“You are quite welcome to search the rest of the ship,” St. Briac invited him.
“Are you mad? Get out of my way!”
Only a few minutes later, the Revenue cutter was sailing away with the wind, with Adolphus Lynton safely back on board. Martin, Helivet, and Eustache were laughing together in triumph, but St. Briac had no time to celebrate.
All he could think of was Isabella, waiting below in her dark prison.
“Gabriel!”
He heard her calling before he reached the hold. Expecting to find her in a state of near hysteria, he threw open the lid, but instead, she was beaming at him.
“Our plan was a success!” she exclaimed as he lifted her out of the wooden box and into his arms. “I wish I could have seen his face. Adolphus Lynton really thought there was a body inside this coffin, did he not?”
“Indeed, cherie, he did. You played your part very convincingly.” They laughed together, then shared a passionate kiss before he added, “What that pompous fool didn’t know is that I now reserve this coffin for only my most precious cargo.”
Epilogue
Trevarre Hall, Cornwall
June, 1808
When Isabella awoke in her pretty bedchamber at Trevarre Hall, she was momentarily confused. Looking around the room where she had slept so often over the last decade, she felt a stab of panic.
Perhaps it had all been a dream after all.
Then she saw proof of her new reality: a painting that leaned against her traveling trunk. It was the portrait Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun had made so long ago of Isabella’s mother, Charlotte. When she arrived back at Trevarre Hall and had excitedly shown it to Sebastian, he’d grown misty-eyed, relating memories of his childhood visit to Paris with their mother.
“How wonderful to see her happy again,” he had whispered, reaching out to almost touch his fingertips to the canvas.
Isabella stretched now in her bed, basking in the sunlight that streamed in from the garden. Already, she could hear the sounds of servants bustling about outdoors, readying the estate’s five-century-old stone chapel for today’s wedding.
Tonight, she would be sharing a bed with Gabriel, as his wife. The mere thought made her euphoric with anticipation…
“Are you awake?”
Isabella sat up and reached for her spectacles from the bedside table. “Of course! Good morning, darling Julia. And who do I see behind your skirts?”
Her lovely sister-in-law entered with a tray of scones and hot tea, while Cassandra and Lucas rushed forward to give her kisses.
“Auntie Izzie, I’ve made you a new flower wreath,” Cassandra said gravely, holding up the slightly bedraggled circlet of wild roses and daisies. “I thought you might like to wear it today.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” exclaimed Isabella. “I should love to wear it.”
She reached for it, but the little girl held the wreath to her chest. “No, not now. I meant for the wedding!”
Setting down the tray, Julia intervened. “Darling, I’m certain Izzie has something else in mind for her bridal costume.”
Isabella shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed, one arm around each child. “I should be honored to wear your beautiful wreath. Thank you so much for making it for me.”
After pressing kisses to her cheeks, the two children ran off and Julia poured tea for both of them.
“The weather is perfect,” she said. Her sable hair gleamed in the light as she passed a cup to Isabella. “And you must be over the moon.”
“I am. Of course! And I miss Gabriel fiercely. I would be terribly excited to see him today even if we weren’t getting married!”
“But?”
“You know me too well.” She sipped her tea and sighed. “But, on a day like this, I am missing my parents…and even George, not that they were the family of my dreams.” With a rueful laugh, Isabella continued, “I had been hoping that André and Devon Raveneau might be able to be here, but they can’t travel from America because of the war.”
“Mouette won’t be coming?”
“No, but at least she did write to me, which was rather a surprise.” Isabella’s eyes stung but she refused to cry, especially today, when she had so much to be grateful for. “Mouette is Lady Brandreth now. Harry has been knighted! She wrote a very kind note of congratulations, but explained that her calendar was filled with other engagements.”
“How disappointing.” Julia sighed. “I have some experience with flawed loved ones.”
“Oh, yes, I remember your mother and stepfather. What is his name? Pup?”
“Pip!”
