Chapter 15
Zoé gripped the rail, her attention fixed on the longboat in the distance making steady progress cutting through the choppy waters toward la Reine Noire. A wave of relief washed over her at the first sight of Freddie’s auburn hair blowing in the wind. All the men were sitting up. “Well, at least they’re alive,” she said to M’sieur Bequel, standing next to her.
“Aye, safest place would be the admiral’s flagship.”
As the boat drew closer, she said a small prayer of thanks when she saw no blood on either Freddie or her uncle. But that didn’t stop her from being miffed at their being in the midst of what had sounded like a tremendous battle. And Freddie had the nerve to scold her for taking risks!
His smiling face emerged above the gunwale as he climbed aboard the ship.
She stood resolute with arms crossed under her bosom, refusing to welcome him with a smile, though she was fighting back tears she was so happy to see him.
He came to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Except for the soot streaked across his face, no doubt from all those guns firing, he appeared well. More than well, he was excited. “Here I am, Pigeon, returned to you hale and hearty.”
“So you are.”
Her determination to stay angry withered away when he took her in his arms and held her. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you, mon amour.”
“Was it terrible?” she asked.
He held her away from him, meeting her inquiring gaze. “For the wounded and the dead, it was. Yet it left me wanting to live.”
He bent his head and kissed her, right there in front of her uncle, M’sieur Bequel and the whole crew. Not a light welcome-me-home kiss, but a passionate taking of her mouth, a kiss like he’d given her in the garden only days before. His tongue invaded her mouth and his arms crushed her to his chest. Swept away with his masculine yet tender assault, she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss.
A cheer went up from the crew, reminding her they stood on the open deck. Red-faced, she broke off the kiss, dropped her arms and looked around her to see the crew’s smiling faces.
“Aw, Pigeon, they’re just showing how happy they are about our coming marriage.”
M’sieur Bequel barked the order to prepare to set sail and the crew scurried to comply.
From amidships, her uncle grinned. “Back to work, Mr. West!”
The Isle of Guernsey
“They are calling it ‘the Battle of the First of June’,” Freddie said, reading the Gazette over a late breakfast of sausage and eggs accompanied by sweet oranges and coffee. “I must send a message to Zack Barlow on the next mail packet to let him know the Orion came through the battle with only minor damage.”
“He and Polly will be much relieved,” said Zoé, biting into an orange, the pleasing aroma filling the sunny room. She licked the juice from her bottom lip. Freddie tried to concentrate on what he had been reading but it was not easy. Returning his attention to the thin newspaper, he decided to tease her with news of England’s victory.
“Just think, Pigeon, Howe’s a celebrated hero in England. King George has presented him with a sword set with diamonds and a gold chain for a medal he’s to receive.”
“I suppose it helps to declare victory before the war is won,” Zoé muttered, picking up her coffee, “but Oncle Jean told me France, too, claims victory because the grain convoy slipped into Brest while the battle raged. That was Admiral Villaret’s objective was it not?”
“Yes, dictated by Robespierre himself.”
“I wouldn’t want people to starve, Freddie, even if it meant depriving England and her allies of an advantage. If they’d stopped the American corn, would it really have made a difference to ending the war?”
He set down the paper. “Of course, it would. A starving army cannot fight.”
Soft morning sunlight from the window fell across her skin making her appear a golden goddess even with the look of frustration on her lovely face. Soon, very soon, she would be his in all ways. Venus in my bed. The very thought brought a bulge to his breeches he could do nothing about. Patience.
Forcing his eyes back to the newspaper, he took a drink of his coffee and read on. “It says here the prisons in France are full, so the Convention has decreed witnesses are no longer required at trials and there are to be no acquittals. Thousands have been sentenced to death.”
“The situation grows worse,” she said, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips. “I wonder how long it can go on.”
He had the strongest desire to lead her into the garden for a morning kiss, to help them both forget about the situation in France and the war. Thinking about her work with the refugees, his protective instincts rose to the fore. Leaning across the table, he said, “Pigeon, since the flow of émigrés has slowed, I want you to leave the rescues to Erwan and his friends.”
“But Freddie—”
“You can help the émigrés once they arrive on the coast, but I cannot let you enter the towns to meet them. ’Tis too dangerous. Besides, our mission is changing. I have spoken to your uncle and he is agreeable to helping us get the needed weapons and supplies to the Chouans. Now that we have Cadoudal’s confidence, we can deliver supplies to him on the coast at the same time Erwan brings us any refugees he finds.”
“This is hardly the conversation of two who are about to be wed!” He looked up to see his redheaded sister standing in the doorway, attired as if she were setting out for Oxford Street in London.
