by Jane Charles
her father and sister were alone. She wasn’t ready to encounter any other family members at the moment. Thankfully, it seemed to be rather quiet in the castle. Perhaps her cousins had refused her grandfather’s order and remained home. If so, they had more nerve than she did.
Louisa sat by the fire stitching while papa read aloud. It was such a familiar scene, and her heart seized for a moment as emotion washed over her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed these moments until now. It was Louisa who glanced up. The sewing clattered to the stone floor and she rushed forwards.
“Oh, Elizabeth, I am so glad you have come home.”
She opened her arms to her sister and the two embraced. Elizabeth took a deep breath. It was good to be home. So very good, indeed.
Her father cleared his throat, and the girls separated. Elizabeth turned into his arms next. “I was afraid you couldn’t get away,” he whispered into her hair.
“It was more difficult than I thought.” She would tell him as much as she dared later. Of those in the household, only her father knew where she had really been all this time. Even though he did not like her choices, he supported her all the same.
“I’ll let Cook know you are here. She was waiting to make her lemon tarts until you arrived, knowing they are your favorites.” Louisa informed her.
Elizabeth’s mouth watered at the thought.
“Then when I return, you must tell me everything.” Louisa stepped forwards, hugged her once again, and ran from the room.
Her father chuckled before he closed and locked the door. He pulled her to the seat before the fire. “Fill me in before your sister rushes back in.”
As quickly as possible, Elizabeth told him of Paris, Jean Pierre (leaving out his real name), their narrow escape, and the need for her to be in London after the first of the year.
“Jean Pierre could not come with you?”
Elizabeth glanced at the fire. “He has his own family he had not seen in several years. I could not ask him to come with me, especially at the holidays.”
Her father nodded before he stood and unlocked the door. “I will go along with whatever you tell Danby.”
“I would not have you lie, Papa.”
His smile was gentle and loving. “You are my daughter. I will do anything I can to protect you.”
“Where is Elizabeth, and why didn’t she see me first?”
Elizabeth automatically straightened her spine and stood at her grandfather’s bark. Oh dear, she was not ready for this.
“Perhaps she wished to see her father and sister first.” Her father walked to the sideboard and poured brandy into a glass. “Father?” He held a glass out to Danby.
“Not yet.” Then to Elizabeth, “Where is your husband?”
Her grandfather didn’t waste words, nor had he really bothered to greet her.
“He is, well, Grandfather. . .”
“Spit it out child.”
She could look Napoleon in the eye without the slightest tremor, knowing she had searched his desk not an hour earlier, but when faced with her grandfather, all Elizabeth wanted to do was run to her room and hide in the closet.
“Elizabeth, this is where you have gone.”
She turned to the familiar voice, the French accent she knew as well as her own. Where had he come from? “Grandfather, may I introduce Jean Pierre Bouvier. Jean, this is my grandfather, the Duke of Danby.”
Jean Pierre entered the room and executed a deep bow before His Grace. When he straightened, he took Elizabeth’s arm and turned towards her father. “Vicar Whitton. It is an honor to finally meet you. Elizabeth has told me so much, and I know how much she has missed you these past years.”
“If you knew this, why did it take an order from me before you brought her home?” Danby demanded.
John stiffened beside her and Elizabeth hastened to answer on his behalf. “Jean Pierre would have brought me home anytime I wished. I didn’t want to take him from his business.”
“I’ll take that brandy now, Henry.” Danby walked to the large chair by the fireplace and settled into the seat. “What business would that be?”
“I make wine.”
“Bah,” Danby dismissed. “You married a common working man, Elizabeth? This is what you fell in love with?” Disgust dripped from his tone.
“With all due respect, Your Grace, wine is the family business, and we are quite wealthy. None of us actually work.” Jean Pierre’s disgust matched her grandfather’s. “But, we do monitor the business. I am assuming you have business holdings yourself that you keep a close eye on.”
