Emile hunched on the edge of one of the graceful sofas, his head in his hands. A goblet of brandy, untouched, sat on the table next to him.
“What is it, Emile?” I demanded as I stormed in. “What has happened?”
Emile raised a tear-stained face then unfolded to his feet, the very picture of dejection.
“Captain,” he sobbed. “The wedding is cancelled.”
“Cancelled?” I stared at him, uncertain I’d understood. He’s said annulé, but I repeated the word in English. “What the devil do you mean, cancelled? Did Gabriella beg off?”
Emile blinked, surprised out of his weeping. “No, no. Gabriella is as distraught as I. At least, so I am told. I was not allowed to speak to her. No, it is my father who has declared the wedding is at an end. That you and Lady Donata should pack your things and return to England.”
I was torn between relief that Gabriella was apparently safe, and astonished outrage.
“What the devil? Emile, sit down and tell me, as clearly as you can, what has happened.”
Emile dropped to the sofa, his chest heaving with sobs. I thumped to him, took up the brandy, and thrust it under his nose. Emile obediently gulped down a portion then drew a breath and wiped his eyes.
“I apologize, sir,” he said when he could. “I have never felt such pain before. It has robbed me of air.”
“Do find enough to explain this to me. Why would your father tell you to abandon Gabriella? She could have done nothing to offend.”
Emile shook his head. “No, indeed, my family adore her. But my father and Uncle Fernand informed me this morning that I must break it off with her, with her entire family. I have known Gabriella and her sisters and brothers all my life. We were raised together …”
“Did they give a reason?” I interrupted before Emile could regress into weeping. “Was it because I visited the ironworks unexpectedly?” Fernand and his worker, Michel, had been very uncomfortable with my sudden presence. “Surely they don’t believe I was stealing their factory’s secrets, which I wouldn’t understand even if they lined them up in front of me.”
“It has to do with the name on the paper we found in Signor Gallo’s lodgings.” Emile took another shuddering breath. “I did not tell my family of it, as you bade me, and I saw no reason to. But Uncle Fernand heard that you had been asking about this man, this Monsieur Potier, whoever he was, and my father and uncles became enraged. They told me I must shun Gabriella and never have anything to do with you or your family again.”
I listened in amazement. “Because of that, you must put aside Gabriella? Have they run completely mad?”
“I do not know.” Emile scrubbed his face. “But I cannot let her go, sir. I love her. I love her deeply?—”
“Yes, yes,” I said hastily. As pleased as I was that Emile cared for Gabriella, I did not need him waxing on about it just now. “This is absurd. I will speak to your father.”
Emile sprang up in alarm. “No, you must not. I came to beg you to take Gabriella and me to England with you. We can marry in that place in Scotland where one can wed without the banns—I fear that if we waited for those to be read, my father and uncles would find some way to come and drag me back home.”
“You wish me to help you elope?” I asked in exasperation. “That is very romantic of you, Emile, but you will come to regret such a step.”
“I will never regret marrying Gabriella. She is my other self.”
“No, I meant that both of you will grow unhappy if you are cut off from your families. You would need to make a living, and your father expects you to take over the Devere business—every tie you have is to Lyon.”
“As long as I have Gabriella, I will be strong,” Emile said faintly.
I ceased trying to reason with him, knowing Emile would never understand. I warned him from experience—I’d soon realized what an utter fool I’d been for coaxing Carlotta to run away with me. I’d been young and as romantic and in love as Emile was now, and I’d only succeeded in making Carlotta miserable.
“Emile,” I said firmly. “We will go to your father and uncles and explain that I meant no harm. I don’t know who this be-damned fellow is, and I don’t care to know if it means you and Gabriella must spend your lives in wretchedness.”
Emile did not renew his argument, but I could see he did not agree. He watched with a mixture of sorrow and trepidation as I rang for Bartholomew.
I bade Bartholomew send for a carriage, which arrived in a short time. I bundled Emile inside and sat across from him, while Brewster, alerted, lumbered from the house and perched on the back of the coach.
“I must have a clear idea of the ground before I march into it,” I told Emile as we wound down the hill. “What exactly did your father and uncle tell you about Monsieur Potier?”
“Nothing at all.” Emile regarded me in worry. “When they revealed how angry they were, I wasn’t even certain what they were talking about. Michel took me aside and said that you’d been asking questions about a certain name. I didn’t understand what he meant until I recalled the paper we found yesterday and concluded you must have mentioned it to someone. Michel would say nothing more about it.”
I was surprised the taciturn Michel had told him even that much.
“I asked the proprietor of my usual wine shop if he’d heard the name,” I confessed. “It caused a shock. Brewster says his mention of it in the market drew a similar response, so we ceased. That is all. Word certainly spread quickly.”
