A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4)

by Jacki Delecki

  Color rushed into her perfect porcelain skin. “He plans to wed me to his younger brother, Jerome.”

  “Of all the damn, bloody…” The idea of this young, gentle woman who had tended to his care forced into marriage outraged him.

  Gabby’ eyes widened in surprise by his use of blasphemy.

  “Excuse my choice of language.”

  Michael couldn’t understand his extreme reaction since arranged marriages for advantage were the norm in their aristocratic world. Marriages were contracts between dynasties. His parents had been an exception. They had married for love, and their example influenced his own beliefs. He’d never force his sister to wed for economic reasons. His estate was more than adequate without forcing Henrietta into a loveless marriage, but he knew this was not so for others.

  “He’d like to fuse my family bloodlines, and my wealth, with his family.”

  “How far-reaching and far-sighted of Napoleon. And what is his brother like?”

  “Jerome is immature, three years younger than I.” Her perky chest puffed up again in the most distracting way. “Still a boy. Not even a man.”

  “And what do you know of men, living in a convent?” Michael teased, glad for her willingness to speak with him.

  “I spent time in Paris, before my brother became aware of Napoleon’s interest in me. It was only when my brother heard the rumors that he hid me in a convent. Lucien then escaped to England and had planned to return to rescue me. His letters had stopped by the time Monsieur Denby stumbled into Notre Dame. Mother Therese believed it was a miracle to discover Monsieur Denby, and that we must seize the blessed opportunity to make my escape out of France.”

  “But why wouldn’t Mother Therese explain the situation to me? Why disguise you as a boy?”

  “She planned for me to remain a boy to throw the men off the scent until I was safely in the care of my brother. And she said the English have rules about women travelling with men, and if the truth came out I might be forced to marry you to protect my good name. But when you fell ill, I had to reveal myself to my mémé’s family to ensure your care.”

  “Yes, and I am very grateful for their willingness to assist me. But your brother may not like the idea that we have travelled together unchaperoned. It is not done in England.”

  She pushed a curl away from her face. “My brother will not worry about such trivial matters, recognizing the danger we have faced. I think the English are very uptight about ‘proper’ behavior. And I can’t imagine why anyone would think marrying you would salvage my good name. You being a…”

  “My being a what?” He didn’t like how the conversation had swerved back to the uncomfortable topic. Blast it. He had been delirious with a fever when he groped her.

  Gabby raised perfectly arched brows that framed her large eyes, more aquamarine today in the bright sunlight.

  “The English aren’t uptight,” he said stiffly. “There are standards of behavior to protect young woman against the advances of spurious fellows.”

  “Like being accosted and mistaken for ‘Yvette’ or ‘Mimi’?” Gabby’s eyes sparkled, and she compressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.

  “Now, Gabby—I mean, Mademoiselle Gabby—I was delirious. I’ve tried to apologize.” And how did he start calling her Gabby?

  “Oh, I understand. But, I think it’s best if we don’t share your mistake with my brother. French men are quite possessive of their sisters, and my brother is more protective than most since he has had responsibility for me since our parents’ deaths.”

  Michael’s stomach started to roll, and it wasn’t because of the bumpy road. He might have to marry this young woman. If anyone had manhandled Henrietta like he had done to Gabby, he’d demand amends. But he would never make Henrietta marry the man.

  “I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary to appease your brother. I meant you no dishonor, and I understand he might demand that we wed. Marriage to you would be an honor.” He watched Gabby, trying to gauge her reaction.

  “My lord, I do believe your color has gone pale. Rest easy. I’ve no desire to force you into a marriage that neither of us desires. Why would I escape one man’s clutches to be thrown to another misalliance?”

  He shifted his weight on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “I hope that you can appreciate the difference between a marriage to me and Napoleon’s brother.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her plucky chin thrust forward. “Both would mean I had no choice, and then my escape would be worth nothing. To be forced to marry another…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but whatever she’d intended to say wasn’t complimentary.

  Gabby shook her head again. He had the strongest desire to release the pale ringlets that were twisted into a knot on the crown of her head.

  “Rest assured, I will not tell my brother about your conduct, since my brother is a hothead and an amazing duelist. You wouldn’t survive.”

  Michael sighed a breath of relief. Not that he would shirk his responsibility. “I’m a fair shot myself. But I would not add to your worries and stress.”

  Gabby leaned back against the carriage seat. “Thank you, my lord.” Her dainty hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

  “I’m very glad that you will be reunited with your brother. Do you have his location in London?”

  “No, but he is now the Marquis De Valmont. I’m sure it will be simple to locate him.”

  Michael winced and was ready to swear when the carriage wheel hit the latest rut.

  Gabby pursed her lips and asked quietly, “The journey is still difficult for you?”

  “A bit uncomfortable, but nothing I can’t tolerate. But as you know, this injury is in a most inconvenient location.”

  And the chit giggled, just as she had done when he had fallen from the settee in Paris. Her lilting laugh did something to his insides. She was a delightful surprise of innocent sensuality and gentle compassion. How had he missed that she was a woman, an enchanting woman with enchanting curves? Had she worn some sort of bandage to hide her rounded, sweet breasts?