Their eyes met as they began to laugh, until Isabella set down her teacup and embraced Julia. “Perhaps Mouette has changed and is no longer the friend I once loved, but how fortunate I am to have you for a sister-in-law!”
“I feel the same way! And may I add that, although your brother Sebastian can be rather difficult, he loves you. He is terribly pleased that you have found happiness.”
“Is he?” Isabella cocked her head slightly, considering. “Gabriel will be relieved to know that!”
* * *
“Mon Dieu, why did you let me drink so much cognac last night?” groaned Gabriel St. Briac as he awoke to a fierce headache.
His brother Justin lay completely still on a wood-and-cane chaise near the window. Gabriel feared for a moment that he might be dead, but then he partially opened one bloodshot eye.
“Where the devil am I?” he asked hoarsely.
“You are with me, mon frère. We are in Isabella’s atelier, overlooking the village of Polperro.”
“Where?” He made a derisory sound, then closed his eye and covered his face with an embroidered pillow. “Summon Baptiste to take me home. At once.”
Gabriel laughed, but quickly stopped when his head began to hurt more. “You are in Cornwall. England. And it is my wedding day, so you can’t leave yet.” Saying those words reminded him to check the time. Reaching for his waistcoat, which he’d draped over the back of Isabella’s easel, Gabriel drew out his pocketwatch and blinked in disbelief. “We were due at Trevarre Hall ten minutes ago. Get up!”
He jumped up from his own narrow bed, poured water into a basin, and began to splash it onto his face. “That’s better. Allez! Are you conscious?”
Justin slowly withdrew the pillow, rolled to one side, and swung his legs over to the floor. “I can’t remember the last time I slept with my boots on.”
“I don’t think we can call what you’ve been doing ‘sleeping’,” Gabriel said sardonically. “And now, get up, we must go! There will be a bath and a razor for you at Trevarre Hall. And a clean suit of clothes.” He pulled on Justin’s arm.
“If it weren’t your wedding day, I would tell you to go to the devil.”
Gabriel grasped his brother’s elbow with one hand while gathering up their possessions with the other, and started for the door. Had he forgotten anything? On Isabella’s worktable there was the newly framed sketch she had made of him during her enforced captivity in Paris. Gabriel always felt moved by the sight of his own image, so faithfully rendered by the woman he loved.
Nearby were the plans he had sketched for Justin in the middle of the night, of a manor house he meant to build. It would be a dream come true for Isabella: walking out her front door, down a winding path overlooking Polperro and the English Channel, to her atelier, where she could paint as long as she liked while their children frolicked in the wildflower meadow outside her window.
And Gabriel had dreams of his own. He’d purchased several acres of land on this sunny, green hilltop and finally meant to have the gardens he’d dreamed of since boyhood. Already he had spent hours poring over the Botany books he had brought from Roscoff, and he’d begun listing the Latin names of plants he intended to grow. There would be a magnificent greenhouse, constructed of stone and glass, where he could begin the process of creating artistic masterpieces of a different sort. Ones that can provide food for our table, Gabriel tho
ught now with a wry smile.
His reverie was broken by a moan from Justin. “I feel wretched. I think I may be sick.”
“You’re just trying to scare me, but it won’t work. In fact, I have a task to assign to you, dear brother.”
Justin leaned against the doorframe and gave a mocking laugh. “You jest.”
“Not a bit.” Angling closer, he looked into his brother’s dark, hooded eyes. “I must ride directly to Trevarre Hall, to reassure Isabella that I have not changed my mind. Meanwhile, you will go to Polruan to fetch our parents from their lodgings. Put them in their carriage and make certain that they aren’t late.”
“Are you mad? Let’s hire someone to go and get them.”
“Justin.” He gave his brother a warning look as they both went out into the sunlight. “There isn’t time for this.”
“I knew I should have brought Baptiste with me. He would have dealt with our parents, especially on a day like today.”
