Chapter Twenty-Three
Giselle raised her arms as Terese helped her slide her new gown down over her body. She swayed a bit, still recovering her strength. Still getting used to wearing the elbow-length gloves to cover her scars from the Frenchman’s attack.
Terese grinned at her. “A vision in pink and lavender. The silk flows like water.”
Giselle inhaled, ready to see it. She’d chosen the colors because those were the ones she wore the first day Clive and she had truly met.
It was her wedding day, and she was dressing in a guest bedroom in her finery while Clive dressed in his master suite.
It was the last time they would ever be apart.
Happy beyond her expectations, she fingered the silk of her skirt. “You’ll do up my laces?”
Giselle had done the same service for Terese yesterday when Clive’s sister married Langley in her own salon in Park Street. The newlyweds had waited to leave on their honeymoon to witness Clive and Giselle’s marriage today.
Terese got to work on Giselle’s ties. But in the glass, Giselle could see her soon-to-be sister-in-law knit her brows.
“There!” Terese cupped Giselle’s shoulders and beamed at her. “You are so lovely. Clive is so happy. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“What bothers you, Terese?”
“I hope you will both be gloriously good to each other.”
Giselle’s heart paused. “Why would you think we won’t be?”
Terese tried to shake away her fears, but failed. “Perhaps I project my own fears on to you.”
“What are they?” Giselle took Terese’s hands in hers.
From Clive, she had heard that Terese’s first marriage was a happy one.
So Terese’s experience was not what bothered her.
Giselle had come to know Langley—not well, perhaps.
But enough to be able to conclude he was an ethical, kind-hearted man who loved his eight-year-old son, his four brothers, and their families too.
More than that, he was besotted with Terese.
“Anyone can see Langley adores you. Tell me what worries you.”
“My brother is a man of honor and dedication to his country, his estate, his daughter, and you. He will not appreciate that I tell you this. He is a man brought up like so many others of his rank, preferring his personal matters remain private.”
“I have understood that.”
“I wonder if he has revealed to you the depth of his despair over the failure of his first marriage.”
Since she had met Clive, through effort and the joy of loving him, Giselle had left the past behind her. She had the same hope for Clive, too. Old habits died hard. But she knew the path out. “We shape our future from our pasts until we learn we no longer need the old rules.”
Terese took that as inspiration, tears dotting her lashes. “It’s true. Sometimes happiness comes in great waves. My own first marriage was wonderful and brief. I hope for as much happiness, and this time, I hope for a longer period to enjoy it.”
Giselle squeezed her hands. “This union with Langley will be a delight. I have seen you together. I see the potential there. Just as I know joy is possible for Clive and me.”
“People hurt each other needlessly. To maintain their pride or—”
“Control.”
Terese’s gray eyes flashed with a recognition of Giselle’s revelation. “I will be delighted and honored to call you my sister-in-law. Shall we go down?”
“I am very ready.” Giselle strode to the bedroom door.
But as she passed the stacks of her drawings and sketches, she paused. As if caught by a thread, she glanced down at the collection of her works of Brighton.
“What’s the matter, Giselle?”
“I…I need a moment. I…” Then she bent to the collection standing against the wall. Over the past few days, she’d not had time nor the inclination to look at the items standing there. She ran her fingers through the pads and tablets and canvases.
“Giselle?” Terese pressed her. “What is it?”
Giselle shot up straight, her gaze on Terese, but her thoughts, her hopes, flying about her head. Then she picked up her skirts, yanked open her door, and ran down the carpeted hall toward Clive’s master bedroom.
There she did not stop, did not knock, but called out to him. “Clive! Clive!” She ran past his sitting room toward his dressing room. “Darling, where are you?”
There he stood, beside his astonished valet. Her soon-to-be husband, handsome in his formal black wedding attire, rushed toward her, his gray eyes burning, seizing her shoulders. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“It’s gone!”
“What? What’s gone?”
“I just looked at all my drawings and the canvases.”
“Giselle, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, Clive!” She reached up, cupped his neck, and stood on her toes to give him a big, smacking kiss. “My sketchpad is gone.”
He frowned. “I don’t—”
“My smallest sketchpad is not with the others.”
He scowled. “I did not see any sketchpad among those I brought from the cottage.”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
He crushed her against him. “My love, you better tell me what puts such light in your eyes. I am dying here of fright.”
