His chilling tone gave her pause. Long ago Bleu had nearly killed Sylvie’s future husband—an enemy soldier—in Acadie. The details were unknown to her, but she’d always sensed something feral about Bleu despite his surface civility. She’d witnessed only a fraction of that by the river last night.
Perhaps Bleu should leave, not because she feared for his safety, but because he was free to come and go as he pleased. He had no ties to France. French codes of honor didn’t apply to a man who was from another continent, his own moral codes so far above Chevreuse the entire matter was ludicrous, even laughable. She believed themarquiswas as avaricious as he was a rake. Perhaps he suspected Grandfather was poised to leave everything to her which surely spurred his pursuit.
“Chevreuse is a fool,” she said quietly but with disgust, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. That was the effect the French fop had on her. And she felt wildly and irrationally protective of Bleu who was more than capable of fending for himself.
A footman appeared at the door and for a moment she feared the foolish second had returned. “Your carriage waits,Mademoiselle.”
Bleu looked at her in question.
“I’m to have tea at the Pavillon downriver,” she said, wishing otherwise. Sometimes society was too much. And to leave with this matter in limbo…
“Wear a warm wrap,petite fille, as the day is cooler than yesterday,” Grandfather cautioned. “Those clouds moving in from the west portend a storm. If the weather turns inclement it would be wise for you to stay on at the Pavillon.”
She kissed him farewell, not making any promises. She wanted to do the same with Bleu as she looked back from the doorway and met his gaze. Such a long look he gave her, as if he was memorizing every detail of her with a quiet intensity that held unspoken devotion. If love could be communicated in a look…
Had he communicated his here and now?
Downriver, Brielle sat amongst the otherdemoisellesin their brightly colored dresses to enjoy conversation, tea, and hot chocolate. The Pavillon was a small manor house owned by their countess hostess. Lovely as her circumstances and company were, Brielle was having a hard time following their effusive, rapid French, her thoughts returning to Bleu. Away from him, she merely seemed to be biding her time till she saw him next.
“And you, Gabrielle…” Her hostess turned toward her. “What will you wear to the duchess’s winterfête? Your gown at the masked ball wasravissante!”
Thunder nearly overrode her answer as the young ladies flew to the salon’s windows to watch the storm Grandfather had predicted. Brielle stayed seated as lightning lit the afternoon darkness in brilliant flashes, rain slanting down in silver sheets beyond the glass.
The storm outside mirrored the tumult inside her. How would this matter with Chevreuse end? A dozen different outcomesplayed in her mind but Bleu’s last look at her stayed uppermost. Odd how easily she forgot exchanges with others but not a word with him. There always seemed to be an undercurrent of something more between them, albeit unspoken, a feeling too deep for words. She felt it hours—days—after and missed him with every speck of her being.
Sitting here in this frivolous room making frivolous conversation when someone she disdained had the temerity to call him out seemed a punishment. Yet here she sat, unable to return to thechâteaubecause the coach’s horses couldn’t be risked in the storm. She could only sit and pray for a way out of their present predicament including an end to the storm within and without.
31
He wouldn’t come between an old man and his only granddaughter. That was the crux of the matter. In his suite, Bleu pondered what he’d told thecomtebefore he’d left his study earlier this morning.
I have overstayed my welcome, Monsieur. Remaining here would cause a scandal for you and your granddaughter which is not my intent. It has become apparent no man will approach her—court her—so long as I am present. A ship is leaving Nantes for Virginia soon. I’ll return to port as soon as the weather clears if you’ll kindly loan me a coach.
He packed his trunk, his relief at returning to North America at odds with his devotion to Brielle. But he had completed what he’d hoped for by reuniting her with her grandfather. She had the whole world before her, a far brighter future than any he could offer in America or elsewhere. Once on board ship there would be plenty of time to decide his own future. He might well go to Acadie if only to clear his heart and head of her. If he ever could.
For now, he packed and welcomed being preoccupied with the coming journey since it left him little time to dwell on her. Midafternoon the thunder and lightning cleared though rain continued to pelt down. Traveling so late in the year was hazardous, and he needed to determine if Nadine was ready to go suddenlyor if he’d sail alone provided he found passage. Sailings were fewer in winter, the seas more dangerous.
Brielle would be unhappy with his leaving, as unhappy as he himself was, and so a letter would spare them both a final, wrenching goodbye. Taking out ink and paper left him unusually choked and groping for words. In an agony of remorse, he filled one page, then two. He’d prayed for the right time, the right words—had the Almighty provided that by keeping Brielle at the Pavillon?
He’d leave her with the one thing he had left from Acadie, a final, heartfelt gift that could be worn this winter. He valued it like he had the Lyonnaise silk he’d brought Sylvie long ago, never thinking Brielle would wear it, too. Removing the fur from his trunk, he left it by his letter.
The few miles to Nantes passed in a blur. He was strangely weary as if all his carefully stowed feelings since he’d first found Brielle at the crossroads were taking an inward toll. By the time the lights of Nantes came into view his spirits had sunk to his boots. But he pressed on, hauling his trunk into the inn, securing the same room he’d had before, and sending a message to the docks about departing ships. He wouldn’t chance going himself. After dark, thieves, smugglers, and pirates flooded the taverns along the harbor where drunkenness and disorder ruled.
He went downstairs to the dining room, realizing he’d not eaten supper, the rumble in his gut no match for the hollowness in his heart. Midnight brought a reply.L’Aimablewould sail with the tide. Felicitous timing, that. He consulted tide tables pinned to the wall near the inn’s entrance and awaited a reply from Nadine. At last it came. She would sail with him accompanied by her uncle and promised to arrive in the morning.
All was falling into place.
Bleu lay down in his lodgings as the inn’s noise faded to a few footsteps and an occasional slammed door. The public rooms were on the ground floor at the other end of the building, sparing him the fumes of spirits and smoke. Weary as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Questions spun through his head as the ache inside him widened.
He hadn’t known such misery since his family had been forced from Acadie and he’d stood on shore and watched the rotting transports depart and the British set fire to Acadie’s homesteads. Tonight he seemed to be coming apart all over again as another sort of anguish tore at him, made up of unmet, unrealized needs and abandoned dreams and all that he’d left unspoken.
Dieu, aide-moi.
Had he not given this matter over to the Almighty? Surrendered Brielle to Him and asked Him to cover her if he could not? Only sheer will kept him from returning to thechâteau. This devilish lack of peace gave him no rest.
At last Brielle left the Pavillon and arrived back at the château to find Grandfather looking strangely dejected. She kissed both his cheeks, and he embraced her a bit longer than usual, raising her alarm.
“Are you well?” she asked worriedly as a servant took her wraps.
