“Oh, there he is now,” Jehan said, and gestured across the docks to where Charles weaved in and out of the crowd. The sunlight glinted off his blond locks, turning them an obscene yellow, and he smiled broadly, carrying a long, leather-bound package under one arm and waving to her with the other.
Simone noted darkly that he had managed to procure a fine new tunic since the previous day, and for some reason that nagged at her as she stood awaiting him in the plain, simple gown her father had sent.
“Are we set to board?” Charles asked, coming to stand before them. “Good day, my love.”
She did not reply, although when he leaned in to peck Simone’s cheek she allowed it.
“We were but waiting on you, Charles.” Jehan beamed and gestured toward the odd-shaped parcel. “What have you there?”
Charles winked at Simone before answering. “Oh, naught but a small token of affection for my betrothed.” He wagged a finger at Simone. “And there shall be no peeking, lady. ’Tis to amuse you after we set sail, and I shan’t have you ruin the surprise.”
Simone had to struggle not to roll her eyes. “I shall try to restrain myself.”
A shadow flickered across his face, but he covered it with a bright smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Jehan intervened on the awkwardness. “The bosun’s just given me the signal, young people. Let us board and be off. The quicker we begin, the quicker we arrive.”
Simone thought she would vomit with each echoing step up the plank. Once they were aboard, England and Nicholas would be but a memory. The last place she’d seen Didier, the first place she’d met her father.
The first and last time she’d been in love.
They paused just inside the ship’s railing, waiting for the queue to disperse, and Simone turned her head to gaze back at London. Its gray buildings, its sooty air, its raucous, odiferous docks.
“Good bye, my love,” she whispered.
“What say you, Simone?” Charles asked, his brows drawn together.
“Naught,” she answered, looking at him and then glancing away as they moved onto the ship’s deck. “I said naught.”
They watched the deckhands toss down the mooring lines, and the ship slipped smoothly out to a calm sea. The winds were brisk and miraculously strong in their favor.
They would reach France quickly.
Charles led her down to Jehan’s own cabin, a courtesy to Simone from her father. The room was quite small and cramped, the low ceiling seeming to press down upon even Simone’s diminutive height. The cot against the wall was narrow and bowed, its ropes stretched beyond their ability to recover. Two plain wooden chairs and a table bolted to the floor were the only other furnishings, crammed at angles to two of Simone’s own trunks strapped to a wall. The cabin was dark and dank and smelled of dried seawater.
Simone shuddered.
Charles lit a lamp and gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed. She chose a chair instead. He shrugged with a good-natured grin and sat across the table from her, placing the parcel between them.
“First, allow me to say,” Charles began, “that I know the past year has been…difficult for you, Simone.”
She did not answer. Difficult?
He cleared his throat. “And mayhap I did not support you as I should have, when…when you confided in me about…about…” He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter.
Simone arched one brow. “About what, Charles? About Didier? My brother’s ghost?”
The man paled in the dubious light of the lamp. “Er…oui.He’s gone now, though, is he not?”
“Unfortunately, he is.” Just the sight of Charles so discomfited made her sick to her stomach. Coward.
“You’re certain?” he pressed.
She merely stared at him until he blushed and cleared his throat.
“Very well.” He pushed the package before her. “Then mayhap this will comfort you in your…your loss.”
Simone didn’t want to undo the twine holding the leather around whatever lay inside. For some reason, she broke out in a cold sweat at merely wondering what was within. But she drew it nearer and plucked at the string.
