The Secret of Love (Rakes & Rebels: The Raveneau Family Book 3)

by Cynthia Wright

  “Ha!” Izzie clapped her hands together in delight. “I will never tire of imagining my brother’s face when he realized that you had switched places with his presumed bride.”

  “I was very rash, and Sebastian had every right to be angry.”

  “Don’t you mean furious?”

  “Perhaps.” Julia blushed. “As for your plans to emulate Madame Le Brun, I would only beg you to remember that your brother has a temper. I don’t think either of us wishes to see him engage in a duel with one of your unsuspecting paramours.”

  “Never fear. I would be very discreet,” Izzie said. “In any event, it’s complete fantasy. I’m not interested in real romance. I only want to paint.”

  “Is that so?” Julia gave her a sidelong glance. “What about Gabriel St. Briac? You were once very smitten with him.”

  “Must you remind me of that foolish infatuation? I was just a schoolgirl.” Izzie was grateful that her sister-in-law could not hear the way her heart beat faster, even now, at the mention of St. Briac. “Thank goodness Madame Le Brun taught me romance is fleeting. One should enjoy it in the moment without expectations.”

  “That’s a more sophisticated approach to romance than I could ever manage.” Julia looked dubious. “I wonder if Madame is pleased to be back in France? You must miss her.”

  “I do. I trust she is as happy as I am. She encouraged me to spread my wings, and so I have.”

  “Clearly, independence becomes you,” Julia said, sweeping her with an appraising gaze. “I know compliments make you squirm, but I can’t stop marveling at the change in you.”

  “I think it’s the freedom. I’m outdoors a great deal and I’m doing what I love. I find I’m not hungry for sweets the way I used to be.”

  “You look lovely. Sebastian was just saying last night that he is reminded of your mother when he sees you now.”

  “Thank you for telling me that.” Izzie felt tears sting her eyes, and though she wished that Sebastian would one day share his feelings with her directly, she would not say so to Julia. Instead, she murmured, “I sometimes suspect that I am crafting the life Mama could have enjoyed if she hadn’t married our dreadful father.”

  As the gig skirted the wildflower-studded stone cliffs that plummeted down to the English Channel, Julia drew on the reins to steer the horse inland. The main road soon came into sight and Izzie saw a man on horseback riding toward them.

  “Oh, dear,” said Julia. “I believe it’s the odious Adolphus Lynton. I wish he would go away and leave us alone.”

  Izzie wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t wanted to tell you, but he seems to be rather taken with me. He keeps turning up whenever I go into Polperro.”

  “But, that’s awful! You should have told us.” Julia pulled on the reins, clearly alarmed. “Sebastian would be furious if he knew Lieutenant Lynton had dared even to look at you.”

  “That’s precisely why I haven’t said anything.”

  A decade ago, Adolphus Lynton had carried a torch for Julia, but she had rebuffed him. As the pretentious Supervisor of Salt, he’d devoted himself to exposing Sebastian’s smuggling activities until the night when Julia had nearly been killed during a confrontation between the smugglers and Lynton’s Revenue men. Disgraced, Lynton had left Cornwall for several years, but now he was back, working again as a Customs Officer.

  Before Julia could reply, Adolphus Lynton was looming over them, sweeping off his bicorne hat in an extravagant bow. Shadows played over the narrow blade of his nose and his thin, pale face.

  “How fortunate I am to have encountered two of the loveliest flowers in all of England!”

  “Lieutenant Lynton,” Julia said coolly, “you know that my husband would forbid us to converse with you. We bid you good day.”

  “Of course.” He drawled the word, mockingly. “All of Cornwall trembles at the mention of the powerful Lord Sebastian Trevarre.”

  Julia snapped at the reins and the horse tried to start forward. After a moment, Lynton moved his own steed against the side of the stone hedgerow so that they could pass.

  “How pompous he is,” said Izzie.

  “He is a buffoon!” Julia gave a little laugh, but the color in her face betrayed her agitation. “Let us forget about him. What about your gown for tonight? We’re having guests for supper, so I hope you’ll choose something pretty.”

