Page 97 of Souvenir of Love

Agatha withdrew a note from the envelope and unfolded it. “It is from Lady Alix. She writes with a lovely hand.” Her eyes scanned the page. “She thanks me very graciously for the gift of the stockings. Asks after my health, if I am enjoying my stay, and if I would like to come for tea, Wednesday next.”

“That is in three days.” Anne raised her voice for Agatha’s benefit, her mind working furiously. Clearly the invitation was an empty formality, tossed off without any expectation Agatha would accept.

“I hear the hall is quite lovely. And the gardens, well, I’ve heard it said the dowager countess works miracles with plants.”

“Louisa devotes a great deal of time and attention to her gardens. They are justifiably famous. An opportunity to see them should not be missed.”Or rather, this opportunity to call upon the Harcrests should not be missed, Anne thought.

“I should, indeed, enjoy it.” Agatha clasped her wrinkled hands together. “Cousin, you will accompany me?”

“I haven’t been invited; the note was addressed to you.” Anne feigned uncertainty.

“An oversight, I’m sure. Naturally Lady Alix assumes you shall be with me. Do say yes. It will be ever so amusing…”

Amusingwas not the word Anne Dinsmore would have chosen. She made up her mind on the spot. She was going to expose them. Spreading absurd stories that Elizabeth Harcrest was visiting respectable families! And she would expose Rafe’s tawdry involvement in trade as well. That would put an end to all the worries that were burdening her mind. Finally, Rafe Moreham would receive proper payment for the day he turned his back on her for that French whore.

She put her hand to her chin as if considering Agatha’s suggestion. “I do believe you’re right, Agatha dear. We should assume her failure to include me in your invitation is an oversight—and one that I shall overlook. After all, she is not anEnglishwoman. Who knows what dreadful gaps there may be in her social education?”

“Shall I write to inform her you shall be accompanying me?”

“Oh no, let us not embarrass her by calling the error to attention. Moreham and I have known each other since we were children. I will make this visit a very special surprise.”

“Lady Anne, you think of everything.”

“I try, Agatha.” Anne smiled. “Truly I do.”

Thirty-Five

The path down to the sea was narrow and rocky and the light was fading fast. James, Elizabeth, and Joley picked their way slowly down, leaning close to the face of the cliff and stopping frequently when the wind blew them back, or the rocks and shells skittered from beneath their feet and clattered over the edge.

“To think,” Elizabeth murmured as she clutched James’s hand over a particularly difficult stretch, “I once did something very close to this wearing a blindfold.”

“I’d rather not think about it; the sight of it nearly killed me. Promise me you’ll never take such a risk again.”

“At least, not that sort of risk.” She let go of his hand so she could gather her skirts to maneuver around a particularly narrow turn. “Although,” she added when they reached a wider stretch of path, “I should point out that you haven’t formally asked me.”

“I intend to. When the moment is right and the ground is more level, I shall get down on one knee. And what do you mean by ‘not that sort of risk’?” “I’m thinking after we marry, we might honeymoon in France.”

“Elizabeth—”

“We shall discuss the matter later”—she tossed him a mischievous glance over her shoulder—“when the moment is right.”

When they reached the beach, they found several sailors from Grenville’s crew were waiting. They’d drawn a dory up upon the rocky shore and scrambled forward to help Elizabeth, Joley, and James into it. “Is this your entire company, my lord?” a burly sailor, who’d identified himself as the first mate, inquired.

“It is.”

“Did them Frenchies give you any trouble, sir?” The first mate cast a curious glance toward the cliff and the path that was rapidly disappearing in the darkness.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Shall we be off?”

“Yes, my lord.” The first mate issued a rapid series of orders and the sailors remaining on shore heaved the dory off the rocks. Splashing through the surf after it, they scrambled over the sides. Grappling with the oars, they fought against the waves that seemed determined to sweep them back to France.

Spray washed over the bow where Joley sat unflinching, eyes fixed on the lights of Lord Grenville’s sloop.

Elizabeth glanced back at the shore. She could just make out the swaying light of David’s lantern. They’d exchanged all-too-brief farewells and wishes for good luck before he’d started back up the path. Returning her gaze to the comte, she whispered to James, “Why doesn’t he look back?”

As if he heard her question, Joley spoke, his voice carrying above the sounds of the sea. “I will keep forever in my heart the memory of the France that was. I have no wish to see the France that is, the France that would murder a king. I will devote myself to the downfall of the accursed traitors. But I shall never return. And when I have my Marguerite back by my side, I will keep hersafe with me. No more adventurers like Gerard.” He shook his fist as if affirming a vow. “Never again.”

Joley did not speak again, nor turn his head, not even when they reached the cutter, a sleek vessel that seemed almost to dance with impatience to be off across the channel.