Sophia's Diary

Sophia's Diary

Last night, I dreamed of a black horse. Upon waking, I looked in the dictionary of dreams I keep in my bedside table, to see if there is any significance to this particular night time vision. It seems a dream of a black horse is a dream of passion. Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I am not surprised.

I read it again, noticing she had written those words the previous night, and slyly returned her diary to the walnut table where I had found it. It had been a mere whim to pick it up and turn to the last entry. Now, I wondered what other secrets the soft leather covers contained.

My fingers strayed over the yellow roses in the crystal vase next to the diary. I resisted the temptation to seize it again, to flick the pages back to the date when Sophia arrived in Capri or the day we first met. It wouldn't do, I warned myself, to be found reading the diary by Sophia, or by her father .

I walked to the white French doors and watched Sophia as she sat reading on the terrace, the hot sun playing with the golden hair that escaped from her wide straw hat – the perfect bonnet for a young English woman in the relentless Italian sun – and wondered what other furtive thoughts reverberated in that young heart, what secrets were kept in check by the rigid corset and English convention.

I think I fell in love with her when I saw her climbing the steep hill to their rented villa, white parasol open and held firmly in one gloved hand, the other daintily lifting her skirts slightly in an effort to prevent the hems from sweeping the dusty street. Her father, red faced and panting, stumbled before her blustering at the porters carrying their luggage. They had toiled up the hill from the tall ship anchored far below on the bright blue of the Mediterranean and, for a moment, I considered the possibility that he was on the verge of collapse.

'And who are they?' I asked the shopkeeper as the small procession passed.

'They are English,' she answered in local Italian, as if that explained all. All shopkeepers knew every small detail of life on Capri, and she was happy to pass these minutiae on to whomever asked. 'He is an important man and his daughter is his secretary. They are holidaying with us for a month before they sail again while the father writes a book. There may be work for you, Genevieve,' she added, struggling with my name in her language. 'The father wishes to continue his daughter's education, and his manservant is seeking tutors.'

'You are French, Mademoiselle?' the father asked in French and I immediately knew he was an idiot.

'Oui.'

His face wrinkled with the concentration of marshalling his thoughts in French. I think it was at that moment I perversely decided not to assist him, not to reveal that I spoke English.

'My daughter requires further education of pianoforte,' he said. Or at least that is what I assumed he meant as he successfully crushed the beauty of the French language. 'That is why I chose a villa with a pianoforte,' he boasted, 'the only pianoforte on the island.'

You ensure a pianoforte , I thought, but you do not secure a teacher? How many tutors does this fool think live on this island ? I wondered if I should spoil his boasts and inform him of the instrument in the brothel, but decided it was not, perhaps, appropriate. I shrugged and waited.

'Mademoiselle,' he asked at last, 'how many pianoforte tutors are available on Capri?'

'Just one.' I smiled thinly in satisfaction.

Sophia was waiting in the drawing room when her father led me to her, and her smile was soft and warm with, I imagined, a small hint of longing. For some reason her eyes grew round when I entered the room and she quickly looked away and then, apparently after regaining her composure, smiled formally.

'This is Mademoiselle Genevieve Sabine,' he said in English. 'She is the only tutor on the island, so do not irritate her, my child.'

'Of course not, Father.'

'She is from Paris and does not speak English, so it will also present you with an opportunity to practise your French.'

He laboured through the introduction in French and then left us.

'And where is the pianoforte, Mademoiselle Newington?' I asked in French.

She lowered her eyes and looked at me through her lashes. 'It is this way, Mademoiselle Sabine.' Her gown was of the latest English fashion and rustled as she walked. I could see her young body compressed and moulded by the laced stays the English still seemed to favour. Her attire was in marked contrast to mine - a charming white taffeta with a flounce around her bust in a colour reminiscent of wild daffodils, while my gown was a simple dark blue fastened down the front.

'You have lived in Capri for some years, Mademoiselle?' Sophia asked, making conversation as taught by finishing schools as she opened a dark panelled door to a room at the top of the stairs. Her French was not terrible. It was, I admitted, quite charming, the faint lisp she carried almost adding piquancy to her pronunciation.

