The Secret of Love

by Wright, Cynthia

  “You are very kind,” St. Briac said. Smoothly, he changed the subject. “And how do your friends the Raveneaus fare? I trust they are all well?”

  Izzie saw Sebastian and Julia exchange glances, as they always seemed to do when the Raveneau name was mentioned. She turned back to St. Briac. “Yes, they are very well. My dear Mouette is the wife of Sir Harry Brandreth, and they reside in London. André, Devon, and little Lindsay are in Connecticut, where they have a home. Travel between America and England has been difficult for them because of the war with France. Nathan Raveneau is grown now and aspires to be a ship’s captain like his father.”

  “You must miss all of them,” he said.

  “I do, yes! For many years, they were my family.” Izzie realized that perhaps she shouldn’t say it in front of Sebastian, who had been a dutiful brother ever since they’d been reunited a decade ago. However, the Raveneau family had given her unconditional love when she was younger and needed it so desperately, in the wake of her parents’ deaths. She looked at her brother and added, “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

  He leaned back in his chair and arched a dark brow. “Not in the least. I am glad they were there for you when I was not. And, to be honest, the Raveneaus are like family to me, too.”

  This time, Sebastian didn’t look at Julia, but Izzie saw her sister-in-law touch his hand under the table. What could it mean?

  “I remember the first time I met all of you, except for Lord and Lady Senwyck,” Gabriel was saying. “We were in Brittany, dining with the Raveneau family at their lodgings in Roscoff.”

  Julia’s smile was nostalgic in the candlelight. “What a lovely, long-ago evening that was! Sebastian and I were newly married, and we had sailed across the channel on the Peregrine. I met the Raveneaus and Izzie for the first time, too, that night.”

  “I came from Roscoff just this week,” Gabriel paused, as if considering whether to say more. “Actually, I encountered your brother, the Marquess of Caverleigh, before I sailed here.”

  Izzie felt the blood drain from her face as Sebastian cocked his head in surprise.

  “You can’t possibly mean—my brother, George?”

  “That’s the one. Do you have another?”

  “No, of course not, but George fled to the Continent in disgrace more than a decade ago. Frankly, after so many years without any word of him, I’ve feared for his safety.”

  “He is very much alive! In fact, I first met Lord Caverleigh in Paris, at least four years ago.” Gabriel looked into Izzie’s stricken eyes. “I believe I told you about that meeting when we spoke at Madame Le Brun’s in London. You didn’t share the information with your brother at that time?”

  “Share it?” she croaked. Couldn’t they all hear her heart beating? “No doubt I feared it was a case of mistaken identity, and we would all become distressed for nothing.”

  Sebastian wasn’t listening; he had already moved on. “St. Briac, did you speak to him in Roscoff? Did he give you his name?”

  “No, although the first time we met in Paris, we were introduced by Vivant Denon, who made Lord Caverleigh’s identity very clear.” Gabriel speared a green bean with his fork before adding, “When I saw Caverleigh again this week, it was on the Roscoff waterfront, as we cast off. He was standing on the docks, talking to the captain of another ship.”

  “How in heaven’s name can you be certain it was George?” Izzie asked, aware that she sounded unduly agitated. “Couldn’t you have made a mistake at that distance?”

  “Possibly, but I don’t think so,” Gabriel said firmly.

  “Even learning that you met our brother four years ago is a revelation,” said Sebastian. “And you say he was with Denon, the director of the Musée Napoleon? Very intriguing. Could George have possibly taken up scholarly pursuits?”

  “Perhaps you and our guest can continue this conversation later,” Julia interjected. “Your dishonored brother is hardly a subject to enliven this gathering, don’t you agree?” She turned to Sarah, beaming. “I have been longing to hear my sister’s news. Has Tristan gotten you that cradle you were admiring in Truro? Will Mother and Pip be here to help you after the birth?”

  Sarah’s face lit up. “Yes, the cradle is in place, and Mother arrives next week, though Tristan doubts that she will be of any real help. Thank goodness you live nearby, dear sister.”

  “I am at your disposal, of course! How are you feeling?