  “Guests? If you mean Tristan and Sarah, they won’t give a fig about my gown, nor will the children.”

  “I believe that Sebastian is bringing someone else as well…” Her eyes seemed to dance before she glanced away.

  Izzie was distracted by her own longing to be free of the gig. Once, she would have craved a warm scone after a taxing encounter like the one they’d just had with Lynton, but now she wanted to move, to feel the fragrant breeze on her face as she hurried down a footpath.

  They were nearing Polruan, a village of narrow cobbled lanes that descended steeply to the River Fowey. On the opposite bank, the handsome town of Fowey spread its charms across the horizon. Just a short distance to the south, the river merged with the English Channel.

  “Julia, do let me out here so that I can walk.” Izzie pointed toward the square tower of Lanteglos-by-Fowey Church, folded into the hillside just north of the road. “I’ll go down past the church to Pont and visit the swans on my way. I may even reach home before you do.”

  “Won’t you stay? I am just stopping in the village to see Mrs. Polarven. She’s baked a star-gazy pie for Sebastian and Keswick.” Julia slowed the gig to a stop and narrowed her eyes in a way that said she remembered every time the girl had begged to walk and then had turned up late. “I will only be a few minutes, and then we’ll be on our way—”

  “I assure you, I will be much better company at supper if I walk now. Do let me go,” Izzie begged. She was already lifting her skirts and climbing out to freedom. “I shall be happy to wear any gown you please this evening!”

  * * *

  Just beyond the ancient church began the wooded path that led down to Pont Pill, the magical tidal creek Izzie had loved since childhood. Enclosed in a tunnel of spring greenery and surrounded by the sounds of chirping baby birds and rustling animals, she hurried along. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to walk in the woods so soon after last night’s drenching rain. The path was muddy and her footing became less sure as her slippers grew wetter.

  In the distance, Izzie could see the glimmering reflection of the creek. She was eager to reach the thicket just east of the little footbridge. Would the mother swan still be there, sitting on her nest of large twigs? Julia had reported that she expected the cygnets to hatch at any time.

  As she emerged from the trees beside the old limekiln, Izzie had a fleeting glimpse of a tall, spare man striding uphill on the other side of the creek. Inexplicably, her heart jumped.

  The swans were forgotten as Izzie crossed the arched stone bridge and started up the wooded path. Trevarre Hall, her family’s ancestral estate, lay high atop the far side of this hill, and the man was on Trevarre land.

  Izzie’s slippers were slick with mud but she quickened her pace. Something about the man’s unkempt, wavy hair and the way he leaned forward slightly as he rounded the corner, struck eerie chords of recognition deep inside her. Even as she realized that he reminded her of George, her exiled brother, Izzie doubted her own instincts.

  Had he looked back at her, just before disappearing into the woods? Perspiration dampened her hands and breasts.

  Pushing branches aside, she clambered over an ancient stone stile and narrowly avoided putting one foot in a fresh pile of cow manure. Where had he gone?

  Just as Izzie tried to hastily hop over a puddle, she caught her wet slipper on a gnarled tree root and tumbled sideways to the ground. For a moment, she lay there, stunned and panting. Birds warbled overhead as her right ankle began to throb.

  “Blast!” she muttered.

  When she tried to get up, the back of her spencer caught on a tree branch and sh
e couldn’t reach it to free herself. The pain from her ankle was almost unbearable. There was nothing for it. She would have to cry out for help and hope that the man returned to rescue her.

  “Help! Someone, please help me!” Luckily, her voice was strong, and it echoed over the wooded hillside. “I am hurt!”

  She lay back and waited, trying not to think about what she would do if no one came. At length, she heard him scrambling back down the muddy path. “Young lady, what’s amiss?”

  Izzie instantly knew her brother’s strident voice, even after a decade of separation. A mixture of anticipation, joy, and fear sent her heart racing as she waited for him to come into view.

  Moments later, he rounded the twisted corner of the path and their eyes met. George looked so much older than he had the last time she had seen him, before he’d run away to a life of exile in Italy…and yet so much was the same. Although his fair hair was thinner, it still grew back from a V-shaped widow’s peak on his brow. He had their father’s tall, forward-leaning build, and his shoulders stooped now more than ever. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, but his eyes were the same leaf-green color as her own.