'Just two, Mademoiselle.' But, I silently added, those two years have passed as slowly as twenty .

'Were you attached to the Bourbon Court, Mademoiselle?' The pianoforte with its long stool was the only item of furniture in the small room. I walked to it.

'No, not attached,' I murmured and ran my fingers over the keys. 'Though I have been to Napoli.'

Sophia suddenly wrinkled her nose and said, 'It does rather smell in here!' I smiled at her expression, the little girl that lives within us all surfacing for a fleeting moment, and I enjoyed watching her open the window, leaning forward to push the panes out, her lush bottom straining against her gown.

'How old are you, Mademoiselle?' I asked with apparent disinterest.

'I have just celebrated nineteen years.'

I looked at her again. Nineteen, the same age as when I met…no matter.

'A sweet age,' I said for something to say, and she smiled.

'And can I ask Mademoiselle's age?' Sophia enquired cheekily and I smiled again.

'But of course. I am twenty two.'

On that first day, I watched as she played the scales and demonstrated her skills, watched her white fingers stroke the keys and the way she brushed wisps of golden hair from her eyes. I saw it all.

And then I went down the stairs to the father, feigning disinterest but secretly alive with passion.

Our conversation was brief. It was arranged that I would visit every day for one hour's lesson. The next few weeks were days of frustration and constant denial of my sensual urges.

Then, of course, I read the diary. I glanced back at the walnut table and the diary. Black horse – it was an intriguing metaphor . And what did she mean when she wrote - Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I am not surprised.

Sophia looked up when I walked onto the terrace, smiling happily at me as she closed the book she had been reading and let it rest in her lap. 'You are early, Mademoiselle?'

I shrugged. 'Perhaps. Time does not have such an importance on Capri. Shall we begin?'

Again, I followed her round bottom up the stairs and we sat together on the bench so she could watch my hands as I demonstrated the piece she was learning.

Lilac toilet water , I thought. She is wearing lilac toilet water . A vision of Sophia in her bath flickered through my mind – white, plump and succulent with delicate suds lapping against her skin.

'Could I see that piece again?' Sophia murmured. 'I don't think I understand it.'

'But of course.' I began again and she moved closer on the stool so our thighs were touching as I played. 'There,' I said, finishing, feeling the warmth of her leg against mine.

Sophia looked at me guiltily and I saw her long throat and décolletage was flushed. 'Merci, Mademoiselle,' she said in a husky voice.

The sun was hot the next day and a ship from the Kingdom of Sardinia had moored off the island, the sailors buying provisions and visiting the whorehouse near the wharf. I had played pianoforte in the brothel a few times. It paid extremely well and I always played a rousing march to match the pace of the girls as they galloped their eager customers through their business. Time, as in all commercial matters, was money.

Sophia was on the terrace again in a light blue gown and sunbonnet, her back turned to me so I could inspect her at my leisure. The diary was not on the walnut table and I felt a flicker of disappointment until I saw it discarded on the window seat. She is so naïve , I thought. She is careless with her secrets; she believes her father would respect her privacy, and that I do not read English .

I glanced through the window again and saw Sophia's head had tilted forward and that she was dozing in the sun. My fingers picked up the diary without hesitation and I flicked to the last entry.

She appears so cold and arrogant – her eyes such dark pools as she watches me perform my scales and yet there is a passion within her, I can feel it Does she, I wonder, sense mine?

I feel I will die when she purses those lips as she listens, such soft and full lips. Genevieve! How I long to say her name, to whisper it in her hair!

Yesterday, I watched her hands as she played, long elegant fingers, her dark hair falling over her face as she was lost in the passion of the music. I could not resist and moved closer. Our bodies touched and I felt her flesh! She wears no stays! She is unfettered and I felt the smoothness of her body against mine!

There are many that would say a love like this is wrong, that it is against God, but if that were true, God would not have created Genevieve!

I know the black horse will prance through my dreams tonight!

When I shut the diary, I was not surprised to see my fingers were trembling and my breathing was laboured.

After glancing at the dozing Sophia through the window, I could not resist and opened the diary again, searching for the date that I had first met her.

