For a second none of them moved, then as one, they laid their muskets on the floor and stepped back, just as the sound of shouting reached them from outside. Striding to the window, Roan watched disbelievingly as approximately two hundred villagers stormed the Chateau gates.
Turning back to Tristan he nodded his head towards the window and chuckled, ‘It looks as though you are important after all…’
To a man, Claude Fontaine’s armed guards had vanished within half an hour of their employer’s detainment. Tristan’s uncle had been placed under house arrest along with Marie Laval and Julien Dubois, with sailors from the Fortune guarding them until Raphael could begin their formal questioning the following day.
Dinner that evening was held in the Chateau’s dining room. With the scarred table and threadbare furnishings, it was hardly the grand return Tristan might have hoped for, but nevertheless, the mood around the table was light. While the new Marquis still had to be formerly recognised, missives would be sent to the appropriate legal authorities over the coming days, and since Tristan was the image of his father, Rafe didn’t anticipate any problems – in that area at least.
Since they were down to a single maid and definitely no cook, the villagers had taken it upon themselves to ensure the returning Marquis’s homecoming was at least as comfortable as possible. By the time they sat down to eat, fires burned in every grate, and clean sheets made up on every occupied bed. The food was simple, but delicious - a common Breton staple similar to a pancake, called a galette. Each one was filled to bursting with ham, cheese and eggs, which everyone consumed with relish, including Flossy.
Throughout the meal, no one mentioned the chateau’s state of disrepair, though the amount of coin given over to its upkeep had clearly been minimal. Naturally, the most pressing problemwas the uncertainty over whether there was actually any money left in the coffers, or whether the entire Montclair fortune had been used to fund Fontaine’s treasonous activities. Fontaine had previously declared the money missing, and they’d yet to see any evidence that his claim was false.
After dinner, the entire party gathered together in the large drawing room, or as the maid called it,la salle de reception. It was very evident that the room hadn’t been in use for many years - likely since Tristan’s parents had been alive - but the villagers had worked hard to make it comfortable. The entire room had been thoroughly cleaned and swept and liberally sprinkled with sweet-smelling herbs to take away the underlying smell of damp. Fires now burned merrily in the two huge fireplaces, and additional furniture had been moved from other rooms to ensure everyone had a place to sit.
Tristan and Roseanna sat close together, though both bore identical expressions of equal parts elation and apprehension. Restoring such a large building was not for the fainthearted, and wouldn’t be possible at all if there truly was no money.
But at least Rosie’s ridiculous concern that her fiancé would discard her had been entirely put to bed. Indeed, Henrietta wondered wryly whether the boot might now be on the other foot, since her cousin might not wish to spend years helping with such an ambitious renovation project. But knowing Roseanna, Henri didn’t think she would balk at the challenge, and one might argue that young blood was exactly what the chateau needed to bring it back to life. Doubtless they would receive support from the entire extended Shackleford clan.
Henri found herself watching Raphael throughout the rest of the evening. He seemed relaxed, but she’d become attuned to him enough to recognise the tautness of his shoulders, the periodicclenching of his fingers, and his constant glances towards the door. She was aware that his man Jacob was no longer in the chateau and guessed he’d been tasked with relaying messages back to England.
Tomorrow, Fontaine would be questioned. Henrietta knew what that meant, and while she recoiled at the idea of violence, she was worldly enough to realise that Raphael dared not walk out of the interrogation room without the information he needed. The lives of too many people depended on it.
This was the man she’d fallen in love with…
Biting her lip, Henrietta bent her head, abruptly swamped with fear. How on earth could they ever carve out a future together? They came from different worlds. Her heart thudded even as her mind wrestled with the question. And then she looked up. Straight into Raphael’s eyes. He looked at her steadily, but his eyes were filled with anguish, and Henri realised he knew exactly what she was thinking. Fighting the urge to cry, Henrietta got to her feet and addressed the room in general. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me,’ she managed round the sudden lump in her throat, ‘but it’s been a long day and I find myself unable to keep my eyes open.’ She turned to her grandfather. ‘Would you like me to take Flossy out quickly to do her business before I retire?’
