“I would say that all your ancestors are ‘authentic,’ my friend, even those who were born out of wedlock,” Sebastian said in ironic tones. “Can you wait until morning to be reunited with your masterpiece? Julia has a delicious meal planned. We will be joined at the Hall by Tristan and his wife Sarah, who also happens to be Julia’s sister.”
Gabriel knew a pang of disappointment that he wouldn’t hold the painting until the next day, but he was used to hiding his feelings behind a light-hearted façade. “Of course I can wait if it means that I shall enjoy the company of your family and friends.” He almost asked about Sebastian’s awkward, blushing young sister, but his host had already risen and was leading the way down the sloping path toward Trevarre Hall.
* * *
Little Cassandra Trevarre hurried happily into Izzie’s bedchamber.
“Auntie Izzie, look what I’ve made for you to wear tonight!”
Izzie rose immediately, disrupting her maid, Lowenna, in the midst of dressing her hair. Two long golden curls shook off their pins and spilled free down her back.
“You have made something for me? How sweet you are.”
“It’s a wreath for your hair. Mama and I picked bluebells and jonquils in the Hall Walk woods.” Cassandra proudly held out her creation.
“You are very talented and thoughtful, darling. And how fortunate that you came before Lowenna finished my hair.” She kissed her niece and handed the rather crumpled wreath to Lowenna, who put it in place with one or two extra pins.
“You look beautiful,” Cassandra announced gravely.
“It’s sweet of you to say so.” Izzie looked in the mirror and couldn’t help smiling. Even she was always surprised to see how different she looked from the person she was used to seeing, the one whose gowns were always a bit too tight, who had a new spot threatening to burst forth, and who inevitably felt she’d eaten more than she’d meant to.
“I’m not just saying it,” Cassandra whispered. She leaned closer and kissed Izzie’s cheek. “It’s true. When I grow up, I intend to be just like you.”
Izzie blinked back tears and took off her spectacles before wiping them away. Just then, a clattering sound came from the corridor. “Goodness, what’s that?”
“Oh, the servants must be taking away that man’s bath,” said Cassandra.
“What man do you mean?” Izzie was puzzled. She thought back to Julia’s hints that one of Izzie’s unwelcome suitors might be coming that evening. None of them lived far enough away to spend the night at Trevarre Hall. “Do we have a house guest?”
The girl nodded carefully. “Yes, but I mustn’t tell you. Mama and Papa mean for it to be a surprise.”
Izzie’s heart began to pound as her thoughts immediately turned to George. Oh, how wonderful it would be if he had come to the Hall after all, and tonight’s meal would be a reunion of the three Trevarre siblings! They hadn’t all been together since the long-ago Christmas at Caverleigh House in London, before Sebastian sailed off with the Royal Navy. She’d been a little girl then, and of course their parents had still been very much alive.
She imagined George in his old room down the corridor, the one he hadn’t inhabited for more than a decade. He’d be scrubbed clean now, not only of the grime of travel, but also of the air of desperation that had clung to him in the woods. How lovely it would be to take her brother’s coat away to be cleaned and its dangling button tightened, and then to watch him enjoy a nourishing meal with the family who had believed him dead. Hope fluttered inside her.
“That’s all right, Cassie, you don’t have to tell me more.” Rising, Izzie left her spectacles behind as she walked with her niece to the door. “Thank you again for the lovely flowers. I’ll join you all downstairs very soon.”
Cassandra looked doubtful. “Mama told me to fetch your volume of Lord Byron’s poems. The man—I mean, the guest, wants to read them.”
Izzie’s heart beat faster. Of course! George would adore Byron’s poems! For her twelfth birthday, he had given her a volume of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence for her birthday, and he’d later invited her to share her feelings about the poems with him. “I’m not quite certain where I put it. Let me look, and I’ll bring it down to dinner.”
“Well, I suppose that would be permissible…”
“Of course it would be permissible. I am your aunt!” Izzie heard a note of impatience creep into her own voice. She turned to her maid, who was watching and clearly listening to the conversation. “Lowenna, will you please escort Cassandra back to her parents?”