Father has found a pianoforte tutor and he believes himself to be so clever, saying that because the tutor is French and does not speak English, I will have two tutors for the price of one, as I will be compelled to speak French

There was a gap as if Sophia had been disturbed, and then the words continued in her precise handwriting.

I have met the tutor and she is glorious! When father brought her to me, I could not believe such beauty and felt compelled to turn away. Mademoiselle Genevieve Sabine – such a name and such eyes, eyes that peer into your heart and soul. How will I ever concentrate on my scales with her so close, her sweet perfume teasing me?

Taking a deep and shaky breath, I straightened my gown before walking onto the terrace and smiling at the dozing Sophia.

Before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and gently touched her shoulder. 'Mademoiselle?'

Sophia woke with a start, her blue eyes wide, staring at me and then back to my fingers resting on her shoulder. Guiltily, I took my hand away and smiled. 'Your lesson, Mademoiselle?'

Her fingers were trembling a little as Sophia removed her bonnet and placed it on the pianoforte. I sat on the stool and waited until she sat beside me, our bodies a respectable distance apart, but I noticed our dresses kissed and played together on the stool.

I played softly and she leaned forward to watch my hands, her yellow hair framing her pale skin, her cherry lips slightly apart and her eyes wide and intent.

It was her turn and I watched her as her hands caressed the ivory keys. 'Non,' I said huskily and took her right hand, held it against mine as I stretched my fingers. 'Like this, Mademoiselle,' I murmured, watching her through lowered eyes.

'This?' Sophia whispered, moving her hand to copy mine, our flesh touching.

'Oui.' Our eyes met. Her eyes are the colour of blue cornflowers , I thought, her lips soft and wet, yearning to be kissed.

There was a noise on the stairs and we immediately turned back to the pianoforte and Sophia began playing again while darting quick looks at the door. It occurred to me that I should stand as I heard the steps on the stairs come nearer but decided not to, knowing that I wished to remain on the stool, to be close to Sophia.

The door creaked and her father filled the room, the smell of cigars preceding him, and I discreetly moved my perfumed lace handkerchief to my nose. Sophia did the same and we exchanged knowing glance. She raised an eyebrow before turning to greet her father in English. 'Father, would you like to hear me play? I have learned so much,' Sophia said in English. 'Mademoiselle Sabine is a superb teacher.'

I feigned disinterest as if I did not understand and shuffled through sheet music while they talked. 'Excellent,' her father boomed, moving closer. I glanced at his belly straining against his waistcoat, stained with meat sauce. 'Mademoiselle Sabine,' he said to me in his rough French, tilting his head in a small bow, 'my daughter says you are a good teacher.'

No, you oaf , I thought silently, she said I was superb! 'She did?' I replied with feigned surprise. 'Your daughter is easy to teach, Monsieur. She has,' I said, glancing at Sophia's soft hands, 'a sweet touch.'

He had already lost interest in my words and turned to Sophia. 'My dear, we must unfortunately shorten the lesson today. The captain of the Sardinian vessel is joining us for luncheon.'

'Of course, Father,' she said, also in English, and I imagined disappointment in that sweet voice.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sophia glance at me but I kept my head down, arranging sheet music in some invented order.

'Mademoiselle Sabine,' Sophia's father said to me in his laboured French, 'I'm afraid we must shorten the lesson, we have a social engagement.'

'But of course, Monsieur,' I said with a shrug. 'The lesson continues tomorrow?'

'Not tomorrow, I'm afraid. We've been asked to enjoy hospitality on the Sardinian ship.

Sophia arranged her hands in her lap, her fingers playing nervously with the white lace handkerchief. 'Father,' she murmured in English, eyes down, 'it is not the right time for me to go on a ship.'

'Not the right time? Oh…' he said, suddenly aware of her inference. 'Oh,' he said again with a sigh, staring out the window at the Sardinian ship far below us on the vivid blue sea.

'You could offer my apologies tomorrow when you visit the ship, and you enjoy the day?' Sophia said hopefully and I smiled slightly to myself. She has learned , I thought, to prey on the male's lack of knowledge of womanly functions.

'Of course, my dear, we understand.' He suddenly returned to French and said, 'Mademoiselle Sabine, there will be a pianoforte lesson tomorrow.'

