Emile gave me a shaky smile. “This is Lyon.”
We said nothing more as the carriage rattled along the bank of the Saône. The river soon met with the larger body of the Rhône at a triangle of land south of town, beyond which lay the Devere ironworks.
Emile shrank into himself as the coach turned into the lane that led to the factory. “Are you certain we should not elope?” he asked in a small voice.
“Put that thought out of your head, please. This is my fault. Indirectly, yes, but I will put things right with your father and uncles, and all will be well.”
Emile clearly did not believe this, but he said nothing more.
The carriage moved through the gate to the courtyard, and Emile and I descended, Brewster hopping to the ground behind us.
The burly Michel immediately emerged from the dim recesses of the ironworks, hammer in hand. Emile darted in front of me and began imploring him in the dialect I’d heard them use before.
Michel at least listened to Emile. He nodded at the young man, and after a glare at me and Brewster, disappeared into the factory.
Emile did not follow, standing awkwardly in the yard while the other workers sent us curious glances as they went about their business.
We did not have to wait long before Fernand stormed from the brick building with the full contingent of Deveres behind him.
“Emile,” Fernand called to his nephew. “Inside.”
Emile shot a look at me, torn between bravado and obedience. Then he squared his shoulders and remained where he was. My respect for him rose, though I wasn’t certain if his presence would help.
“This is a misunderstanding, Devere,” I said to Fernand. “I have obviously blundered where I should not, without meaning to. I apologize for disconcerting you and will say no more about it. Gabriella has nothing to do with any of this. Please do not take out your frustrations at me on her and Emile.”
I thought this a reasonable argument, but Fernand’s scowl deepened. “I warned you, Captain, do you not remember? I said to you several times that you should not pry into that which does not concern you. And yet, you continue to confound us. Better that you and your lady wife depart for England and leave the rest of us alone.”
I could point out that if Donata had word of this conundrum, the Deveres might find themselves at the wrong end of a lawsuit. Breaking an engagement involved complicated legalities, not simply the unhappiness of the couple involved. I hoped to resolve the problem before Donata rose for the day, but Fernand’s obstinacy might impede me.
“I understand that you are angry with me,” I said. “But there is no need to end the engagement that has brought happiness to so many.”
Emile’s father, behind his three brothers, betrayed a glint of sorrow. Claude’s father, Giraud, appeared to waver, but Fernand and the fourth brother, Julien, as they had yesterday in the street, regarded me intractably.
“We want nothing more to do with you,” Fernand declared. “If Emile marries your daughter, you will expect to come here, to see her children, to remind them who they are. When we believed she was an Auberge, this did not matter. But then we discovered she had another father—an Englishman and a officer in your army. What’s more, one who will try to put a claim on our family, when we owe you nothing.”
I grew more and more amazed as he spoke.
When we’d first arrived in Lyon, the Deveres had been curious about me and my past relationship with Carlotta, but they’d been friendly enough.
Something had changed, something I had no inkling of. Somehow, I’d tugged at a thread that had swiftly unraveled every bit of trust between the Deveres and me.
“Now you are being ridiculous,” I said before I could stop myself. “I wish you no harm at all. It is only natural that I’d want to visit my grandchildren, if any happily come along. But Emile will be the head of his family, and it will be his decision who visits and who does not.”
“Is this a threat?” Fernand demanded, and I heard Brewster stir behind me. “That you will turn our own Emile against us, when?—“
He broke off, but not because of Emile’s distress or Brewster’s glowers. Another man had entered the yard, his boots scraping unhurriedly in the dust.
I swung around to behold Henri Auberge, Carlotta’s husband and Gabriella’s stepfather, standing quietly behind me.
“Fernand,” Auberge said. “Cease.”
Chapter 16
Henri Auberge was a squarely-built man, not very tall, with graying hair and a bayonet scar high on his left cheekbone. One would not find him remarkable in a crowd, and yet, as he gazed steadily at the Deveres with cool hazel eyes, they grew subdued and watchful.
When I’d first met Major Auberge, he’d told me that Gabriella had become enamored of a young man of whom he did not approve. I later learned that this young man was Emile Devere, but obviously Auberge had grown to accept him.
Emile was such an innocuous lad that I assumed Auberge’s initial hesitation a father’s suspicion of any gentleman who showed interest in his daughter.
