Chapter 33
Rivanna River, Virginia
Their wedding day.
Brielle arrived at the chapel early, long before any guests or even the itinerate pastor.
Someone—Sylvie?—had already been at work, decorating with ribbons and dried everlastings ahead of the ceremony.
But she’d since disappeared, likely up the hill at Orchard Rest with her growing brood, the baby, especially.
For a time Brielle feared they wouldn’t live to see this long-anticipated day.
Their tumultuous return to Virginia had been no easier than the crossing to France but they had all survived it and now, a fortnight after finding their land legs in York Town, it was their wedding day.
Even the weather was obliging. Sunlight streamed through newly washed windows, creating a lacy pattern on the plank floor. A bon morning.
Ahead of the wedding, Brielle had moved to the finished and newly named Belle Rive.
She explored each room, finding a hundred little touches she loved from the corner fireplaces to the parlor bookshelves and the fleur-de-lis newel post in the hall.
Till the wedding, Bleu stayed at Orchard Rest, turning his hand to tending the orchards and spending time with Titus along the river.
Grandfather took her place in the cottage, his joy at being surrounded by Sylvie’s children a sight to behold. Even the settlement enfants called him Pépère which brought out his robust laugh and had him continually emptying his pockets of comfits and tiny toys gotten in Williamsburg.
Gratefulness at being back in the place that felt like home, mistress of a new house she hoped to fill with children, about to wed the man she’d loved from the very first, filled her with an overwhelming sense of wellbeing that made all the hardships and hurdles of the past a pinprick.
When a footfall sounded at the chapel’s open doors, she turned toward it in anticipation. Bleu stepped inside and held out a hand to her. Quickly she closed the distance between them, her Lyonnaise silk rustling. Clad in a French-made suit, he looked every inch the groom she’d long imagined.
His eyes were a wash of blue. Was he thinking this moment almost never happened? That at the very last they’d nearly been separated by an ocean? If not for his boldness in jumping ship or her own frantic pursuit—
“Will you finally do me the honor of becoming Gabrielle Galant?” His emphasis on finally made her smile. “I knew at first meeting I would never be the same … and so here we are.”
“No more of you here and me there but everything shared.” She squeezed his hand. “Your table, your bed, your babies. Every sunrise and sunset from our porch.”
“All of it, oui.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “A happy but humble beginning.”
“Little is needed to make a happy life.”
“Love, faith, family—a firm foundation.” He took her in his arms as children’s excited voices sounded outside the chapel. “Ours is une dévotion féroce.”