  “Simply splendid, even though I’m as big as a whale. My only complaint is that I am frequently cold, and have been wrapped in a shawl night and day.” Sarah gave an exaggerated shiver as she glanced over her shoulder toward an open window. “Would someone mind closing that? To me, it feels like a winter gale!”

  Izzie swiveled in her chair to look at the window. Darkness had fallen. How odd that it was open several inches at this time of day! Then, just as Tristan rose to push it closed, she caught a glimpse of a slightly stooped shadow moving near the house. A feeling of foreboding swept over her as all her instincts told her that George had been outside the window, listening to their conversation.

  “My lady, will you have berry tart?” Primmie asked as she began to place the dish in front of her.

  Izzie felt ill. “No, no, none for me, thank you. I couldn’t possibly eat another bite.”

  Chapter 4

  Izzie felt as if she hadn’t slept all night. Even the smallest sound caused her to spring from her bed and look out onto the moonlit grounds, expecting to see her brother George tip-toeing from one tree to the next.

  When he’d told her that he wanted to get closer to Trevarre Hall, to see it again for himself, her heart had gone out to him. Of course it was understandable that, after so many years in exile, George would long to revisit this landmark from the past and perhaps even catch a glimpse of Sebastian.

  Still, by the time they had all gathered for dinner, Izzie expected her brother to be well on his way. Why had he still been lurking about, listening outside their dining room window, well after darkness had fallen?

  “My lady?” Lowenna whispered from the doorway to Izzie’s dressing room. “Are ye feeling poorly?”

  Izzie had almost forgotten that Lowenna slept on a cot in the dressing room. The girl was usually as quiet as a mouse. “No, I feel fine, I just can’t seem to sleep.”

  “’Tis a full moon, my lady.”

  “I think I will dress now and go downstairs. Perhaps by the time I’ve had some tea, the sun will be rising.” She started toward the dressing room. “I’ll need my warm kerseymere spencer and my half-boots, as I’ll be walking in the woods this morning.”

  She was determined to be part of the planned outing to recover Gabriel’s painting. Although Izzie wanted to share an adventure with him, she was equally thrilled by the prospect of seeing the portrait of King François. She had been much younger and greener when she’d last beheld it in London. Since then, she’d spent untold hours studying Leonardo da Vinci’s works, as well as learning and practicing the fine points of his unique technique.

  And in the back of her mind were the worries about George. She would feel better when she could see for herself that the priceless painting was safe and George’s presence here had nothing to do with it.

  Finally, dressed in a dove gray walking dress and half-boots that provided welcome support for her still tender ankle, Izzie went downstairs to the kitchen, her chipstraw bonnet dangling from her hand by its blue ribbons. Primmie was in the kitchen, her pale, freckled face sleepy-looking under a wilted mobcap. Clover, the household’s aged gray cat, lay in front of the hearth, purring intermittently.

  “I’ll have tea, Primmie,” Izzie said. “I will take it here with you, where it’s warm.”

  “As you say, my lady.” The young housekeeper looked rather confused by Izzie’s appearance in her kitchen when the sun had barely begun to rise. “I do hope nothing be amiss.”

  “Not at all! I am simply looking forward to the day.”

  No sooner had Prim
mie placed the porcelain pot and cup in front of her than Gabriel St. Briac appeared in the doorway.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” he said, his tone husky with sleep.

  Under St. Briac’s warm, intent gaze, Izzie felt as if a little bird had awakened inside her, fluttering its wings. “Good morning, m’sieur.”

  “Are you here before dawn because you are looking forward to seeing the painting as much as I am? I confess that I could barely sleep.”

  As he crossed to take the chair next to hers, Izzie surreptitiously eyed the lean, hard lines of his thighs, encased in buckskin breeches. In London, she had met many handsome men who wore their tailored clothing with exceptional power and grace, yet none of them had stirred her as St. Briac did.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I too am very excited to view the painting again. In fact, I intend to accompany you and Sebastian to Lanwyllow this morning.”

  Gabriel’s brows flicked upward. “Indeed? Of course, I should be delighted to have you with us.” He glanced longingly toward her steaming cup. “I find I am very thirsty this morning.”