  Her eyes narrowed, causing a pucker to form between her arched brows. Had he given away his lustful imaginings?

  He cleared his throat. “Back to your arrival in London. It can never be known to anyone that we travelled without a maid. Once we get to a big enough town, I will hire one.”

  “The English are so bourgeois.”

  “Remember that if it were found out, your brother might be forced to fight me in a duel or force you to marry me.”

  Gabby turned her face and looked out the window. “How long before we get to the next town?”

  Chapter Four

  Gabby rested her head against the carriage window, trying to find a comfortable position for the long journey.

  Lord Kendal had slept most of the trip. He was still weak and in pain, but healing from the infection. The young maid they had hired from the last inn also slept. Gabby had time to closely inspect Lord Kendal’s face—his blond hair the color of winter wheat, his dimples present even while his face was in repose. His round cheeks and dimples gave him a boyish, mischievous look. When awake, his bright-green eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he were privy to a secret joke.

  He was unlike any man of her acquaintance in France. French men postured and made their importance known. The earl seemed not to have need to put on an airs of acquired insouciance or ennui.

  The earl stirred briefly when they struck a large hole in the road. A flaxen curl hung over one eye which he’d carelessly brush away when he regaled her with stories of his childhood. Lord Kendal was a careless man who could easily trample over a woman’s heart. Not hers. She was French and fully immune to silly, quirky smiles and dramatic bursts of hilarity.

  He opened his eyes; Gabby immediately dropped hers. She didn’t want to be caught staring at the attractive man she had soothed with French lullabies just days before, and spinning a silly girl’s romantic stories of love and devotion.


  “Are we close?” He stretched his arms over his head, pulling the fabric across his broad shoulders.

  She shrugged. “Since I’ve never visited London, I do not know.”

  “It feels so long since I left. I’ve missed home.” Then, catching himself like a guilty child caught in an act of mischief, he gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me.”

  She clenched her interlocked fingers together. “I understand.” She understood that she’d never be able to return home. The estate had been destroyed, their belongings taken. If not for Lucien, she might be a pauper with no prospects.

  Lord Kendal reached across and took her hand. “My sister, Henrietta, is going to love you. And until we can contact your brother, you’ll stay with us.”

  “You often called your sister’s name when you were delirious with the fever.”

  His hand tightened around her fingers. “Did I say anything else?”

  She was surprised he didn’t ask her about the code book. He never spoke about why he’d been fleeing Fouché or how he’d been wounded. Living in revolutionary France these past years, she had learned not to ask questions when the answers could come back to harm you.

  She stared into his shining eyes. His cherubic face, filled with youthful openness, was not one of a deceptive agent on a secret mission.

  “You called me your ma’am,” she teased.

  “I thought you were my mother when you sang the French lullabies. She had a wonderful voice, but nothing in comparison to your sweet soprano.”

  “I didn’t know your mother was French.”

  “My father would say he fell under her Gallic charm and never recovered. Theirs was a love match—unheard of. And my grandfather, the earl, was not pleased.”

  “How wonderful to be able to marry for love.”

  “You don’t think your brother will allow you to marry whomever you want?”

  She didn’t’ know. The Terror had changed her brother. The violence had changed all of France. The idea of marrying for love and a future wasn’t anything she had given herself time to ponder. She had spent her time surviving and waiting to escape France. But she wouldn’t feel safe until she was with her brother.

  “I don’t know. Not anything I need to think about now.” She nodded her head toward the maid who snored loudly, her head against the side of the carriage. “Tell me more about your French mother.”

  Apparently displeased by her diversion away from the topic of marriage, Lord Kendal’s dimples disappeared with his glaring frown. “My mother made everyone laugh. My father would always say that I was too much like my mother when I played tricks, but I knew it was an admirable trait to be like my mother. What was your mother like?” he asked.

  “My mother was married very young to my father, the marquis. He wasn’t a very affectionate or approachable man, and I’ve always wondered what my mother’s life was like. I always believed Lucien and I brought joy to her loveless marriage. She protected Lucien and me from the misery of her marriage. We never were exposed to my father’s temper.”

  Lord Kendal’s bright eyes faded as he searched her face. She didn’t want his pity, but she wanted him to understand that she wasn’t naïve after witnessing her mother’s suffering. She knew what her life would be if she were forced to marry Jerome Bonaparte.

  “Do you have any other family?”

  “Yes, I have a younger brother, Edward, who is a cricket fiend. Do you play?”

  “Cricket?” She couldn’t imagine a French woman playing cricket. “No, only piano.”

  “He’ll be very disappointed. And he won’t be impressed by your skills as a pianist. Why do I have a feeling you’re very accomplished?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. How to explain that music kept her sane during the long, lonely years? “Music helped me during the dark times in my country. Do you play?”

  “I play a little, but my interest has always been more on the mathematical side of music.”

  “Mathematical?” Gabby’s voice edged close to shrill.

  “I didn’t mean to offend your artist’s soul. But you must understand, I’m a linguist. I study patterns.” He leaned across the aisle, his lips curving upward into a knowing smirk. “But I always appreciate passion.”