'As you wish, Monsieur.'

As I walked down the narrow twisting streets of Capri, I smiled to myself as I remembered the look in those wild blue eyes when our palms touched. There was no doubt that beneath Sophia's starched gown and corset there was a bubbling hot sea of sensuality, a sea in which I fully intended to swim.

The servants let me in without a glance and then vanished to go about their chores. It was, I knew, difficult to care for the English with their strange habits and desire for cooked food in the early morning, but the servants suffered stoically for the large payment that awaited them.

Sophia was again waiting on the terrace, demurely reading a book, parasol folded at her knees and bonnet pulled close so her face was half hidden and only her pouting cherry lips were visible. The sunlight etched gold within the wisps of hair that fell from her bonnet and I watched her plump décolletage rise and fall.

Drawing back from the window I looked around the room for the diary and saw it protruding from underneath a fat, beaded cushion on the chaise lounge.

Standing away from the window, I quickly thumbed through the leather bound diary to find the last entry.

The black horse shadows me every moment I am with her!

I have never seen such beauty in a woman, a beauty that she apparently discards without a glance, or is unaware of its powerful existence.

Yesterday she placed her hand against mine, her skin so smooth and brown against my white skin, and Genevieve must have heard my heart, for it was sounding so loudly. I almost asked her to name her perfume. It is so sensuous and with a light touch of musk, it assaults me each time she nears me.

Does she know what powerful forces she arouses within me? Is she a devil who teases and plays with me until I must fall weeping at her feet?

Genevieve, Genevieve, Genevieve! I love writing her name, to say it aloud would, indeed be a great boon. To kiss her would be an act to die for!

Slowly, I replaced the diary and the words sounded deep within me – to kiss her would be an act to die for! My fingertips touched my own lips. Would I risk all for her kiss, to feel her lips on mine? I moved to the window and watched her read, those pouting lips peeking from her bonnet, and I knew I would risk everything.

Nervously I brushed my hair back and was suddenly glad I had spent more time on my appearance, and that I had chosen a soft gown of a grey hue that highlighted my eyes. I wondered if she, too, chose her wardrobe for me.

Sophia looked up as I walked through the open French doors and smiled shyly, carefully closing her book. There was a noise within the villa, a door closing suddenly, and it reminded me that others were close, that there were eyes everywhere in the villa.

'Mademoiselle,' I greeted, my eyes lingering over her and I was rewarded with a slight flush to her slender throat, 'it is time for the lesson?'

'Of course, Mademoiselle,' she said, standing and then bending at the waist to retrieve the parasol, and I saw the soft swelling of her breasts revealed a little to my eyes.

Sophia sat at the pianoforte and I stood by her watching as she played. It was a new piece and her face was wrinkled in precise concentration as she read the music, her eyes following each note as she played.

She waited expectantly when finished and when I smiled, she did also, a huge smile that lit her face. 'To play this for the first time like that was excellent,' I complimented her and was astounded to see her smile grow even larger. 'But, here should be softer, yes?'

I slid next to her and lightly played the part, my leg against hers, touching through our gowns. 'Soft, yes?'

Sophia played it and, after a moment, I stayed her hand with mine, her fingers quivering like a butterfly against my skin. 'That is almost so,' I smiled, 'but soft and light, like…' I appeared to struggle to find the right description and then held her eyes, 'soft like a first kiss, yes?'

'A kiss?' Her voice was suddenly husky and her eyes fell and fixed on her lap while a delicate blush filled her cheeks. 'I am not sure what you mean,' she murmured.

'Like a woman's kiss…when women kiss,' I said softly, 'it is light, delicate and warm. We take time to taste each other, do we not?'

'I…I am not sure, Mademoiselle…it is not something I am familiar with.' Sophia looked up, those startling blue eyes alive and wide. 'But,' she whispered, 'I am willing to learn.'

My finger travelled to her throat and lightly traced down to her collar, my fingernail leaving a thin white line against her hot blushing skin. I could hear her breath rasping with desire, her lips pouting and trembling as her eyes fluttered, half closed, soft and sensuous. With a shuddering sigh, she fell into my arms and I inhaled the aroma of her soft hair, breathing her in as my lips grazed her cheek.