  As if reading his mind, Primmie hurried toward them with a tall, slender pot of coffee and a pitcher of warm milk. St. Briac poured them together in his cup and sampled the fragrant brew. “Ah!” he said approvingly. “Primmie, you are gifted. Will you come to France and make café au lait for me there?”

  The housekeeper blushed crimson. “Oh my! I wish I could, sir, but Mrs. Snuggs be too old to manage without me. Christmas last, his lordship made me housekeeper.”

  “Eh bien, I understand.” He looked wistful. “I hope Lord Sebastian knows how fortunate he is to have you.”

  For a moment, Izzie feared that Primmie might swoon. “See here, I am feeling quite bereft with only a common pot of tea,” she said in mock distress. “May I have café au lait as well?”

  “I insist that you share mine until Primmie can work her magic and bring another pot.” Gabriel procured a fresh cup and saucer and poured together the steaming coffee and milk. “Will you take a bit of sugar?”

  “Please. I adore sugar.” She heard the giddy note in her voice.

  Gabriel lifted his cup to her in a lighthearted toast. “Salut, my lady.”

  As Izzie touched her cup to his, their fingers brushed. She saw him watching her, brows raised expectantly, as she took a long sip of the steaming mixture. “Oh! Oh, my, it is heaven.”

  “Did I not tell you that our Primmie has magical powers?”

  Just then, Sebastian strode into the kitchen, clad in his riding clothes. “Primmie! Where is breakfast? We must eat before our outing.” Turning to Gabriel and Izzie, he added, “And what are you two doing in the kitchen? Come into the dining room.”

  The sun was rising over the trees to the east as the trio sat together and ate eggs, ham, and warm rolls with butter. Sebastian joined them in another round of café au lait before announcing that they must be off to meet Tristan at Lanwyllow.

  “Julia longs to accompany us, of course,” he said as he pushed back from the table, “but our little Lucas isn’t feeling well. We think it’s just a new tooth, but she doesn’t want to leave him.”

  “We’ll be back soon enough,” said Gabriel, “and we will have the rest of the day to examine the painting. Then, although I am loathe to be separated from Primmie’s cooking, I must sail with the tide for France.”

  Izzie’s heart sank as she rose and put on her bonnet. In less than twenty-four hours, Gabriel would be gone.

  Even as she considered the possibility that she would never see him again, Izzie knew a sense of relief. The longer she was near him, the less control she had over her emotions. It felt like being tugged into a warm, seductive pool of weakness. She would be safer after St. Briac left and the temptation was removed completely.

  Wouldn’t she?

  * * *

  Gabriel, Sebastian, and Isabella set off together on horseback, northward over narrow lanes hemmed in by slate hedgerows. The sun had fully risen by the time they reached the estate of Lanwyllow, where Tristan met them outside the stables.

  “How good it is to see you again, m’sieur!” The dark green coat he wore set off his untidy ginger hair.

  St. Briac shook Tristan’s outstretched hand. “I must tell you again, my lord, how much I appreciate it that you have kept my treasured painting safe these past four years.”

  “It has been my pleasure.” He made a gesture for the others to follow him as they set out through the colorful gardens laid out with artful patterns of purple crocuses, sunshine-yellow jonquils, and red, white, and pink tulips. Tristan led them through a tunnel of magnolias, past the half-timbered gardener’s cottage. “Ah, Sebastian, whenever I pass here, I remember the secret meetings we held in this cottage when we were smugglers.”

  “Yes, those were exciting times,” the older man agreed, adding rather wistfully, “A little danger in one’s life can be intoxicating.”

  “I knew it!” Gabriel joined in with a laugh. “You miss it. Remember my offer…”

  “You must not attempt to lead me astray, my friend. I am a family man now.”

  St. Briac cast a sidelong glance at Isabella, who was looking especially fetching in her spring bonnet, kid gloves, and peacock blue spencer. She walked purposefully, as if determined to keep pace with the men. It was diverting to gaze at her for a while, as he wondered how long it would take for the color to wash over her cheeks. He’d been well aware of her infatuation with him when she was younger, but now it was harder to tell. Sometimes it seemed that she’d completely outgrown her attraction to him and he was tempted to test her.

