Epilogue
Savannah, GA
“Done.”
Abigail dropped her paintbrush and pushed her chair back.
Samantha finished a broad stroke on her own canvas before glancing over. “It’s perfect.”
It wasn’t.
Especially not compared to her friend’s masterpiece.
She sighed as she took in Samantha’s sweeping ocean scene and ran one finger down the edge of the canvas in front of her.
When she’d arrived back in Savannah, Samantha had insisted on teaching her to paint.
Said it would be something to occupy her hands. Something to quiet her thoughts.
Something to keep her mind off Lucien.
It hadn’t worked.
Instead, each time Abigail painted a flower, a leaf, a crooked gate, she was transported back to his little house in the bayou. The hush of the swamp. The heavy, fragrant air. The way the light filtered through the cypress trees.
And him.
Always him. Leaning against the crooked doorframe or standing just behind her shoulder. Every now and then, the phantom scent of cypress would make her believe, if only for a moment, she hadn’t left. Her hand drifted to her pocket and traced the outline of the folded letter there.
“As long as there are no complications, I expect to arrive the second week of December.”
Her pulse jumped, as it always did, when she thought of him.
A month had passed since she’d stepped off the ship with Eloise.
Though she had begged to stay in New Orleans with him, Lucien had kindly reminded her that without Eloise in the house, it would cause a scandal.
She’d suggested they go to the nearest priest and secure a dispensation to marry then and there, but he reminded her that Samantha had threatened both of them with their lives if they didn’t come to Savannah for a proper wedding. That there was no need to rush.
Easy for her to say when she had Christian at her side.
By the time Abigail and Eloise had arrived in Savannah, the friction between her friend and her husband had all but disappeared.
And while Samantha would never actually follow through on her threat, Abigail wouldn’t put it beyond her to make some sort of scene.
She glanced at Samantha now, dressed in a simple blue dress, her fiery hair twisted into a haphazard bun.
She’d grown so accustomed to seeing Samantha in her breeches and a low-cut blouse that the sight of her in anything else now seemed unnatural.
A few months ago, Abigail would have been scandalized at the audacity.
Now…she couldn’t help but smile at how she preferred the pirate to the lady.
The clatter of wheels below the window yanked her from her thoughts and she began cleaning up her supplies, dunking the paintbrush into a water jar and wiping her palette clean.
A moment later, Josephine’s shout echoed from the foyer, her island lilt tinged with excitement. “Abigail!”
“Here, in the morning room.” Abigail rubbed a smudge of paint from her wrist.
Josephine burst in with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. “Isaac sent a message from the docks. A ship just made the river bend.” She pushed a dark curl behind her ear and grinned. “She’s flying colors from New Orleans.”
Samantha’s head snapped up. “It seems the long-awaited groom has finally arrived to claim his bride.”
Abigail’s breath caught. “You think it’s his ship?”
Her friend laughed and tossed her brush in with Abigail’s. “It’s rare to see a ship from there. Too much of a coincidence given his letter.”
Josephine nodded as she grabbed Abigail’s arm and tugged her toward the door. “If we hurry, we can get there before they finish tying her off.”
Outside, the air carried a crisp edge beneath the ever-present humidity.
Josephine’s wagon waited on the drive, and they all climbed in.
A sharp flick of the reins sent the horses springing forward, the wheels jolting over the packed dirt road while the estate fell away behind them.
The drive passed in a blur as they entered the city and made their way toward the waterfront.
And then the river came into view, wide and gleaming beneath the pale winter sun.
They clambered from the wagon at the top of the bluff where the breeze carried a brackish tang.
Abigail squinted at the nearest ship, a schooner.
Men moved along the deck hauling crates, shouting to one another as cargo was offloaded.
A gangplank had already been lowered, passengers beginning to descend in a slow, steady line.
Her gaze found the tri-color flag fluttering from the stern, then snapped to the two men at the helm.
The taller one stood with his back to her, broad shouldered and unmistakably hers. Activity blurred around her, voices and footsteps fading into a distant hum as he hefted a bag over his shoulder and turned.
“Lucien.”
His name came out in a breathless whisper as he descended to the main deck. His dark hair fell in wind-tossed disarray, and a shadow of stubble lined his jawline.
