Chapter 32
At full speed, Grandfather’s carriage rivaled Brielle’s racing heart.
Wrapped in the cape Bleu had given her, she stroked the sable muff absently, wishing the soft fur was his warm arms. When the walls and spires of Nantes came into view, she prayed as she’d never prayed before for some delay.
She refused to think his goodbye meant she had no hold on his heart.
Grandfather sat across from her, clutching his silver-headed cane, largely silent as if fully occupied with weathering every bump and bend in the road.
She hadn’t reckoned on how hard this would be for him.
Sympathy pierced her panic, turning her mouth dry and scattering her thoughts as they veered round another precarious corner.
Was this not simply another valley in the landscape of her life?
She’d endured much since her parents died.
A loss of home and personal liberty. Servitude through indenture.
The lewd looks of men and the envy of women.
A future fraught with uncertainty. But nothing seared her quite like this.
She was so rattled she was having trouble drawing an easy breath.
By the time they’d reached The White Cross, their elegant, pristine vehicle was more mud than burgundy paint.
“Allow me to go inside and inquire, chère Gabrielle,” Grandfather said once they’d rolled to a stop.
Nodding, she leaned into the coach’s open window, searching every face, every form on the busy street for sign of Bleu or Nadine.
Grandfather returned quickly, simply telling the coachman to hasten to the harbor where he again left the coach to disappear inside a large stone structure facing the water.
The capitaine de port? Such a maze of quays and docks and ships even late in the season.
A sleek merchantman was leaving now, slipping from its moorings and her line of sight. A flash of scarlet on its broad deck caught her eye. Nadine? Brielle knew that fringed shawl anywhere. Nadine stood along the railing beside a short, hatless man. Not Bleu.
Where was he?
Turning away from the coach window, she fumbled with the door’s latch. In her haste she nearly tripped on the step onto muddy cobbles. Clutching her silk skirts, she began to run, her voice carrying over the water. “Nadine!”
The large ship was moving, slowly gaining speed. Brielle dismissed Nadine as well as sailors and passengers alike in her frantic search. Her heart seized when she spied a tall figure at the stern. Bleu stood alone, facing forward and away from her, his dark coattails fluttering in the wind.
Her voice rose then broke. “Bleu!”
She ran faster, dodging sailors and cargo and all else. The long wooden quay seemed to shake beneath her feet as it stretched into the churlish water. She shouted over and over till her words became a hoarse cry.
Still, he didn’t turn around. How could he hear her with so many screeching gulls and the wind off the water? She reached the end of the quay in utter defeat.
As L’Amiable picked up speed, Bleu saw Nadine hurrying toward him, her features scored with alarm.
“Bleu! Regarde vers rivage!”
Look toward shore.
Confused, he turned, the wind pressing against him as if determined to turn him around again. Another gust snatched his cocked hat from his head and sent it over the railing as his gaze swept the waterfront.
Brielle?
She was at the end of a quay—had she fallen? On her knees, head in her hands, her petticoats in a heap around her. And she wore his sable cape, the muff beside her. Even at a distance her emotion struck him hard. Anguished. As anguished as he was.
“Brielle!” The cold wind flung his shout away.
Her head remained in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Only a woman in love would make such a vulnerable public display. Though he knew his going would upset her, he assumed she would move past it and come to realize France had far more to offer. But her heart had clearly broken.
He had broken it.
Seconds passed before his head caught up with his heart and made sense of the matter.
He removed his frock coat, his measured movements belying the rising tick of his pulse.
His shoes and stockings came next before he hoisted himself atop the taffrail and faced into the wind.
The jacks on deck—and Nadine—watched in a sort of horrorstruck awe as the ship continued its slow, powerful pull from port.
Poised to jump, Bleu’s mind spun backwards to the moonlit night he’d fought William Blackburn on the Constellation’s quarterdeck before he dove into Baie Francaise.