  Gabby didn’t return his grin. “How old is your brother?”

  He sat back against the squabs. “He’s eleven.” She heard the rueful amusement in his voice. “Then there’s my Uncle Charles. He is a bit unusual.” He paused, as if calculating how much to divulge. “He is a brilliant scholar, quotes ancient Greek, but doesn’t remember what day it is.”

  “And he also lives with you?”

  “Yes, he never married. We’re a jolly household. You’ll find it’s a perfect refuge to recover from our long journey.”

  Gabby leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. She tried to imagine a jolly household—what a foreign concept. After the Revolution, the idea of happiness was fleeting. She’d like to make her household with her brother jolly, as her mother would’ve wished.

  Lord Kendal sat up and peeked out the window once again. “We are getting close. It will be great to be home and eat Mrs. Brompton’s biscuits.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. His rascally grin softened the lines of fatigue framing his eyes.

  He was a most remarkable man. He seemed to enjoy every moment of life—something she had lost.

  * * *

  They arrived at a classic symmetrical house with massive white columns flanking the entry. The sun shone on the house, dappling the red brick and the long windows. Lord Kendal’s face was also illuminated, beaming with simple pleasure. And Gabby couldn’t help smiling back, despite her fluttering nervousness.

  By the way he easily jumped out of the carriage, Lord Kendal certainly didn’t look like a man who had been hovering at death’s door. She took satisfaction that he was better and that she had helped him. There was now no debt between them.

  He linked his fingers with hers in his excitement. His gesture was surprising and his warmth reassuring as she prepared to face the English strangers.

  The door opened before they reached the top step. A youthful, muscular butler smiled. “Welcome home, my lord.”

  Lord Kendal stopped suddenly. “Who in blazes are you? Where’s Brompton? And how do you know to welcome me home?”

  “Sir, Brompton now resides at Rathbourne House. The likeness between you and Master Edward is remarkable.”

  Lord Kendal pulled Gabby along and rushed into the house. “Hen, I’m home.”

  His voice echoed in the large marble foyer with high ceilings. “Hen, I’m home.”

  “Sir, Lady Rathbourne doesn’t reside at Kendal house.” The butler spoke hesitantly.

  Lord Kendal dropped Gabby’s hand to open the door of the first room off the entryway. “I don’t even know a Lady Rathbourne so why would I care where she resides. Hen?”

  “My deepest apologies, sir. I thought you were aware of your sister’s marriage. Your sister is now Lady Rathbourne.”

  Lord Kendal jerked around. “My sister is married? When? And why wasn’t I informed?”

  The butler appeared flummoxed by the question. “Sir, I—”

  Lord Kendal ran his hand through his thick locks. “Did you say Rathbourne? My sister married Lord Cordelier Rathbourne?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “How can that be? I haven’t been gone long enough.”

  The butler stood frozen. “Yes, my lord.”

  Gabby interrupted. “I assume you are the new butler?”

  “Yes, my lady. I was an under-butler for Lord Rathbourne until Lady Rathbourne moved her household. Brompton chose me as your butler, sir. He felt I would be appropriate for a single man’s residence.”

  “Her household? I don’t understand. It’s my household. And what of my uncle? He needs the Bromptons. And I need the Bromptons.”

  The servant grew more uncomfortable imparting information about Lord
Kendal’s family. “Your uncle and Master Edward now reside at Rathbourne House, as do the Bromptons.”

  Lord Kendal’s hurt was etched on his guileless face. The poor man was in shock.

  Gabby understood his pain and disappointment. She knew what it was like to have your safe world disappear in a moment without warning.

  The discomfort on the young servant’s face was almost as painful as that reflected in Lord Kendal’s aggrieved expression.

  “What is your name?” Gabby asked.

  “Averill, my lady.”

  “Averill, Lord Kendal and I need luncheon, and Lord Kendal is in need of a strong libation. Can you lead us to the drawing room?”

  She took Lord Kendal’s arm and led him down the hall.

  Averill walked ahead to show her the way. He opened the door. “Sir, which room would you like my lady to occupy?”

  “What?”

  “Sir, which room for my lady?”

  Gabby felt Lord Kendal’s arm tighten. “You cannot stay here in the residence of a single man. It isn’t done. I must take you right now to my sister.”

  Gabby stopped in the middle of the hallway. “I refuse to get into that carriage until I’ve had sustenance and time to refresh myself. You’ll have to hold on to your principles a little longer.”

  Chapter Five

  The long hours on the bumpy roads had done nothing to improve the pain in his arse or his disposition. Michael shifted his position on the carriage seat on their ride to Rathbourne House. How could Hen marry during his brief months away? He felt lost that his sister had married someone he knew only as the Head of Intelligence.

  He and Hen shared more than the bond of brother and sister. They both were linguists who had evolved by wartime needs into code breakers. They had developed an unusually close relationship by working together deciphering codes. He had great respect for his sister, watching her expand and grow confident in her abilities.

  When they finally arrived at Rathbourne House, Michael rose to assist Gabby out of the carriage.