Her grandfather harrumphed and accepted the glass from his son. “We will talk more on this tomorrow or the day after.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” Elizabeth answered respectfully. At least it gave them more time to agree on a story. The most important question on her mind however, why was John here, now.
“You two go get settled. Elizabeth, you have your same room, so you can show your husband the way.”
Her father stepped forwards. “You will need to give Jean Pierre a separate room.”
“We are not in the habit of sharing a chamber,” Elizabeth added. It was one thing to make love to John without the benefit of marriage on a ship; it was quite another to do so in her grandfather’s home. Even sleeping in the same bed without touching was out of the question.
“No wonder I don’t have any grandchildren.” He thumped his cane on the floor and stood. “You will share a chamber. Besides, we don’t have any empty, not with your cousins inviting friends and such.” He started to walk past the couple and stopped to poke Jean Pierre in the chest with the end of his cane. “I expect you to do your duty, young man.” He turned and continued towards the door. “I thought this was the one thing the French could beat us at. Apparently I was mistaken. Apparently all their talk of love and passion was just that. Talk!”
Elizabeth’s face must have been red as a ripe cherry. She turned to her father once she could no longer hear her grandfather mumbling down the hall, hoping for a suggestion to get out of this situation. He shook his head and took a drink. “I am sure you two will work it out. You’ve spent the last week or so traveling together, so I am sure a few more days will not make a difference.”
Elizabeth sighed. She didn’t expect her father, the vicar of all people, to be so calm about her sharing a room with a man who was not her husband.
“Elizabeth, what does your father mean?”
There was a warning edge to his tone and she hastened to explain. “Father has always known where I was and what I was doing. He does not, however, know anything about Jean Pierre except what I tell him.”
“It is better I don’t know.” Her father smiled. “Though I suspect you aren’t French at all, I will leave it at that.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir.”
Elizabeth took his arm and turned him towards the door. “I will show you to our room.”
“Oh, and John?” her father called before they quit the room. Did he call him Jean or John? Were her ears playing tricks on her, or was she becoming paranoid that there were no longer any secrets? “I do expect you to treat my daughter with the utmost respect, despite the circumstances.”
“Of course, Vicar Whitton.”
John shut the door behind him. After winding through the halls and walking up various stairways, he wasn’t sure he could find his way to the front door again.
“Why are you here, John?”
Elizabeth stood before him, arms folded across her chest. He had not seen her like this before. Not even the morning she left Portsmouth. Her hair had been arranged, but the cloak hid any type of dress she may have been wearing. The blue satin, with capped sleeves and square-cut neckline hinting at her breasts, was nothing like the serviceable gowns he had grown accustomed to. This was a vision he could become very used to.
“I couldn’t let you return home without a husband. I had heard rumo
rs of how Danby could be, and now I’ve seen the evidence.”
“My grandfather is not as bad as all that. I suspect he has a softer side, somewhere in him.”
“I’m not so certain.”
A smile pulled her lips.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone to face the questions. When the holiday is over, we can leave, together.”
“What of your own family?”
“I will see them on my way to London.”
There was a quick tap at the door, and before Elizabeth could call for the person to enter ,the door opened and in popped a young lady, hair as gold as Elizabeth’s, eyes almost as blue, and a sprinkling of small freckles on her nose. This had to be Elizabeth’s younger sister.
“Cook just finished taking the tarts out of the oven. I have a plate full and a fresh pot of tea so you can fill me in on France, your husband, everything.”
The young woman didn’t even notice John. She waltzed right past him to the table beneath the window where she placed the tray before turning to Elizabeth. “Oh, Lizzie, I’ve missed you so much.” She grabbed Elizabeth into a hug and from where he was standing, it looked as if Elizabeth was hugging her sister just as tight. He really should leave, but where should he go? He hated intruding on what should be a private moment between sisters.
Elizabeth pulled away. “Louisa, I would like you to meet my husband, Jean Pierre Bouvier.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Miss Louisa.” He bowed before her, and the young woman’s face turned almost scarlet.
“Oh, I am so sorry to intrude. I was told your husband didn’t come