“You must admit these are unusual times, Jo.” He couldn’t help feeling a bit embarrassed she’d caught them discussing plans to return to France, albeit on the coast. She wouldn’t be pleased they would take up even that limited role.
“That may be so, Freddie, but we’ve a wedding to plan and your excursion into the Atlantic has postponed that effort. I need to borrow Zoé for the day and Isabeau will be coming with us. The modiste is to do the final fitting for Zoé’s gown and Isabeau’s dress. Then there’s the menu for the wedding breakfast to plan.”
“I approve,” he said with a smile. It would get Zoé’s mind off her desire to venture into the streets of Granville and keep her busy till dinner. “What about the boys?” Since they’d returned to Guernsey, Jack and Pax had become inseparable.
“Jack has agreed to organize games for Pax and him, though I worry about the mischief those two will get into. He has promised there will be no lessons in how to use a knife. Hopefully, their governess will be able to keep an eye on them.”
“What will you do, Freddie?” asked Zoé.
“Your uncle has released me from ship duties to take a look at some properties that might suffice for our new home. If there are any I think you might like, Pigeon, we can view them tomorrow.”
Zoé’s eyes lit up at the mention of their new home. They’d discussed where they might live and concluded Guernsey suited them well. An English Crown dependency where French was spoken in the streets and the food was as good as any capital in Europe. The brioches from the pâtisserie on High Street were a particular favorite of his. And, living on Guernsey, he could remain a part of her uncle’s merchant shipping business.
“Are there many properties to see?” she asked excitedly.
“A few,” he said in a droll manner. “One ramshackle farmhouse the agent told me about seems particularly interesting.”
She threw her napkin at him and got to her feet.
He couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up in his chest.
“You see what I’m up against, Tante Joanna.”
“Indeed I do. Remember, I helped to raise him. Come, let us be off. Isabeau is waiting at the front door.”
Zoé came around the table and kissed Freddie on the cheek, the fragrance of roses whetting his appetite for more. Before he could reach for her, she glided out of the room with his sister, leaving him with his coffee and a smile on his face.
He smiled a lot these days.
Shopping in St Peter Port with her aunt required decisions Zoé had not often made in the last several years. Choosing fabric, style, trim, stockings and shoes consumed hours and that was only the beginning. There were still underclothes to select, a chemise, stays and petticoats, not to mention a hat or a bonnet.
Having become used to the clothing of a peasant woman and lately that of a Chouan man, she had braced herself for her return to Society, which her earlier trip to West Sussex had required, and now she must do so again for her wedding.
The carriage moved along the town’s cobbled streets toward the modiste’s shop on High Street. “I’m determined to see you properly attired for this very important day in your life,” said her aunt looking out the window. “We are nearly there.”
Zoé’s participation in the previous shopping jaunt on Jersey with her aunt and Madame de Montconseil had given her a new respect for her aunt’s knowledge of a lady’s frippery. Not that the princesse needed any instruction but Zoé surely had.
“Do you think our fittings will take very long?” Zoé wanted to visit the jeweler to buy Freddie’s wedding ring, perhaps one easily seen from a distance.
“The fittings, no, but we have other stops to make.” Tante Joanna looked across the carriage seat to where Isabeau sat next to Zoé. “What do you think of a straw hat with a wide blue ribbon, my dear?” she asked the girl.
Isabeau nodded. “’Tis not what Breton women wear, but I like ribbons.”
“Very well, you shall have one to match your gown.”
Isabeau had become fond of Zoé’s aunt but, at times, the girl would stare off toward France. They’d not had word from Giles and Zoé worried for him.
The carriage stopped in front of the modiste’s shop and her aunt accepted the footman’s hand, stepping down to the street. Isabeau followed and Zoé trailed after her, sighing deeply.
“To my way of thinking,” said her aunt, who hadn’t failed to notice the sigh, “while it is important to understand the politics and issues of the day, a lady must also know how to dress to enhance her natural beauty. For your wedding, Zoé, you must look your very best.”
The bell above the door jingled, alerting Mrs. Dobree they had arrived. The antechamber where she greeted her customers had a long counter on one side. Behind it, rising to the ceiling, were shelves filled with bolts of satins and silks and flowered, striped and sprigged muslin. On their first visit, her aunt had selected a beautiful Bremen blue for her gown of silk and a paler shade of the same blue for Isabeau’s dress.
Zoé had chosen lavender silk. The color was her favorite but one she’d not worn since before the revolution began.
Mrs. Dobree came from behind the counter to meet them. “Je pense you will be pleased with the gowns,” said the dark-haired woman, who had a pencil stored over her ear and a measuring tape around her neck. “The seamstress is my best. She just finished them yesterday. As you ordered, Madame Donet, the waists are higher, the style simpler. And for you, Mademoiselle Donet, only one petticoat will be required.”