Once the two had gone, Izzie found her slim, green-leather-bound volume of poetry and set off toward George’s bedchamber, heedless of her injured ankle. Her heart sang with relief that he had come home after all. Whatever bad habits had seized control of her wayward brother, he could break them here in the company of his family. She would help him. Izzie imagined them tramping together through the bluebell woods. George would tell her, with some surprise, that he no longer felt a compulsion to gamble or numb himself with drink…
After glancing down the corridor to be certain she wasn’t noticed, Izzie tapped on the door. “May I come in?” she called softly.
A muffled male voice made a sound of assent.
Izzie couldn’t repress a broad smile as she lifted the latch and burst into the bedchamber. “Oh, my dear, can you imagine my relief and elation to find you here? I am overcome with joy!”
She came to an abrupt stop at the rather blurry sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood across the room, in front of George’s shaving stand. Even though she’d forgotten her spectacles, she perceived immediately that he was not her brother. He wore biscuit trousers that were only partially buttoned over his hard-muscled belly, and his exceedingly handsome upper body was quite naked. The man’s damp, unruly hair curled in a beam of late-afternoon sunlight that shone through the nearby garden window.
“Are you indeed?” He held a towel to his face and wiped off the remaining bits of shaving soap while walking closer. “I am gratified to hear it, but…have we met?”
Izzie recognized his French-accented voice and went hot with embarrassment. “Please excuse me! I thought you were…someone else!”
Devils danced in his eyes as he advanced on her. “Do you mean that you are not overjoyed to find me here after all?”
“You should not laugh at me, m’sieur.” He wasn’t looking at her in the way he had four years ago in Madame LeBrun’s atelier, with that mixture of kindness and compassion. Now his gaze seemed to burn away the fabric of her fashionably thin gown and she was shocked to feel her nipples tighten. “I am a lady and I require that you treat me with respect.”
“You do me an injustice, mademoiselle.” He shrugged his arms into the sleeves of a snowy linen shirt and gave her a sidelong glance, eyes agleam with humor. “There. Is that better? I am quite capable of being a gentleman.”
Dear God, she thought wildly, what was Gabriel St. Briac doing here, and why hadn’t someone warned her? It came to Izzie then that perhaps he actually didn’t recognize her. Was it possible that she had changed that much since their last meeting, four years ago at Madame LeBrun’s London lodgings?
“I beg your pardon for the intrusion, sir. Here is the book of poetry you requested.” She hoped that she sounded cool and unruffled as she put the worn volume in his hand. “I will leave you now.”
“Merci.” His fingers grazed hers, quite deliberately it seemed, and Izzie drew back abruptly.
Turning toward the door, she tossed her head for good measure and did her best to sweep from the room without tripping over something. It wasn’t until she’d pulled the door closed and started down the corridor that Izzie realized she was no longer wearing the wreath of flowers Cassandra had given her.
Chapter 3
Gabriel St. Briac stood at the top of the stairway, enjoying the feeling that an invisible barrier separated him from the animated conversation rising up from the rooms below. He wore an expertl
y-tailored gray frockcoat, snug biscuit pantaloons, fine leather hessians, and a flawlessly knotted cravat. His hair curled back negligently from his face and, in his left hand, Gabriel held the circlet of spring blossoms he’d discovered on the floor of his bedchamber.
“M’sieur St. Briac!” Sebastian’s captivating, sable-haired wife appeared at the foot of the stairs, smiling up at him. “Do come and join us.”
Forcing himself back into the present moment, he descended the stairs. “I am very grateful for your hospitality, my lady.”
“You must call me Julia.” She took his arm when he reached the bottom step. “Everyone does.”
“I will do so if you promise to call me Gabriel.”
As Julia led him through the low-beamed, firelit parlor, he glanced at the paintings that lined the walls. There were two evocative landscapes of the Cornwall cliffs, followed by separate portraits of a rather unhappy-looking couple. “Trevarre ancestors?” he inquired.