The most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
He strode to the gangplank with purpose.
Halfway down, he paused, his gaze sweeping the dock and beyond.
A heartbeat later, his gray eyes locked on her.
She held her breath as the distance between them seemed to vanish, her chest tight with anticipation.
And then he smiled, his lips lifting in a wide curve that made her knees weak.
She broke free from her friends, her feet moving of their own accord as she hurried down the steps to the waterfront, her eyes never leaving his.
He crossed the dock in long, urgent strides, shouldering through the crowd until nothing stood between them.
Flinging his bag to the ground, he swept her into his arms, spinning her in a breathless circle.
Before her feet touched the ground, before she could register what he was doing, his lips crushed against hers with raw desperation.
She matched the kiss, melting into him as her arms twined around his neck.
Hoots and whistles erupted around them. Only then did he pull back, just enough to rest his forehead against hers.
“I missed you.” His voice came low and rough with emotion.
The words sent her heart soaring, and a conspicuous wetness gathered at the corners of her eyes. “And I missed you.”
Samantha approached. “Glad to see you again, Mr. Moreau. I don’t think Abigail has smiled once since arriving without you.”
Abigail blushed. “That’s not true.”
Her friend gave her a playful swat on the arm. “Don’t pretend he’s not all you’ve thought about.”
The heat in her cheeks deepened, but Lucien squeezed her hands. “It’s alright. She’s all I think about from the moment I wake up till the moment I go to sleep.” His eyes darkened with unmistakable heat. “In fact, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit she occupies many of my dreams as well.”
He held her gaze, the air around them fairly crackling as he lifted a thumb to trace her lips. Samantha cleared her throat. “We’d best get home before you two cause even more of a scene.”
*
One week later
Sunlight slanted through broken clouds as an icy gust pulled a curl free from Abigail’s carefully arranged coiffure. She leaned into the solid warmth beside her, and Lucien shifted his grip on the reins so he could wrap one arm around her.
“We’re nearly there.” He pulled her tight against him.
A smile bloomed across her lips as a quiet awareness spread from where they touched. Would it ever grow old, this feeling? She rested her head on his shoulder. She hoped not.
The wagon moved along Bull Street, bouncing over each rut.
Just a few short months ago, she would have sat up straight and kept a respectable distance between them, aware of every glance that might follow them, every whisper uttered about them.
Now, the grand houses and polished storefronts felt…
different. Unfamiliar in the way a dream might fade after waking, slipping through one’s fingers the moment they try to hold onto it.
They passed the Crompton manor, where she’d partaken in more teas than she could count.
Once, she would not have missed one for anything in the world.
Yet, since she’d arrived back in Savannah, she’d turned down two of Mrs. Crompton’s sought-after invitations.
The thought of sitting amongst practiced smiles and shallow gossip from women who’d never stepped a foot outside the safety of their carefully curated world left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.
Funny how quickly her perspective had changed.
Besides, the ladies would never approve of Lucien, seeing only the rough-hewn edges of a man too far outside their social circles.
She couldn’t help a small chuckle at the thought of any one of them seeing his home in the bayou.
A fierce rush of possessiveness bloomed in her chest. Let them keep their gilded lives and privilege.
That world was one she no longer belonged to.
The thought should have unsettled her. Instead, it filled her with a quiet, steady certainty.
All that mattered now sat beside her. She rested a hand on Lucien’s thigh, the rough wool of his trousers a stark contrast to the delicate lace of her sleeve.
He slanted her a sideways glance, his eyes shadowed with promise.
Her cheeks warmed despite the cold, and she forced her gaze forward.
When the church’s whitewashed spire came into view, her pulse gave a little jump.
This was it. The day she’d dreamed of since she was a young girl.
The wagon came to a stop, and Lucien jumped down and reached for her.
Her gloved fingers tightened around his arm, and he led her with calm assurance toward the heavy oak doors that stood like sentinels between her past and future.
Inside, the air hummed with soft murmurs from packed pews, the faint rustle of silk and the creak of old wood settling under the weight of gathered witnesses reminders that this was truly happening. Heads turned as they made their way toward the altar.