“You couldn’t bring him because he is in charge of your house in Saint-Malo, and you are on your way to the Indian Ocean.” Discovering a stale roll amidst the items he’d gathered, Gabriel pushed it into his hands. “Eat this. You’ll feel better.”
Justin eyed the roll dubiously. “I liked you better when you were a free-spirited libertine, before you started trying to order me about.”
“I’m sure you did.” Gabriel handed over the reins to his brother’s horse. “I feel certain that you remember how to get to Polruan, no matter what you say. And try to be softer with Maman and Papa. You may not see them for a very long time…”
Justin arched a brow in the way that made him look like Satan himself, especially with his black hair in disarray. “Thank you for adding that last sentiment. It will give me comfort today when our parents try to drive me mad.”
* * *
Clover, the plush gray cat, had reigned at Trevarre Hall as long as Isabella could remember. Now, they sat side-by-side on a bench in the garden courtyard, while Isabella munched on one of Primmie’s warm berry scones.
Everyone seemed to be busy in the chapel, but she was forbidden to join them. She could see all the flowers that had been cut, probably by Julia, from the garden, and she could smell all the tantalizing aromas that floated out from Primmie’s kitchen.
Yes, it promised to be wonderful day—if Gabriel would only arrive. When lsabella had last checked the mantel clock in the sitting room, he had been more than a half-hour late.
Was it possible that Justin might have persuaded him to go to the Indian Ocean and be a pirate, after all?
No sooner did the thought occur to Isabella than she banished it with a guilty blush. Of course, by now she understood herself well enough to realize that it wasn’t Gabriel she doubted, really, but herself. But now she knew better.
“He truly loves me, Clover,” she murmured to the cat, smiling. “And I deserve it.”
Clover began to purr.
“Is there room for your brother on that bench?”
Her heart lifted at the sound of Sebastian’s voice. Moving over enough so that he could join them, she beamed up at his handsome face. He was dark and rakishly chiseled, tall and broad-shouldered, and every time Isabella looked at him since returning from France, she thought how bizarre it was that Sebastian and George could look so completely different.
“How are you today?” he asked. His gray eyes were unusually tender.
“I have never been happier…”
“However?” he prompted.
They had come a long way as brother and sister since the night they had been reunited a decade ago. Sebastian had just returned to England from service in the Royal Navy, hoping to untangle the mess George had made of their deceased parents’ affairs. He and Julia had just embarked on marriage as virtual strangers, and the last thing Sebastian wanted was a fourteen-year-old sister with spectacles and spots.
Over the years, they’d grown closer, becoming quite friendly by the time Gabriel’s masterpiece had been stolen and Isabella had raced off to France. Sebastian had been angry when they finally returned to Cornwall, but his wife had helped to calm him down with reminders that their own courtship and marriage had been highly unconventional, to say the least.
It also had helped that Sebastian liked Gabriel, and Isabella had been so old that everyone considered her “on the shelf.”
She sighed now, considering Sebastian’s one word question. “However,” she repeated, “I confess that I feel a bit sad today, too. I wish our parents were here for my wedding…”
“Yes.” He nodded, adding with a trace of irony, “And let’s wish, too, that if they had lived, they would have become different sorts of people.”
Isabella bit back a smile. “Of course, you’re right. That’s what I really long for, isn’t it—the fantasy of how our family ought to be.”
“Including George, riding triumphantly up the drive, a new man.” As if sensing Isabella’s craving for the love of her one remaining family member, Sebastian wrapped an arm around her. “I know. Well, we won’t give up hope for that miracle, but in the meantime, we must be grateful for what is here before us in this moment. Julia maintains that is the secret of love.”
Isabella relaxed against his shoulder and sighed. “I am immensely grateful for you, darling Sebastian. I know that it wasn’t easy, bringing me into your life when you were newly-married and had been away so long that you scarcely knew me.”
He watched as Clover stepped awkwardly over Isabella to find his lap, purring louder. “Julia deserves most of the credit. She wouldn’t have it any other way—and I felt a bit ashamed for not being a better brother when I saw how cozy you were with the Raveneaus.”