When our lips met, it was with fire, branding our souls with its quick heat, burning through us, connecting our essence forever. Sophia arched back when I released her lips, sighed and shuddered, murmuring in English, 'Oh God, oh God!'

'Oh, Genevieve,' Sophia murmured at last, her head against my shoulder. Suddenly, she started, lifting her head. 'I am sorry…I should not call…'

I gently placed my finger against her plump lips. 'Sophia,' I said softly, 'it is such a beautiful name.'

'Oh, how I have longed to use your name! To feel that simple word on my lips… Genevieve, Genevieve!'

A door banged close by and we jumped, looking around us quickly. 'This is madness,' I murmured, 'if your father or the servants find us…'

'I do not care,' she cried with a wild laugh. 'I do not care, Genevieve.'

'We must continue with the lesson…'

'But…'

'We must!'

'I will if you kiss me again,' Sophia said with a sly smile and I tried to appear stern.

'You will continue or…'

'Or what?' she teased.

'I will spank you,' I murmured, my hand closing around her wrist. 'I will put you over my knee…'

'Oh…'

'…lift your gown,' I whispered, my lips moving closer to her own, 'lift your petticoats and slide your pantalettes down…'

'Oh, Genevieve…'

'And spank your naked derriere with my hand.'

'Oh, Genevieve,' Sophia murmured in my ear, 'I feel quite weak, French is such a wickedly sensuous language.'

We kissed again and then reluctantly rearranged our clothes so we could continue with the lesson. It was fortunate that we did so as the door suddenly opened and a servant appeared with a pail and rags to wash the window.

'Now, Mademoiselle,' I said in a loud voice, 'play it again.'

Sophia nodded and played. I found myself watching her intently, the way her fingers touched the keys, the small blush that remained on her cheeks, and those plump lips I had tasted just minutes ago.

As I walked back down the winding street, my chemise rubbed against my stiff nipples and I knew I was moist and sticky, wanting to feel Sophia's plump lips licking my hot skin. I would do anything to have her, to feel her naked and hot body rubbing against mine.

Her father opened the door when I arrived the next morning and I immediately wondered if Sophia had told him that we had kissed, wondered whether he was seeking revenge for the sin of Sapphic love with his daughter but he just smiled and opened the door wider.

'Mademoiselle,' he greeted me, 'Sophia is reading on the terrace.'

'Merci, Monsieur,' I said, ready to move past him when he smiled again.

'Do you know much of the history of Capri and the Kingdom of Naples, Mademoiselle?'

'A little,' I said warily. 'What has held your interest?'

He laughed. 'I can assure you, Mademoiselle, that I have an extensive knowledge of the history of this island. You may not be aware, but I am something of an archaeologist,' he said pompously.

'Yes,' I murmured, 'I was unaware.'

'However, I must confess, I have not been able to find a history tutor on Capri.'

Not at all surprising , I thought maliciously. I would think that would be obvious to someone who is something of an archaeologist . 'I am appalled,' I said in a soft yet sarcastic voice, but, of course, he did not notice.

'I was hopeful that you could guide my daughter to some of the historic sites, the Roman site especially.'

'But, Monsieur,' I said automatically, 'with your knowledge you…' My heart was pounding. Surely he would not throw us together for a day, to be alone for a day?

'I'm afraid I would not be able to cope with those steps,' he said with a rueful smile. 'I will pay you of course, the same as for the pianoforte lessons?'

'If you wish, Monsieur.'

'It's not seemly for a young unmarried woman,' he said and, when he realised that I was exactly that, he immediately corrected himself and said, 'young unmarried English woman to be walking alone. A companion is necessary.'

'Of course,' I smiled, 'I am happy to be such a companion.'

Sophia was on the terrace, back turned, watering potted plants with a watering vessel, the other hand holding her skirts up as she watered. I slipped into the drawing room. The diary was lying by the cold fireplace and I quickly scooped it up, immediately turning to the last entry.

A kiss! What a kiss, a kiss to send shivers to my very soul! I yearn for more but I am seething with relentless frustration, for how will we be alone, be close and, dare I dream, be naked in each other's arms ?