She bussed his lips. “Sweet, dear man. The sketchpad is gone. It was small. You know the one. It was so tiny it fit in my palm. I used it often for preliminary drawings. Then put them to scale on a bigger paper or board.”
“I still don’t understand. If it’s gone—”
“But you said you were certain you took them all from the cottage.”
“I was. I did. I checked and double-checked the parlor and put all of them in the carriage.”
She leaned against him, her arms around his solid body. “My darling man, the sketchpad is gone, and it can be for only one reason.”
He pulled back, skeptical yet smiling. “Tell me.”
“La Mère must have taken it with her.”
Clive stared at her.
She hugged him to her. “When she heard the fighting behind the cottage and saw that her gang was being beaten, she decided to run. If she could not have me, she’d take what she could.
That sketchpad could fit in her pockets.
If it was not among the other works, it seems to me that her taking it is the only viable explanation. ”
He stared at her for the longest minute. “You are right.”
“Of course I am.”
He let out a laugh. “Whatever she sought to do with it—discredit you with Vaillancourt or take it to Boulogne—she has it. This means your mission was a success. In so many ways.”
She beamed. “It was.” Then she kissed him, and he held her in his arms for ever so long.
“Now it is time for you to marry me, madame. Allow me a moment to satisfy my valet with his careful tying of my cravat.”
She backed away, swishing her silken skirts and teasing him like a coquette. “George,” she said to the young servant, her gaze still on her fiancé, “don’t bother making it too complicated. I’m only going to remove it soon anyway.”
Clive burst into a loud chuckle. “Get out of here, madame, or you won’t be getting married anytime soon!”
She waggled her fingers at him, then blew a kiss. “Hurry!”
*
The guests who smiled upon Giselle as she stood on the threshold of the grand salon were a handsome array of friends and acquaintances.
They filled the lovely room with such happy faces.
The Ashleys, Ramseys, Langleys, Lord Halsey, and Scarlett Hawthorne and her chief clerk, Todd Carlton, were among the number.
The blending of the government’s and Hawthorne’s intelligence agents was allowed by the success of other recent, smaller missions.
They had no confirmation that Giselle’s sketches had made it into La Mère’s greedy hands.
They did not expect any, frankly. If they’d landed in others’ hands, they had no knowledge of that either.
But yesterday, Clive had had a visit from one of his informants in Hastings.
He told of a well-dressed woman of La Mère’s description who had hired a smuggler’s sloop there, heading for a French port of call.
The fate of that woman’s counterpart, Faucon, was unknown.
Giselle crossed to Carlisle smiling, accepting that she had done her very best.
Down the aisle, Bella ran toward Giselle. Her little legs pumped so quickly that she tripped in her new shoes. But she rushed into Giselle’s arms and threw them around her neck. “You’ll be my mama.”
“I will indeed, my sweetheart.”
Hugging the child close, Giselle looked straight ahead to meet Clive’s bright gaze.
“Take my flowers,” she whispered to Terese.
Then she took the short walk toward the man she adored, his daughter in her embrace.
When she faced him, she had trouble controlling the tears that sprang to her eyes. She swallowed, fighting her delight at what they were about to give to each other.
The vicar began the ceremony, and at the point where Clive was to give her his ring, she handed Bella to her aunt.
“With this ring, I thee treasure,” Clive said, so low and sultry that she was sure the words were hers alone forevermore.
She repeated the same words as she slid on his fourth finger a gold band she’d had a Richmond jeweler craft for her a few days ago.
“You are mine,” Clive said with triumph as he offered his arm and they received the applause and shouted congratulations of their guests.
He walked her through the crowd and led them all to the dining room. There, all the chairs pushed to the wall, the table was laden with every delicacy Clive and she had listed for the cook.
When Clive saw one platter piled high with frilly pastries filled with cream, he stopped to raise a brow at her.
“You made these.”
“I did. I want your life filled with all the sweetness I can give.”
His gaze widened in silver strikes of lightning. He caught her up, one arm around her waist, and bent her backward with a ravishing kiss.
The crowd crowed and clapped.
“Excellent!” some buzzed.
“Wonderful!” others called.
“Such a kiss!” said someone.
Giselle cupped his cheek. “I love you.”
“From the first moment I saw you, I wanted that.”
“Because you loved me then,” she said in awe.
“And I will until the end of time.”