Chapter 1 #2
Justin couldn’t suppress a harsh laugh. “Do you expect me to believe that she is truly at death’s door?
For God’s sake, since the moment of my birth, I have been forced to watch her play out her little dramas and call the tune while our father danced – and you and I foolishly joined in.
I vowed long ago never to join in her games when I was old enough to have a choice in the matter.
” Waiting in vain for his brother to agree with him, Justin reached for his snuffbox.
“I will tell you plainly that I felt liberated when Maman and Papa decided to move their household to Cornwall after your marriage.”
“Indeed?” Gabriel sounded unconvinced. “You could have come to visit. After you returned from your adventures with Surcouf in the Indian Ocean, our parents expected you to appear. Have you even seen their little home? It’s quite charming.”
“Leaving France was their choice. Can you blame me for being relieved that Maman would no longer be turning up on my doorstep, claiming to have run away from Papa?”
Gabriel’s tone was maddeningly calm. “No matter their faults, they are still our parents. And it does appear that Maman is desperately ill. Before Isabella left for London, she insisted that they come here to stay, so that we could look after them.”
“Maman is plotting something,” Justin insisted.
“Ah yes, plotting. Perhaps a pastime that you yourself learned at her knee?” came his wry response. “Can you not suspend your judgment until you assess how ill she appears to be?”
“You seem to have fallen under Maman’s spell, just like our father.
” When Gabriel only shrugged in response, Justin marveled again at the change in his brother.
Arching a dark brow, he murmured, “Are you really happy, confined here in this conventional existence? Can you possibly enjoy – what, raising plants? – as much as planning a dangerous smuggling venture?”
Finally, he saw Gabriel’s blue eyes flash.
“You don’t understand the first thing about botany, or the challenge of growing something new.
” He leaned forward. “As for this conventional existence, my days are filled with a treasure you have never known and could never gain through smuggling or any other reckless escapade.” With soft emphasis he added, “Love.”
Justin felt his nostrils flare. “Oh, please… spare me.”
Gabriel pushed gracefully to his feet without any sign of aching knees. “Shall we go upstairs to see Maman? Clearly you are in a hurry to be on your way.”
As Gabriel led the way down the wide upstairs corridor, Justin noticed the exquisite paintings that lined the walls and guessed they were the creations of his sister-in-law.
One watercolor perfectly evoked his favorite view in Saint-Malo, of the isle of Petit Bé, as seen from the ramparts.
A few were delightful portraits of his nieces, capturing them at the various ages he had missed, while one larger painting portrayed a family he didn’t immediately recognize, seated on the wildflower-strewn Cornwall cliffs.
“That is Isabella’s brother, Sebastian, with his family,” Gabriel supplied, following Justin’s gaze. “No doubt you remember him from his days as a smuggler? There is his wife, Julia, and their children, Cassandra and Lucas. They hosted our wedding, on their estate overlooking the River Fowey.”
“But of course I remember the daring Lord Sebastian. I am very surprised that he continues to resist indulging his craving for adventure. Perhaps age and another decade of marriage have made him dull.”
Gabriel seemed not to notice the bait Justin had cast before him. Instead, he continued down the corridor, inclining his head at a framed sketch as they passed by. “Isabella framed a likeness of you as well.”
Justin paused before the informal portrait made so long ago.
In it, he was lounging in an elegant Sheraton chair, impeccably dressed, his favorite agate snuffbox in one hand as he flicked it open with his thumb.
Seeing the faintly predatory expression on his face, Justin felt a pang.
Was that the way he’d appeared to Izzie?
Perhaps he had rather tricked her into being alone with him, but he hadn’t truly meant any harm.
Gabriel, who had gone ahead, stopped before a paneled door and knocked. After a long moment, during which Justin came up beside him, the door opened a few inches to reveal their father’s face.
“By all the saints,” Xavier breathed, “it is you, Justin. You have come!”
It was a shock to see his father looking considerably older, his strong shoulders slightly bent, his weathered face careworn. Justin felt himself soften just a bit. “Of course I have come, Papa. What do you take me for, an ogre?”
Before Xavier could reply, his mother’s quavering voice arose from the bed. “Justin? Can it be?”
A wave of emotion engulfed Justin, catching him off-guard. For a moment, he felt physically ill. “Papa, will you swear to me that this is not a trick?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.
Xavier recoiled. “Truly, you shock me. Age and hard living have made you more cynical than ever!”
Was that an answer? Justin supposed it would have to do. His heart was in his throat as he went forward, so preoccupied with the scene in the bedchamber and his mother’s pale countenance that he forgot about his own quite drastically altered appearance.
“Oh, Justin, how I have dreamed of this moment,” Cerise St. Briac began, extending a shaky hand in his direction. “My first-born son. So magnificent - ”
As his mother spoke, she looked up at him, focusing in disbelief. Justin watched as the rest of the blood drained from her face. He looked past her, into a mirror on a stand near the bedside, and saw the reason for her shock.
No longer was he the daring, irresistible corsair who seemed only to grow more attractive with each passing year.
No, the man who stared back at Justin in the mirror was dissipated from too much wild living, too many reckless brushes with death and, a soft voice whispered inside him, an aversion to love.
His black hair was now streaked with silver, lines bracketed his hard mouth, and even his waist had thickened.