“How astute you are,” Julia replied with a touch of irony. “They are Sebastian’s parents.”
Gabriel regarded the last Marquess of Caverleigh, who glowered back. “I hope he wasn’t as disagreeable as he appears.”
“I never knew them. He and his wife died before I met Sebastian, but from all I have heard, his lordship was even more ill-tempered than this likeness would indicate.”
“What a pity for his family.”
“I understand that Sebastian’s mother, the marchioness, was a lovely person, and quite artistic. In fact, she painted these landscapes of Cornwall when she was a young woman. My sister-in-law has inherited her talent.”
“Lady Caverleigh was talented indeed.” Reminded of the woman who had burst into his bedchamber, Gabriel held up the wreath of flowers. “I had a visit earlier from a lovely girl who is perhaps a relative? She left this behind…”
Julia looked startled. “Why, it must have been Izzie, Sebastian’s sister. My daughter took it to her only an hour ago.”
“Oh no, it wasn’t Lady Isabella.” He bit back a smile at that notion. “We have met before. Perhaps there is another, older sister?”
Before Julia could reply, Gabriel saw his mystery visitor. Like a vision from a dream, she came into the doorway to the dining room, looking even more lovely in the soft glow of the fire…except now she wore a pair of delicate gold-rimmed spectacles, just like the ones he’d seen on Lady Isabella Trevarre, when last they met at Madame Le Brun’s home.
“Ah,” cried Julia. “Here you are, my dear! M’sieur St. Briac, who insists we call him Gabriel, has brought along your lost flower wreath.”
He bowed slightly, holding out the spring garland as he gazed into the eyes of the tall, curvaceous young woman. She was utterly lovely in a fashionable, high-waisted gown of cream batiste trimmed with tiny silk violets. The lace-edged neckline dipped low to hug the swell of her breasts, and she wore a delicate necklace set with pearls. Her pale-golden hair, loosely pinned up in a Grecian knot, invited his touch. But perhaps most intriguing of all was her unguarded expression, in which intelligence mingled with an enchanting blush. She dropped her gaze for an instant, and as her cheeks grew pinker, his memory returned.
Of course! The mystery woman was Lady Isabella Trevarre. Was it possible that she could grow up so much in four years that he hadn’t known her? Yes, apparently, it was quite possible.
“My lady,” he said softly, “I apologize for not recognizing you during our earlier…encounter. How rude I must have seemed. I hope you’ll forgive me and allow me to restore your crown.”
Looking slightly wary, she gave him her back while he nestled the wreath of blossoms into her upswept locks and secured it with a pin on either side. The line of her satiny neck was inches away, near enough for him to bend and kiss. That thought made the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.
“I hope you two don’t mind,” Julia was saying. “I’ve seated you together. Don’t you share some common interests?” Then, quickly, as if sensing that Isabella might not reply as hoped, Julia continued, “Let us go in. Tristan and Sarah have traveled over from Lanwyllow to join us!”
* * *
The dining room featured a long, rustic trestle table set with china, crystal, and silver, and it was crowned by an uneven plastered ceiling lined with dark beams. Countless glimmering candle flames beckoned the guests to enter.
Mrs. Snuggs and Primmie, servants who had been at Trevarre Hall longer than Julia, were bustling in from the kitchen with a tureen of fragrant soup and a tray of bowls.
Izzie was distracted from her own conflicting emotions by the sight of Tristan and Julia’s sister Sarah coming around the table to greet St. Briac.
“How good it is to see you again, m’sieur. Welcome to Cornwall,” said Tristan with an engaging smile. “I would like to present my wife, Sarah, Lady Senwyck. As you can see, the size of our family is about to increase.”
As she watched the two men shake hands, Izzie reflected that Tristan was one of the most likeable people she knew. Although he was past thirty now, he retained his ginger-haired, boyish good looks. After nearly a decade of marriage, Tristan and Sarah were finally going to be blessed with a child, and both of them wore expressions of open joy.
