“But let us talk of happier things,” says Madame Cuvelier. “You are quite the adventurer, madame, traveling aboard that ship. How did you convince Captain Carlyon to take you on the voyage? My husband should never allow it.”
Isabel pushes some food around her plate. The gravy from the chicken mixes with the pastry of the butter cake. “I’m afraid I didn’t give him much choice in the matter.”
“That’s…intriguing,” Madame Cuvelier says, smiling.
With a grimace, she says, “I threatened to hand him over to the Revenue Service if he didn’t take me.”
Madame Cuvelier puts her hand to her mouth. “And he did not shoot you?”
Isabel nearly spits out her bite of chicken, the laughter hits her that hard. The question is absurd—it’s absurd that it’s true; the entire situation is bizarre. “He did not,” she says through the fit of giggles. “Though I believe he wanted to!”
Jack looks up at her laughter and gives her a smile before he goes back to his conversation with the captain.
“I would have shot you,” says Madame Cuvelier dryly, but she, too, is giggling.
“I think I would have, too,” Isabel says. “I beg your pardon. It’s not really funny. It’s only, the situation is so thoroughly bizarre.”
When their laughter fades, Madame Cuvelier beckons for the footman to refill their wineglasses. “I shall toast your spirit of adventure,” she says, lifting her glass to Isabel. And then, leaning in and lowering her voice, “So tell me, are you and Captain Carlyon…affianced? There is an understanding between you?”
Isabel swallows her sip of wine. “Oh no, not at all,” she says.
“I see. But you would be happy to marry again, yes?”
“Captain Carlyon is not inclined to wed,” Isabel says softly, her eyes on the chicken swimming in sauce. “And neither amI.”
“It’s too soon after your husband for you to love another?”
“It’s…I think it’s that, perhaps, but it’s also other things. The thing you said, about how your husband would never allow you to go to sea, that’s how it has always been for me, first with my father and then with my husband.”
“That’s how it is, always, for women,” says Madame Cuvelier.
“Yes, precisely. But for me, you see, it’s not like that now. For the first time, I make my own decisions.”
Madame Cuvelier nods. “While that must be marvelous, to be with one whom one truly loves, it supersedes everything.” Her eyes on her husband, she adds, “At least, so I feel.”
Isabel glances at Jack. The light of the candles has taken the lines from his face, but she knows where each of them is; the way they appear around his mouth when he laughs, the way his brow creases when he is grave or puzzled. She recognizes the mirth in his eyes as if it is her own.
Madame Cuvelier says, “When the Revolution happened, they declared all men to be equal. The women petitioned for them to recognize all women equal as well—not merely of one another, but the equal of men. Their petition was rejected.”
“I’m not surprised. I don’t believe men will ever truly consider us their equals. Not even revolutionaries.”
“But it is my belief that within one’s marriage, if it’s founded on true love, that equality may exist. Only there, hidden from the world. Hidden, even, from the sight of God, perhaps.”
It’s a strange thought. “Jack—I mean, that is, Captain…” she stutters.
Madame Cuvelier smiles and says under her breath, “You do love him.”
“It’s not like that.” Coloring deeply, she presses on. “Jack says I have singular ideas. I believe the same may be said of you.”
Madame Cuvelier laughs. “So my husband says, too. We shall be sisters in singularity, then.”
As Madame Cuvelier’s laughter subsides, Isabel hears Jack say, “Nineteen years ago, in Helford.”
“Captain Carlyon,” she says. “Do I hear you speak of my new hometown?”
“You do indeed. I was just regaling Captain Cuvelier with an account of the mysterious circumstances surrounding your childhood. You see, Captain Cuvelier, Mrs. Henley has recently returned to the place in which she was found as a small child.”
“Captain Carlyon tells me you have no memories from before that,” Captain Cuvelier says.