  “How may I assist you?” he asked impatiently, glancing around as if he were being followed.

  It came to Izzie that he didn’t recognize her. No doubt he saw her plain, mud-spattered gown and slippers and took her for a servant.

  “George, it’s Izzie. Your sister.”

  He gaped at her. “God’s blood. Can it be?”

  “I saw you from the footbridge and have been chasing you up the hillside!” She pushed her smudged spectacles up her nose. “For heaven’s sake, stop staring and help me get up. I’m caught on a tree branch.”

  “Of course I’m staring. The last time I laid eyes on you, you were a plump schoolgirl with spots!” George freed Izzie from the branch, then awkwardly put an arm around her waist and helped her stand. “You’re hurt. Is it your ankle?”

  “I think I’ve only twisted it.” She drew back slightly to look at him. Although he smelled of strong spirits and his once-familiar face was dissipated, warm memories stirred within her. Her oldest brother had been very kind to her during her strange, lonely childhood. And, when she’d been orphaned by the carriage accident that took her parents, it was George who had come to her at school and held her as she wept. She had always felt more of an emotional connection with him than with the rather distant Sebastian, as if they understood each other’s childhood wounds. “Have you come home?” she asked him now. “Does Sebastian know?”

  He shook his head violently. “No. No! I’ve only come to England to…” He paused, blinking. “To look after a bit of unfinished business.”

  “We feared you might be dead.” Izzie tested her ankle as she spoke and found that she could walk, slowly. “Sebastian has been haunted by the uncertainty of not knowing your fate.”

  “Just as well he thinks I’m dead. Don’t you see, I have brought nothing but disgrace to our family. I shall soon return to the Continent, but first I wanted to see Trevarre Hall for myself, even from a distance.” His expression darkened as he glanced around furtively. “Can you understand that?”

  “No,” she argued, even though she knew full well what he meant. Trevarre Hall had been his, after he had inherited the Caverleigh title, but he had turned it over to Sebastian after fleeing to Italy, penniless and dishonored. “George, do come home with me and have a hot meal with your family. Look, the top button on your coat is hanging by a thread. Come home and I’ll sew it on for you.” She touched the sleeve of her brother’s worn, unfashionable olive-green coat. Watching him, she thought she saw raw longing in his eyes, before he raised a hand to hide the dangling brown button.

  “I can’t come inside the Hall. I’ll just have a quick look round, then be on my way…” After a pause, he inquired in a tone that mingled tension with nonchalance, “I don’t suppose the old chapel is still standing?”

  “Yes, of course, and it’s been restored! Oh, do come with me. You’ll be so pleased to see how Sebastian and Julia have transformed the Hall, and you can meet your niece and nephew. You’ll adore them!”

  “Don’t you see, I cannot!” George gripped Izzie’s upper arms and she felt him begin to tremble. “I am not fit to call myself a Trevarre, let alone Marquess of Caverleigh. You cannot imagine the depths of my shame.”

  “But with the love of your family, you could reform. I will help you!” As she spoke, she had a powerful feeling that if George could summon the courage to change, she might somehow be healed as well. Remembering how he had held her after the deaths of their parents, Izzie now tried to embrace him in his moment of desperate need. “Whatever devils you are struggling against, I can help you fight them.”

  The blood drained from George’s face. Breathing rapidly, he said, “Just so. As always, you understand me as no one else can, dear Izzie. I do want to reform and return to our family fold.”

  Flooded with relief, she exclaimed, “This is wonderful! Come with me now to the Hall—”

  “Let me finish! I fully intend to reform, but cannot be expected to do it immediately. I simply need a bit of time to summon more strength.” A shadow passed over his face. “Meanwhile, you must promise that you won’t tell Sebastian or anyone else that you have seen me in Cornwall.”

  Izzie’s heart was pounding hard. “I don’t understand…”

  “You must continue believing in me, Izzie. Without you, I have no one. I need you.” His eyes burned into her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. “My very life depends upon your silence. You must swear!”