Zoé and Isabeau shared a smile. “Petticoats,” she whispered to the girl, “can be such a nuisance.”
By the time they had finished with the modiste, procured the needed underclothes and retrieved the shoes they’d ordered from Mr. Johnson on Queen Street, Zoé had just enough time to visit the jeweler.
“A wide gold band, please,” she told the gray-haired man with spectacles perched on his thin nose.
He nodded and walked to another case a short distance away, saying over his shoulder, “I have just the one!”
Her aunt’s auburn brows rose. “A wide band?”
“Oui. So other women will know Freddie is taken.”
Her aunt rolled her eyes. “Time for tea, I think.”
“Cover your eyes!” Freddie commanded as he slowed the buggy. He had told her he had found a house, one he thought might suit them. Though she was impatient to see it, she dutifully complied, shutting her eyes tight. Knowing his sense of humor, she expected a dilapidated shed or even a cave.
Some distance on, the buggy came to a stop and she heard him open the door. “Here we go,” Freddie said, lifting her from the velvet seat and carrying her a ways to set her feet upon the ground. The cushiony feel of grass beneath her shoes told her she was standing on a lawn. She smelled salty sea air and, somewhere nearby, she could hear waves breaking onshore. The faint scent of jasmine blossoms wafted to her on the breeze, making her even more curious.
“Can I open them now?”
“Not yet.” Zoé felt his arms encircle her waist from behind and he pulled her against his chest, making her snuggle against his warmth. Nuzzling her neck in the sensitive place just below her ear sent a shiver up her spine.
“Freddie, you are teasing me unmercifully.”
“I know, but you like it.”
“I suppose I do,” she admitted. Freddie was wonderfully affectionate and, since they had returned from Paris, he filled her days with kisses and sweet words of love.
“All right, Pigeon, you can open your eyes.”
What she saw robbed her of breath. The house Freddie had wanted her to see, the one about which he had been so secretive, was no ramshackle farmhouse, no dilapidated shed, no cave. It was her dream come true.
“Oh, Freddie. It’s… it’s perfect!”
Her gaze swept across the front of the two-story stone home, painted a pale yellow and trimmed in white to match the white front door. The roof was of a brown tile like the one atop the carriage house she could just glimpse through the trees in the distance. Not as large as her uncle’s home in St Peter Port, it was perfect for the two of them. She could tell by the five large paned windows on the front of the house they would never lack for light. A wide green lawn flanked by star jasmine hedges stretched from the carriage drive to where she stood.
On Freddie’s face was a pleased expression.
“I love it, Freddie, but can we afford it?”
“Oh, yes. Your dowry is more than adequate to pay for the house and the furnishings if we want them. The owner is willing to sell us those, as well. Before you see the inside, take a look at the view.” Freddie turned her around.
“Oh, my.” At the end of the green lawn, a beautiful beach of white sand gave way to turquoise waters that extended to the dark blue sea beyond. She had never been here before but she knew they were on Guernsey. “Where are we?”
“Perelle Bay in St Saviour’s on the west coast of the island. It’s country here, Pigeon, five miles from St Peter Port and very private. And nearby, there is a place where a ship could safely anchor.” Taking her hand he led her toward the house. “Don’t you want to see the inside?”
“You have the key?”
“Of course. A spy forgets no detail of importance. I told the agent we would want to see it by ourselves.”
She laughed, happy for the house, but happier still for the man who would soon be her husband. Her very own English spy.
As she crossed the threshold, she had a sense of being at home, as if she had lived here before. The furnishings in the parlor were of good quality and elegant. The dark blue velvet sofas and wing chairs beckoned her to sit. In the center of the room an oval table would be perfect for tea. Under the furniture rested a large rectangular rug that, like Guernsey itself, was covered in flowers, gold ones woven between blue-gray leaves. In the carpet’s corners were baskets spilling over with flowering bouquets of the same colors.
“That carpet looks like some I once saw in Versailles. Is it from the time of Louis XIV?”
“The agent told me it predates that Louis. They call it a ‘Louis XIII’ carpet because it was made between Louis XII and Louis XIV who succeeded him. Whether it was once in Versailles, the agent couldn’t tell me. You can be sure I asked. Do you like it?”
“Very much,” she said, nodding. “How nice to think some things from the palace might have been saved.”
They went next to the dining room where a long oval table circled by eight chairs sat beneath a beautiful crystal chandelier.
“Large enough for a growing family, no?” Freddie asked.