Sebastian and Julia brought their own two children to join the group. Julia laid one hand on little Cassandra’s head and slipped the other arm around Sarah as she and her sister exchanged loving glances. Although Julia had always been the stronger, more spirited sister, Sarah had developed a quiet fortitude over the years. She had lost two babies early in pregnancy, but she and Tristan had never given up on their shared dream of a family. Izzie’s heart warmed at the sight of Sarah’s radiant smile.
“I’ve just finished a beautiful christening gown for the baby,” Julia was announcing. “I can’t wait to show you both.”
Mrs. Snuggs, the eighty-year-old housekeeper, had gone right ahead and served the bowls of soup even though the guests had not yet taken their seats. Now she spoke as she passed them on her way back to the kitchen.
“Yer soup do still be warm, but not for long.”
“Ah, Mrs. Snuggs, you are too kind,” Sebastian said with fond mockery.
Just then, Keswick entered the dining room. Over his lifetime, the wizened little man had served as everything from the stablemaster at Trevarre Hall to Sebastian’s manservant and even his assistant during their smuggling days. Now, although he continued to wear many hats, Keswick had found a new calling as “minder” to Cassandra and three-year-old Lucas when their parents were otherwise occupied.
“C’mon then, you two little scalawags,” he said with gruff affection. “We’re going to feed the baby bunnies your mum found in the meadow this morning. Would you like that?”
“Papa says a fox snatched their mummy for his dinner!” cried Lucas.
“Nature might seem cruel,” Keswick said as he scooped up the little boy, “but the wee bunnies will be just fine, thanks to your mum’s tender heart. I’ve made them a cozy bed in the barn. Would you like to see it?”
The children’s excited voices faded in the distance as the adults gathered around the long table. Izzie took her place between Gabriel St. Briac and Sarah. A long minute of silence ensued as the group enjoyed the carrot soup flavored with ginger and a bit of nutmeg. Izzie took the opportunity to observe St. Briac’s sculpted profile from the corners of her eyes. He remained the handsomest man she’d ever seen, his burnished good looks even more compelling than those of the darker Sebastian. Still, it was absurd that she could have spent so many years infatuated with a man she scarcely knew.
Her reverie was broken as Sebastian spoke from his position at the head of the table. “Izzie, weren’t you present in London when Gabriel brought his painting to Madame Le Brun for her opinion?”
“Oh, yes…” Izzie touched a finger to her cheek, as if the memory were not one she had examined countless times. “I believe I was there that afternoon.”
“You must have been very interested in the pr
ovenance of the portrait.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly at her brother. “I suppose I was interested. In the painting, I mean. After all, it appeared to be nearly three centuries old, and the subject was King Francois I.”
“And, most exciting of all,” Sebastian pressed, “legend has it that the artist was Leonardo da Vinci himself.”
“Quite possibly,” she allowed, feeling herself color again under St. Briac’s regard. “Have you come to fetch your portrait, m’sieur?”
“Ah, so you have not forgotten our last meeting, my lady. My pride has been restored.” Although St. Briac’s tone was teasing, his eyes were serious. “And to answer your question, yes, I do intend to take the King back to France. Vivant Denon has so many art treasures, looted from all over Europe, that I no longer worry he needs mine.”
“Izzie, you studied art history quite extensively during your last year in London,” Sebastian was saying. “Weren’t the portraits of da Vinci a particular interest of yours?”
She nodded slowly. “I did study the art of the Italian Renaissance. Because he made relatively few paintings compared to other artists of that period, Leonardo’s work naturally held special fascination for me. He had an extraordinary ability to reveal the soul of his subjects.”
“We thought,” Julia said, “that you might be able to look at Gabriel’s portrait tomorrow morning, after he retrieves it from its hiding place. Perhaps, since you are now so much more knowledgeable than you were when he came to see Madame Le Brun in London, you can offer some encouragement?”
“I—” Izzie hardly knew how to reply. Primmie had come to clear away the soup plates, and it seemed that all eyes were on her as they waited for the next course to be served. “Of course I will look at the portrait, but I am hardly an expert.”
The Secret of Love Page 4
