the comte de Lameth tugged her hand to his chest and gazed at her with what she’d call wicked eyes.

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