  As Isabella’s cheeks grew pink under his gaze, he felt a warm stirring at his male core. Yes, it was very tempting. If he should take her in his arms later, when they were alone, how would she respond? And if she yielded, would her lips taste as delicious as he imagined?

  Suddenly, as they entered the dark woods, Isabella surprised him by looking up, her expression challenging. “Is there something on your mind, m’sieur?”

  How charming she was! He had to remind himself that Lady Isabella Trevarre wasn’t just any young woman with whom he might amuse himself. Not only was she the sister of his friend and host, but more to the point, she was also a noblewoman. One day she would be the wife of an English peer. He, on the other hand, was descended from a bastard.

  Truly, she was above him, and he ought to keep his distance.

  “My lady,” he said softly, “I confess that, in a moment of weakness, I was admiring your beauty.”

  Even as her blush deepened, she set her pretty chin. “I perceive that you are a trifler, m’sieur, but I am not a woman to be trifled with.”

  “That is quite clear.” He smiled, delighted by her spirit. “I appreciate the warning, my lady.”

  “Perhaps you imagine that I am a shallow aristocrat, spending my days socializing with a lot of other shallow aristocrats?” Isabella persisted. “On the contrary, I am a professional woman. I am a painter!”

  “Most impressive. Have you grown into an accomplished portraitist like our own Madame Le Brun?”

  Isabella replied a trifle hesitantly, “I will tell you honestly that I have not. Madame has a gift for capturing the emotions of her subjects that is beyond my reach. However, I do feel that my landscapes, particularly those of the Cornish coast and countryside, are very fine.”

  St. Briac wanted to press her, but perceived that this was a sensitive subject. Instead, he asked, “Do you paint at Trevarre Hall?”

  “I have my atelier in a cottage overlooking Polperro,” she said proudly. “Perhaps you know the village? It’s famous for its smuggling! Are you familiar with Polperro’s banker Zephaniah Job? They say he finances many of the most successful smugglers.”

  “I am,” he replied in a tone laced with amusement. “In fact, I saw him yesterday. My ship, Deux Frères, is docked in Polperro.”

  Her eyes widened. “You are a real smuggler, then.”

  “I can be,�
� Gabriel admitted. “But usually, I am an agent, and I rarely leave Brittany. I assemble orders for those who desire to bring scarce merchandise into England, especially needed items with very high taxes imposed by your king. My brother and I keep warehouses in Roscoff and Saint-Malo, where we collect and load goods for our clients. Only when someone is unable to bring their own cargo do we deliver it ourselves, as I did yesterday.”

  “When you put it that way, it almost sounds respectable!” Her eyes, which were a lovely shade of green, twinkled behind her spectacles.

  For several minutes, the quartet walked in silence through the dense woods. The ancient trees were greening with new spring leaves while the brown ones shed last autumn made a damp carpet over the paths. Down the hill to the west, through the trees, Gabriel glimpsed water, and the outline of Lanwyllow’s stone boathouse and quay.

  “Lerryn Creek is too shallow for Deux Frères, I suppose,” he mused, glancing toward Tristan.

  “That’s right. When we were free-trading, we used a lugger. Sebastian had it especially modified to conceal our cargo.”

  Gabriel sent Sebastian a grin. “My lord, I continue to maintain that you neglect your true calling!”

  “I confess that I had a moment of yearning for those days when you mentioned your coffin,” Sebastian murmured with sigh of mock regret.

  “A coffin!” cried Isabella.

  Her brother gave her a playful smile. “Our friend confided that they used a coffin to conceal the shipment of tea he recently delivered to a Cornish merchant.”

  St. Briac laughed softly as they tramped along the pathway. “One hopes that if the customs officers intercept and search our ship, they won’t go so far as to open a coffin, especially after being warned that the body inside has been dead for more than week.”

  “But that’s ghastly!” Isabella wrinkled her nose.

  “Quite true. The coffin is also helpful when we carry the tea from the wharf to its new owner,” he went on, mischief infecting his smile. “I’ve discovered that Cornish folk are highly respectful of the dead. As we make our way through the streets, no one would dare question us.”