But Elise had asked her a question. After a long moment, Ryan said, “Maybe.” The truth. Maybe if fifty things could be accomplished and the stars aligned and if he still wanted her. But she’d learned long ago not to pin her hopes and dreams on some man. She was invisible to most men and a sacrifice that Gabriel could not make. She had been remarkablyunchosenfor as long as she could remember. She could allow the reality of this to make her bitter and resentful or she could choose herself.
“I’ll take your maybe,” said Elise, “and I’ll not let anyone in Wiltshire forget it. You have my word.”
Ryan smiled. “You have been so very kind to me. Everyone in your family has been lovely. I will miss you terribly when I go.”
“Well, let’s not think of that yet. We have the wedding, we have the dinner party tonight, next comes Mr. Soames. I did not mean to dampen the festive mood of the wedding by pressing you on these serious topics. Forgive me.”
“No forgiveness is necessary. Oh, but look, we’re almost to the camp. I remember this bit. Here the trail will disappear and we’ll weave through this copse of trees. Gabriel takes a different route every time to conceal the way. When we emerge on the other side, we’ll round a hillside and then you’ll see it. I was so very impressed the first time. I know we tried to describe it, but he lives in a sort of modified cavebeneath a hill. He has an underground waterfall next to his bedroom.”
Elise cleared her throat. “Does he?”
Ryan felt herself blush. “And the stables and horses are incredible. He’s a kitchen garden, a cellar for grain and winter storage, a smokehouse, chickens, of course; and—oh, look...”
They cleared the grove of trees and rounded the hill and Gabriel’s camp came into view—rough-hewn but tidy, just as she remembered it. Beside the cottage, in front of the kitchen garden, an arbor had been erected, the arch adorned with leaves of every shade of burgundy, and crimson, and aubergine, and pink. Coral-colored ribbon had been twined between the branches and streamed out, flapping in the breeze. Before the arch, a collection of chairs, mismatched except for their unsanded knobbiness, had been arranged in short rows. Stoneware vases containing bouquets of wildflowers—harebell, rockrose, wild parsnip, and others Ryan didn’t know—had been positioned beside the innermost chairs, creating an aisle. It was like a beautiful little outdoor cathedral, with the grassy hill on one side, the garden behind, and the forest in gleaming autumn color all around.
Ryan blinked back tears, taking in the simple beauty and natural splendor of the scene.
“Someone’s been busy,” said Elise, kneeing her horse forward. “Can I assume the outdoor vignette is not a permanent installment.”
Ryan, unable to speak, shook her head.
“Well, I knew he’d been gone from Mayapple for two days. What an effort he’s made. Good for him. Idare say, this is rustic,” she added, looking around. “I cannot believe my brother lives in a cave.”
“Please don’t remark upon it,” Ryan said, recovering quickly. Elise looked at her, cocking an eyebrow.
“That is,” Ryan added, “he believes that outsiders will not see it as he does. He is anxious for you, in particular, to accept it, I believe.”
“Oh, I accept it,” said Elise, reining around. “I’ll accept anything to be a part of his life, even saying goodbye to you, which is the most difficult part of accepting him. But you did say you might consider returning. Perhaps what I mean is: How could you possibly live in a cave? If you did come back? Life in the forest is no small request.”
“Yes, well, no one has made this request, have they?” said Ryan.
“No,” mused Elise softly, “I don’t suppose they have.”
Two hours later, Gabriel stood beneath the arbor he’d built, sweating in the only waistcoat he owned, waiting for Ryan Daventry to emerge from his front door and be escorted to him by his nieces.
His sister Elise and her husband smiled at him from the chairs he’d arranged in rows. His two grooms, Smith and Tucker, sat behind them, looking uncomfortable in their only waistcoats—and also a little confused. The nun Marie hovered on the periphery, checking the trees for anyone who might have followed them. Killian’s nephew Bartholomew stood to the side, tuning up a mandolin. Gabriel had not asked for music, but Bart had insisted and Gabriel had thought, why not?
From the moment he lit upon the idea of marrying Ryan in his garden, his plan for the ceremony had mushroomed from an exchange of vows to a proper wedding. Instead of thinking about the meaning of getting married, he’d occupied himself with guessing how a proper wedding might look and what Ryan might enjoy. Gabriel had not attended a wedding since he was a child; and even then, he hadn’t been a guest. He’d been a page boy who trailed behind his cousin when she walked the aisle at Notre Dame. After that, he’d been swept away by nannies so he did not fidget during the hours-long Mass. But he’d read about weddings in books and newspapers, and he knew the beauty of his own garden, and he knew that if he could extract Ryan from her existing life and install her in his own, he would seal the union just like this. They would marry in the beauty of the forest, with only his family and grooms, secluded from the world.
He couldnotextract Ryan from her life—he knew this—and she’d refused to commit to any preference for the wedding whatsoever, so he’d simply done what he wanted. One thing led to another and, in hindsight, maybe the little stage was a test for all of them. Would a rudimentary, outdoor ceremony be enough for Ryan when it came to something so important as a wedding? She’d been very comfortable at Mayapple and her own home was very grand indeed. If, in another life, at another time, she was able to leave Guernsey and consider life with him, would Christmases and May Days celebrated at outdoor parties be sufficient?
And what of Elise and Killian? His sister had nevernotbeen a princess. She’d exiled in St. James’s Palace and now lived on a lavish estate. Her husband literallyreferred to her as “Highness.” After the ceremony, she would leave this forest glen and host a dinner party for esteemed guests. Likewise, her husband’s stables boasted every modernization. Killian managed Mayapple, his nephew’s estate near Hampton, and various other properties throughout Britain. Compared to these, Gabriel’s camp was so very modest. He didn’t mean to test their acceptance so much as show them the reality of his life. They’d been asking to be let in for years. They’d opened their home to him, and now he would open his home to them. Could Elise reconcile her memories of him, also her future hopes for him, with the man he’d become?
So far, they’d been lovely. Killian had marveled at his horses and stables. Elise and the girls had seemed charmed by his cottage and waterfall. And Ryan had been—
Well, Ryan had not regarded him beyond quick glances and questions about where she might change clothes. It had been this way since they’d kissed beneath the wagon. She’d become single-mindedly focused on the logistics of returning home. Her only interest in the wedding had been the time and place and the procurement of the priest. Her only interest in their faux courtship had been how they would present themselves to the solicitor, and for how long, and how soon she could depart when it was over. Her attitude was, in every way, what they needed and also nothing like he wanted.
It was unfair and painful to confuse things. She would return to Winscombe—she was already there in her mind—and he would return to the anonymous life he wanted as Gabriel Rein. They’d said everythingthere was to say—each conversation ended in a small fight and a riot of nearly making love. They’d come so very close beneath the wagon. He would not dishonor her by taking her virginity and then sending her into the wide world alone.
Going forward, he would have a sister and nieces, but he would not have a wife. Ironically, that didn’t mean he could not have a wedding. He would give this to her, if nothing else—a proper wedding that hopefully she could remember with fondness.
“Ah, here she is,” said the priest, inching his pointed hat back on his head.
Gabriel looked at the man, confused, and realized he meant the bride had emerged. He would promise himself to her; he would rescue her and then desert her. In his gut, the pinch of a sharp thorn began to throb. Gabriel looked at the priest and looked at the sky. From somewhere to the side, Bartholomew began to strum the mandolin.
What am I doing?he thought.
Little girl laughter and snatches of conversation could be heard from the direction of the cottage.