Clearly, thinking it gave him time for one more brandy, the Reverend happily gave his consent. Flossy, of course, didn’t need to be told twice, and promptly jumped off her master’s lap and trotted over to Henrietta. ‘Ah’ll come wi’ ye, Miss Henri,’ Finn offered enthusiastically, jumping to his feet.
‘I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, lad,’ Percy countered. ‘You’re going nowhere but your bed.’
Before the boy had a chance to protest, Raphael climbed to his feet. ‘Allow me to accompany you, Miss Carew,’ he said with a polite smile. ‘I confess I’m ready to turn in myself but could certainly do with a little air beforehand.’
Henri glanced over at her parents. Both were regarding her speculatively, but neither voiced any objection to the King’s agent accompanying her. Heart pounding, she murmured her thanks and went to fetch her cloak, Flossy at her heels.
Minutes later, they were outside in the large courtyard. The gates were still being manned by several of Fortune’s crew on the off chance that not all of Claude Fontaine’s hired soldiers had fled and Raphael suggested they walk towards the gardens to the side of the house. Feeling particularly exposed with all the windows at the front of the house, Henri was happy to comply.
As they walked, Flossy nosing happily alongside, Rafe asked her about the trip through the tunnels. Not sure whether he was simply making conversation or really needed to know, Henrietta endeavoured to give him a full account, although halfway through, her description inevitably turned humorous. ‘I must confess, I thought Percy done for when Grandfather nearly fell on him’, she chuckled, ‘and then, when Grandpapa finally got to the top of the ladder and Finn climbed up too, I thought he might be about to have an apoplexy.’ She shook her head. ‘Poor old Percy, I think he’s been dragged into many such capers over the years. I don’t know why he’s put up with it. In truth, my uncles have threatened to swing for Grandpapa on several occasions.’
Rafe raised his eyebrows. ‘I can imagine being related to such an… enthusiastic individual has provided unique challenges,’ he murmured.
Henrietta glanced sideways at him. Incredibly, just minutes alone in his company and her earlier fears were already beginning to evaporate. She felt a sudden faint hope. ‘I believe interfering is the word you’re looking for,’ she quipped. ‘Or nosey, meddlesome, too inquisitive for his own good – he’s been called all of those things and a lot worse besides.’
Rafe laughed. ‘A living legend,’ he returned drily.
‘Not for much longer if he continues meddling the way he does.’ Henrietta’s grin faded as she shook her head before adding thoughtfully, ‘But, you know, the one thing I admire about Grandpapa is his belief in himself and be damned what anyone else thinks.’
‘He has God on his side,’ Raphael reminded her.
‘True,’ she smiled. ‘But earlier today I accused him of acting first and thinking later.’ She stopped and turned towards Raphael. ‘Perhaps that’s not always such a bad thing,’ she murmured, her heart hammering as she looked up at him. ‘If one insists on waiting for every piece to be in place, then one could be waiting forever…’
In answer, Rafe lifted his hand and traced his fingers down her cheek. The merest touch, but it sent shivers through her that had nothing to do with the cold. She lifted her own hand to touch his opposite cheek, revelling in the faint roughness under her fingers, and slowly, achingly, his mouth came down on hers, touching, tasting, searching. But before the kiss had the chance to deepen, Raphael groaned and lifted his head, his dark gaze clinging to hers in the muted light.
‘Do you believe that two people who have led completely different lives can be together?’ he questioned, his voice hoarse. ‘Is it enough that I love you?’
For a second, Henrietta was too full up to answer, but finally she managed a shaky laugh as she whispered back, ‘I think my entire family are living proof of that.’
Twenty-One
The jubilation of the day before was undeniably missing at breakfast the next morning as the reality of what still hadn’t been resolved arrived with the cold light of day. It didn’t help that Dougal spent the entire time complaining that his ‘heid be aboot tae burst,’ while the Reverend looked as though he’d just been dug up. Naturally, the empty brandy bottles told their own story.