  “But, George…”

  “For God’s sake, think of our mother. She would beg you to protect me if she were here today—just as I have protected you in the past.” When she didn’t speak, his tone grew more desperate. “Swear to me on Mother’s memory!”

  Her heart ached for him. “All right, then… I swear.”

  Chapter 2

  “No doubt you’re aware that the duty on tea has risen back to an intolerable ninety-six percent,” Gabriel St. Briac said as he followed Lord Sebastian Trevarre across the slate terrace behind his host’s four-century-old manor house. “I realize that you’ve reformed, but don’t you ever long to dabble in a bit of free trading again?”

  Sebastian laughed. “I had two good reasons to smuggle goods in the past. One was my immediate need to raise the funds to restore this crumbling estate, and the other was that the duty on salt was so criminally high that our local fisherman couldn’t afford to bring salt from France to preserve the pilchards for winter.”

  “Those motives were excellent,” Gabriel replied, amused. “And now you could help your neighbors again by bringing tea at a time when it is priced out of reach.”

  “Without salt, the fishermen and their families could not buy food. Today I have no such excuse for illegal activity. We English are famously attached to our tea, but I hardly think we’ll die without it, do you?” Sebastian lifted a dark brow for emphasis.

  “You can’t blame me for trying,” came Gabriel’s lighthearted reply. “But you have doubtless guessed that is not the real reason for my visit.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to enlighten me since the moment Deux Frères docked in Polperro.” Sebastian stopped and turned to face him. “Does it have something to do with the…family piece you entrusted to me four years ago?”

  “It does. Is there somewhere we may speak freely?” Gabriel couldn’t seem to shake the feeling he’d had for days that someone was watching him, or trying to, even though he told himself that it was ridiculous.

  “Follow me,” Sebastian said.

  Moments later, they were approaching the medieval chapel perched among a grove of trees behind Trevarre Hall.

  “We’re quite alone,” Sebastian said, gesturing to a wooden bench outside the low stone entrance. “Julia and the others are inside, cooking, and no one else ever comes here.”

  Gabriel regarded the small, ancient chapel. “It’s
beautiful in its simplicity.”

  “Thank you. My ancestors built it more than four centuries ago, as a private oratory for the family and their servants, but of course it was badly neglected after the Reformation. Julia and I cleaned out all the old broken furniture and farm equipment, and repaired the roof.” With a wry smile, he added, “Aside from our own wedding and the christening of our children, we rarely use it. We aren’t especially holy.”

  “Neither am I, mon ami.” Gabriel sat down, stretched out his long, booted legs, and breathed in the fresh air. He could almost see the River Fowey in the distance, beyond the green meadows dotted with sheep.

  “Tell me, then. Have you come for the painting?” Sebastian asked.

  “I have. Madame Le Brun is once more living in Paris and I hope that she can help me discover whether Leonardo da Vinci was really the artist.” He gave his friend a jaunty smile. “I’m also rarely in Cornwall. Since I had to deliver a shipment of badly-needed tea, this seemed a perfect time to retrieve the King, as my family calls the portrait. I have missed it and am very grateful to you for keeping it safe these past four years.”

  “You may thank our friend, Lord Senwyck, for that. Tristan’s estate, Lanwyllow, is tucked away up Lerryn Creek, and his father had a hidey-hole made in the depths of their woods, with a tunnel leading down to their private quay. Even if one is wandering in the woods, it’s impossible to see it. There’s a granite slab over the opening and then a thick covering of vines and branches.”

  “And that’s where you put the King?” Gabriel laughed softly. “I don’t mean to boast, but conjuring up ways to conceal contraband is one of my particular talents. We even filled an empty coffin with tea for this trip! ’Twould seem that you and Senwyck are similarly gifted.”

  “We used this hiding place a decade ago, when you were my smuggling agent and Tristan—Lord Senwyck—and I were bringing salt, tea, and brandy from France to Cornwall. However, Tristan and I both married and turned to more civilized pursuits. His smuggler’s hole was empty until I brought your painting to him.”