The black horse has a name and its name is Genevieve!

I shut the book and swallowed. Returning the diary to where I found it, I walked to the French doors.

Sophia turned when she saw me and I read in her eyes that her first impulse was to throw herself at me, but sanity prevailed. 'Good morning, Mademoiselle,' she said almost shyly and I saw water leaking from the watering vessel and pooling near her satin slippers.

'Your feet,' I pointed and Sophia gasped, quickly pulling the vessel upright. 'It would be a shame to have such delicate slippers' I said softly, 'become wet.'

'Merci, Mademoiselle.' Sophia placed the container carefully on the terrace and smiled. 'Our lesson?'

'But of course.'

I closed the door behind us and Sophia dropped her bonnet on the pianoforte and turned, her face alive. 'Genevieve,' she murmured as I kissed her, my hand cupping her soft bottom through her gown. My knuckles grazed against the hard ridges of her corset and I silently cursed the stays that imprisoned her flesh.

'Sophia,' I said smiling as I released her, 'I have some news, but first you must play so the villa hears music.'

Immediately, she mechanically began playing and I sat next to her, our bodies melting against each other through our gowns until she finished.

'Your news, Genevieve?' Sophia eagerly asked the moment the last note died.

'Your father has requested that I tutor you on the historic sites of Capri. Of course,' I smiled, 'I reluctantly agreed.'

Sophia clapped her hands in delight. 'I am to walk from this villa? At last!'

'There are many historic sites, but your father has insisted on the Roman ruins. What sites do you wish to see, Sophia?' I asked softly, taking her hand.

'There is only one,' Sophia said, eyes down.

'And that is?' I whispered, my lips tasting her soft cheek.

'Your bed, Mademoiselle.'

I called for her in the morning and she was bubbling with happiness as we walked across the ridge to where we could view the faraglione rocks. Her parasol was opened and it rested on her shoulder as she talked and I saw how beautiful she was, alive and glowing.

Nervously, I led her down the narrow path to my small villa and we slipped in though the small garden, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Sophia looked around my simple room and smiled at me. 'I will never forget this room,' she whispered as I moved close to kiss her.

Tasting her lips for a long moment, my tongue drifted down her throat to her cleavage, licking small hints of perspiration from her skin and she moaned and shuddered against me.

I could not wait a moment longer.

Spinning her around, I feverishly began to unlace her dress as she leaned against the table, head down and golden hair spilling freely. At last, her dress was open and I kissed the small hillocks that were her shoulder blades, then pulled the gown down, letting it fall around her stocking feet.

Sophia helped me by quickly sliding her petticoat down and I thanked the Capri sun, for she wore only one petticoat. In winter or in colder climes, women often wore as many as five or six petticoats.

Cursing the corset, I almost broke a fingernail as I pulled at the laces and Sophia exhaled with delight when I finally tossed the corset onto the table.

She felt so warm and soft in her linen chemise and silk pantalettes, her breasts moving freely as I cupped them in the white cloth.

'Oh, Genevieve,' Sophia whispered, kissing my neck as my hand slipped into her pantalettes, cupping her hot sex, feeling her wetness run against my palm.

Pushing her onto the bed with my hand against her, her eyes went suddenly wide as my finger entered, teasing and slipping. Releasing her, I undressed and Sophia watched, her face hot and flushed, eyes wide and her lips pouting with hunger.

I tugged her chemise and pantalettes from her with her grateful assistance and I kissed her long nipples, the rosy areoles and the plump milky white breasts until she was writhing on the bed, legs wantonly parted, white stockings puddled around her ankles.

I smiled down at her, examining that naked body that now belonged to me. 'Cherie,' I whispered, 'it is time to learn?'

'Oui, Mademoiselle,' Sophia murmured, golden hair lying around her face.

'This is a special kiss,' I said softly, kissing her round white belly, tongue tickling her puckered navel and slipping down through her downy hair to her hot moist centre.

Sophia arched up, her face, I knew although I couldn't see it, contorted in forbidden pleasure as ecstasy rippled from her little man in the boat throughout her entire succulent body. I was swimming at last.