Zoé felt her cheeks heat. They had yet to discuss children. “Well, and my uncle and your sister might visit, even your brother, Richard, and Annie.”
Beside her, Freddie chuckled. “I was thinking of children, as you likely suspected. What would you say to raising Pax as our own? He’s an orphan like both of us but more alone in the world than we were at his age.” Pax had filled out since Freddie had brought him to Guernsey and no longer had that haunted look in his eyes.
“I would welcome Pax into our home, but what would Isabeau and Jack say? Would Pax want to leave them?”
“Isabeau will stay with my sister for the time being, until her brother comes for her, and if he does not, she can choose where to live. But you are right to ask about Jack. The boys might want to remain together. What say you to our asking Pax where he’d like to live?”
“A good idea,” she said. “When both of us are away at sea, he would have to stay in St Peter Port with your sister anyway.”
“Well, until he has siblings, yes?”
“I suppose.” Freddie wanted children and so did she, but the thought of how one actually brought them into existence was still a bit vague in her mind. She had been raised mostly around men. Except for servants and other men’s wives, Tante Joanna was the only woman in her life.
Freddie led her up the stairs. “There are four bedchambers.”
The master bedchamber was well appointed with a huge oak half-tester bed, its cover in rich red velvet. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bed so large,” she remarked.
“Big enough for you and me and any children who might want to crawl into our bed on a cold morning. What do you think?”
“’Tis huge.” Zoé was nervous staring at the bed knowing it would be here they would most likely consummate their marriage. But then she considered the man who’d be doing the consummating. Her Freddie. Facing him, she lifted her hands to lock her fingers behind his neck. “How is it I never realized I loved you until that kiss in the woods near Rennes?”
“People see what they expect, Pigeon. You expected to see only the friend you had known for years and I was your friend. Now, about that kiss—”
“Don’t apologize for that kiss, Frederick West. Besides,” she said, smiling up at him, “I love your kisses.”
“Then you shall have many more.” He took her waist in his hands and drew her close. When their gazes locked, he leaned down to plant tiny kisses all over her face.
She closed her eyes and smiled. He would be a gentle lover, her Freddie. Perhaps they need not wait to become one. If they had the option to accept the furnishings, then this was their bed. And they were alone with the warm ocean breeze blowing in through the open window.
When Freddie moved his kisses to her lips, she responded with all the love in her heart, opening her mouth to welcome his tongue and relishing the feel of it moving against hers as he slowly seduced her mouth. Her heart sped in her chest and her breasts became sensitive pressing against the buttons on his frock coat.
Deep in her woman’s center she felt an ache, a need only he could satisfy.
He slid one hand from her waist to her breast, touching a part of her that had never been touched by a man before. With Freddie, it felt good. More, it felt right. “Freddie,” she whispered, as he trailed kisses down her throat to the pulse beating wildly at the base of her neck, “we don’t have to wait. We are betrothed and alone. And if this is to be our bed, you could make love to me now, oui?”
He lifted his lips from her throat and let out a sigh. “You have no idea how I want to, Pigeon. With your kiss-swollen lips and sleepy gray eyes, you are a temptress and I want you.” He sighed again. “But I have not waited years, all the while wanting you more than you could know, to take you prematurely. ’Tis my fault we have come this close to the doing of it. Having waited so long, I can certainly wait a few weeks more.”
“But Freddie—”
“No, mon amour, allow me this one thing, to do you the honor of holding back my desire until you are my bride. It won’t be long.”
She smiled at his determination to do the honorable thing, admiring him for denying his own wants, his own manly needs. “Do you mean you never went to a tavern or sought out a lady who would offer you her favors?”
“Not since you turned sixteen and I twenty-three.”
Pleased his fevered dreams she’d listened to after he’d been wounded in Granville were not about tavern wenches, she smiled up at him. “It shall be as you say, Freddie.” Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the door. “Perhaps we should see the kitchens?”
He laughed. “Aye, a stove and a sink would do much to cool my ardor.”
They spent little time in the kitchens before moving on to the potager, the well-kept vegetable garden, and the small orchard of orange trees behind the house. When they’d seen that, they returned to the front lawn.
As they walked to the buggy, he said, “So, you are pleased with the house and its location?”
“Oui, I am. But Freddie, will you not regret acquiring a ship of your own instead?”
“Oh, do not worry, Pigeon. I shall have a ship.”
She drew her brows together, puzzled. “But how?”
“From the years I worked with your uncle, I have my share of profits saved almost in their entirety. ’Tis enough for the schooner I want. And tomorrow, if you like, once I have acquired the house, I can show you the one I’m looking at in St Peter Port.”
“You amaze me, Frederick West.”
“I have only begun, Pigeon.”