“I’d rather try the less deceptive method first,” I said.
“You’ve grown positively priggish during this sojourn, Lacey.” Grenville shook his head. “I will put it down to the fact that your daughter is getting married, and you are feeling in your dotage.”
“You have a grown daughter,” I reminded him. “One doing very well on the stage in London at the moment.”
“She is.” Grenville’s pride surged. “And yes, I sometimes feel positively ancient next to her. I trust you will return to your usual, adventurous self once we reach home.”
“Again becoming the man who sparks your interest.” I held up my hand when Grenville began an indignant reply. “You have admitted yourself that you first welcomed me into your circle because I relieved your ennui.”
“Years ago, yes. I do hope we have developed a stronger friendship than that.”
“We have.” I relented. “Forgive me. I am pensive, and yes, Gabriella marrying and starting her own family has me out of sorts. Things will change, and I am not entirely comfortable with that.”
“I understand.” Grenville returned to his coffee. “I will cease my needling and write to the comte. Also to my friends in Paris about Potier, as I promised you. After I have a good, long nap, I am afraid. Marianne’s friends certainly make me feel in my dotage, though most of them are of an age with me.”
I could not explain to Grenville what truly had me out of sorts. Gallo had known secrets, possibly dreadful ones, and someone in Lyon had been driven to murder to keep him quiet.
The uneasiness of the Deveres, the tragedies in their past, and the disappearance of the instigator of those tragedies had me on edge. I needed to discover what the Deveres had done, and I wasn’t certain I wanted to find out.
For the next two days, as we waited for replies to Grenville’s inquiries, I tried to busy myself enjoying my stay in Lyon. I strolled along the river, ate meals in fine taverns with Grenville, and visited with Gabriella as much as I could.
Once the altercation between the Deveres and Auberges had settled, Carlotta relented, and Gabriella returned to spend a few days in the villa with us, to my delight. We could again walk down to the Presqu’île in the mornings, where she could find more accoutrements for her trousseau and take coffee with me at a vendor’s stand in the plaza.
She was remarkably calm for a young woman about to get married. I remarked to her thus while we strolled the plaza one morning, arm-in-arm.
“I have no need for apprehension,” Gabriella replied tranquilly. “I’ve known since I was a girl that I’d marry Emile. We decided when we first met, as quite young children.” She smiled at the memory. “There has never been a question between us. The wedding will simply confirm what we’ve known all along.”
Her answer pleased me, but with it came a qualm of worry. Gabriella had been so sheltered from the wide world, as had Emile, in spite of France’s war, that they’d yet to experience tragedy. Gabriella had known only happiness here, which both eased my heart and made me fear for her.
I did not want to cause the disruption that ruined her serenity. But if the Deveres had killed to protect their secrets, that disruption would unfortunately come. I could only hope that my speculations were wrong.
Gabriella patted my arm. “If you fear you will never see me once I am Mrs. Devere, do not. Emile and I have already discussed things. A visit to England in the summers would be welcome, and we will arrange it. I long to see Peter and dear Anne soon—they are my brother and sister after all. And one day, we might be bringing children of our own with us.”
While I liked the picture she painted, I suppressed my anticipation.
Emile and Gabriella would soon be taken up with domestic pursuits. Emile worked for his father, and Gabriella would not want to travel far when she did begin bearing children. The visits would grow fewer in number before long, perhaps ceasing altogether. It was an arduous trek from here to Oxfordshire, after all.
I kept these thoughts to myself. Gabriella shone with bright plans for her future, and I would not dim them with my pessimism.
Gabriella stayed with Donata and me for a few nights, then returned to the Auberge farm on Tuesday morning, where she would remain until the wedding day. After that, Emile and Gabriella would move into the cottage the Deveres were providing for the young couple.
Gabriella had showed us over it when we’d first arrived, a modest brick home with a lush garden just outside the village where the Devere factory lay, and within walking distance of her childhood home.
The morning Gabriella departed, Grenville wrote me, informing me he’d had a reply to one of his inquiries.
Comte LeJeune confirmed that I could indeed root around in the townhouse that Signora Ruggeri had inhabited in the Presqu’île. Whatever fiction Grenville had invented for my interest, the comte did not object to my entering the house.
The comte had even provided Grenville a key, which Grenville had sent with the letter, via Matthias. The housekeeper looked after the place that was indeed seeking a new tenant, but she was not always in. Hence, the key.
Though Grenville had asked the comte about the letter written in Italian, the comte had been reticent to respond. It was Donata, surprisingly, who supplied more information about that. She requested me, via Bartholomew, to visit her at her toilette that afternoon.
When I entered her chamber, Donata, clad in a peignoir, sat at her dressing table, while Jacinthe combed out her dark hair.
“I called on the comtesse last evening, while you and Gabriella attended the theatre.” Donata winced as Jacinth pulled at a recalcitrant lock. “You both were asleep when I returned, so I had to hold my news until now. I mentioned the letter Brewster found in Signor Gallo’s rooms, and the comtesse confirmed that it is old, from the sixteenth century, in fact.”
“She is an expert on Italian artifacts as well?” I asked, only half concentrating on her words. My wife was a beautiful woman, and I often lost myself in studying her.
“Not necessarily, but she knew about this letter, because it belongs in her husband’s collection. The letter disappeared not long after he fell under Signora Ruggeri’s spell. No one is surprised at this coincidence.”