Worst of all, under the black eye-patch, his arresting face was now marred by a thin white scar that slashed down from his brow, continued through his left eye – or the place where it had once been - and ended below his cheekbone.
Even the duel that had cost him his eye now seemed a taunt that he was no longer invincible.
Justin’s heart pounded as he saw the questions in his mother’s eyes. Dying she might be, but she was as shrewd as ever, her gaze peeling back his defenses until he was utterly exposed.
“What have you done to yourself?” she asked in a ragged voice.
Reflexively, he raised a hand to touch his eye-patch.
It was fashioned of black silk, edged in the same dark plum as his waistcoat.
As soon as the physician had told him that he could not save his eye, Justin had decided to turn it to his advantage.
He would make every man in France want to wear a rakish patch over one eye.
“’Twas but a twist of fate, Maman,” he replied, adding more jauntily, “Do you not find me more dashing than ever?”
“Pray do not waste our time.” Cerise patted the bed. “Sit down beside me. Each moment is precious, for there may not be many left to us.”
Although Justin longed to resist, he obeyed, searching her face for signs of impending death.
True, she was paler than usual, and appeared to be very tired, but if she only sat up and pinched her cheeks, wouldn’t that make a difference?
“Maman, I think that you may only need a nice bath, some good food, and your maid to dress your hair properly. What about a glass of champagne? I have seen that raise your spirits more than once.”
She swatted at him weakly. “Pah. You are nonsensical, Justin. I am an old woman and my life is ebbing away as surely as the tide.”
“Get up and walk with me. I will help you.” He started to motion to his father and brother to join in his efforts, but Cerise gave him a sharp look.
“It is too late for that, don’t you see?”
“Maman…” he protested. “There must be something I can do.”
“You have come,” she whispered. “That is a… beginning.”
Justin was still absorbing her pronouncement when his father rushed over.
Gently, Xavier lifted Cerise up from the pillow and held a crystal glass of water to her parched lips.
Justin felt a sense of profound disbelief as he watched her attempt to sip the water, managing only a few drops before turning her face away.
Sangdieu, how could he have allowed a full decade to pass without visiting his parents?
Was it possible that his vibrant, maddening mother might actually die before he could mend things between them?
“Show me,” she was saying now, watching him under her lids.
“What do you mean?” he asked warily.
“Show me your eye, mon fils.”
She was like a cat, he thought, seemingly somnolent yet fully capable of tormenting her prey. “I would rather not.”
“I am your mother. I washed your private parts long before you knew what to do with them, so I can certainly view your injured eye. You must show me now.”
This interview was excruciating. Better to get it over with! He leaned closer and slowly lifted his eye-patch so that she alone could see the wound – a wound that replaced an expressive black eye nearly identical to Cerise’s own.
Just when he thought this ordeal couldn’t get any worse, at the moment he was about to replace the covering and retreat to safety, his mother unexpectedly reached up and touched her fingertips to his scarred eyelid. To his further horror, she began to weep.
“Justin, do you not see that this is but a sign of your broken life? You are at an age when other men have raised their children and are enjoying their homes and families.”
“I am not other men,” he growled. “My life is not broken! On the contrary, it is what all men secretly aspire to.”
“You are speaking to your mother,” she said softly, staring at him in a way that made him feel like a child again. “I will not be fooled. It is time for you to put aside your games of adventure and take up the challenges of real manhood.”
“Maman! Are you delirious?” He felt his brother and father watching them with interest but forced himself to ignore them.
“If you want me to die a happy woman, a fulfilled mother, you must grant my last wish.”
“Last wish?” What the devil was she talking about?
“You must take a wife…before it is too late, Justin! I cannot leave this world in peace unless I know you’ve taken a bride and are endeavoring to make a happy marriage.” Glancing over toward Gabriel, Cerise turned the knife as only she could, “As your brother has done so magnificently.”
For a moment, Justin couldn’t breathe. A black curtain closed around him, but he fought it off. He wasn’t about to let his mother of all people perceive how deeply he dreaded being trapped in the prison of marriage, without any avenue of escape.
Breathing slowly, he felt his head clear. His relationship with his mother had been disastrous over the years, Justin realized, and now it was nearly too late. If he could win bloody battles against pirates and the British Navy, could he not find a way to grant his own mother’s dying wish?
On his own terms, of course.
“Eh bien. If that is what you want, Maman,” Justin said in a low voice, reaching for her hand, “consider it done.”
She blinked. “Oh, mon fils, you love me after all! Will you divulge the identity of your future bride?”
“Patience, Maman, patience.”
Gabriel came up beside him and spoke to their mother. “You have had enough excitement for one day, and Justin must have food after his long journey.”
As they left the oppressively warm bedchamber and emerged into the corridor, Justin inhaled the fresh air of freedom.
“Thank God you rescued me just now,” he said.
“For the moment,” his brother replied. “Come downstairs and have a large piece of Madame’s onion tart. I can’t wait to hear more about the stunning plans for your marriage.”
“Oh, I’m not really getting married.” Justin gave a derisory laugh, arching a brow as he added, “But what harm can it do to pretend to grant Maman’s wish? I shall fool her into believing that she alone had the power to make me take a wife, when in truth I shall remain as untethered as ever.”