Then and now, he sprang like a mink off the rail.
Twenty feet down he met saltwater, the waves and ripples of the ship’s wake closing over him in a white, bubbling rush. Acadie’s waters had been colder.
He fought his way to the surface, Brielle firmly in mind.
His sure, swift strokes cut through the briny foam, bringing him nearer the quay.
He stayed clear of departing vessels, the shore becoming more distinct, the cry of the gulls and dockside shouts ringing in his ears.
Brielle still sat, head in her hands, as if unable to watch L’Amiable’s leaving.
Would she not look up?
As the wind freshened and blew cold off the water, a Scripture Brielle knew by heart pierced her angst-ridden thoughts.
I found him whom my soul loveth.
But was it not to be? Had she loved Bleu wrongly? Dearly and a bit desperately, oui. Had he no lasting regard of her other than to reunite her with family? All she had left of him was a letter and the beautiful fur she wore.
By coming to France she’d wanted to show him that a life of affluence would not alter her feelings for him. She wanted to ensure he understood that her choice was genuine and not merely because France had been untried. Non, she had been there and still she’d chosen him.
Heartsick, she stared at the ship now far beyond her reach, a mere speck of wood and sail on the horizon.
Strength spent, she closed her eyes against the stinging wind until a sudden splash made her open them again.
Below the quay’s edge was a strangely sodden figure treading water.
With his black hair splayed over his head and shoulders, the man she loved hardly looked himself.
The shock of it brought her to her feet.
Stepping on her muff, she scrambled to throw him the thick rope that wound round a near piling.
In her haste she stumbled, sending both herself and the rope over the quay’s edge.
With a little cry she smacked the water.
The breathless plunge downward was worsened by a melee of petticoats that acted like an anchor.
In seconds his hard arms caught her, pulling her upwards toward light and air.
Choking and sputtering, she grappled for her bearings as Bleu tied the rope around her then began to hoist himself upwards.
In a few moments he’d gained the quay only to pull at the rope, lifting her from the water.
She collapsed atop the stones beside him, the both of them dazed and breathless.
His arms went round her, her head against the linen shirt pasted to his chest. Beneath her ear his heart pulsed nearly as frantically as her own.
“Now seems the time to say,” he began in brief, winded bursts, his mouth warm against her ear, “till death do us part.”
“Are you asking me …?”
“With all my heart,” he answered, freeing her from the rope.
They sat, nearly intertwined, till their breathing quieted and the tumult of the moment passed.
Leaning in, he kissed her, his lips brushing hers with such intent she forgot all else.
Her arms encircled his neck and she kissed him back, the moment charged with all the love they’d quelled, a dizzying rush of elation and passion that left her lightheaded.
Only the screech of a gull overhead ended their newfound intimacy.
Slowly, Bleu got to his feet and brought her to hers. “I want to keep kissing you more than I want to be warm and dry, ma mariée.” His eyes were smiling. Had he called her his bride? “But we are drawing attention and your grandfather is almost here.”
Jubilant, they joined hands and faced the caped man walking toward them who regarded them with a sort of bemused wonder. “Tourtereaux …” Lovebirds. Grandfather, despite everything, looked supremely pleased. “I hardly know what to say except that I am not at all surprised by this turn of events.”
Bleu looked down at the quay, his grin slightly sheepish as he picked up the discarded muff. “I have obviously abandoned ship, comte.”
“A small matter.” Chuckling, Grandfather leaned into his cane as the wind rocked him. “Now seems a good time to tell you that I own a vessel which will take you two wherever you wish to go.”
Did he?
“Come with us to Virginia, then.” Brielle lay a damp hand on his sleeve. “I want nothing more than your blessing at our wedding alongside a river very different than your Loire.”
Bleu met his eyes as another blast of wind buffeted them. “You told me it has long been your wish to see the New World.”
“Very well.” Grandfather smiled. “I suppose I am not too old to cross an ocean.”