“I admire your candor,” she said, sitting up. “I am sorry that André and Devon couldn’t be here today. And Mouette, of course, who seems to have cast our friendship aside now that she is part of the London ton.”
Sebastian looked into the distance, shading his eyes as an unfamiliar open landau, pulled by a pair of handsome grays, came barreling down the drive. “Speaking of Mouette…”
Isabella instinctively recognized her friend, even before she came into focus. The open landau, painted a fashionable shade of bottle-green, shone in the sunlight, and its female occupant wore a very stylish straw-and-silk bonnet shaped like a coal scuttle.
“Izzie!” came the visitor’s cry.
Could it really be true that Mouette had come, all the way from London? Isabella jumped up, lifted her soft muslin skirts, and ran to the place where the landau had rolled to a stop.
Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of her dear friend, who for so long had seemed to be lost to her.
“I had to come,” said Mouette, beaming up at her. Her ebony curls gleamed in the sunlight as she threw open the low door.
As they embraced, Isabella saw that Mouette’s little boy, Charles, was sitting quietly on the other seat. He was fair, like Harry Brandreth, whom Mouette used to liken to a golden-haired Greek god.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Isabella exclaimed. “I have missed you.”
“As you know, I have a very busy social calendar,” Mouette said brightly, “but a letter arrived this week from Mama. She was too far away to have received word of your wedding, but she has always had a gift for premonition. Mama wrote that, no matter how exalted my position might become in society, I must not forget my true friends.” After a pause, she added, “Of course, Harry couldn’t have possibly broken away at such short notice. You know, he has an eye on a seat in Parliament.”
Isabella swallowed a bubble of laughter. How could she ever explain Mouette to anyone else? She might appear to be pretentious and vain, but underneath was the sweet girl who had been so kind to Isabella when she was virtually homeless. Mouette had welcomed her as a sister and had never begrudged her the affection of her own parents. And, Isabella had confided in her for years. Their bond was precious.
“Your presence is the best wedding gift anyone could give me.�
��
“Better than the gift of a husband?” As she spoke, Mouette gestured to her coachman to bring the sleeping Charles, and they all started toward the house. “My dear, your message was so brief, I had to come to learn who you are marrying!”
“Did I forget to mention his name?” laughed Isabella as they reached the courtyard. Before she could say more, the liveried coachman set Charles down next to them. The little boy was awake now, rubbing his eyes and looking at Clover with interest.
“Madame,” the man said to Mouette, bowing slightly as if she were a peeress, “if you will excuse me, I’ll see to having the wheel fixed properly.”
“Of course, Pilson. That will be all.” Mouette waited until the man was out of earshot before turning back to Isabella, her blue eyes sparkling with outrage. “I haven’t told you what transpired a short while ago on the road! If you can call these Cornish cart tracks roads.”
Isabella led them into the house, looking for Primmie to assign a bedchamber to Mouette and her little son. “No, what happened?”
“Our landau ran over a large rock, and one of the back wheels nearly fell off! Of course, we had to stop, but it was too heavy a job for Pilson to do alone. He was about to take one of the horses and return to the nearest village when a horrid man appeared.”
“A horrid man?” she echoed in surprise. “Goodness, what did he do? Are you all right?”
Mouette’s nostrils flared in a way that only made her look lovelier. “He was an utter scoundrel. He knew how to fix the wheel well enough for us to get here, but the way he looked at me, it was as if he were imagining me—well, Izzie, you know what I mean!”
It was impossible not to notice that not only were Mouette’s cheeks a fetching shade of pink, but her creamy breasts were blushing as well as they swelled above the low neckline of her gown. “How terrible! Perhaps we should speak to the constable. The man sounds as if he might be dangerous.”
“Quite dangerous.” Leaning closer, Mouette whispered, “But it’s not necessary to alert the constable, unless sinful good looks are a crime.”
The Secret of Love Page 30