The servants let me in with the customary bored glance and I found Sophia's father waiting for me. My heart leapt again to my mouth, irrationally guessing he knew what Sophia and I had done yesterday, and now I was to be arrested or punished in some obscure and cruel way that only the English could devise.

'Mademoiselle Sabine,' he said with a smile, and I returned the smile with relief. 'Sophia was very enthusiastic about the Roman ruins.'

'Education, Monsieur,' I murmured, 'is important.'

'Exactly. Mademoiselle Sabine, will you sit for a moment?'

'As you wish.'

'Sophia's mother passed on two years ago and it is difficult for a man such as myself with no sisters to raise a young woman…'

'Yes, I can imagine, Monsieur, but she is a wonderful young woman…'

'I am so glad you think so. Mademoiselle, Sophia needs a firm hand, but an understanding one. I am hopeful you would consider continuing to tutor her in music, history and French and, of course, select appropriate tutors in other subjects. You are older by a few years, so Sophia will respect you as a tutor, but you are not so far apart that you cannot also be a friend, perhaps?' he asked hopefully. 'Someone to guide her through these times that a young woman faces until she is married?'

I blinked at him. 'What are you saying, Monsieur?'

'We are travelling to Venice and Vienna before returning to England. You do know those places?'

'But of course.'

'I wish to offer you a position, to travel with us and to guide Sophia in her education. I understand this is at short notice, but I would pay you well, Mademoiselle Sabine, and all your expenses would become part of my household. Will you please consider?'

'This is permanent?' I asked slowly, remembering an invitation I had accepted foolishly that had led me to be abandoned here. 'But,' I continued softly, 'I do not enjoy England that much…'

'There will be opportunity for you to guide Sophia through other cities, to show her Paris, Madrid, and others. I would leave her education completely within your hands, Mademoiselle Sabine.'

I stood, smiling at him. 'I will consider, Monsieur, and advise you in the morning.' I knew, of course, that I would agree, it would be a passage from this island, something I had dreamed of, but I still considered it wise to appear reluctant, to be coaxed.

'That is all,' he said standing with a smile, 'that one can hope for. I hope your decision is one that mutually satisfies us, Mademoiselle Sabine.'

He left and I turned to find Sophia. The terrace was empty and I looked through to the kitchen, but only saw the servants. And then I saw the diary on the floor next to a discarded cushion. I picked it up and turned to the last entry.

I love you Genevieve. I am at the pianoforte.

I shut the diary with a sharp noise, looking around. Then, smiling, I walked slowly up the stairs, hearing the soft musical notes as I climbed.

Sophia stopped playing and smiled at me as I shut the door behind me. 'Good morning, Genevieve,' she said in English.

'You knew?' I asked, also in English.

'I guessed. I saw your eyes when Father and I spoke in English and they told me you understood, although you pretended not to. I hoped you would read my diary. You did, didn't you?'

'Yes, I am weak when tempted,' I shrugged with a smile. 'But, the risk! What if your father read it?'

'A small risk for love.'

'So,' I said, sitting with her and slipping my arms around her waist, 'you wrote untruths to seduce me?'

Sophia smiled at that. 'I wrote the truth and my dreams. I loved you that first time I saw you and waited in those first weeks for you to do, to say, something, but you were distant, so correct and proper with me. I knew I had to do something or you would be gone from my life.'

'So you left your diary for me to find?'

'Am I forgiven?' she asked demurely.

'Of course, but,' I teased, 'there is the spanking to come.'

'Oh, Mademoiselle,' Sophia whispered, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks.

'But to other matters: your father wishes me to travel with you.'

'No,' she murmured, ' I wish it. I suggested it to him and now he thinks it was his idea.'

I laughed. 'You are so manipulative.'

'And I love your accent when you speak English. I think father should not know you speak it, it will force him to improve his French.' We laughed at that and then Sophia said softly, 'Genevieve, you must promise me something.'

'But of course, what?'

'We will only make love in French,' Sophia murmured, suddenly slipping into that language as she laid her head on my shoulder.

'There could be no other way,' I said softly, my lips brushing her hair and she smiled. 'It is a wicked and sensual language,' I whispered.

'Yes,' Sophia said, closing her eyes, 'embrassez-moi, mon cheval noir.'